Don Quixote .........................................................................................................................................................1

Miquel de Cervantes................................................................................................................................1

Idle reader: thou mayest believe me without any oath that I would this book, as it is the child of my brain,

were the fairest, gayest, and cleverest that could be imagined. But I could not counteract Nature's law that

everything shall beget its like; and what, then, could this sterile, illtilled wit of mine beget but the story of a

dry, shrivelled, whimsical offspring, full of thoughts of all sorts and such as never came into any other

imagination just what might be begotten in a prison, where every misery is lodged and every doleful sound

makes its dwelling? Tranquillity, a cheerful retreat, pleasant fields, bright skies, murmuring brooks, peace of

mind, these are the things that go far to make even the most barren muses fertile, and bring into the world

births that fill it with wonder and delight. Sometimes when a father has an ugly, loutish son, the love he bears

him so blindfolds his eyes that he does not see his defects, or, rather, takes them for gifts and charms of mind

and body, and talks of them to his friends as wit and grace. I, however for though I pass for the father, I am

but the stepfather to "Don Quixote" have no desire to go with the current of custom, or to implore thee,

dearest reader, almost with tears in my eyes, as others do, to pardon or excuse the defects thou wilt perceive

in this child of mine. Thou art neither its kinsman nor its friend, thy soul is thine own and thy will as free as

any man's, whate'er he be, thou art in thine own house and master of it as much as the king of his taxes and

thou knowest the common saying, "Under my cloak I kill the king;" all which exempts and frees thee from

every consideration and obligation, and thou canst say what thou wilt of the story without fear of being

My wish would be simply to present it to thee plain and unadorned, without any embellishment of preface or

uncountable muster of customary sonnets, epigrams, and eulogies, such as are commonly put at the beginning

of books. For I can tell thee, though composing it cost me some labour, I found none greater than the making

of this Preface thou art now reading. Many times did I take up my pen to write it, and many did I lay it down

again, not knowing what to write. One of these times, as I was pondering with the paper before me, a pen in

my ear, my elbow on the desk, and my cheek in my hand, thinking of what I should say, there came in

unexpectedly a certain lively, clever friend of mine, who, seeing me so deep in thought, asked the reason; to

which I, making no mystery of it, answered that I was thinking of the Preface I had to make for the story of

"Don Quixote," which so troubled me that I had a mind not to make any at all, nor even publish the

"For, how could you expect me not to feel uneasy about what that ancient lawgiver they call the Public will

say when it sees me, after slumbering so many years in the silence of oblivion, coming out now with all my

years upon my back, and with a book as dry as a rush, devoid of invention, meagre in style, poor in thoughts,

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

fashion of other books I see, which, though all fables and profanity, are so full of maxims from Aristotle, and

Plato, and the whole herd of philosophers, that they fill the readers with amazement and convince them that

the authors are men of learning, erudition, and eloquence. And then, when they quote the Holy Scriptures!

anyone would say they are St. Thomases or other doctors of the Church, observing as they do a decorum so

ingenious that in one sentence they describe a distracted lover and in the next deliver a devout little sermon

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

nothing to quote in the margin or to note at the end, and still less do I know what authors I follow in it, to

place them at the beginning, as all do, under the letters A, B, C, beginning with Aristotle and ending with

Xenophon, or Zoilus, or Zeuxis, though one was a slanderer and the other a painter. Also my book must do

without sonnets at the beginning, at least sonnets whose authors are dukes, marquises, counts, bishops, ladies,

or famous poets. Though if I were to ask two or three obliging friends, I know they would give me them, and

such as the productions of those that have the highest reputation in our Spain could not equal.

"In short, my friend," I continued, "I am determined that Senor Don Quixote shall remain buried in the

archives of his own La Mancha until Heaven provide some one to garnish him with all those things he stands

in need of; because I find myself, through my shallowness and want of learning, unequal to supplying them,

and because I am by nature shy and careless about hunting for authors to say what I myself can say without

them. Hence the cogitation and abstraction you found me in, and reason enough, what you have heard from

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

"Before God, Brother, now am I disabused of an error in which I have been living all this long time I have

known you, all through which I have taken you to be shrewd and sensible in all you do; but now I see you are

as far from that as the heaven is from the earth. It is possible that things of so little moment and so easy to set

right can occupy and perplex a ripe wit like yours, fit to break through and crush far greater obstacles? By my

faith, this comes, not of any want of ability, but of too much indolence and too little knowledge of life. Do

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

shutting of an eye, I sweep away all your difficulties, and supply all those deficiencies which you say check

and discourage you from bringing before the world the story of your famous Don Quixote, the light and

"Say on," said I, listening to his talk; "how do you propose to make up for my diffidence, and reduce to order

To which he made answer, "Your first difficulty about the sonnets, epigrams, or complimentary verses which

you want for the beginning, and which ought to be by persons of importance and rank, can be removed if you

yourself take a little trouble to make them; you can afterwards baptise them, and put any name you like to

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

said to have been famous poets: and even if they were not, and any pedants or bachelors should attack you

and question the fact, never care two maravedis for that, for even if they prove a lie against you they cannot

"As to references in the margin to the books and authors from whom you take the aphorisms and sayings you

put into your story, it is only contriving to fit in nicely any sentences or scraps of Latin you may happen to

have by heart, or at any rate that will not give you much trouble to look up; so as, when you speak of freedom

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

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

can do with a very small amount of research, and quote no less than the words of God himself: Ego autem

dico vobis: diligite inimicos vestros. If you speak of evil thoughts, turn to the Gospel: De corde exeunt

cogitationes malae. If of the fickleness of friends, there is Cato, who will give you his distich:

Donec eris felix multos numerabis amicos, Tempora si fuerint nubila, solus eris.

With these and such like bits of Latin they will take you for a grammarian at all events, and that nowadays

"With regard to adding annotations at the end of the book, you may safely do it in this way. If you mention

any giant in your book contrive that it shall be the giant Goliath, and with this alone, which will cost you

almost nothing, you have a grand note, for you can put The giant Golias or Goliath was a Philistine whom

the shepherd David slew by a mighty stonecast in the Terebinth valley, as is related in the Book of Kings

"Next, to prove yourself a man of erudition in polite literature and cosmography, manage that the river Tagus

shall be named in your story, and there you are at once with another famous annotation, setting forth The

river Tagus was so called after a King of Spain: it has its source in such and such a place and falls into the

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

you should have anything to do with robbers, I will give you the story of Cacus, for I have it by heart; if with

loose women, there is the Bishop of Mondonedo, who will give you the loan of Lamia, Laida, and Flora, any

reference to whom will bring you great credit; if with hardhearted ones, Ovid will furnish you with Medea;

if with witches or enchantresses, Homer has Calypso, and Virgil Circe; if with valiant captains, Julius Caesar

himself will lend you himself in his own 'Commentaries,' and Plutarch will give you a thousand Alexanders.

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

will supply you to your heart's content; or if you should not care to go to foreign countries you have at home

Fonseca's 'Of the Love of God,' in which is condensed all that you or the most imaginative mind can want on

the subject. In short, all you have to do is to manage to quote these names, or refer to these stories I have

mentioned, and leave it to me to insert the annotations and quotations, and I swear by all that's good to fill

"Now let us come to those references to authors which other books have, and you want for yours. The remedy

for this is very simple: You have only to look out for some book that quotes them all, from A to Z as you say

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

because you have so little need to borrow from them, that is no matter; there will probably be some simple

enough to believe that you have made use of them all in this plain, artless story of yours. At any rate, if it

answers no other purpose, this long catalogue of authors will serve to give a surprising look of authority to

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

have not, being no way concerned in it; especially as, if I mistake not, this book of yours has no need of any

one of those things you say it wants, for it is, from beginning to end, an attack upon the books of chivalry, of

which Aristotle never dreamt, nor St. Basil said a word, nor Cicero had any knowledge; nor do the niceties of

truth nor the observations of astrology come within the range of its fanciful vagaries; nor have geometrical

measurements or refutations of the arguments used in rhetoric anything to do with it; nor does it mean to

preach to anybody, mixing up things human and divine, a sort of motley in which no Christian understanding

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

imitation the better the work will be. And as this piece of yours aims at nothing more than to destroy the

authority and influence which books of chivalry have in the world and with the public, there is no need for

you to go abegging for aphorisms from philosophers, precepts from Holy Scripture, fables from poets,

speeches from orators, or miracles from saints; but merely to take care that your style and diction run

musically, pleasantly, and plainly, with clear, proper, and wellplaced words, setting forth your purpose to

the best of your power, and putting your ideas intelligibly, without confusion or obscurity. Strive, too, that in

reading your story the melancholy may be moved to laughter, and the merry made merrier still; that the

simple shall not be wearied, that the judicious shall admire the invention, that the grave shall not despise it,

nor the wise fail to praise it. Finally, keep your aim fixed on the destruction of that illfounded edifice of the

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

In profound silence I listened to what my friend said, and his observations made such an impression on me

that, without attempting to question them, I admitted their soundness, and out of them I determined to make

this Preface; wherein, gentle reader, thou wilt perceive my friend's good sense, my good fortune in finding

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

the story of the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, who is held by all the inhabitants of the district of the

Campo de Montiel to have been the chastest lover and the bravest knight that has for many years been seen in

that neighbourhood. I have no desire to magnify the service I render thee in making thee acquainted with so

renowned and honoured a knight, but I do desire thy thanks for the acquaintance thou wilt make with the

famous Sancho Panza, his squire, in whom, to my thinking, I have given thee condensed all the squirely

drolleries that are scattered through the swarm of the vain books of chivalry. And so may God give thee

In belief of the good reception and honours that Your Excellency bestows on all sort of books, as prince so

inclined to favor good arts, chiefly those who by their nobleness do not submit to the service and bribery of

the vulgar, I have determined bringing to light The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of la Mancha, in

shelter of Your Excellency's glamorous name, to whom, with the obeisance I owe to such grandeur, I pray to

receive it agreeably under his protection, so that in this shadow, though deprived of that precious ornament of

elegance and erudition that clothe the works composed in the houses of those who know, it dares appear with

assurance in the judgment of some who, trespassing the bounds of their own ignorance, use to condemn with

more rigour and less justice the writings of others. It is my earnest hope that Your Excellency's good counsel

in regard to my honourable purpose, will not disdain the littleness of so humble a service.

In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to call to mind, there lived not long since one

of those gentlemen that keep a lance in the lancerack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and a greyhound for

coursing. An olla of rather more beef than mutton, a salad on most nights, scraps on Saturdays, lentils on

Fridays, and a pigeon or so extra on Sundays, made away with threequarters of his income. The rest of it

went in a doublet of fine cloth and velvet breeches and shoes to match for holidays, while on weekdays he

made a brave figure in his best homespun. He had in his house a housekeeper past forty, a niece under

twenty, and a lad for the field and marketplace, who used to saddle the hack as well as handle the billhook.

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

very early riser and a great sportsman. They will have it his surname was Quixada or Quesada (for here there

is some difference of opinion among the authors who write on the subject), although from reasonable

conjectures it seems plain that he was called Quexana. This, however, is of but little importance to our tale; it

will be enough not to stray a hair's breadth from the truth in the telling of it.

You must know, then, that the abovenamed gentleman whenever he was at leisure (which was mostly all the

year round) gave himself up to reading books of chivalry with such ardour and avidity that he almost entirely

neglected the pursuit of his fieldsports, and even the management of his property; and to such a pitch did his

eagerness and infatuation go that he sold many an acre of tillageland to buy books of chivalry to read, and

brought home as many of them as he could get. But of all there were none he liked so well as those of the

famous Feliciano de Silva's composition, for their lucidity of style and complicated conceits were as pearls in

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

passages like "the reason of the unreason with which my reason is afflicted so weakens my reason that with

reason I murmur at your beauty;" or again, "the high heavens, that of your divinity divinely fortify you with

the stars, render you deserving of the desert your greatness deserves." Over conceits of this sort the poor

gentleman lost his wits, and used to lie awake striving to understand them and worm the meaning out of

them; what Aristotle himself could not have made out or extracted had he come to life again for that special

purpose. He was not at all easy about the wounds which Don Belianis gave and took, because it seemed to

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

with seams and scars. He commended, however, the author's way of ending his book with the promise of that

interminable adventure, and many a time was he tempted to take up his pen and finish it properly as is there

proposed, which no doubt he would have done, and made a successful piece of work of it too, had not greater

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

to which had been the better knight, Palmerin of England or Amadis of Gaul. Master Nicholas, the village

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

that could compare with him it was Don Galaor, the brother of Amadis of Gaul, because he had a spirit that

was equal to every occasion, and was no finikin knight, nor lachrymose like his brother, while in the matter

of valour he was not a whit behind him. In short, he became so absorbed in his books that he spent his nights

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

much reading his brains got so dry that he lost his wits. His fancy grew full of what he used to read about in

his books, enchantments, quarrels, battles, challenges, wounds, wooings, loves, agonies, and all sorts of

impossible nonsense; and it so possessed his mind that the whole fabric of invention and fancy he read of was

true, that to him no history in the world had more reality in it. He used to say the Cid Ruy Diaz was a very

good knight, but that he was not to be compared with the Knight of the Burning Sword who with one

backstroke cut in half two fierce and monstrous giants. He thought more of Bernardo del Carpio because at

Roncesvalles he slew Roland in spite of enchantments, availing himself of the artifice of Hercules when he

strangled Antaeus the son of Terra in his arms. He approved highly of the giant Morgante, because, although

of the giant breed which is always arrogant and illconditioned, he alone was affable and wellbred. But

above all he admired Reinaldos of Montalban, especially when he saw him sallying forth from his castle and

robbing everyone he met, and when beyond the seas he stole that image of Mahomet which, as his history

says, was entirely of gold. To have a bout of kicking at that traitor of a Ganelon he would have given his

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

and that was that he fancied it was right and requisite, as well for the support of his own honour as for the

service of his country, that he should make a knighterrant of himself, roaming the world over in full armour

and on horseback in quest of adventures, and putting in practice himself all that he had read of as being the

usual practices of knightserrant; righting every kind of wrong, and exposing himself to peril and danger

from which, in the issue, he was to reap eternal renown and fame. Already the poor man saw himself

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

found in these pleasant fancies, he set himself forthwith to put his scheme into execution.

The first thing he did was to clean up some armour that had belonged to his greatgrandfather, and had been

for ages lying forgotten in a corner eaten with rust and covered with mildew. He scoured and polished it as

best he could, but he perceived one great defect in it, that it had no closed helmet, nothing but a simple

morion. This deficiency, however, his ingenuity supplied, for he contrived a kind of halfhelmet of

pasteboard which, fitted on to the morion, looked like a whole one. It is true that, in order to see if it was

strong and fit to stand a cut, he drew his sword and gave it a couple of slashes, the first of which undid in an

instant what had taken him a week to do. The ease with which he had knocked it to pieces disconcerted him

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

satisfied with its strength; and then, not caring to try any more experiments with it, he passed it and adopted it

He next proceeded to inspect his hack, which, with more quartos than a real and more blemishes than the

steed of Gonela, that "tantum pellis et ossa fuit," surpassed in his eyes the Bucephalus of Alexander or the

Babieca of the Cid. Four days were spent in thinking what name to give him, because (as he said to himself)

it was not right that a horse belonging to a knight so famous, and one with such merits of his own, should be

without some distinctive name, and he strove to adapt it so as to indicate what he had been before belonging

to a knighterrant, and what he then was; for it was only reasonable that, his master taking a new character,

he should take a new name, and that it should be a distinguished and fullsounding one, befitting the new

order and calling he was about to follow. And so, after having composed, struck out, rejected, added to,

unmade, and remade a multitude of names out of his memory and fancy, he decided upon calling him

Rocinante, a name, to his thinking, lofty, sonorous, and significant of his condition as a hack before he

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

days more pondering over this point, till at last he made up his mind to call himself "Don Quixote," whence,

as has been already said, the authors of this veracious history have inferred that his name must have been

beyond a doubt Quixada, and not Quesada as others would have it. Recollecting, however, that the valiant

Amadis was not content to call himself curtly Amadis and nothing more, but added the name of his kingdom

and country to make it famous, and called himself Amadis of Gaul, he, like a good knight, resolved to add on

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

accurately his origin and country, and did honour to it in taking his surname from it.

So then, his armour being furbished, his morion turned into a helmet, his hack christened, and he himself

confirmed, he came to the conclusion that nothing more was needed now but to look out for a lady to be in

love with; for a knighterrant without love was like a tree without leaves or fruit, or a body without a soul.

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

common occurrence with knightserrant, and overthrow him in one onslaught, or cleave him asunder to the

waist, or, in short, vanquish and subdue him, will it not be well to have some one I may send him to as a

present, that he may come in and fall on his knees before my sweet lady, and in a humble, submissive voice

say, 'I am the giant Caraculiambro, lord of the island of Malindrania, vanquished in single combat by the

never sufficiently extolled knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, who has commanded me to present myself

before your Grace, that your Highness dispose of me at your pleasure'?" Oh, how our good gentleman

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

so the story goes, in a village near his own a very goodlooking farmgirl with whom he had been at one

time in love, though, so far as is known, she never knew it nor gave a thought to the matter. Her name was

Aldonza Lorenzo, and upon her he thought fit to confer the title of Lady of his Thoughts; and after some

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

a princess and great lady, he decided upon calling her Dulcinea del Toboso she being of El Toboso a

name, to his mind, musical, uncommon, and significant, like all those he had already bestowed upon himself

These preliminaries settled, he did not care to put off any longer the execution of his design, urged on to it by

the thought of all the world was losing by his delay, seeing what wrongs he intended to right, grievances to

redress, injustices to repair, abuses to remove, and duties to discharge. So, without giving notice of his

intention to anyone, and without anybody seeing him, one morning before the dawning of the day (which was

one of the hottest of the month of July) he donned his suit of armour, mounted Rocinante with his patchedup

helmet on, braced his buckler, took his lance, and by the back door of the yard sallied forth upon the plain in

the highest contentment and satisfaction at seeing with what ease he had made a beginning with his grand

purpose. But scarcely did he find himself upon the open plain, when a terrible thought struck him, one all but

enough to make him abandon the enterprise at the very outset. It occurred to him that he had not been dubbed

a knight, and that according to the law of chivalry he neither could nor ought to bear arms against any knight;

and that even if he had been, still he ought, as a novice knight, to wear white armour, without a device upon

the shield until by his prowess he had earned one. These reflections made him waver in his purpose, but his

craze being stronger than any reasoning, he made up his mind to have himself dubbed a knight by the first

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

brought him to this pass. As for white armour, he resolved, on the first opportunity, to scour his until it was

whiter than an ermine; and so comforting himself he pursued his way, taking that which his horse chose, for

Thus setting out, our newfledged adventurer paced along, talking to himself and saying, "Who knows but

that in time to come, when the veracious history of my famous deeds is made known, the sage who writes it,

when he has to set forth my first sally in the early morning, will do it after this fashion? 'Scarce had the

rubicund Apollo spread o'er the face of the broad spacious earth the golden threads of his bright hair, scarce

had the little birds of painted plumage attuned their notes to hail with dulcet and mellifluous harmony the

coming of the rosy Dawn, that, deserting the soft couch of her jealous spouse, was appearing to mortals at the

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

quitting the lazy down, mounted his celebrated steed Rocinante and began to traverse the ancient and famous

Campo de Montiel;'" which in fact he was actually traversing. "Happy the age, happy the time," he continued,

"in which shall be made known my deeds of fame, worthy to be moulded in brass, carved in marble, limned

in pictures, for a memorial for ever. And thou, O sage magician, whoever thou art, to whom it shall fall to be

the chronicler of this wondrous history, forget not, I entreat thee, my good Rocinante, the constant companion

of my ways and wanderings." Presently he broke out again, as if he were lovestricken in earnest, "O

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

scorn, and with inexorable obduracy banish me from the presence of thy beauty. O lady, deign to hold in

remembrance this heart, thy vassal, that thus in anguish pines for love of thee."

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

him, imitating their language as well as he could; and all the while he rode so slowly and the sun mounted so

rapidly and with such fervour that it was enough to melt his brains if he had any. Nearly all day he travelled

without anything remarkable happening to him, at which he was in despair, for he was anxious to encounter

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

the windmills; but what I have ascertained on this point, and what I have found written in the annals of La

Mancha, is that he was on the road all day, and towards nightfall his hack and he found themselves dead tired

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

might refresh himself and relieve his sore wants, he perceived not far out of his road an inn, which was as

welcome as a star guiding him to the portals, if not the palaces, of his redemption; and quickening his pace he

reached it just as night was setting in. At the door were standing two young women, girls of the district as

they call them, on their way to Seville with some carriers who had chanced to halt that night at the inn; and

as, happen what might to our adventurer, everything he saw or imaged seemed to him to be and to happen

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

four turrets and pinnacles of shining silver, not forgetting the drawbridge and moat and all the belongings

usually ascribed to castles of the sort. To this inn, which to him seemed a castle, he advanced, and at a short

distance from it he checked Rocinante, hoping that some dwarf would show himself upon the battlements,

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

about it, and that Rocinante was in a hurry to reach the stable, he made for the inn door, and perceived the

two gay damsels who were standing there, and who seemed to him to be two fair maidens or lovely ladies

At this moment it so happened that a swineherd who was going through the stubbles collecting a drove of

pigs (for, without any apology, that is what they are called) gave a blast of his horn to bring them together,

and forthwith it seemed to Don Quixote to be what he was expecting, the signal of some dwarf announcing

his arrival; and so with prodigious satisfaction he rode up to the inn and to the ladies, who, seeing a man of

this sort approaching in full armour and with lance and buckler, were turning in dismay into the inn, when

Don Quixote, guessing their fear by their flight, raising his pasteboard visor, disclosed his dry dusty visage,

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

rudeness, for that it belongs not to the order of knighthood which I profess to offer to anyone, much less to

highborn maidens as your appearance proclaims you to be." The girls were looking at him and straining their

eyes to make out the features which the clumsy visor obscured, but when they heard themselves called

maidens, a thing so much out of their line, they could not restrain their laughter, which made Don Quixote

wax indignant, and say, "Modesty becomes the fair, and moreover laughter that has little cause is great

silliness; this, however, I say not to pain or anger you, for my desire is none other than to serve you."

The incomprehensible language and the unpromising looks of our cavalier only increased the ladies' laughter,

and that increased his irritation, and matters might have gone farther if at that moment the landlord had not

come out, who, being a very fat man, was a very peaceful one. He, seeing this grotesque figure clad in armour

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

join the damsels in their manifestations of amusement; but, in truth, standing in awe of such a complicated

armament, he thought it best to speak him fairly, so he said, "Senor Caballero, if your worship wants lodging,

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

the respectful bearing of the Alcaide of the fortress (for so innkeeper and inn seemed in his eyes), made

The host fancied he called him Castellan because he took him for a "worthy of Castile," though he was in fact

an Andalusian, and one from the strand of San Lucar, as crafty a thief as Cacus and as full of tricks as a

and if so, you may dismount and safely reckon upon any quantity of sleeplessness under this roof for a

twelvemonth, not to say for a single night." So saying, he advanced to hold the stirrup for Don Quixote, who

got down with great difficulty and exertion (for he had not broken his fast all day), and then charged the host

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

eyed him over but did not find him as good as Don Quixote said, nor even half as good; and putting him up in

the stable, he returned to see what might be wanted by his guest, whom the damsels, who had by this time

made their peace with him, were now relieving of his armour. They had taken off his breastplate and

backpiece, but they neither knew nor saw how to open his gorget or remove his makeshift helmet, for he

had fastened it with green ribbons, which, as there was no untying the knots, required to be cut. This,

however, he would not by any means consent to, so he remained all the evening with his helmet on, the

drollest and oddest figure that can be imagined; and while they were removing his armour, taking the

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

Oh, never, surely, was there knight So served by hand of dame, As served was he, Don Quixote hight, When

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

though I had no intention of declaring myself until my achievements in your service and honour had made me

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

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

The girls, who were not used to hearing rhetoric of this sort, had nothing to say in reply; they only asked him

if he wanted anything to eat. "I would gladly eat a bit of something," said Don Quixote, "for I feel it would

come very seasonably." The day happened to be a Friday, and in the whole inn there was nothing but some

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

in others "troutlet;" so they asked him if he thought he could eat troutlet, for there was no other fish to give

him. "If there be troutlets enough," said Don Quixote, "they will be the same thing as a trout; for it is all one

to me whether I am given eight reals in small change or a piece of eight; moreover, it may be that these

troutlets are like veal, which is better than beef, or kid, which is better than goat. But whatever it be let it

come quickly, for the burden and pressure of arms cannot be borne without support to the inside." They laid a

table for him at the door of the inn for the sake of the air, and the host brought him a portion of illsoaked

and worse cooked stockfish, and a piece of bread as black and mouldy as his own armour; but a laughable

sight it was to see him eating, for having his helmet on and the beaver up, he could not with his own hands

put anything into his mouth unless some one else placed it there, and this service one of the ladies rendered

him. But to give him anything to drink was impossible, or would have been so had not the landlord bored a

reed, and putting one end in his mouth poured the wine into him through the other; all which he bore with

While this was going on there came up to the inn a sowgelder, who, as he approached, sounded his reed pipe

four or five times, and thereby completely convinced Don Quixote that he was in some famous castle, and

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

ladies, and the landlord the castellan of the castle; and consequently he held that his enterprise and sally had

been to some purpose. But still it distressed him to think he had not been dubbed a knight, for it was plain to

him he could not lawfully engage in any adventure without receiving the order of knighthood.

Harassed by this reflection, he made haste with his scanty pothouse supper, and having finished it called the

landlord, and shutting himself into the stable with him, fell on his knees before him, saying, "From this spot I

rise not, valiant knight, until your courtesy grants me the boon I seek, one that will redound to your praise

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

kind, stood staring at him in bewilderment, not knowing what to do or say, and entreating him to rise, but all

to no purpose until he had agreed to grant the boon demanded of him. "I looked for no less, my lord, from

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

liberality has granted is that you shall dub me knight tomorrow morning, and that tonight I shall watch my

arms in the chapel of this your castle; thus tomorrow, as I have said, will be accomplished what I so much

desire, enabling me lawfully to roam through all the four quarters of the world seeking adventures on behalf

of those in distress, as is the duty of chivalry and of knightserrant like myself, whose ambition is directed to

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

guest's want of wits, was quite convinced of it on hearing talk of this kind from him, and to make sport for the

night he determined to fall in with his humour. So he told him he was quite right in pursuing the object he

had in view, and that such a motive was natural and becoming in cavaliers as distinguished as he seemed and

his gallant bearing showed him to be; and that he himself in his younger days had followed the same

honourable calling, roaming in quest of adventures in various parts of the world, among others the

Curinggrounds of Malaga, the Isles of Riaran, the Precinct of Seville, the Little Market of Segovia, the

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

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

fingers, doing many wrongs, cheating many widows, ruining maids and swindling minors, and, in short,

bringing himself under the notice of almost every tribunal and court of justice in Spain; until at last he had

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

received all knightserrant of whatever rank or condition they might be, all for the great love he bore them

and that they might share their substance with him in return for his benevolence. He told him, moreover, that

in this castle of his there was no chapel in which he could watch his armour, as it had been pulled down in

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

watch it that night in a courtyard of the castle, and in the morning, God willing, the requisite ceremonies

might be performed so as to have him dubbed a knight, and so thoroughly dubbed that nobody could be more

so. He asked if he had any money with him, to which Don Quixote replied that he had not a farthing, as in the

histories of knightserrant he had never read of any of them carrying any. On this point the landlord told him

he was mistaken; for, though not recorded in the histories, because in the author's opinion there was no need

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

that they did not carry them, and he might regard it as certain and established that all knightserrant (about

whom there were so many full and unimpeachable books) carried wellfurnished purses in case of

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

those plains and deserts where they engaged in combat and came out wounded, it was not always that there

was some one to cure them, unless indeed they had for a friend some sage magician to succour them at once

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

tasting one drop of it they were cured of their hurts and wounds in an instant and left as sound as if they had

not received any damage whatever. But in case this should not occur, the knights of old took care to see that

their squires were provided with money and other requisites, such as lint and ointments for healing purposes;

and when it happened that knights had no squires (which was rarely and seldom the case) they themselves

carried everything in cunning saddlebags that were hardly seen on the horse's croup, as if it were something

else of more importance, because, unless for some such reason, carrying saddlebags was not very

favourably regarded among knightserrant. He therefore advised him (and, as his godson so soon to be, he

might even command him) never from that time forth to travel without money and the usual requirements,

Don Quixote promised to follow his advice scrupulously, and it was arranged forthwith that he should watch

his armour in a large yard at one side of the inn; so, collecting it all together, Don Quixote placed it on a

trough that stood by the side of a well, and bracing his buckler on his arm he grasped his lance and began

with a stately air to march up and down in front of the trough, and as he began his march night began to fall.

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

and the dubbing ceremony he contemplated. Full of wonder at so strange a form of madness, they flocked to

see it from a distance, and observed with what composure he sometimes paced up and down, or sometimes,

leaning on his lance, gazed on his armour without taking his eyes off it for ever so long; and as the night

closed in with a light from the moon so brilliant that it might vie with his that lent it, everything the novice

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

remove Don Quixote's armour as it lay on the trough; but he seeing the other approach hailed him in a loud

voice, "O thou, whoever thou art, rash knight that comest to lay hands on the armour of the most valorous

errant that ever girt on sword, have a care what thou dost; touch it not unless thou wouldst lay down thy life

as the penalty of thy rashness." The carrier gave no heed to these words (and he would have done better to

heed them if he had been heedful of his health), but seizing it by the straps flung the armour some distance

from him. Seeing this, Don Quixote raised his eyes to heaven, and fixing his thoughts, apparently, upon his

lady Dulcinea, exclaimed, "Aid me, lady mine, in this the first encounter that presents itself to this breast

which thou holdest in subjection; let not thy favour and protection fail me in this first jeopardy;" and, with

these words and others to the same purpose, dropping his buckler he lifted his lance with both hands and with

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

followed it up with a second there would have been no need of a surgeon to cure him. This done, he picked

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

same object of giving water to his mules, and was proceeding to remove the armour in order to clear the

trough, when Don Quixote, without uttering a word or imploring aid from anyone, once more dropped his

buckler and once more lifted his lance, and without actually breaking the second carrier's head into pieces,

made more than three of it, for he laid it open in four. At the noise all the people of the inn ran to the spot,

and among them the landlord. Seeing this, Don Quixote braced his buckler on his arm, and with his hand on

his sword exclaimed, "O Lady of Beauty, strength and support of my faint heart, it is time for thee to turn the

eyes of thy greatness on this thy captive knight on the brink of so mighty an adventure." By this he felt

himself so inspired that he would not have flinched if all the carriers in the world had assailed him. The

comrades of the wounded perceiving the plight they were in began from a distance to shower stones on Don

Quixote, who screened himself as best he could with his buckler, not daring to quit the trough and leave his

armour unprotected. The landlord shouted to them to leave him alone, for he had already told them that he

was mad, and as a madman he would not be accountable even if he killed them all. Still louder shouted Don

Quixote, calling them knaves and traitors, and the lord of the castle, who allowed knightserrant to be treated

in this fashion, a villain and a lowborn knight whom, had he received the order of knighthood, he would call

to account for his treachery. "But of you," he cried, "base and vile rabble, I make no account; fling, strike,

come on, do all ye can against me, ye shall see what the reward of your folly and insolence will be." This he

uttered with so much spirit and boldness that he filled his assailants with a terrible fear, and as much for this

reason as at the persuasion of the landlord they left off stoning him, and he allowed them to carry off the

wounded, and with the same calmness and composure as before resumed the watch over his armour.

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

and confer upon him at once the unlucky order of knighthood before any further misadventure could occur;

so, going up to him, he apologised for the rudeness which, without his knowledge, had been offered to him

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

said, there was no chapel in the castle, nor was it needed for what remained to be done, for, as he understood

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

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

needful as to watching the armour, for all requirements were satisfied by a watch of two hours only, while he

had been more than four about it. Don Quixote believed it all, and told him he stood there ready to obey him,

and to make an end of it with as much despatch as possible; for, if he were again attacked, and felt himself to

be dubbed knight, he would not, he thought, leave a soul alive in the castle, except such as out of respect he

Thus warned and menaced, the castellan forthwith brought out a book in which he used to enter the straw and

barley he served out to the carriers, and, with a lad carrying a candleend, and the two damsels already

mentioned, he returned to where Don Quixote stood, and bade him kneel down. Then, reading from his

accountbook as if he were repeating some devout prayer, in the middle of his delivery he raised his hand

and gave him a sturdy blow on the neck, and then, with his own sword, a smart slap on the shoulder, all the

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

ladies to gird on his sword, which she did with great selfpossession and gravity, and not a little was required

to prevent a burst of laughter at each stage of the ceremony; but what they had already seen of the novice

knight's prowess kept their laughter within bounds. On girding him with the sword the worthy lady said to

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

asked her name in order that he might from that time forward know to whom he was beholden for the favour

he had received, as he meant to confer upon her some portion of the honour he acquired by the might of his

arm. She answered with great humility that she was called La Tolosa, and that she was the daughter of a

cobbler of Toledo who lived in the stalls of Sanchobienaya, and that wherever she might be she would serve

and esteem him as her lord. Don Quixote said in reply that she would do him a favour if thenceforward she

assumed the "Don" and called herself Dona Tolosa. She promised she would, and then the other buckled on

his spur, and with her followed almost the same conversation as with the lady of the sword. He asked her

name, and she said it was La Molinera, and that she was the daughter of a respectable miller of Antequera;

and of her likewise Don Quixote requested that she would adopt the "Don" and call herself Dona Molinera,

Having thus, with hot haste and speed, brought to a conclusion these nevertillnowseen ceremonies, Don

Quixote was on thorns until he saw himself on horseback sallying forth in quest of adventures; and saddling

Rocinante at once he mounted, and embracing his host, as he returned thanks for his kindness in knighting

him, he addressed him in language so extraordinary that it is impossible to convey an idea of it or report it.

The landlord, to get him out of the inn, replied with no less rhetoric though with shorter words, and without

Day was dawning when Don Quixote quitted the inn, so happy, so gay, so exhilarated at finding himself now

dubbed a knight, that his joy was like to burst his horsegirths. However, recalling the advice of his host as to

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

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

neighbour of his, a poor man with a family, but very well qualified for the office of squire to a knight. With

this object he turned his horse's head towards his village, and Rocinante, thus reminded of his old quarters,

He had not gone far, when out of a thicket on his right there seemed to come feeble cries as of some one in

distress, and the instant he heard them he exclaimed, "Thanks be to heaven for the favour it accords me, that

it so soon offers me an opportunity of fulfilling the obligation I have undertaken, and gathering the fruit of

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

protection;" and wheeling, he turned Rocinante in the direction whence the cries seemed to proceed. He had

gone but a few paces into the wood, when he saw a mare tied to an oak, and tied to another, and stripped from

the waist upwards, a youth of about fifteen years of age, from whom the cries came. Nor were they without

cause, for a lusty farmer was flogging him with a belt and following up every blow with scoldings and

commands, repeating, "Your mouth shut and your eyes open!" while the youth made answer, "I won't do it

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

Seeing what was going on, Don Quixote said in an angry voice, "Discourteous knight, it ill becomes you to

assail one who cannot defend himself; mount your steed and take your lance" (for there was a lance leaning

against the oak to which the mare was tied), "and I will make you know that you are behaving as a coward."

The farmer, seeing before him this figure in full armour brandishing a lance over his head, gave himself up

for dead, and made answer meekly, "Sir Knight, this youth that I am chastising is my servant, employed by

me to watch a flock of sheep that I have hard by, and he is so careless that I lose one every day, and when I

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

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

through with this lance. Pay him at once without another word; if not, by the God that rules us I will make an

The farmer hung his head, and without a word untied his servant, of whom Don Quixote asked how much his

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

reals, and told the farmer to pay it down immediately, if he did not want to die for it.

The trembling clown replied that as he lived and by the oath he had sworn (though he had not sworn any) it

was not so much; for there were to be taken into account and deducted three pairs of shoes he had given him,

"All that is very well," said Don Quixote; "but let the shoes and the bloodlettings stand as a setoff against

the blows you have given him without any cause; for if he spoiled the leather of the shoes you paid for, you

have damaged that of his body, and if the barber took blood from him when he was sick, you have drawn it

"The difficulty is, Sir Knight, that I have no money here; let Andres come home with me, and I will pay him

"I go with him!" said the youth. "Nay, God forbid! No, senor, not for the world; for once alone with me, he

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

has sworn to me by the order of knighthood which he has received, I leave him free, and I guarantee the

"Consider what you are saying, senor," said the youth; "this master of mine is not a knight, nor has he

received any order of knighthood; for he is Juan Haldudo the Rich, of Quintanar."

"That matters little," replied Don Quixote; "there may be Haldudos knights; moreover, everyone is the son of

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

"I do not refuse, brother Andres," said the farmer, "be good enough to come along with me, and I swear by all

the orders of knighthood there are in the world to pay you as I have agreed, real by real, and perfumed."

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

that you do as you have sworn; if not, by the same oath I swear to come back and hunt you out and punish

you; and I shall find you though you should lie closer than a lizard. And if you desire to know who it is lays

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

of La Mancha, the undoer of wrongs and injustices; and so, God be with you, and keep in mind what you

have promised and sworn under those penalties that have been already declared to you."

So saying, he gave Rocinante the spur and was soon out of reach. The farmer followed him with his eyes, and

when he saw that he had cleared the wood and was no longer in sight, he turned to his boy Andres, and said,

"Come here, my son, I want to pay you what I owe you, as that undoer of wrongs has commanded me."

"My oath on it," said Andres, "your worship will be well advised to obey the command of that good knight

may he live a thousand years for, as he is a valiant and just judge, by Roque, if you do not pay me, he will

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

order to add to the payment;" and seizing him by the arm, he tied him up again, and gave him such a flogging

"Now, Master Andres," said the farmer, "call on the undoer of wrongs; you will find he won't undo that,

though I am not sure that I have quite done with you, for I have a good mind to flay you alive." But at last he

untied him, and gave him leave to go look for his judge in order to put the sentence pronounced into

Andres went off rather down in the mouth, swearing he would go to look for the valiant Don Quixote of La

Mancha and tell him exactly what had happened, and that all would have to be repaid him sevenfold; but for

Thus did the valiant Don Quixote right that wrong, and, thoroughly satisfied with what had taken place, as he

considered he had made a very happy and noble beginning with his knighthood, he took the road towards his

village in perfect selfcontent, saying in a low voice, "Well mayest thou this day call thyself fortunate above

all on earth, O Dulcinea del Toboso, fairest of the fair! since it has fallen to thy lot to hold subject and

submissive to thy full will and pleasure a knight so renowned as is and will be Don Quixote of La Mancha,

who, as all the world knows, yesterday received the order of knighthood, and hath today righted the greatest

wrong and grievance that ever injustice conceived and cruelty perpetrated: who hath today plucked the rod

from the hand of yonder ruthless oppressor so wantonly lashing that tender child."

He now came to a road branching in four directions, and immediately he was reminded of those crossroads

where knightserrant used to stop to consider which road they should take. In imitation of them he halted for

a while, and after having deeply considered it, he gave Rocinante his head, submitting his own will to that of

his hack, who followed out his first intention, which was to make straight for his own stable. After he had

gone about two miles Don Quixote perceived a large party of people, who, as afterwards appeared, were

some Toledo traders, on their way to buy silk at Murcia. There were six of them coming along under their

sunshades, with four servants mounted, and three muleteers on foot. Scarcely had Don Quixote descried them

when the fancy possessed him that this must be some new adventure; and to help him to imitate as far as he

could those passages he had read of in his books, here seemed to come one made on purpose, which he

resolved to attempt. So with a lofty bearing and determination he fixed himself firmly in his stirrups, got his

lance ready, brought his buckler before his breast, and planting himself in the middle of the road, stood

waiting the approach of these knightserrant, for such he now considered and held them to be; and when they

had come near enough to see and hear, he exclaimed with a haughty gesture, "All the world stand, unless all

the world confess that in all the world there is no maiden fairer than the Empress of La Mancha, the peerless

The traders halted at the sound of this language and the sight of the strange figure that uttered it, and from

both figure and language at once guessed the craze of their owner; they wished, however, to learn quietly

what was the object of this confession that was demanded of them, and one of them, who was rather fond of a

joke and was very sharpwitted, said to him, "Sir Knight, we do not know who this good lady is that you

speak of; show her to us, for, if she be of such beauty as you suggest, with all our hearts and without any

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

manifest? The essential point is that without seeing her you must believe, confess, affirm, swear, and defend

it; else ye have to do with me in battle, illconditioned, arrogant rabble that ye are; and come ye on, one by

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

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

to save us from charging our consciences with the confession of a thing we have never seen or heard of, and

one moreover so much to the prejudice of the Empresses and Queens of the Alcarria and Estremadura, your

worship will be pleased to show us some portrait of this lady, though it be no bigger than a grain of wheat;

for by the thread one gets at the ball, and in this way we shall be satisfied and easy, and you will be content

and pleased; nay, I believe we are already so far agreed with you that even though her portrait should show

her blind of one eye, and distilling vermilion and sulphur from the other, we would nevertheless, to gratify

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

only ambergris and civet in cotton; nor is she oneeyed or humpbacked, but straighter than a Guadarrama

spindle: but ye must pay for the blasphemy ye have uttered against beauty like that of my lady."

And so saying, he charged with levelled lance against the one who had spoken, with such fury and fierceness

that, if luck had not contrived that Rocinante should stumble midway and come down, it would have gone

hard with the rash trader. Down went Rocinante, and over went his master, rolling along the ground for some

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

and the weight of his old armour; and all the while he was struggling to get up he kept saying, "Fly not,

cowards and caitiffs! stay, for not by my fault, but my horse's, am I stretched here."

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

prostrate man blustering in this style, was unable to refrain from giving him an answer on his ribs; and

coming up to him he seized his lance, and having broken it in pieces, with one of them he began so to

belabour our Don Quixote that, notwithstanding and in spite of his armour, he milled him like a measure of

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

and he did not care to drop the game until he had vented the rest of his wrath, and gathering up the remaining

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

sticks that rained on him never ceased threatening heaven, and earth, and the brigands, for such they seemed

to him. At last the muleteer was tired, and the traders continued their journey, taking with them matter for

talk about the poor fellow who had been cudgelled. He when he found himself alone made another effort to

rise; but if he was unable when whole and sound, how was he to rise after having been thrashed and

wellnigh knocked to pieces? And yet he esteemed himself fortunate, as it seemed to him that this was a

regular knighterrant's mishap, and entirely, he considered, the fault of his horse. However, battered in body

Finding, then, that, in fact he could not move, he thought himself of having recourse to his usual remedy,

which was to think of some passage in his books, and his craze brought to his mind that about Baldwin and

the Marquis of Mantua, when Carloto left him wounded on the mountain side, a story known by heart by the

children, not forgotten by the young men, and lauded and even believed by the old folk; and for all that not a

whit truer than the miracles of Mahomet. This seemed to him to fit exactly the case in which he found

himself, so, making a show of severe suffering, he began to roll on the ground and with feeble breath repeat

Where art thou, lady mine, that thou My sorrow dost not rue? Thou canst not know it, lady mine, Or else thou

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

village, a neighbour of his, who had been with a load of wheat to the mill, and he, seeing the man stretched

there, came up to him and asked him who he was and what was the matter with him that he complained so

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

made was to go on with his ballad, in which he told the tale of his misfortune, and of the loves of the

The peasant stood amazed at hearing such nonsense, and relieving him of the visor, already battered to pieces

by blows, he wiped his face, which was covered with dust, and as soon as he had done so he recognised him

and said, "Senor Quixada" (for so he appears to have been called when he was in his senses and had not yet

changed from a quiet country gentleman into a knighterrant), "who has brought your worship to this pass?"

Seeing this, the good man removed as well as he could his breastplate and backpiece to see if he had any

wound, but he could perceive no blood nor any mark whatever. He then contrived to raise him from the

ground, and with no little difficulty hoisted him upon his ass, which seemed to him to be the easiest mount

for him; and collecting the arms, even to the splinters of the lance, he tied them on Rocinante, and leading

him by the bridle and the ass by the halter he took the road for the village, very sad to hear what absurd stuff

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

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

to ask what ailed him. And it could have been only the devil himself that put into his head tales to match his

own adventures, for now, forgetting Baldwin, he bethought himself of the Moor Abindarraez, when the

Alcaide of Antequera, Rodrigo de Narvaez, took him prisoner and carried him away to his castle; so that

when the peasant again asked him how he was and what ailed him, he gave him for reply the same words and

phrases that the captive Abindarraez gave to Rodrigo de Narvaez, just as he had read the story in the "Diana"

of Jorge de Montemayor where it is written, applying it to his own case so aptly that the peasant went along

cursing his fate that he had to listen to such a lot of nonsense; from which, however, he came to the

conclusion that his neighbour was mad, and so made all haste to reach the village to escape the

wearisomeness of this harangue of Don Quixote's; who, at the end of it, said, "Senor Don Rodrigo de

Narvaez, your worship must know that this fair Xarifa I have mentioned is now the lovely Dulcinea del

Toboso, for whom I have done, am doing, and will do the most famous deeds of chivalry that in this world

To this the peasant answered, "Senor sinner that I am! cannot your worship see that I am not Don Rodrigo

de Narvaez nor the Marquis of Mantua, but Pedro Alonso your neighbour, and that your worship is neither

"I know who I am," replied Don Quixote, "and I know that I may be not only those I have named, but all the

Twelve Peers of France and even all the Nine Worthies, since my achievements surpass all that they have

With this talk and more of the same kind they reached the village just as night was beginning to fall, but the

peasant waited until it was a little later that the belaboured gentleman might not be seen riding in such a

miserable trim. When it was what seemed to him the proper time he entered the village and went to Don

Quixote's house, which he found all in confusion, and there were the curate and the village barber, who were

great friends of Don Quixote, and his housekeeper was saying to them in a loud voice, "What does your

worship think can have befallen my master, Senor Licentiate Pero Perez?" for so the curate was called; "it is

three days now since anything has been seen of him, or the hack, or the buckler, lance, or armour. Miserable

me! I am certain of it, and it is as true as that I was born to die, that these accursed books of chivalry he has,

and has got into the way of reading so constantly, have upset his reason; for now I remember having often

heard him saying to himself that he would turn knighterrant and go all over the world in quest of adventures.

To the devil and Barabbas with such books, that have brought to ruin in this way the finest understanding

The niece said the same, and, more: "You must know, Master Nicholas" for that was the name of the

barber "it was often my uncle's way to stay two days and nights together poring over these unholy books of

misventures, after which he would fling the book away and snatch up his sword and fall to slashing the walls;

and when he was tired out he would say he had killed four giants like four towers; and the sweat that flowed

from him when he was weary he said was the blood of the wounds he had received in battle; and then he

would drink a great jug of cold water and become calm and quiet, saying that this water was a most precious

potion which the sage Esquife, a great magician and friend of his, had brought him. But I take all the blame

upon myself for never having told your worships of my uncle's vagaries, that you might put a stop to them

before things had come to this pass, and burn all these accursed books for he has a great number that richly

"So say I too," said the curate, "and by my faith tomorrow shall not pass without public judgment upon

them, and may they be condemned to the flames lest they lead those that read to behave as my good friend

All this the peasant heard, and from it he understood at last what was the matter with his neighbour, so he

began calling aloud, "Open, your worships, to Senor Baldwin and to Senor the Marquis of Mantua, who

comes badly wounded, and to Senor Abindarraez, the Moor, whom the valiant Rodrigo de Narvaez, the

At these words they all hurried out, and when they recognised their friend, master, and uncle, who had not yet

"Hold!" said he, "for I am badly wounded through my horse's fault; carry me to bed, and if possible send for

"See there! plague on it!" cried the housekeeper at this: "did not my heart tell the truth as to which foot my

master went lame of? To bed with your worship at once, and we will contrive to cure you here without

fetching that Hurgada. A curse I say once more, and a hundred times more, on those books of chivalry that

They carried him to bed at once, and after searching for his wounds could find none, but he said they were all

bruises from having had a severe fall with his horse Rocinante when in combat with ten giants, the biggest

"So, so!" said the curate, "are there giants in the dance? By the sign of the Cross I will burn them tomorrow

They put a host of questions to Don Quixote, but his only answer to all was give him something to eat, and

leave him to sleep, for that was what he needed most. They did so, and the curate questioned the peasant at

great length as to how he had found Don Quixote. He told him, and the nonsense he had talked when found

and on the way home, all which made the licentiate the more eager to do what he did the next day, which was

to summon his friend the barber, Master Nicholas, and go with him to Don Quixote's house.

He was still sleeping; so the curate asked the niece for the keys of the room where the books, the authors of

all the mischief, were, and right willingly she gave them. They all went in, the housekeeper with them, and

found more than a hundred volumes of big books very well bound, and some other small ones. The moment

the housekeeper saw them she turned about and ran out of the room, and came back immediately with a

saucer of holy water and a sprinkler, saying, "Here, your worship, senor licentiate, sprinkle this room; don't

leave any magician of the many there are in these books to bewitch us in revenge for our design of banishing

The simplicity of the housekeeper made the licentiate laugh, and he directed the barber to give him the books

one by one to see what they were about, as there might be some to be found among them that did not deserve

"No," said the niece, "there is no reason for showing mercy to any of them; they have every one of them done

mischief; better fling them out of the window into the court and make a pile of them and set fire to them; or

else carry them into the yard, and there a bonfire can be made without the smoke giving any annoyance." The

housekeeper said the same, so eager were they both for the slaughter of those innocents, but the curate would

The first that Master Nicholas put into his hand was "The four books of Amadis of Gaul." "This seems a

mysterious thing," said the curate, "for, as I have heard say, this was the first book of chivalry printed in

Spain, and from this all the others derive their birth and origin; so it seems to me that we ought inexorably to

"Nay, sir," said the barber, "I too, have heard say that this is the best of all the books of this kind that have

been written, and so, as something singular in its line, it ought to be pardoned."

"True," said the curate; "and for that reason let its life be spared for the present. Let us see that other which is

"It is," said the barber, "the 'Sergas de Esplandian,' the lawful son of Amadis of Gaul."

"Then verily," said the curate, "the merit of the father must not be put down to the account of the son. Take it,

mistress housekeeper; open the window and fling it into the yard and lay the foundation of the pile for the

The housekeeper obeyed with great satisfaction, and the worthy "Esplandian" went flying into the yard to

"This that comes next," said the barber, "is 'Amadis of Greece,' and, indeed, I believe all those on this side are

"Then to the yard with the whole of them," said the curate; "for to have the burning of Queen Pintiquiniestra,

and the shepherd Darinel and his eclogues, and the bedevilled and involved discourses of his author, I would

burn with them the father who begot me if he were going about in the guise of a knighterrant."

They were handed to her, and as there were many of them, she spared herself the staircase, and flung them

"The author of that book," said the curate, "was the same that wrote 'The Garden of Flowers,' and truly there

is no deciding which of the two books is the more truthful, or, to put it better, the less lying; all I can say is,

"Senor Florismarte here?" said the curate; "then by my faith he must take up his quarters in the yard, in spite

of his marvellous birth and visionary adventures, for the stiffness and dryness of his style deserve nothing

"With all my heart, senor," said she, and executed the order with great delight.

"An old book that," said the curate, "but I find no reason for clemency in it; send it after the others without

Another book was opened, and they saw it was entitled, "The Knight of the Cross."

"For the sake of the holy name this book has," said the curate, "its ignorance might be excused; but then, they

"I know his worship," said the curate; "that is where Senor Reinaldos of Montalvan figures with his friends

and comrades, greater thieves than Cacus, and the Twelve Peers of France with the veracious historian

Turpin; however, I am not for condemning them to more than perpetual banishment, because, at any rate,

they have some share in the invention of the famous Matteo Boiardo, whence too the Christian poet Ludovico

Ariosto wove his web, to whom, if I find him here, and speaking any language but his own, I shall show no

"Nor would it be well that you should understand him," said the curate, "and on that score we might have

excused the Captain if he had not brought him into Spain and turned him into Castilian. He robbed him of a

great deal of his natural force, and so do all those who try to turn books written in verse into another

language, for, with all the pains they take and all the cleverness they show, they never can reach the level of

the originals as they were first produced. In short, I say that this book, and all that may be found treating of

those French affairs, should be thrown into or deposited in some dry well, until after more consideration it is

settled what is to be done with them; excepting always one 'Bernardo del Carpio' that is going about, and

another called 'Roncesvalles;' for these, if they come into my hands, shall pass at once into those of the

To all this the barber gave his assent, and looked upon it as right and proper, being persuaded that the curate

was so staunch to the Faith and loyal to the Truth that he would not for the world say anything opposed to

them. Opening another book he saw it was "Palmerin de Oliva," and beside it was another called "Palmerin of

England," seeing which the licentiate said, "Let the Olive be made firewood of at once and burned until no

ashes even are left; and let that Palm of England be kept and preserved as a thing that stands alone, and let

such another case be made for it as that which Alexander found among the spoils of Darius and set aside for

the safe keeping of the works of the poet Homer. This book, gossip, is of authority for two reasons, first

because it is very good, and secondly because it is said to have been written by a wise and witty king of

Portugal. All the adventures at the Castle of Miraguarda are excellent and of admirable contrivance, and the

language is polished and clear, studying and observing the style befitting the speaker with propriety and

judgment. So then, provided it seems good to you, Master Nicholas, I say let this and 'Amadis of Gaul' be

remitted the penalty of fire, and as for all the rest, let them perish without further question or query."

"Nay, gossip," said the barber, "for this that I have here is the famous 'Don Belianis.'"

"Well," said the curate, "that and the second, third, and fourth parts all stand in need of a little rhubarb to

purge their excess of bile, and they must be cleared of all that stuff about the Castle of Fame and other greater

affectations, to which end let them be allowed the overseas term, and, according as they mend, so shall

mercy or justice be meted out to them; and in the mean time, gossip, do you keep them in your house and let

"With all my heart," said the barber; and not caring to tire himself with reading more books of chivalry, he

told the housekeeper to take all the big ones and throw them into the yard. It was not said to one dull or deaf,

but to one who enjoyed burning them more than weaving the broadest and finest web that could be; and

In carrying so many together she let one fall at the feet of the barber, who took it up, curious to know whose

"God bless me!" said the curate with a shout, "'Tirante el Blanco' here! Hand it over, gossip, for in it I reckon

I have found a treasury of enjoyment and a mine of recreation. Here is Don Kyrieleison of Montalvan, a

valiant knight, and his brother Thomas of Montalvan, and the knight Fonseca, with the battle the bold Tirante

fought with the mastiff, and the witticisms of the damsel Placerdemivida, and the loves and wiles of the

widow Reposada, and the empress in love with the squire Hipolito in truth, gossip, by right of its style it is

the best book in the world. Here knights eat and sleep, and die in their beds, and make their wills before

dying, and a great deal more of which there is nothing in all the other books. Nevertheless, I say he who

wrote it, for deliberately composing such fooleries, deserves to be sent to the galleys for life. Take it home

"As you will," said the barber; "but what are we to do with these little books that are left?"

"These must be, not chivalry, but poetry," said the curate; and opening one he saw it was the "Diana" of Jorge

de Montemayor, and, supposing all the others to be of the same sort, "these," he said, "do not deserve to be

burned like the others, for they neither do nor can do the mischief the books of chivalry have done, being

"Ah, senor!" said the niece, "your worship had better order these to be burned as well as the others; for it

would be no wonder if, after being cured of his chivalry disorder, my uncle, by reading these, took a fancy to

turn shepherd and range the woods and fields singing and piping; or, what would be still worse, to turn poet,

"The damsel is right," said the curate, "and it will be well to put this stumblingblock and temptation out of

our friend's way. To begin, then, with the 'Diana' of Montemayor. I am of opinion it should not be burned, but

that it should be cleared of all that about the sage Felicia and the magic water, and of almost all the longer

pieces of verse: let it keep, and welcome, its prose and the honour of being the first of books of the kind."

"This that comes next," said the barber, "is the 'Diana,' entitled the 'Second Part, by the Salamancan,' and this

"As for that of the Salamancan," replied the curate, "let it go to swell the number of the condemned in the

yard, and let Gil Polo's be preserved as if it came from Apollo himself: but get on, gossip, and make haste, for

"This book," said the barber, opening another, "is the ten books of the 'Fortune of Love,' written by Antonio

"By the orders I have received," said the curate, "since Apollo has been Apollo, and the Muses have been

Muses, and poets have been poets, so droll and absurd a book as this has never been written, and in its way it

is the best and the most singular of all of this species that have as yet appeared, and he who has not read it

may be sure he has never read what is delightful. Give it here, gossip, for I make more account of having

He put it aside with extreme satisfaction, and the barber went on, "These that come next are 'The Shepherd of

"Then all we have to do," said the curate, "is to hand them over to the secular arm of the housekeeper, and ask

"No Pastor that," said the curate, "but a highly polished courtier; let it be preserved as a precious jewel."

"This large one here," said the barber, "is called 'The Treasury of various Poems.'"

"If there were not so many of them," said the curate, "they would be more relished: this book must be weeded

and cleansed of certain vulgarities which it has with its excellences; let it be preserved because the author is a

friend of mine, and out of respect for other more heroic and loftier works that he has written."

"The author of that book, too," said the curate, "is a great friend of mine, and his verses from his own mouth

are the admiration of all who hear them, for such is the sweetness of his voice that he enchants when he

chants them: it gives rather too much of its eclogues, but what is good was never yet plentiful: let it be kept

"That Cervantes has been for many years a great friend of mine, and to my knowledge he has had more

experience in reverses than in verses. His book has some good invention in it, it presents us with something

but brings nothing to a conclusion: we must wait for the Second Part it promises: perhaps with amendment it

may succeed in winning the full measure of grace that is now denied it; and in the mean time do you, senor

"Very good," said the barber; "and here come three together, the 'Araucana' of Don Alonso de Ercilla, the

'Austriada' of Juan Rufo, Justice of Cordova, and the 'Montserrate' of Christobal de Virues, the Valencian

"These three books," said the curate, "are the best that have been written in Castilian in heroic verse, and they

may compare with the most famous of Italy; let them be preserved as the richest treasures of poetry that Spain

The curate was tired and would not look into any more books, and so he decided that, "contents uncertified,"

all the rest should be burned; but just then the barber held open one, called "The Tears of Angelica."

"I should have shed tears myself," said the curate when he heard the title, "had I ordered that book to be

burned, for its author was one of the famous poets of the world, not to say of Spain, and was very happy in

At this instant Don Quixote began shouting out, "Here, here, valiant knights! here is need for you to put forth

the might of your strong arms, for they of the Court are gaining the mastery in the tourney!" Called away by

this noise and outcry, they proceeded no farther with the scrutiny of the remaining books, and so it is thought

that "The Carolea," "The Lion of Spain," and "The Deeds of the Emperor," written by Don Luis de Avila,

went to the fire unseen and unheard; for no doubt they were among those that remained, and perhaps if the

When they reached Don Quixote he was already out of bed, and was still shouting and raving, and slashing

They closed with him and by force got him back to bed, and when he had become a little calm, addressing the

curate, he said to him, "Of a truth, Senor Archbishop Turpin, it is a great disgrace for us who call ourselves

the Twelve Peers, so carelessly to allow the knights of the Court to gain the victory in this tourney, we the

"Hush, gossip," said the curate; "please God, the luck may turn, and what is lost today may be won

tomorrow; for the present let your worship have a care of your health, for it seems to me that you are

"Wounded no," said Don Quixote, "but bruised and battered no doubt, for that bastard Don Roland has

cudgelled me with the trunk of an oak tree, and all for envy, because he sees that I alone rival him in his

achievements. But I should not call myself Reinaldos of Montalvan did he not pay me for it in spite of all his

enchantments as soon as I rise from this bed. For the present let them bring me something to eat, for that, I

They did as he wished; they gave him something to eat, and once more he fell asleep, leaving them

That night the housekeeper burned to ashes all the books that were in the yard and in the whole house; and

some must have been consumed that deserved preservation in everlasting archives, but their fate and the

laziness of the examiner did not permit it, and so in them was verified the proverb that the innocent suffer for

One of the remedies which the curate and the barber immediately applied to their friend's disorder was to wall

up and plaster the room where the books were, so that when he got up he should not find them (possibly the

cause being removed the effect might cease), and they might say that a magician had carried them off, room

and all; and this was done with all despatch. Two days later Don Quixote got up, and the first thing he did

was to go and look at his books, and not finding the room where he had left it, he wandered from side to side

looking for it. He came to the place where the door used to be, and tried it with his hands, and turned and

twisted his eyes in every direction without saying a word; but after a good while he asked his housekeeper

The housekeeper, who had been already well instructed in what she was to answer, said, "What room or what

nothing is it that your worship is looking for? There are neither room nor books in this house now, for the

"It was not the devil," said the niece, "but a magician who came on a cloud one night after the day your

worship left this, and dismounting from a serpent that he rode he entered the room, and what he did there I

know not, but after a little while he made off, flying through the roof, and left the house full of smoke; and

when we went to see what he had done we saw neither book nor room: but we remember very well, the

housekeeper and I, that on leaving, the old villain said in a loud voice that, for a private grudge he owed the

owner of the books and the room, he had done mischief in that house that would be discovered byandby:

"I don't know whether he called himself Friston or Friton," said the housekeeper, "I only know that his name

"So it does," said Don Quixote, "and he is a sage magician, a great enemy of mine, who has a spite against

me because he knows by his arts and lore that in process of time I am to engage in single combat with a

knight whom he befriends and that I am to conquer, and he will be unable to prevent it; and for this reason he

endeavours to do me all the ill turns that he can; but I promise him it will be hard for him to oppose or avoid

"Who doubts that?" said the niece; "but, uncle, who mixes you up in these quarrels? Would it not be better to

remain at peace in your own house instead of roaming the world looking for better bread than ever came of

"Oh, niece of mine," replied Don Quixote, "how much astray art thou in thy reckoning: ere they shear me I

shall have plucked away and stripped off the beards of all who dare to touch only the tip of a hair of mine."

The two were unwilling to make any further answer, as they saw that his anger was kindling.

In short, then, he remained at home fifteen days very quietly without showing any signs of a desire to take up

with his former delusions, and during this time he held lively discussions with his two gossips, the curate and

the barber, on the point he maintained, that knightserrant were what the world stood most in need of, and

that in him was to be accomplished the revival of knighterrantry. The curate sometimes contradicted him,

sometimes agreed with him, for if he had not observed this precaution he would have been unable to bring

Meanwhile Don Quixote worked upon a farm labourer, a neighbour of his, an honest man (if indeed that title

can be given to him who is poor), but with very little wit in his pate. In a word, he so talked him over, and

with such persuasions and promises, that the poor clown made up his mind to sally forth with him and serve

him as esquire. Don Quixote, among other things, told him he ought to be ready to go with him gladly,

because any moment an adventure might occur that might win an island in the twinkling of an eye and leave

him governor of it. On these and the like promises Sancho Panza (for so the labourer was called) left wife and

children, and engaged himself as esquire to his neighbour. Don Quixote next set about getting some money;

and selling one thing and pawning another, and making a bad bargain in every case, he got together a fair

sum. He provided himself with a buckler, which he begged as a loan from a friend, and, restoring his battered

helmet as best he could, he warned his squire Sancho of the day and hour he meant to set out, that he might

provide himself with what he thought most needful. Above all, he charged him to take alforjas with him. The

other said he would, and that he meant to take also a very good ass he had, as he was not much given to going

on foot. About the ass, Don Quixote hesitated a little, trying whether he could call to mind any knighterrant

taking with him an esquire mounted on assback, but no instance occurred to his memory. For all that,

however, he determined to take him, intending to furnish him with a more honourable mount when a chance

of it presented itself, by appropriating the horse of the first discourteous knight he encountered. Himself he

provided with shirts and such other things as he could, according to the advice the host had given him; all

which being done, without taking leave, Sancho Panza of his wife and children, or Don Quixote of his

housekeeper and niece, they sallied forth unseen by anybody from the village one night, and made such good

way in the course of it that by daylight they held themselves safe from discovery, even should search be made

Sancho rode on his ass like a patriarch, with his alforjas and bota, and longing to see himself soon governor

of the island his master had promised him. Don Quixote decided upon taking the same route and road he had

taken on his first journey, that over the Campo de Montiel, which he travelled with less discomfort than on

the last occasion, for, as it was early morning and the rays of the sun fell on them obliquely, the heat did not

And now said Sancho Panza to his master, "Your worship will take care, Senor Knighterrant, not to forget

about the island you have promised me, for be it ever so big I'll be equal to governing it."

To which Don Quixote replied, "Thou must know, friend Sancho Panza, that it was a practice very much in

vogue with the knightserrant of old to make their squires governors of the islands or kingdoms they won,

and I am determined that there shall be no failure on my part in so liberal a custom; on the contrary, I mean to

improve upon it, for they sometimes, and perhaps most frequently, waited until their squires were old, and

then when they had had enough of service and hard days and worse nights, they gave them some title or

other, of count, or at the most marquis, of some valley or province more or less; but if thou livest and I live, it

may well be that before six days are over, I may have won some kingdom that has others dependent upon it,

which will be just the thing to enable thee to be crowned king of one of them. Nor needst thou count this

wonderful, for things and chances fall to the lot of such knights in ways so unexampled and unexpected that I

"In that case," said Sancho Panza, "if I should become a king by one of those miracles your worship speaks

of, even Juana Gutierrez, my old woman, would come to be queen and my children infantes."

"I doubt it," replied Sancho Panza, "because for my part I am persuaded that though God should shower

down kingdoms upon earth, not one of them would fit the head of Mari Gutierrez. Let me tell you, senor, she

is not worth two maravedis for a queen; countess will fit her better, and that only with God's help."

"Leave it to God, Sancho," returned Don Quixote, "for he will give her what suits her best; but do not

undervalue thyself so much as to come to be content with anything less than being governor of a province."

"I will not, senor," answered Sancho, "specially as I have a man of such quality for a master in your worship,

who will know how to give me all that will be suitable for me and that I can bear."

At this point they came in sight of thirty forty windmills that there are on plain, and as soon as Don Quixote

saw them he said to his squire, "Fortune is arranging matters for us better than we could have shaped our

desires ourselves, for look there, friend Sancho Panza, where thirty or more monstrous giants present

themselves, all of whom I mean to engage in battle and slay, and with whose spoils we shall begin to make

our fortunes; for this is righteous warfare, and it is God's good service to sweep so evil a breed from off the

"Those thou seest there," answered his master, "with the long arms, and some have them nearly two leagues

"Look, your worship," said Sancho; "what we see there are not giants but windmills, and what seem to be

"It is easy to see," replied Don Quixote, "that thou art not used to this business of adventures; those are

giants; and if thou art afraid, away with thee out of this and betake thyself to prayer while I engage them in

So saying, he gave the spur to his steed Rocinante, heedless of the cries his squire Sancho sent after him,

warning him that most certainly they were windmills and not giants he was going to attack. He, however, was

so positive they were giants that he neither heard the cries of Sancho, nor perceived, near as he was, what

they were, but made at them shouting, "Fly not, cowards and vile beings, for a single knight attacks you."

A slight breeze at this moment sprang up, and the great sails began to move, seeing which Don Quixote

exclaimed, "Though ye flourish more arms than the giant Briareus, ye have to reckon with me."

So saying, and commending himself with all his heart to his lady Dulcinea, imploring her to support him in

such a peril, with lance in rest and covered by his buckler, he charged at Rocinante's fullest gallop and fell

upon the first mill that stood in front of him; but as he drove his lancepoint into the sail the wind whirled it

round with such force that it shivered the lance to pieces, sweeping with it horse and rider, who went rolling

over on the plain, in a sorry condition. Sancho hastened to his assistance as fast as his ass could go, and when

he came up found him unable to move, with such a shock had Rocinante fallen with him.

"God bless me!" said Sancho, "did I not tell your worship to mind what you were about, for they were only

windmills? and no one could have made any mistake about it but one who had something of the same kind in

"Hush, friend Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "the fortunes of war more than any other are liable to frequent

fluctuations; and moreover I think, and it is the truth, that that same sage Friston who carried off my study

and books, has turned these giants into mills in order to rob me of the glory of vanquishing them, such is the

enmity he bears me; but in the end his wicked arts will avail but little against my good sword."

"God order it as he may," said Sancho Panza, and helping him to rise got him up again on Rocinante, whose

shoulder was half out; and then, discussing the late adventure, they followed the road to Puerto Lapice, for

there, said Don Quixote, they could not fail to find adventures in abundance and variety, as it was a great

thoroughfare. For all that, he was much grieved at the loss of his lance, and saying so to his squire, he added,

"I remember having read how a Spanish knight, Diego Perez de Vargas by name, having broken his sword in

battle, tore from an oak a ponderous bough or branch, and with it did such things that day, and pounded so

many Moors, that he got the surname of Machuca, and he and his descendants from that day forth were called

Vargas y Machuca. I mention this because from the first oak I see I mean to rend such another branch, large

and stout like that, with which I am determined and resolved to do such deeds that thou mayest deem thyself

very fortunate in being found worthy to come and see them, and be an eyewitness of things that will with

"Be that as God will," said Sancho, "I believe it all as your worship says it; but straighten yourself a little, for

"That is the truth," said Don Quixote, "and if I make no complaint of the pain it is because knightserrant are

not permitted to complain of any wound, even though their bowels be coming out through it."

"If so," said Sancho, "I have nothing to say; but God knows I would rather your worship complained when

anything ailed you. For my part, I confess I must complain however small the ache may be; unless this rule

Don Quixote could not help laughing at his squire's simplicity, and he assured him he might complain

whenever and however he chose, just as he liked, for, so far, he had never read of anything to the contrary in

Sancho bade him remember it was dinnertime, to which his master answered that he wanted nothing himself

just then, but that he might eat when he had a mind. With this permission Sancho settled himself as

comfortably as he could on his beast, and taking out of the alforjas what he had stowed away in them, he

jogged along behind his master munching deliberately, and from time to time taking a pull at the bota with a

relish that the thirstiest tapster in Malaga might have envied; and while he went on in this way, gulping down

draught after draught, he never gave a thought to any of the promises his master had made him, nor did he

rate it as hardship but rather as recreation going in quest of adventures, however dangerous they might be.

Finally they passed the night among some trees, from one of which Don Quixote plucked a dry branch to

serve him after a fashion as a lance, and fixed on it the head he had removed from the broken one. All that

night Don Quixote lay awake thinking of his lady Dulcinea, in order to conform to what he had read in his

books, how many a night in the forests and deserts knights used to lie sleepless supported by the memory of

their mistresses. Not so did Sancho Panza spend it, for having his stomach full of something stronger than

chicory water he made but one sleep of it, and, if his master had not called him, neither the rays of the sun

beating on his face nor all the cheery notes of the birds welcoming the approach of day would have had

power to waken him. On getting up he tried the bota and found it somewhat less full than the night before,

which grieved his heart because they did not seem to be on the way to remedy the deficiency readily. Don

Quixote did not care to break his fast, for, as has been already said, he confined himself to savoury

They returned to the road they had set out with, leading to Puerto Lapice, and at three in the afternoon they

came in sight of it. "Here, brother Sancho Panza," said Don Quixote when he saw it, "we may plunge our

hands up to the elbows in what they call adventures; but observe, even shouldst thou see me in the greatest

danger in the world, thou must not put a hand to thy sword in my defence, unless indeed thou perceivest that

those who assail me are rabble or base folk; for in that case thou mayest very properly aid me; but if they be

knights it is on no account permitted or allowed thee by the laws of knighthood to help me until thou hast

"Most certainly, senor," replied Sancho, "your worship shall be fully obeyed in this matter; all the more as of

myself I am peaceful and no friend to mixing in strife and quarrels: it is true that as regards the defence of my

own person I shall not give much heed to those laws, for laws human and divine allow each one to defend

"That I grant," said Don Quixote, "but in this matter of aiding me against knights thou must put a restraint

"I will do so, I promise you," answered Sancho, "and will keep this precept as carefully as Sunday."

While they were thus talking there appeared on the road two friars of the order of St. Benedict, mounted on

two dromedaries, for not less tall were the two mules they rode on. They wore travelling spectacles and

carried sunshades; and behind them came a coach attended by four or five persons on horseback and two

muleteers on foot. In the coach there was, as afterwards appeared, a Biscay lady on her way to Seville, where

her husband was about to take passage for the Indies with an appointment of high honour. The friars, though

going the same road, were not in her company; but the moment Don Quixote perceived them he said to his

squire, "Either I am mistaken, or this is going to be the most famous adventure that has ever been seen, for

those black bodies we see there must be, and doubtless are, magicians who are carrying off some stolen

"This will be worse than the windmills," said Sancho. "Look, senor; those are friars of St. Benedict, and the

coach plainly belongs to some travellers: I tell you to mind well what you are about and don't let the devil

"I have told thee already, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "that on the subject of adventures thou knowest

So saying, he advanced and posted himself in the middle of the road along which the friars were coming, and

as soon as he thought they had come near enough to hear what he said, he cried aloud, "Devilish and

unnatural beings, release instantly the highborn princesses whom you are carrying off by force in this coach,

The friars drew rein and stood wondering at the appearance of Don Quixote as well as at his words, to which

they replied, "Senor Caballero, we are not devilish or unnatural, but two brothers of St. Benedict following

our road, nor do we know whether or not there are any captive princesses coming in this coach."

"No soft words with me, for I know you, lying rabble," said Don Quixote, and without waiting for a reply he

spurred Rocinante and with levelled lance charged the first friar with such fury and determination, that, if the

friar had not flung himself off the mule, he would have brought him to the ground against his will, and sore

wounded, if not killed outright. The second brother, seeing how his comrade was treated, drove his heels into

Sancho Panza, when he saw the friar on the ground, dismounting briskly from his ass, rushed towards him

and began to strip off his gown. At that instant the friars muleteers came up and asked what he was stripping

him for. Sancho answered them that this fell to him lawfully as spoil of the battle which his lord Don Quixote

had won. The muleteers, who had no idea of a joke and did not understand all this about battles and spoils,

seeing that Don Quixote was some distance off talking to the travellers in the coach, fell upon Sancho,

knocked him down, and leaving hardly a hair in his beard, belaboured him with kicks and left him stretched

breathless and senseless on the ground; and without any more delay helped the friar to mount, who,

trembling, terrified, and pale, as soon as he found himself in the saddle, spurred after his companion, who

was standing at a distance looking on, watching the result of the onslaught; then, not caring to wait for the

end of the affair just begun, they pursued their journey making more crosses than if they had the devil after

Don Quixote was, as has been said, speaking to the lady in the coach: "Your beauty, lady mine," said he,

"may now dispose of your person as may be most in accordance with your pleasure, for the pride of your

ravishers lies prostrate on the ground through this strong arm of mine; and lest you should be pining to know

the name of your deliverer, know that I am called Don Quixote of La Mancha, knighterrant and adventurer,

and captive to the peerless and beautiful lady Dulcinea del Toboso: and in return for the service you have

received of me I ask no more than that you should return to El Toboso, and on my behalf present yourself

One of the squires in attendance upon the coach, a Biscayan, was listening to all Don Quixote was saying,

and, perceiving that he would not allow the coach to go on, but was saying it must return at once to El

Toboso, he made at him, and seizing his lance addressed him in bad Castilian and worse Biscayan after his

fashion, "Begone, caballero, and ill go with thee; by the God that made me, unless thou quittest coach, slayest

Don Quixote understood him quite well, and answered him very quietly, "If thou wert a knight, as thou art

none, I should have already chastised thy folly and rashness, miserable creature." To which the Biscayan

returned, "I no gentleman! I swear to God thou liest as I am Christian: if thou droppest lance and drawest

sword, soon shalt thou see thou art carrying water to the cat: Biscayan on land, hidalgo at sea, hidalgo at the

"'"You will see presently," said Agrajes,'" replied Don Quixote; and throwing his lance on the ground he drew

his sword, braced his buckler on his arm, and attacked the Biscayan, bent upon taking his life.

The Biscayan, when he saw him coming on, though he wished to dismount from his mule, in which, being

one of those sorry ones let out for hire, he had no confidence, had no choice but to draw his sword; it was

lucky for him, however, that he was near the coach, from which he was able to snatch a cushion that served

him for a shield; and they went at one another as if they had been two mortal enemies. The others strove to

make peace between them, but could not, for the Biscayan declared in his disjointed phrase that if they did

not let him finish his battle he would kill his mistress and everyone that strove to prevent him. The lady in the

coach, amazed and terrified at what she saw, ordered the coachman to draw aside a little, and set herself to

watch this severe struggle, in the course of which the Biscayan smote Don Quixote a mighty stroke on the

shoulder over the top of his buckler, which, given to one without armour, would have cleft him to the waist.

Don Quixote, feeling the weight of this prodigious blow, cried aloud, saying, "O lady of my soul, Dulcinea,

flower of beauty, come to the aid of this your knight, who, in fulfilling his obligations to your beauty, finds

himself in this extreme peril." To say this, to lift his sword, to shelter himself well behind his buckler, and to

assail the Biscayan was the work of an instant, determined as he was to venture all upon a single blow. The

Biscayan, seeing him come on in this way, was convinced of his courage by his spirited bearing, and resolved

to follow his example, so he waited for him keeping well under cover of his cushion, being unable to execute

any sort of manoeuvre with his mule, which, dead tired and never meant for this kind of game, could not stir

On, then, as aforesaid, came Don Quixote against the wary Biscayan, with uplifted sword and a firm intention

of splitting him in half, while on his side the Biscayan waited for him sword in hand, and under the protection

of his cushion; and all present stood trembling, waiting in suspense the result of blows such as threatened to

fall, and the lady in the coach and the rest of her following were making a thousand vows and offerings to all

the images and shrines of Spain, that God might deliver her squire and all of them from this great peril in

which they found themselves. But it spoils all, that at this point and crisis the author of the history leaves this

battle impending, giving as excuse that he could find nothing more written about these achievements of Don

Quixote than what has been already set forth. It is true the second author of this work was unwilling to

believe that a history so curious could have been allowed to fall under the sentence of oblivion, or that the

wits of La Mancha could have been so undiscerning as not to preserve in their archives or registries some

documents referring to this famous knight; and this being his persuasion, he did not despair of finding the

conclusion of this pleasant history, which, heaven favouring him, he did find in a way that shall be related in

In the First Part of this history we left the valiant Biscayan and the renowned Don Quixote with drawn

swords uplifted, ready to deliver two such furious slashing blows that if they had fallen full and fair they

would at least have split and cleft them asunder from top to toe and laid them open like a pomegranate; and at

this so critical point the delightful history came to a stop and stood cut short without any intimation from the

This distressed me greatly, because the pleasure derived from having read such a small portion turned to

vexation at the thought of the poor chance that presented itself of finding the large part that, so it seemed to

me, was missing of such an interesting tale. It appeared to me to be a thing impossible and contrary to all

precedent that so good a knight should have been without some sage to undertake the task of writing his

marvellous achievements; a thing that was never wanting to any of those knightserrant who, they say, went

after adventures; for every one of them had one or two sages as if made on purpose, who not only recorded

their deeds but described their most trifling thoughts and follies, however secret they might be; and such a

good knight could not have been so unfortunate as not to have what Platir and others like him had in

abundance. And so I could not bring myself to believe that such a gallant tale had been left maimed and

mutilated, and I laid the blame on Time, the devourer and destroyer of all things, that had either concealed or

On the other hand, it struck me that, inasmuch as among his books there had been found such modern ones as

"The Enlightenment of Jealousy" and the "Nymphs and Shepherds of Henares," his story must likewise be

modern, and that though it might not be written, it might exist in the memory of the people of his village and

of those in the neighbourhood. This reflection kept me perplexed and longing to know really and truly the

whole life and wondrous deeds of our famous Spaniard, Don Quixote of La Mancha, light and mirror of

Manchegan chivalry, and the first that in our age and in these so evil days devoted himself to the labour and

exercise of the arms of knighterrantry, righting wrongs, succouring widows, and protecting damsels of that

sort that used to ride about, whip in hand, on their palfreys, with all their virginity about them, from mountain

to mountain and valley to valley for, if it were not for some ruffian, or boor with a hood and hatchet, or

monstrous giant, that forced them, there were in days of yore damsels that at the end of eighty years, in all

which time they had never slept a day under a roof, went to their graves as much maids as the mothers that

bore them. I say, then, that in these and other respects our gallant Don Quixote is worthy of everlasting and

notable praise, nor should it be withheld even from me for the labour and pains spent in searching for the

conclusion of this delightful history; though I know well that if Heaven, chance and good fortune had not

helped me, the world would have remained deprived of an entertainment and pleasure that for a couple of

hours or so may well occupy him who shall read it attentively. The discovery of it occurred in this way.

One day, as I was in the Alcana of Toledo, a boy came up to sell some pamphlets and old papers to a silk

mercer, and, as I am fond of reading even the very scraps of paper in the streets, led by this natural bent of

mine I took up one of the pamphlets the boy had for sale, and saw that it was in characters which I recognised

as Arabic, and as I was unable to read them though I could recognise them, I looked about to see if there were

any Spanishspeaking Morisco at hand to read them for me; nor was there any great difficulty in finding such

an interpreter, for even had I sought one for an older and better language I should have found him. In short,

chance provided me with one, who when I told him what I wanted and put the book into his hands, opened it

in the middle and after reading a little in it began to laugh. I asked him what he was laughing at, and he

replied that it was at something the book had written in the margin by way of a note. I bade him tell it to me;

and he still laughing said, "In the margin, as I told you, this is written: 'This Dulcinea del Toboso so often

mentioned in this history, had, they say, the best hand of any woman in all La Mancha for salting pigs.'"

When I heard Dulcinea del Toboso named, I was struck with surprise and amazement, for it occurred to me at

once that these pamphlets contained the history of Don Quixote. With this idea I pressed him to read the

beginning, and doing so, turning the Arabic offhand into Castilian, he told me it meant, "History of Don

Quixote of La Mancha, written by Cide Hamete Benengeli, an Arab historian." It required great caution to

hide the joy I felt when the title of the book reached my ears, and snatching it from the silk mercer, I bought

all the papers and pamphlets from the boy for half a real; and if he had had his wits about him and had known

how eager I was for them, he might have safely calculated on making more than six reals by the bargain. I

withdrew at once with the Morisco into the cloister of the cathedral, and begged him to turn all these

pamphlets that related to Don Quixote into the Castilian tongue, without omitting or adding anything to them,

offering him whatever payment he pleased. He was satisfied with two arrobas of raisins and two bushels of

wheat, and promised to translate them faithfully and with all despatch; but to make the matter easier, and not

to let such a precious find out of my hands, I took him to my house, where in little more than a month and a

In the first pamphlet the battle between Don Quixote and the Biscayan was drawn to the very life, they

planted in the same attitude as the history describes, their swords raised, and the one protected by his buckler,

the other by his cushion, and the Biscayan's mule so true to nature that it could be seen to be a hired one a

bowshot off. The Biscayan had an inscription under his feet which said, "Don Sancho de Azpeitia," which no

doubt must have been his name; and at the feet of Rocinante was another that said, "Don Quixote." Rocinante

was marvellously portrayed, so long and thin, so lank and lean, with so much backbone and so far gone in

consumption, that he showed plainly with what judgment and propriety the name of Rocinante had been

bestowed upon him. Near him was Sancho Panza holding the halter of his ass, at whose feet was another label

that said, "Sancho Zancas," and according to the picture, he must have had a big belly, a short body, and long

shanks, for which reason, no doubt, the names of Panza and Zancas were given him, for by these two

surnames the history several times calls him. Some other trifling particulars might be mentioned, but they are

all of slight importance and have nothing to do with the true relation of the history; and no history can be bad

If against the present one any objection be raised on the score of its truth, it can only be that its author was an

Arab, as lying is a very common propensity with those of that nation; though, as they are such enemies of

ours, it is conceivable that there were omissions rather than additions made in the course of it. And this is my

own opinion; for, where he could and should give freedom to his pen in praise of so worthy a knight, he

seems to me deliberately to pass it over in silence; which is ill done and worse contrived, for it is the business

and duty of historians to be exact, truthful, and wholly free from passion, and neither interest nor fear, hatred

nor love, should make them swerve from the path of truth, whose mother is history, rival of time, storehouse

of deeds, witness for the past, example and counsel for the present, and warning for the future. In this I know

will be found all that can be desired in the pleasantest, and if it be wanting in any good quality, I maintain it

is the fault of its hound of an author and not the fault of the subject. To be brief, its Second Part, according to

With trenchant swords upraised and poised on high, it seemed as though the two valiant and wrathful

combatants stood threatening heaven, and earth, and hell, with such resolution and determination did they

bear themselves. The fiery Biscayan was the first to strike a blow, which was delivered with such force and

fury that had not the sword turned in its course, that single stroke would have sufficed to put an end to the

bitter struggle and to all the adventures of our knight; but that good fortune which reserved him for greater

things, turned aside the sword of his adversary, so that although it smote him upon the left shoulder, it did

him no more harm than to strip all that side of its armour, carrying away a great part of his helmet with half

of his ear, all which with fearful ruin fell to the ground, leaving him in a sorry plight.

Good God! Who is there that could properly describe the rage that filled the heart of our Manchegan when he

saw himself dealt with in this fashion? All that can be said is, it was such that he again raised himself in his

stirrups, and, grasping his sword more firmly with both hands, he came down on the Biscayan with such fury,

smiting him full over the cushion and over the head, that even so good a shield proving useless as if a

mountain had fallen on him, he began to bleed from nose, mouth, and ears, reeling as if about to fall

backwards from his mule, as no doubt he would have done had he not flung his arms about its neck; at the

same time, however, he slipped his feet out of the stirrups and then unclasped his arms, and the mule, taking

fright at the terrible blow, made off across the plain, and with a few plunges flung its master to the ground.

Don Quixote stood looking on very calmly, and, when he saw him fall, leaped from his horse and with great

briskness ran to him, and, presenting the point of his sword to his eyes, bade him surrender, or he would cut

his head off. The Biscayan was so bewildered that he was unable to answer a word, and it would have gone

hard with him, so blind was Don Quixote, had not the ladies in the coach, who had hitherto been watching the

combat in great terror, hastened to where he stood and implored him with earnest entreaties to grant them the

great grace and favour of sparing their squire's life; to which Don Quixote replied with much gravity and

dignity, "In truth, fair ladies, I am well content to do what ye ask of me; but it must be on one condition and

understanding, which is that this knight promise me to go to the village of El Toboso, and on my behalf

present himself before the peerless lady Dulcinea, that she deal with him as shall be most pleasing to her."

The terrified and disconsolate ladies, without discussing Don Quixote's demand or asking who Dulcinea

"Then, on the faith of that promise," said Don Quixote, "I shall do him no further harm, though he well

Now by this time Sancho had risen, rather the worse for the handling of the friars' muleteers, and stood

watching the battle of his master, Don Quixote, and praying to God in his heart that it might be his will to

grant him the victory, and that he might thereby win some island to make him governor of, as he had

promised. Seeing, therefore, that the struggle was now over, and that his master was returning to mount

Rocinante, he approached to hold the stirrup for him, and, before he could mount, he went on his knees

before him, and taking his hand, kissed it saying, "May it please your worship, Senor Don Quixote, to give

me the government of that island which has been won in this hard fight, for be it ever so big I feel myself in

sufficient force to be able to govern it as much and as well as anyone in the world who has ever governed

To which Don Quixote replied, "Thou must take notice, brother Sancho, that this adventure and those like it

are not adventures of islands, but of crossroads, in which nothing is got except a broken head or an ear the

less: have patience, for adventures will present themselves from which I may make you, not only a governor,

Sancho gave him many thanks, and again kissing his hand and the skirt of his hauberk, helped him to mount

Rocinante, and mounting his ass himself, proceeded to follow his master, who at a brisk pace, without taking

leave, or saying anything further to the ladies belonging to the coach, turned into a wood that was hard by.

Sancho followed him at his ass's best trot, but Rocinante stepped out so that, seeing himself left behind, he

was forced to call to his master to wait for him. Don Quixote did so, reining in Rocinante until his weary

squire came up, who on reaching him said, "It seems to me, senor, it would be prudent in us to go and take

refuge in some church, for, seeing how mauled he with whom you fought has been left, it will be no wonder

if they give information of the affair to the Holy Brotherhood and arrest us, and, faith, if they do, before we

"Peace," said Don Quixote; "where hast thou ever seen or heard that a knighterrant has been arraigned

"I know nothing about omecils," answered Sancho, "nor in my life have had anything to do with one; I only

know that the Holy Brotherhood looks after those who fight in the fields, and in that other matter I do not

"Then thou needst have no uneasiness, my friend," said Don Quixote, "for I will deliver thee out of the hands

of the Chaldeans, much more out of those of the Brotherhood. But tell me, as thou livest, hast thou seen a

more valiant knight than I in all the known world; hast thou read in history of any who has or had higher

mettle in attack, more spirit in maintaining it, more dexterity in wounding or skill in overthrowing?"

"The truth is," answered Sancho, "that I have never read any history, for I can neither read nor write, but what

I will venture to bet is that a more daring master than your worship I have never served in all the days of my

life, and God grant that this daring be not paid for where I have said; what I beg of your worship is to dress

your wound, for a great deal of blood flows from that ear, and I have here some lint and a little white

"All that might be well dispensed with," said Don Quixote, "if I had remembered to make a vial of the balsam

"It is a balsam," answered Don Quixote, "the receipt of which I have in my memory, with which one need

have no fear of death, or dread dying of any wound; and so when I make it and give it to thee thou hast

nothing to do when in some battle thou seest they have cut me in half through the middle of the body as is

wont to happen frequently, but neatly and with great nicety, ere the blood congeal, to place that portion of

the body which shall have fallen to the ground upon the other half which remains in the saddle, taking care to

fit it on evenly and exactly. Then thou shalt give me to drink but two drops of the balsam I have mentioned,

"If that be so," said Panza, "I renounce henceforth the government of the promised island, and desire nothing

more in payment of my many and faithful services than that your worship give me the receipt of this supreme

liquor, for I am persuaded it will be worth more than two reals an ounce anywhere, and I want no more to

pass the rest of my life in ease and honour; but it remains to be told if it costs much to make it."

"Sinner that I am!" said Sancho, "then why does your worship put off making it and teaching it to me?"

"Peace, friend," answered Don Quixote; "greater secrets I mean to teach thee and greater favours to bestow

upon thee; and for the present let us see to the dressing, for my ear pains me more than I could wish."

Sancho took out some lint and ointment from the alforjas; but when Don Quixote came to see his helmet

shattered, he was like to lose his senses, and clapping his hand upon his sword and raising his eyes to heaven,

be said, "I swear by the Creator of all things and the four Gospels in their fullest extent, to do as the great

Marquis of Mantua did when he swore to avenge the death of his nephew Baldwin (and that was not to eat

bread from a tablecloth, nor embrace his wife, and other points which, though I cannot now call them to

mind, I here grant as expressed) until I take complete vengeance upon him who has committed such an

Hearing this, Sancho said to him, "Your worship should bear in mind, Senor Don Quixote, that if the knight

has done what was commanded him in going to present himself before my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he will

have done all that he was bound to do, and does not deserve further punishment unless he commits some new

"Thou hast said well and hit the point," answered Don Quixote; and so I recall the oath in so far as relates to

taking fresh vengeance on him, but I make and confirm it anew to lead the life I have said until such time as I

take by force from some knight another helmet such as this and as good; and think not, Sancho, that I am

raising smoke with straw in doing so, for I have one to imitate in the matter, since the very same thing to a

"Senor," replied Sancho, "let your worship send all such oaths to the devil, for they are very pernicious to

salvation and prejudicial to the conscience; just tell me now, if for several days to come we fall in with no

man armed with a helmet, what are we to do? Is the oath to be observed in spite of all the inconvenience and

discomfort it will be to sleep in your clothes, and not to sleep in a house, and a thousand other mortifications

contained in the oath of that old fool the Marquis of Mantua, which your worship is now wanting to revive?

Let your worship observe that there are no men in armour travelling on any of these roads, nothing but

carriers and carters, who not only do not wear helmets, but perhaps never heard tell of them all their lives."

"Thou art wrong there," said Don Quixote, "for we shall not have been above two hours among these

crossroads before we see more men in armour than came to Albraca to win the fair Angelica."

"Enough," said Sancho; "so be it then, and God grant us success, and that the time for winning that island

"I have already told thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "not to give thyself any uneasiness on that score; for if

an island should fail, there is the kingdom of Denmark, or of Sobradisa, which will fit thee as a ring fits the

finger, and all the more that, being on terra firma, thou wilt all the better enjoy thyself. But let us leave that to

its own time; see if thou hast anything for us to eat in those alforjas, because we must presently go in quest of

some castle where we may lodge tonight and make the balsam I told thee of, for I swear to thee by God, this

"I have here an onion and a little cheese and a few scraps of bread," said Sancho, "but they are not victuals fit

"How little thou knowest about it," answered Don Quixote; "I would have thee to know, Sancho, that it is the

glory of knightserrant to go without eating for a month, and even when they do eat, that it should be of what

comes first to hand; and this would have been clear to thee hadst thou read as many histories as I have, for,

though they are very many, among them all I have found no mention made of knightserrant eating, unless

by accident or at some sumptuous banquets prepared for them, and the rest of the time they passed in

dalliance. And though it is plain they could not do without eating and performing all the other natural

functions, because, in fact, they were men like ourselves, it is plain too that, wandering as they did the most

part of their lives through woods and wilds and without a cook, their most usual fare would be rustic viands

such as those thou now offer me; so that, friend Sancho, let not that distress thee which pleases me, and do

"Pardon me, your worship," said Sancho, "for, as I cannot read or write, as I said just now, I neither know nor

comprehend the rules of the profession of chivalry: henceforward I will stock the alforjas with every kind of

dry fruit for your worship, as you are a knight; and for myself, as I am not one, I will furnish them with

"I do not say, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "that it is imperative on knightserrant not to eat anything else

but the fruits thou speakest of; only that their more usual diet must be those, and certain herbs they found in

"A good thing it is," answered Sancho, "to know those herbs, for to my thinking it will be needful some day

And here taking out what he said he had brought, the pair made their repast peaceably and sociably. But

anxious to find quarters for the night, they with all despatch made an end of their poor dry fare, mounted at

once, and made haste to reach some habitation before night set in; but daylight and the hope of succeeding in

their object failed them close by the huts of some goatherds, so they determined to pass the night there, and it

was as much to Sancho's discontent not to have reached a house, as it was to his master's satisfaction to sleep

under the open heaven, for he fancied that each time this happened to him he performed an act of ownership

He was cordially welcomed by the goatherds, and Sancho, having as best he could put up Rocinante and the

ass, drew towards the fragrance that came from some pieces of salted goat simmering in a pot on the fire; and

though he would have liked at once to try if they were ready to be transferred from the pot to the stomach, he

refrained from doing so as the goatherds removed them from the fire, and laying sheepskins on the ground,

quickly spread their rude table, and with signs of hearty goodwill invited them both to share what they had.

Round the skins six of the men belonging to the fold seated themselves, having first with rough politeness

pressed Don Quixote to take a seat upon a trough which they placed for him upside down. Don Quixote

seated himself, and Sancho remained standing to serve the cup, which was made of horn. Seeing him

"That thou mayest see, Sancho, the good that knighterrantry contains in itself, and how those who fill any

office in it are on the high road to be speedily honoured and esteemed by the world, I desire that thou seat

thyself here at my side and in the company of these worthy people, and that thou be one with me who am thy

master and natural lord, and that thou eat from my plate and drink from whatever I drink from; for the same

"Great thanks," said Sancho, "but I may tell your worship that provided I have enough to eat, I can eat it as

well, or better, standing, and by myself, than seated alongside of an emperor. And indeed, if the truth is to be

told, what I eat in my corner without form or fuss has much more relish for me, even though it be bread and

onions, than the turkeys of those other tables where I am forced to chew slowly, drink little, wipe my mouth

every minute, and cannot sneeze or cough if I want or do other things that are the privileges of liberty and

solitude. So, senor, as for these honours which your worship would put upon me as a servant and follower of

knighterrantry, exchange them for other things which may be of more use and advantage to me; for these,

though I fully acknowledge them as received, I renounce from this moment to the end of the world."

"For all that," said Don Quixote, "thou must seat thyself, because him who humbleth himself God exalteth;"

The goatherds did not understand this jargon about squires and knightserrant, and all they did was to eat in

silence and stare at their guests, who with great elegance and appetite were stowing away pieces as big as

one's fist. The course of meat finished, they spread upon the sheepskins a great heap of parched acorns, and

with them they put down a half cheese harder than if it had been made of mortar. All this while the horn was

not idle, for it went round so constantly, now full, now empty, like the bucket of a waterwheel, that it soon

drained one of the two wineskins that were in sight. When Don Quixote had quite appeased his appetite he

took up a handful of the acorns, and contemplating them attentively delivered himself somewhat in this

"Happy the age, happy the time, to which the ancients gave the name of golden, not because in that fortunate

age the gold so coveted in this our iron one was gained without toil, but because they that lived in it knew not

the two words "mine" and "thine"! In that blessed age all things were in common; to win the daily food no

labour was required of any save to stretch forth his hand and gather it from the sturdy oaks that stood

generously inviting him with their sweet ripe fruit. The clear streams and running brooks yielded their

savoury limpid waters in noble abundance. The busy and sagacious bees fixed their republic in the clefts of

the rocks and hollows of the trees, offering without usance the plenteous produce of their fragrant toil to

every hand. The mighty cork trees, unenforced save of their own courtesy, shed the broad light bark that

served at first to roof the houses supported by rude stakes, a protection against the inclemency of heaven

alone. Then all was peace, all friendship, all concord; as yet the dull share of the crooked plough had not

dared to rend and pierce the tender bowels of our first mother that without compulsion yielded from every

portion of her broad fertile bosom all that could satisfy, sustain, and delight the children that then possessed

her. Then was it that the innocent and fair young shepherdess roamed from vale to vale and hill to hill, with

flowing locks, and no more garments than were needful modestly to cover what modesty seeks and ever

sought to hide. Nor were their ornaments like those in use today, set off by Tyrian purple, and silk tortured

in endless fashions, but the wreathed leaves of the green dock and ivy, wherewith they went as bravely and

becomingly decked as our Court dames with all the rare and farfetched artifices that idle curiosity has taught

them. Then the lovethoughts of the heart clothed themselves simply and naturally as the heart conceived

them, nor sought to commend themselves by forced and rambling verbiage. Fraud, deceit, or malice had then

not yet mingled with truth and sincerity. Justice held her ground, undisturbed and unassailed by the efforts of

favour and of interest, that now so much impair, pervert, and beset her. Arbitrary law had not yet established

itself in the mind of the judge, for then there was no cause to judge and no one to be judged. Maidens and

modesty, as I have said, wandered at will alone and unattended, without fear of insult from lawlessness or

libertine assault, and if they were undone it was of their own will and pleasure. But now in this hateful age of

ours not one is safe, not though some new labyrinth like that of Crete conceal and surround her; even there

the pestilence of gallantry will make its way to them through chinks or on the air by the zeal of its accursed

importunity, and, despite of all seclusion, lead them to ruin. In defence of these, as time advanced and

wickedness increased, the order of knightserrant was instituted, to defend maidens, to protect widows and to

succour the orphans and the needy. To this order I belong, brother goatherds, to whom I return thanks for the

hospitality and kindly welcome ye offer me and my squire; for though by natural law all living are bound to

show favour to knightserrant, yet, seeing that without knowing this obligation ye have welcomed and

feasted me, it is right that with all the goodwill in my power I should thank you for yours."

All this long harangue (which might very well have been spared) our knight delivered because the acorns

they gave him reminded him of the golden age; and the whim seized him to address all this unnecessary

argument to the goatherds, who listened to him gaping in amazement without saying a word in reply. Sancho

likewise held his peace and ate acorns, and paid repeated visits to the second wineskin, which they had hung

Don Quixote was longer in talking than the supper in finishing, at the end of which one of the goatherds said,

"That your worship, senor knighterrant, may say with more truth that we show you hospitality with ready

goodwill, we will give you amusement and pleasure by making one of our comrades sing: he will be here

before long, and he is a very intelligent youth and deep in love, and what is more he can read and write and

The goatherd had hardly done speaking, when the notes of the rebeck reached their ears; and shortly after, the

player came up, a very goodlooking young man of about twoandtwenty. His comrades asked him if he

had supped, and on his replying that he had, he who had already made the offer said to him:

"In that case, Antonio, thou mayest as well do us the pleasure of singing a little, that the gentleman, our guest,

may see that even in the mountains and woods there are musicians: we have told him of thy

accomplishments, and we want thee to show them and prove that we say true; so, as thou livest, pray sit down

and sing that ballad about thy love that thy uncle the prebendary made thee, and that was so much liked in the

"With all my heart," said the young man, and without waiting for more pressing he seated himself on the

trunk of a felled oak, and tuning his rebeck, presently began to sing to these words.

Thou dost love me well, Olalla; Well I know it, even though Love's mute tongues, thine eyes, have never By

For I know my love thou knowest, Therefore thine to claim I dare: Once it ceases to be secret, Love need

True it is, Olalla, sometimes Thou hast all too plainly shown That thy heart is brass in hardness, And thy

Yet for all that, in thy coyness, And thy fickle fits between, Hope is there at least the border Of her garment

Lures to faith are they, those glimpses, And to faith in thee I hold; Kindness cannot make it stronger,

If it be that love is gentle, In thy gentleness I see Something holding out assurance To the hope of winning

If it be that in devotion Lies a power hearts to move, That which every day I show thee, Helpful to my suit

Many a time thou must have noticed If to notice thou dost care How I go about on Monday Dressed in all

Love's eyes love to look on brightness; Love loves what is gaily drest; Sunday, Monday, all I care is Thou

No account I make of dances, Or of strains that pleased thee so, Keeping thee awake from midnight Till the

Or of how I roundly swore it That there's none so fair as thou; True it is, but as I said it, By the girls I'm hated

For Teresa of the hillside At my praise of thee was sore; Said, "You think you love an angel; It's a monkey

"Caught by all her glittering trinkets, And her borrowed braids of hair, And a host of madeup beauties That

'T was a lie, and so I told her, And her cousin at the word Gave me his defiance for it; And what followed

Mine is no highflown affection, Mine no passion par amours As they call it what I offer Is an honest love,

Cunning cords the holy Church has, Cords of softest silk they be; Put thy neck beneath the yoke, dear; Mine

Else and once for all I swear it By the saint of most renown If I ever quit the mountains, 'T will be in a

Here the goatherd brought his song to an end, and though Don Quixote entreated him to sing more, Sancho

had no mind that way, being more inclined for sleep than for listening to songs; so said he to his master,

"Your worship will do well to settle at once where you mean to pass the night, for the labour these good men

"I understand thee, Sancho," replied Don Quixote; "I perceive clearly that those visits to the wineskin

"I do not deny it," replied Don Quixote; "but settle thyself where thou wilt; those of my calling are more

becomingly employed in watching than in sleeping; still it would be as well if thou wert to dress this ear for

Sancho did as he bade him, but one of the goatherds, seeing the wound, told him not to be uneasy, as he

would apply a remedy with which it would be soon healed; and gathering some leaves of rosemary, of which

there was a great quantity there, he chewed them and mixed them with a little salt, and applying them to the

ear he secured them firmly with a bandage, assuring him that no other treatment would be required, and so it

Just then another young man, one of those who fetched their provisions from the village, came up and said,

"Well, then, you must know," continued the young man, "this morning that famous studentshepherd called

Chrysostom died, and it is rumoured that he died of love for that devil of a village girl the daughter of

Guillermo the Rich, she that wanders about the wolds here in the dress of a shepherdess."

"Her I mean," answered the goatherd; "and the best of it is, he has directed in his will that he is to be buried in

the fields like a Moor, and at the foot of the rock where the Corktree spring is, because, as the story goes

(and they say he himself said so), that was the place where he first saw her. And he has also left other

directions which the clergy of the village say should not and must not be obeyed because they savour of

paganism. To all which his great friend Ambrosio the student, he who, like him, also went dressed as a

shepherd, replies that everything must be done without any omission according to the directions left by

Chrysostom, and about this the village is all in commotion; however, report says that, after all, what

Ambrosio and all the shepherds his friends desire will be done, and tomorrow they are coming to bury him

with great ceremony where I said. I am sure it will be something worth seeing; at least I will not fail to go and

"We will do the same," answered the goatherds, "and cast lots to see who must stay to mind the goats of all."

"Thou sayest well, Pedro," said one, "though there will be no need of taking that trouble, for I will stay

behind for all; and don't suppose it is virtue or want of curiosity in me; it is that the splinter that ran into my

Don Quixote asked Pedro to tell him who the dead man was and who the shepherdess, to which Pedro replied

that all he knew was that the dead man was a wealthy gentleman belonging to a village in those mountains,

who had been a student at Salamanca for many years, at the end of which he returned to his village with the

reputation of being very learned and deeply read. "Above all, they said, he was learned in the science of the

stars and of what went on yonder in the heavens and the sun and the moon, for he told us of the cris of the sun

"Eclipse it is called, friend, not cris, the darkening of those two luminaries," said Don Quixote; but Pedro, not

troubling himself with trifles, went on with his story, saying, "Also he foretold when the year was going to be

"Sterility or estility," answered Pedro, "it is all the same in the end. And I can tell you that by this his father

and friends who believed him grew very rich because they did as he advised them, bidding them 'sow barley

this year, not wheat; this year you may sow pulse and not barley; the next there will be a full oil crop, and the

"I do not know what it is called," replied Pedro, "but I know that he knew all this and more besides. But, to

make an end, not many months had passed after he returned from Salamanca, when one day he appeared

dressed as a shepherd with his crook and sheepskin, having put off the long gown he wore as a scholar; and at

the same time his great friend, Ambrosio by name, who had been his companion in his studies, took to the

shepherd's dress with him. I forgot to say that Chrysostom, who is dead, was a great man for writing verses,

so much so that he made carols for Christmas Eve, and plays for Corpus Christi, which the young men of our

village acted, and all said they were excellent. When the villagers saw the two scholars so unexpectedly

appearing in shepherd's dress, they were lost in wonder, and could not guess what had led them to make so

extraordinary a change. About this time the father of our Chrysostom died, and he was left heir to a large

amount of property in chattels as well as in land, no small number of cattle and sheep, and a large sum of

money, of all of which the young man was left dissolute owner, and indeed he was deserving of it all, for he

was a very good comrade, and kindhearted, and a friend of worthy folk, and had a countenance like a

benediction. Presently it came to be known that he had changed his dress with no other object than to wander

about these wastes after that shepherdess Marcela our lad mentioned a while ago, with whom the deceased

Chrysostom had fallen in love. And I must tell you now, for it is well you should know it, who this girl is;

perhaps, and even without any perhaps, you will not have heard anything like it all the days of your life,

"Say Sarra," said Don Quixote, unable to endure the goatherd's confusion of words.

"The sarna lives long enough," answered Pedro; "and if, senor, you must go finding fault with words at every

"Pardon me, friend," said Don Quixote; "but, as there is such a difference between sarna and Sarra, I told you

of it; however, you have answered very rightly, for sarna lives longer than Sarra: so continue your story, and I

"I say then, my dear sir," said the goatherd, "that in our village there was a farmer even richer than the father

of Chrysostom, who was named Guillermo, and upon whom God bestowed, over and above great wealth, a

daughter at whose birth her mother died, the most respected woman there was in this neighbourhood; I fancy

I can see her now with that countenance which had the sun on one side and the moon on the other; and

moreover active, and kind to the poor, for which I trust that at the present moment her soul is in bliss with

God in the other world. Her husband Guillermo died of grief at the death of so good a wife, leaving his

daughter Marcela, a child and rich, to the care of an uncle of hers, a priest and prebendary in our village. The

girl grew up with such beauty that it reminded us of her mother's, which was very great, and yet it was

thought that the daughter's would exceed it; and so when she reached the age of fourteen to fifteen years

nobody beheld her but blessed God that had made her so beautiful, and the greater number were in love with

her past redemption. Her uncle kept her in great seclusion and retirement, but for all that the fame of her great

beauty spread so that, as well for it as for her great wealth, her uncle was asked, solicited, and importuned, to

give her in marriage not only by those of our town but of those many leagues round, and by the persons of

highest quality in them. But he, being a good Christian man, though he desired to give her in marriage at

once, seeing her to be old enough, was unwilling to do so without her consent, not that he had any eye to the

gain and profit which the custody of the girl's property brought him while he put off her marriage; and, faith,

this was said in praise of the good priest in more than one set in the town. For I would have you know, Sir

Errant, that in these little villages everything is talked about and everything is carped at, and rest assured, as I

am, that the priest must be over and above good who forces his parishioners to speak well of him, especially

"That is the truth," said Don Quixote; "but go on, for the story is very good, and you, good Pedro, tell it with

"May that of the Lord not be wanting to me," said Pedro; "that is the one to have. To proceed; you must know

that though the uncle put before his niece and described to her the qualities of each one in particular of the

many who had asked her in marriage, begging her to marry and make a choice according to her own taste, she

never gave any other answer than that she had no desire to marry just yet, and that being so young she did not

think herself fit to bear the burden of matrimony. At these, to all appearance, reasonable excuses that she

made, her uncle ceased to urge her, and waited till she was somewhat more advanced in age and could mate

herself to her own liking. For, said he and he said quite right parents are not to settle children in life

against their will. But when one least looked for it, lo and behold! one day the demure Marcela makes her

appearance turned shepherdess; and, in spite of her uncle and all those of the town that strove to dissuade her,

took to going afield with the other shepherdlasses of the village, and tending her own flock. And so, since

she appeared in public, and her beauty came to be seen openly, I could not well tell you how many rich

youths, gentlemen and peasants, have adopted the costume of Chrysostom, and go about these fields making

love to her. One of these, as has been already said, was our deceased friend, of whom they say that he did not

love but adore her. But you must not suppose, because Marcela chose a life of such liberty and independence,

and of so little or rather no retirement, that she has given any occasion, or even the semblance of one, for

disparagement of her purity and modesty; on the contrary, such and so great is the vigilance with which she

watches over her honour, that of all those that court and woo her not one has boasted, or can with truth boast,

that she has given him any hope however small of obtaining his desire. For although she does not avoid or

shun the society and conversation of the shepherds, and treats them courteously and kindly, should any one of

them come to declare his intention to her, though it be one as proper and holy as that of matrimony, she flings

him from her like a catapult. And with this kind of disposition she does more harm in this country than if the

plague had got into it, for her affability and her beauty draw on the hearts of those that associate with her to

love her and to court her, but her scorn and her frankness bring them to the brink of despair; and so they

know not what to say save to proclaim her aloud cruel and hardhearted, and other names of the same sort

which well describe the nature of her character; and if you should remain here any time, senor, you would

hear these hills and valleys resounding with the laments of the rejected ones who pursue her. Not far from

this there is a spot where there are a couple of dozen of tall beeches, and there is not one of them but has

carved and written on its smooth bark the name of Marcela, and above some a crown carved on the same tree

as though her lover would say more plainly that Marcela wore and deserved that of all human beauty. Here

one shepherd is sighing, there another is lamenting; there love songs are heard, here despairing elegies. One

will pass all the hours of the night seated at the foot of some oak or rock, and there, without having closed his

weeping eyes, the sun finds him in the morning bemused and bereft of sense; and another without relief or

respite to his sighs, stretched on the burning sand in the full heat of the sultry summer noontide, makes his

appeal to the compassionate heavens, and over one and the other, over these and all, the beautiful Marcela

triumphs free and careless. And all of us that know her are waiting to see what her pride will come to, and

who is to be the happy man that will succeed in taming a nature so formidable and gaining possession of a

beauty so supreme. All that I have told you being such wellestablished truth, I am persuaded that what they

say of the cause of Chrysostom's death, as our lad told us, is the same. And so I advise you, senor, fail not to

be present tomorrow at his burial, which will be well worth seeing, for Chrysostom had many friends, and it

"I will make a point of it," said Don Quixote, "and I thank you for the pleasure you have given me by relating

"Oh," said the goatherd, "I do not know even the half of what has happened to the lovers of Marcela, but

perhaps tomorrow we may fall in with some shepherd on the road who can tell us; and now it will be well

for you to go and sleep under cover, for the night air may hurt your wound, though with the remedy I have

Sancho Panza, who was wishing the goatherd's loquacity at the devil, on his part begged his master to go into

Pedro's hut to sleep. He did so, and passed all the rest of the night in thinking of his lady Dulcinea, in

imitation of the lovers of Marcela. Sancho Panza settled himself between Rocinante and his ass, and slept, not

like a lover who had been discarded, but like a man who had been soundly kicked.

Bit hardly had day begun to show itself through the balconies of the east, when five of the six goatherds came

to rouse Don Quixote and tell him that if he was still of a mind to go and see the famous burial of

Chrysostom they would bear him company. Don Quixote, who desired nothing better, rose and ordered

Sancho to saddle and pannel at once, which he did with all despatch, and with the same they all set out

forthwith. They had not gone a quarter of a league when at the meeting of two paths they saw coming

towards them some six shepherds dressed in black sheepskins and with their heads crowned with garlands of

cypress and bitter oleander. Each of them carried a stout holly staff in his hand, and along with them there

came two men of quality on horseback in handsome travelling dress, with three servants on foot

accompanying them. Courteous salutations were exchanged on meeting, and inquiring one of the other which

way each party was going, they learned that all were bound for the scene of the burial, so they went on all

One of those on horseback addressing his companion said to him, "It seems to me, Senor Vivaldo, that we

may reckon as well spent the delay we shall incur in seeing this remarkable funeral, for remarkable it cannot

but be judging by the strange things these shepherds have told us, of both the dead shepherd and homicide

"So I think too," replied Vivaldo, "and I would delay not to say a day, but four, for the sake of seeing it."

Don Quixote asked them what it was they had heard of Marcela and Chrysostom. The traveller answered that

the same morning they had met these shepherds, and seeing them dressed in this mournful fashion they had

asked them the reason of their appearing in such a guise; which one of them gave, describing the strange

behaviour and beauty of a shepherdess called Marcela, and the loves of many who courted her, together with

the death of that Chrysostom to whose burial they were going. In short, he repeated all that Pedro had related

This conversation dropped, and another was commenced by him who was called Vivaldo asking Don Quixote

what was the reason that led him to go armed in that fashion in a country so peaceful. To which Don Quixote

replied, "The pursuit of my calling does not allow or permit me to go in any other fashion; easy life,

enjoyment, and repose were invented for soft courtiers, but toil, unrest, and arms were invented and made for

those alone whom the world calls knightserrant, of whom I, though unworthy, am the least of all."

The instant they heard this all set him down as mad, and the better to settle the point and discover what kind

"Have not your worships," replied Don Quixote, "read the annals and histories of England, in which are

recorded the famous deeds of King Arthur, whom we in our popular Castilian invariably call King Artus,

with regard to whom it is an ancient tradition, and commonly received all over that kingdom of Great Britain,

that this king did not die, but was changed by magic art into a raven, and that in process of time he is to return

to reign and recover his kingdom and sceptre; for which reason it cannot be proved that from that time to this

any Englishman ever killed a raven? Well, then, in the time of this good king that famous order of chivalry of

the Knights of the Round Table was instituted, and the amour of Don Lancelot of the Lake with the Queen

Guinevere occurred, precisely as is there related, the gobetween and confidante therein being the highly

honourable dame Quintanona, whence came that ballad so well known and widely spread in our Spain

O never surely was there knight So served by hand of dame, As served was he Sir Lancelot hight When he

with all the sweet and delectable course of his achievements in love and war. Handed down from that time,

then, this order of chivalry went on extending and spreading itself over many and various parts of the world;

and in it, famous and renowned for their deeds, were the mighty Amadis of Gaul with all his sons and

descendants to the fifth generation, and the valiant Felixmarte of Hircania, and the never sufficiently praised

Tirante el Blanco, and in our own days almost we have seen and heard and talked with the invincible knight

Don Belianis of Greece. This, then, sirs, is to be a knighterrant, and what I have spoken of is the order of his

chivalry, of which, as I have already said, I, though a sinner, have made profession, and what the aforesaid

knights professed that same do I profess, and so I go through these solitudes and wilds seeking adventures,

resolved in soul to oppose my arm and person to the most perilous that fortune may offer me in aid of the

By these words of his the travellers were able to satisfy themselves of Don Quixote's being out of his senses

and of the form of madness that overmastered him, at which they felt the same astonishment that all felt on

first becoming acquainted with it; and Vivaldo, who was a person of great shrewdness and of a lively

temperament, in order to beguile the short journey which they said was required to reach the mountain, the

scene of the burial, sought to give him an opportunity of going on with his absurdities. So he said to him, "It

seems to me, Senor Knighterrant, that your worship has made choice of one of the most austere professions

in the world, and I imagine even that of the Carthusian monks is not so austere."

"As austere it may perhaps be," replied our Don Quixote, "but so necessary for the world I am very much

inclined to doubt. For, if the truth is to be told, the soldier who executes what his captain orders does no less

than the captain himself who gives the order. My meaning, is, that churchmen in peace and quiet pray to

Heaven for the welfare of the world, but we soldiers and knights carry into effect what they pray for,

defending it with the might of our arms and the edge of our swords, not under shelter but in the open air, a

target for the intolerable rays of the sun in summer and the piercing frosts of winter. Thus are we God's

ministers on earth and the arms by which his justice is done therein. And as the business of war and all that

relates and belongs to it cannot be conducted without exceeding great sweat, toil, and exertion, it follows that

those who make it their profession have undoubtedly more labour than those who in tranquil peace and quiet

are engaged in praying to God to help the weak. I do not mean to say, nor does it enter into my thoughts, that

the knighterrant's calling is as good as that of the monk in his cell; I would merely infer from what I endure

myself that it is beyond a doubt a more laborious and a more belaboured one, a hungrier and thirstier, a

wretcheder, raggeder, and lousier; for there is no reason to doubt that the knightserrant of yore endured

much hardship in the course of their lives. And if some of them by the might of their arms did rise to be

emperors, in faith it cost them dear in the matter of blood and sweat; and if those who attained to that rank

had not had magicians and sages to help them they would have been completely baulked in their ambition

"That is my own opinion," replied the traveller; "but one thing among many others seems to me very wrong

in knightserrant, and that is that when they find themselves about to engage in some mighty and perilous

adventure in which there is manifest danger of losing their lives, they never at the moment of engaging in it

think of commending themselves to God, as is the duty of every good Christian in like peril; instead of which

they commend themselves to their ladies with as much devotion as if these were their gods, a thing which

"Sir," answered Don Quixote, "that cannot be on any account omitted, and the knighterrant would be

disgraced who acted otherwise: for it is usual and customary in knighterrantry that the knighterrant, who

on engaging in any great feat of arms has his lady before him, should turn his eyes towards her softly and

lovingly, as though with them entreating her to favour and protect him in the hazardous venture he is about to

undertake, and even though no one hear him, he is bound to say certain words between his teeth,

commending himself to her with all his heart, and of this we have innumerable instances in the histories. Nor

is it to be supposed from this that they are to omit commending themselves to God, for there will be time and

"For all that," answered the traveller, "I feel some doubt still, because often I have read how words will arise

between two knightserrant, and from one thing to another it comes about that their anger kindles and they

wheel their horses round and take a good stretch of field, and then without any more ado at the top of their

speed they come to the charge, and in midcareer they are wont to commend themselves to their ladies; and

what commonly comes of the encounter is that one falls over the haunches of his horse pierced through and

through by his antagonist's lance, and as for the other, it is only by holding on to the mane of his horse that he

can help falling to the ground; but I know not how the dead man had time to commend himself to God in the

course of such rapid work as this; it would have been better if those words which he spent in commending

himself to his lady in the midst of his career had been devoted to his duty and obligation as a Christian.

Moreover, it is my belief that all knightserrant have not ladies to commend themselves to, for they are not

"That is impossible," said Don Quixote: "I say it is impossible that there could be a knighterrant without a

lady, because to such it is as natural and proper to be in love as to the heavens to have stars: most certainly no

history has been seen in which there is to be found a knighterrant without an amour, and for the simple

reason that without one he would be held no legitimate knight but a bastard, and one who had gained entrance

into the stronghold of the said knighthood, not by the door, but over the wall like a thief and a robber."

"Nevertheless," said the traveller, "if I remember rightly, I think I have read that Don Galaor, the brother of

the valiant Amadis of Gaul, never had any special lady to whom he might commend himself, and yet he was

To which our Don Quixote made answer, "Sir, one solitary swallow does not make summer; moreover, I

know that knight was in secret very deeply in love; besides which, that way of falling in love with all that

took his fancy was a natural propensity which he could not control. But, in short, it is very manifest that he

had one alone whom he made mistress of his will, to whom he commended himself very frequently and very

"Then if it be essential that every knighterrant should be in love," said the traveller, "it may be fairly

supposed that your worship is so, as you are of the order; and if you do not pride yourself on being as reticent

as Don Galaor, I entreat you as earnestly as I can, in the name of all this company and in my own, to inform

us of the name, country, rank, and beauty of your lady, for she will esteem herself fortunate if all the world

knows that she is loved and served by such a knight as your worship seems to be."

At this Don Quixote heaved a deep sigh and said, "I cannot say positively whether my sweet enemy is

pleased or not that the world should know I serve her; I can only say in answer to what has been so

courteously asked of me, that her name is Dulcinea, her country El Toboso, a village of La Mancha, her rank

must be at least that of a princess, since she is my queen and lady, and her beauty superhuman, since all the

impossible and fanciful attributes of beauty which the poets apply to their ladies are verified in her; for her

hairs are gold, her forehead Elysian fields, her eyebrows rainbows, her eyes suns, her cheeks roses, her lips

coral, her teeth pearls, her neck alabaster, her bosom marble, her hands ivory, her fairness snow, and what

modesty conceals from sight such, I think and imagine, as rational reflection can only extol, not compare."

To which Don Quixote replied, "She is not of the ancient Roman Curtii, Caii, or Scipios, nor of the modern

Colonnas or Orsini, nor of the Moncadas or Requesenes of Catalonia, nor yet of the Rebellas or Villanovas of

Valencia; Palafoxes, Nuzas, Rocabertis, Corellas, Lunas, Alagones, Urreas, Foces, or Gurreas of Aragon;

Cerdas, Manriques, Mendozas, or Guzmans of Castile; Alencastros, Pallas, or Meneses of Portugal; but she is

of those of El Toboso of La Mancha, a lineage that though modern, may furnish a source of gentle blood for

the most illustrious families of the ages that are to come, and this let none dispute with me save on the

condition that Zerbino placed at the foot of the trophy of Orlando's arms, saying,

"Although mine is of the Cachopins of Laredo," said the traveller, "I will not venture to compare it with that

of El Toboso of La Mancha, though, to tell the truth, no such surname has until now ever reached my ears."

The rest of the party went along listening with great attention to the conversation of the pair, and even the

very goatherds and shepherds perceived how exceedingly out of his wits our Don Quixote was. Sancho Panza

alone thought that what his master said was the truth, knowing who he was and having known him from his

birth; and all that he felt any difficulty in believing was that about the fair Dulcinea del Toboso, because

neither any such name nor any such princess had ever come to his knowledge though he lived so close to El

Toboso. They were going along conversing in this way, when they saw descending a gap between two high

mountains some twenty shepherds, all clad in sheepskins of black wool, and crowned with garlands which, as

afterwards appeared, were, some of them of yew, some of cypress. Six of the number were carrying a bier

covered with a great variety of flowers and branches, on seeing which one of the goatherds said, "Those who

come there are the bearers of Chrysostom's body, and the foot of that mountain is the place where he ordered

them to bury him." They therefore made haste to reach the spot, and did so by the time those who came had

laid the bier upon the ground, and four of them with sharp pickaxes were digging a grave by the side of a hard

rock. They greeted each other courteously, and then Don Quixote and those who accompanied him turned to

examine the bier, and on it, covered with flowers, they saw a dead body in the dress of a shepherd, to all

appearance of one thirty years of age, and showing even in death that in life he had been of comely features

and gallant bearing. Around him on the bier itself were laid some books, and several papers open and folded;

and those who were looking on as well as those who were opening the grave and all the others who were

there preserved a strange silence, until one of those who had borne the body said to another, "Observe

carefully, Ambrosia if this is the place Chrysostom spoke of, since you are anxious that what he directed in

"This is the place," answered Ambrosia "for in it many a time did my poor friend tell me the story of his hard

fortune. Here it was, he told me, that he saw for the first time that mortal enemy of the human race, and here,

too, for the first time he declared to her his passion, as honourable as it was devoted, and here it was that at

last Marcela ended by scorning and rejecting him so as to bring the tragedy of his wretched life to a close;

here, in memory of misfortunes so great, he desired to be laid in the bowels of eternal oblivion." Then turning

to Don Quixote and the travellers he went on to say, "That body, sirs, on which you are looking with

compassionate eyes, was the abode of a soul on which Heaven bestowed a vast share of its riches. That is the

body of Chrysostom, who was unrivalled in wit, unequalled in courtesy, unapproached in gentle bearing, a

phoenix in friendship, generous without limit, grave without arrogance, gay without vulgarity, and, in short,

first in all that constitutes goodness and second to none in all that makes up misfortune. He loved deeply, he

was hated; he adored, he was scorned; he wooed a wild beast, he pleaded with marble, he pursued the wind,

he cried to the wilderness, he served ingratitude, and for reward was made the prey of death in the

midcourse of life, cut short by a shepherdess whom he sought to immortalise in the memory of man, as

these papers which you see could fully prove, had he not commanded me to consign them to the fire after

"You would deal with them more harshly and cruelly than their owner himself," said Vivaldo, "for it is

neither right nor proper to do the will of one who enjoins what is wholly unreasonable; it would not have

been reasonable in Augustus Caesar had he permitted the directions left by the divine Mantuan in his will to

be carried into effect. So that, Senor Ambrosia while you consign your friend's body to the earth, you should

not consign his writings to oblivion, for if he gave the order in bitterness of heart, it is not right that you

should irrationally obey it. On the contrary, by granting life to those papers, let the cruelty of Marcela live for

ever, to serve as a warning in ages to come to all men to shun and avoid falling into like danger; or I and all

of us who have come here know already the story of this your lovestricken and heartbroken friend, and we

know, too, your friendship, and the cause of his death, and the directions he gave at the close of his life; from

which sad story may be gathered how great was the cruelty of Marcela, the love of Chrysostom, and the

loyalty of your friendship, together with the end awaiting those who pursue rashly the path that insane

passion opens to their eyes. Last night we learned the death of Chrysostom and that he was to be buried here,

and out of curiosity and pity we left our direct road and resolved to come and see with our eyes that which

when heard of had so moved our compassion, and in consideration of that compassion and our desire to prove

it if we might by condolence, we beg of you, excellent Ambrosia, or at least I on my own account entreat you,

And without waiting for the shepherd's answer, he stretched out his hand and took up some of those that were

nearest to him; seeing which Ambrosio said, "Out of courtesy, senor, I will grant your request as to those you

Vivaldo, who was eager to see what the papers contained, opened one of them at once, and saw that its title

Ambrosio hearing it said, "That is the last paper the unhappy man wrote; and that you may see, senor, to what

an end his misfortunes brought him, read it so that you may be heard, for you will have time enough for that

"I will do so very willingly," said Vivaldo; and as all the bystanders were equally eager they gathered round

The "Lay of Chrysostom" met with the approbation of the listeners, though the reader said it did not seem to

him to agree with what he had heard of Marcela's reserve and propriety, for Chrysostom complained in it of

jealousy, suspicion, and absence, all to the prejudice of the good name and fame of Marcela; to which

Ambrosio replied as one who knew well his friend's most secret thoughts, "Senor, to remove that doubt I

should tell you that when the unhappy man wrote this lay he was away from Marcela, from whom be had

voluntarily separated himself, to try if absence would act with him as it is wont; and as everything distresses

and every fear haunts the banished lover, so imaginary jealousies and suspicions, dreaded as if they were true,

tormented Chrysostom; and thus the truth of what report declares of the virtue of Marcela remains unshaken,

and with her envy itself should not and cannot find any fault save that of being cruel, somewhat haughty, and

"That is true," said Vivaldo; and as he was about to read another paper of those he had preserved from the

fire, he was stopped by a marvellous vision (for such it seemed) that unexpectedly presented itself to their

eyes; for on the summit of the rock where they were digging the grave there appeared the shepherdess

Marcela, so beautiful that her beauty exceeded its reputation. Those who had never till then beheld her gazed

upon her in wonder and silence, and those who were accustomed to see her were not less amazed than those

who had never seen her before. But the instant Ambrosio saw her he addressed her, with manifest

"Art thou come, by chance, cruel basilisk of these mountains, to see if in thy presence blood will flow from

the wounds of this wretched being thy cruelty has robbed of life; or is it to exult over the cruel work of thy

humours that thou art come; or like another pitiless Nero to look down from that height upon the ruin of his

Rome in embers; or in thy arrogance to trample on this illfated corpse, as the ungrateful daughter trampled

on her father Tarquin's? Tell us quickly for what thou art come, or what it is thou wouldst have, for, as I

know the thoughts of Chrysostom never failed to obey thee in life, I will make all these who call themselves

"I come not, Ambrosia for any of the purposes thou hast named," replied Marcela, "but to defend myself and

to prove how unreasonable are all those who blame me for their sorrow and for Chrysostom's death; and

therefore I ask all of you that are here to give me your attention, for will not take much time or many words

to bring the truth home to persons of sense. Heaven has made me, so you say, beautiful, and so much so that

in spite of yourselves my beauty leads you to love me; and for the love you show me you say, and even urge,

that I am bound to love you. By that natural understanding which God has given me I know that everything

beautiful attracts love, but I cannot see how, by reason of being loved, that which is loved for its beauty is

bound to love that which loves it; besides, it may happen that the lover of that which is beautiful may be ugly,

and ugliness being detestable, it is very absurd to say, "I love thee because thou art beautiful, thou must love

me though I be ugly." But supposing the beauty equal on both sides, it does not follow that the inclinations

must be therefore alike, for it is not every beauty that excites love, some but pleasing the eye without winning

the affection; and if every sort of beauty excited love and won the heart, the will would wander vaguely to

and fro unable to make choice of any; for as there is an infinity of beautiful objects there must be an infinity

of inclinations, and true love, I have heard it said, is indivisible, and must be voluntary and not compelled. If

this be so, as I believe it to be, why do you desire me to bend my will by force, for no other reason but that

you say you love me? Nay tell me had Heaven made me ugly, as it has made me beautiful, could I with

justice complain of you for not loving me? Moreover, you must remember that the beauty I possess was no

choice of mine, for, be it what it may, Heaven of its bounty gave it me without my asking or choosing it; and

as the viper, though it kills with it, does not deserve to be blamed for the poison it carries, as it is a gift of

nature, neither do I deserve reproach for being beautiful; for beauty in a modest woman is like fire at a

distance or a sharp sword; the one does not burn, the other does not cut, those who do not come too near.

Honour and virtue are the ornaments of the mind, without which the body, though it be so, has no right to

pass for beautiful; but if modesty is one of the virtues that specially lend a grace and charm to mind and body,

why should she who is loved for her beauty part with it to gratify one who for his pleasure alone strives with

all his might and energy to rob her of it? I was born free, and that I might live in freedom I chose the solitude

of the fields; in the trees of the mountains I find society, the clear waters of the brooks are my mirrors, and to

the trees and waters I make known my thoughts and charms. I am a fire afar off, a sword laid aside. Those

whom I have inspired with love by letting them see me, I have by words undeceived, and if their longings

live on hope and I have given none to Chrysostom or to any other it cannot justly be said that the death of

any is my doing, for it was rather his own obstinacy than my cruelty that killed him; and if it be made a

charge against me that his wishes were honourable, and that therefore I was bound to yield to them, I answer

that when on this very spot where now his grave is made he declared to me his purity of purpose, I told him

that mine was to live in perpetual solitude, and that the earth alone should enjoy the fruits of my retirement

and the spoils of my beauty; and if, after this open avowal, he chose to persist against hope and steer against

the wind, what wonder is it that he should sink in the depths of his infatuation? If I had encouraged him, I

should be false; if I had gratified him, I should have acted against my own better resolution and purpose. He

was persistent in spite of warning, he despaired without being hated. Bethink you now if it be reasonable that

his suffering should be laid to my charge. Let him who has been deceived complain, let him give way to

despair whose encouraged hopes have proved vain, let him flatter himself whom I shall entice, let him boast

whom I shall receive; but let not him call me cruel or homicide to whom I make no promise, upon whom I

practise no deception, whom I neither entice nor receive. It has not been so far the will of Heaven that I

should love by fate, and to expect me to love by choice is idle. Let this general declaration serve for each of

my suitors on his own account, and let it be understood from this time forth that if anyone dies for me it is not

of jealousy or misery he dies, for she who loves no one can give no cause for jealousy to any, and candour is

not to be confounded with scorn. Let him who calls me wild beast and basilisk, leave me alone as something

noxious and evil; let him who calls me ungrateful, withhold his service; who calls me wayward, seek not my

acquaintance; who calls me cruel, pursue me not; for this wild beast, this basilisk, this ungrateful, cruel,

wayward being has no kind of desire to seek, serve, know, or follow them. If Chrysostom's impatience and

violent passion killed him, why should my modest behaviour and circumspection be blamed? If I preserve my

purity in the society of the trees, why should he who would have me preserve it among men, seek to rob me

of it? I have, as you know, wealth of my own, and I covet not that of others; my taste is for freedom, and I

have no relish for constraint; I neither love nor hate anyone; I do not deceive this one or court that, or trifle

with one or play with another. The modest converse of the shepherd girls of these hamlets and the care of my

goats are my recreations; my desires are bounded by these mountains, and if they ever wander hence it is to

contemplate the beauty of the heavens, steps by which the soul travels to its primeval abode."

With these words, and not waiting to hear a reply, she turned and passed into the thickest part of a wood that

was hard by, leaving all who were there lost in admiration as much of her good sense as of her beauty.

Some those wounded by the irresistible shafts launched by her bright eyes made as though they would

follow her, heedless of the frank declaration they had heard; seeing which, and deeming this a fitting occasion

for the exercise of his chivalry in aid of distressed damsels, Don Quixote, laying his hand on the hilt of his

"Let no one, whatever his rank or condition, dare to follow the beautiful Marcela, under pain of incurring my

fierce indignation. She has shown by clear and satisfactory arguments that little or no fault is to be found with

her for the death of Chrysostom, and also how far she is from yielding to the wishes of any of her lovers, for

which reason, instead of being followed and persecuted, she should in justice be honoured and esteemed by

all the good people of the world, for she shows that she is the only woman in it that holds to such a virtuous

Whether it was because of the threats of Don Quixote, or because Ambrosio told them to fulfil their duty to

their good friend, none of the shepherds moved or stirred from the spot until, having finished the grave and

burned Chrysostom's papers, they laid his body in it, not without many tears from those who stood by. They

closed the grave with a heavy stone until a slab was ready which Ambrosio said he meant to have prepared,

Beneath the stone before your eyes The body of a lover lies; In life he was a shepherd swain, In death a

victim to disdain. Ungrateful, cruel, coy, and fair, Was she that drove him to despair, And Love hath made

They then strewed upon the grave a profusion of flowers and branches, and all expressing their condolence

with his friend ambrosio, took their Vivaldo and his companion did the same; and Don Quixote bade farewell

to his hosts and to the travellers, who pressed him to come with them to Seville, as being such a convenient

place for finding adventures, for they presented themselves in every street and round every corner oftener

than anywhere else. Don Quixote thanked them for their advice and for the disposition they showed to do him

a favour, and said that for the present he would not, and must not go to Seville until he had cleared all these

mountains of highwaymen and robbers, of whom report said they were full. Seeing his good intention, the

travellers were unwilling to press him further, and once more bidding him farewell, they left him and pursued

their journey, in the course of which they did not fail to discuss the story of Marcela and Chrysostom as well

as the madness of Don Quixote. He, on his part, resolved to go in quest of the shepherdess Marcela, and make

offer to her of all the service he could render her; but things did not fall out with him as he expected,

according to what is related in the course of this veracious history, of which the Second Part ends here.

The sage Cide Hamete Benengeli relates that as soon as Don Quixote took leave of his hosts and all who had

been present at the burial of Chrysostom, he and his squire passed into the same wood which they had seen

the shepherdess Marcela enter, and after having wandered for more than two hours in all directions in search

of her without finding her, they came to a halt in a glade covered with tender grass, beside which ran a

pleasant cool stream that invited and compelled them to pass there the hours of the noontide heat, which by

this time was beginning to come on oppressively. Don Quixote and Sancho dismounted, and turning

Rocinante and the ass loose to feed on the grass that was there in abundance, they ransacked the alforjas, and

without any ceremony very peacefully and sociably master and man made their repast on what they found in

them. Sancho had not thought it worth while to hobble Rocinante, feeling sure, from what he knew of his

staidness and freedom from incontinence, that all the mares in the Cordova pastures would not lead him into

an impropriety. Chance, however, and the devil, who is not always asleep, so ordained it that feeding in this

valley there was a drove of Galician ponies belonging to certain Yanguesan carriers, whose way it is to take

their midday rest with their teams in places and spots where grass and water abound; and that where Don

Quixote chanced to be suited the Yanguesans' purpose very well. It so happened, then, that Rocinante took a

fancy to disport himself with their ladyships the ponies, and abandoning his usual gait and demeanour as he

scented them, he, without asking leave of his master, got up a briskish little trot and hastened to make known

his wishes to them; they, however, it seemed, preferred their pasture to him, and received him with their heels

and teeth to such effect that they soon broke his girths and left him naked without a saddle to cover him; but

what must have been worse to him was that the carriers, seeing the violence he was offering to their mares,

came running up armed with stakes, and so belaboured him that they brought him sorely battered to the

By this time Don Quixote and Sancho, who had witnessed the drubbing of Rocinante, came up panting, and

"So far as I can see, friend Sancho, these are not knights but base folk of low birth: I mention it because thou

canst lawfully aid me in taking due vengeance for the insult offered to Rocinante before our eyes."

"What the devil vengeance can we take," answered Sancho, "if they are more than twenty, and we no more

"I count for a hundred," replied Don Quixote, and without more words he drew his sword and attacked the

Yanguesans and excited and impelled by the example of his master, Sancho did the same; and to begin with,

Don Quixote delivered a slash at one of them that laid open the leather jerkin he wore, together with a great

portion of his shoulder. The Yanguesans, seeing themselves assaulted by only two men while they were so

many, betook themselves to their stakes, and driving the two into the middle they began to lay on with great

zeal and energy; in fact, at the second blow they brought Sancho to the ground, and Don Quixote fared the

same way, all his skill and high mettle availing him nothing, and fate willed it that he should fall at the feet of

Rocinante, who had not yet risen; whereby it may be seen how furiously stakes can pound in angry boorish

hands. Then, seeing the mischief they had done, the Yanguesans with all the haste they could loaded their

team and pursued their journey, leaving the two adventurers a sorry sight and in sorrier mood.

Sancho was the first to come to, and finding himself close to his master he called to him in a weak and

"What wouldst thou, brother Sancho?" answered Don Quixote in the same feeble suffering tone as Sancho.

"I would like, if it were possible," answered Sancho Panza, "your worship to give me a couple of sups of that

potion of the fiery Blas, if it be that you have any to hand there; perhaps it will serve for broken bones as well

"If I only had it here, wretch that I am, what more should we want?" said Don Quixote; "but I swear to thee,

Sancho Panza, on the faith of a knighterrant, ere two days are over, unless fortune orders otherwise, I mean

"But in how many does your worship think we shall have the use of our feet?" answered Sancho Panza.

"For myself I must say I cannot guess how many," said the battered knight Don Quixote; "but I take all the

blame upon myself, for I had no business to put hand to sword against men who where not dubbed knights

like myself, and so I believe that in punishment for having transgressed the laws of chivalry the God of

battles has permitted this chastisement to be administered to me; for which reason, brother Sancho, it is well

thou shouldst receive a hint on the matter which I am now about to mention to thee, for it is of much

importance to the welfare of both of us. It is at when thou shalt see rabble of this sort offering us insult thou

art not to wait till I draw sword against them, for I shall not do so at all; but do thou draw sword and chastise

them to thy heart's content, and if any knights come to their aid and defence I will take care to defend thee

and assail them with all my might; and thou hast already seen by a thousand signs and proofs what the might

of this strong arm of mine is equal to" so uplifted had the poor gentleman become through the victory over

But Sancho did not so fully approve of his master's admonition as to let it pass without saying in reply,

"Senor, I am a man of peace, meek and quiet, and I can put up with any affront because I have a wife and

children to support and bring up; so let it be likewise a hint to your worship, as it cannot be a mandate, that

on no account will I draw sword either against clown or against knight, and that here before God I forgive the

insults that have been offered me, whether they have been, are, or shall be offered me by high or low, rich or

To all which his master said in reply, "I wish I had breath enough to speak somewhat easily, and that the pain

I feel on this side would abate so as to let me explain to thee, Panza, the mistake thou makest. Come now,

sinner, suppose the wind of fortune, hitherto so adverse, should turn in our favour, filling the sails of our

desires so that safely and without impediment we put into port in some one of those islands I have promised

thee, how would it be with thee if on winning it I made thee lord of it? Why, thou wilt make it wellnigh

impossible through not being a knight nor having any desire to be one, nor possessing the courage nor the

will to avenge insults or defend thy lordship; for thou must know that in newly conquered kingdoms and

provinces the minds of the inhabitants are never so quiet nor so well disposed to the new lord that there is no

fear of their making some move to change matters once more, and try, as they say, what chance may do for

them; so it is essential that the new possessor should have good sense to enable him to govern, and valour to

"In what has now befallen us," answered Sancho, "I'd have been well pleased to have that good sense and that

valour your worship speaks of, but I swear on the faith of a poor man I am more fit for plasters than for

arguments. See if your worship can get up, and let us help Rocinante, though he does not deserve it, for he

was the main cause of all this thrashing. I never thought it of Rocinante, for I took him to be a virtuous person

and as quiet as myself. After all, they say right that it takes a long time to come to know people, and that

there is nothing sure in this life. Who would have said that, after such mighty slashes as your worship gave

that unlucky knighterrant, there was coming, travelling post and at the very heels of them, such a great

"And yet thine, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "ought to be used to such squalls; but mine, reared in soft

cloth and fine linen, it is plain they must feel more keenly the pain of this mishap, and if it were not that I

imagine why do I say imagine? know of a certainty that all these annoyances are very necessary

accompaniments of the calling of arms, I would lay me down here to die of pure vexation."

To this the squire replied, "Senor, as these mishaps are what one reaps of chivalry, tell me if they happen very

often, or if they have their own fixed times for coming to pass; because it seems to me that after two harvests

"Know, friend Sancho," answered Don Quixote, "that the life of knightserrant is subject to a thousand

dangers and reverses, and neither more nor less is it within immediate possibility for knightserrant to

become kings and emperors, as experience has shown in the case of many different knights with whose

histories I am thoroughly acquainted; and I could tell thee now, if the pain would let me, of some who simply

by might of arm have risen to the high stations I have mentioned; and those same, both before and after,

experienced divers misfortunes and miseries; for the valiant Amadis of Gaul found himself in the power of

his mortal enemy Arcalaus the magician, who, it is positively asserted, holding him captive, gave him more

than two hundred lashes with the reins of his horse while tied to one of the pillars of a court; and moreover

there is a certain recondite author of no small authority who says that the Knight of Phoebus, being caught in

a certain pitfall, which opened under his feet in a certain castle, on falling found himself bound hand and foot

in a deep pit underground, where they administered to him one of those things they call clysters, of sand and

snowwater, that wellnigh finished him; and if he had not been succoured in that sore extremity by a sage, a

great friend of his, it would have gone very hard with the poor knight; so I may well suffer in company with

such worthy folk, for greater were the indignities which they had to suffer than those which we suffer. For I

would have thee know, Sancho, that wounds caused by any instruments which happen by chance to be in

hand inflict no indignity, and this is laid down in the law of the duel in express words: if, for instance, the

cobbler strikes another with the last which he has in his hand, though it be in fact a piece of wood, it cannot

be said for that reason that he whom he struck with it has been cudgelled. I say this lest thou shouldst imagine

that because we have been drubbed in this affray we have therefore suffered any indignity; for the arms those

men carried, with which they pounded us, were nothing more than their stakes, and not one of them, so far as

"They gave me no time to see that much," answered Sancho, "for hardly had I laid hand on my tizona when

they signed the cross on my shoulders with their sticks in such style that they took the sight out of my eyes

and the strength out of my feet, stretching me where I now lie, and where thinking of whether all those

stakestrokes were an indignity or not gives me no uneasiness, which the pain of the blows does, for they

"For all that let me tell thee, brother Panza," said Don Quixote, "that there is no recollection which time does

"And what greater misfortune can there be," replied Panza, "than the one that waits for time to put an end to it

and death to remove it? If our mishap were one of those that are cured with a couple of plasters, it would not

be so bad; but I am beginning to think that all the plasters in a hospital almost won't be enough to put us

"No more of that: pluck strength out of weakness, Sancho, as I mean to do," returned Don Quixote, "and let

us see how Rocinante is, for it seems to me that not the least share of this mishap has fallen to the lot of the

"There is nothing wonderful in that," replied Sancho, "since he is a knighterrant too; what I wonder at is that

"Fortune always leaves a door open in adversity in order to bring relief to it," said Don Quixote; "I say so

because this little beast may now supply the want of Rocinante, carrying me hence to some castle where I

may be cured of my wounds. And moreover I shall not hold it any dishonour to be so mounted, for I

remember having read how the good old Silenus, the tutor and instructor of the gay god of laughter, when he

entered the city of the hundred gates, went very contentedly mounted on a handsome ass."

"It may be true that he went mounted as your worship says," answered Sancho, "but there is a great difference

To which Don Quixote replied, "Wounds received in battle confer honour instead of taking it away; and so,

friend Panza, say no more, but, as I told thee before, get up as well as thou canst and put me on top of thy

beast in whatever fashion pleases thee best, and let us go hence ere night come on and surprise us in these

"And yet I have heard your worship say," observed Panza, "that it is very meet for knightserrant to sleep in

"That is," said Don Quixote, "when they cannot help it, or when they are in love; and so true is this that there

have been knights who have remained two years on rocks, in sunshine and shade and all the inclemencies of

heaven, without their ladies knowing anything of it; and one of these was Amadis, when, under the name of

Beltenebros, he took up his abode on the Pena Pobre for I know not if it was eight years or eight months, for

I am not very sure of the reckoning; at any rate he stayed there doing penance for I know not what pique the

Princess Oriana had against him; but no more of this now, Sancho, and make haste before a mishap like

"The very devil would be in it in that case," said Sancho; and letting off thirty "ohs," and sixty sighs, and a

hundred and twenty maledictions and execrations on whomsoever it was that had brought him there, he raised

himself, stopping halfway bent like a Turkish bow without power to bring himself upright, but with all his

pains he saddled his ass, who too had gone astray somewhat, yielding to the excessive licence of the day; he

next raised up Rocinante, and as for him, had he possessed a tongue to complain with, most assuredly neither

Sancho nor his master would have been behind him. To be brief, Sancho fixed Don Quixote on the ass and

secured Rocinante with a leading rein, and taking the ass by the halter, he proceeded more or less in the

direction in which it seemed to him the high road might be; and, as chance was conducting their affairs for

them from good to better, he had not gone a short league when the road came in sight, and on it he perceived

an inn, which to his annoyance and to the delight of Don Quixote must needs be a castle. Sancho insisted that

it was an inn, and his master that it was not one, but a castle, and the dispute lasted so long that before the

point was settled they had time to reach it, and into it Sancho entered with all his team without any further

The innkeeper, seeing Don Quixote slung across the ass, asked Sancho what was amiss with him. Sancho

answered that it was nothing, only that he had fallen down from a rock and had his ribs a little bruised. The

innkeeper had a wife whose disposition was not such as those of her calling commonly have, for she was by

nature kindhearted and felt for the sufferings of her neighbours, so she at once set about tending Don

Quixote, and made her young daughter, a very comely girl, help her in taking care of her guest. There was

besides in the inn, as servant, an Asturian lass with a broad face, flat poll, and snub nose, blind of one eye and

not very sound in the other. The elegance of her shape, to be sure, made up for all her defects; she did not

measure seven palms from head to foot, and her shoulders, which overweighted her somewhat, made her

contemplate the ground more than she liked. This graceful lass, then, helped the young girl, and the two made

up a very bad bed for Don Quixote in a garret that showed evident signs of having formerly served for many

years as a strawloft, in which there was also quartered a carrier whose bed was placed a little beyond our

Don Quixote's, and, though only made of the packsaddles and cloths of his mules, had much the advantage

of it, as Don Quixote's consisted simply of four rough boards on two not very even trestles, a mattress, that

for thinness might have passed for a quilt, full of pellets which, were they not seen through the rents to be

wool, would to the touch have seemed pebbles in hardness, two sheets made of buckler leather, and a coverlet

the threads of which anyone that chose might have counted without missing one in the reckoning.

On this accursed bed Don Quixote stretched himself, and the hostess and her daughter soon covered him with

plasters from top to toe, while Maritornes for that was the name of the Asturian held the light for them, and

while plastering him, the hostess, observing how full of wheals Don Quixote was in some places, remarked

It was not blows, Sancho said, but that the rock had many points and projections, and that each of them had

left its mark. "Pray, senora," he added, "manage to save some tow, as there will be no want of some one to

"I did not fall," said Sancho Panza, "but from the shock I got at seeing my master fall, my body aches so that

"That may well be," said the young girl, "for it has many a time happened to me to dream that I was falling

down from a tower and never coming to the ground, and when I awoke from the dream to find myself as

"There is the point, senora," replied Sancho Panza, "that I without dreaming at all, but being more awake than

"Don Quixote of La Mancha," answered Sancho Panza, "and he is a knightadventurer, and one of the best

"Are you so new in the world as not to know?" answered Sancho Panza. "Well, then, you must know, sister,

that a knightadventurer is a thing that in two words is seen drubbed and emperor, that is today the most

miserable and needy being in the world, and tomorrow will have two or three crowns of kingdoms to give

"Then how is it," said the hostess, "that belonging to so good a master as this, you have not, to judge by

"It is too soon yet," answered Sancho, "for we have only been a month going in quest of adventures, and so

far we have met with nothing that can be called one, for it will happen that when one thing is looked for

another thing is found; however, if my master Don Quixote gets well of this wound, or fall, and I am left

To all this conversation Don Quixote was listening very attentively, and sitting up in bed as well as he could,

and taking the hostess by the hand he said to her, "Believe me, fair lady, you may call yourself fortunate in

having in this castle of yours sheltered my person, which is such that if I do not myself praise it, it is because

of what is commonly said, that selfpraise debaseth; but my squire will inform you who I am. I only tell you

that I shall preserve for ever inscribed on my memory the service you have rendered me in order to tender

you my gratitude while life shall last me; and would to Heaven love held me not so enthralled and subject to

its laws and to the eyes of that fair ingrate whom I name between my teeth, but that those of this lovely

The hostess, her daughter, and the worthy Maritornes listened in bewilderment to the words of the

knighterrant; for they understood about as much of them as if he had been talking Greek, though they could

perceive they were all meant for expressions of goodwill and blandishments; and not being accustomed to

this kind of language, they stared at him and wondered to themselves, for he seemed to them a man of a

different sort from those they were used to, and thanking him in pothouse phrase for his civility they left him,

while the Asturian gave her attention to Sancho, who needed it no less than his master.

The carrier had made an arrangement with her for recreation that night, and she had given him her word that

when the guests were quiet and the family asleep she would come in search of him and meet his wishes

unreservedly. And it is said of this good lass that she never made promises of the kind without fulfilling

them, even though she made them in a forest and without any witness present, for she plumed herself greatly

on being a lady and held it no disgrace to be in such an employment as servant in an inn, because, she said,

misfortunes and illluck had brought her to that position. The hard, narrow, wretched, rickety bed of Don

Quixote stood first in the middle of this starlit stable, and close beside it Sancho made his, which merely

consisted of a rush mat and a blanket that looked as if it was of threadbare canvas rather than of wool. Next to

these two beds was that of the carrier, made up, as has been said, of the packsaddles and all the trappings of

the two best mules he had, though there were twelve of them, sleek, plump, and in prime condition, for he

was one of the rich carriers of Arevalo, according to the author of this history, who particularly mentions this

carrier because he knew him very well, and they even say was in some degree a relation of his; besides which

Cide Hamete Benengeli was a historian of great research and accuracy in all things, as is very evident since

he would not pass over in silence those that have been already mentioned, however trifling and insignificant

they might be, an example that might be followed by those grave historians who relate transactions so curtly

and briefly that we hardly get a taste of them, all the substance of the work being left in the inkstand from

carelessness, perverseness, or ignorance. A thousand blessings on the author of "Tablante de Ricamonte" and

that of the other book in which the deeds of the Conde Tomillas are recounted; with what minuteness they

To proceed, then: after having paid a visit to his team and given them their second feed, the carrier stretched

himself on his packsaddles and lay waiting for his conscientious Maritornes. Sancho was by this time

plastered and had lain down, and though he strove to sleep the pain of his ribs would not let him, while Don

Quixote with the pain of his had his eyes as wide open as a hare's. The inn was all in silence, and in the whole

of it there was no light except that given by a lantern that hung burning in the middle of the gateway. This

strange stillness, and the thoughts, always present to our knight's mind, of the incidents described at every

turn in the books that were the cause of his misfortune, conjured up to his imagination as extraordinary a

delusion as can well be conceived, which was that he fancied himself to have reached a famous castle (for, as

has been said, all the inns he lodged in were castles to his eyes), and that the daughter of the innkeeper was

daughter of the lord of the castle, and that she, won by his highbred bearing, had fallen in love with him,

and had promised to come to his bed for a while that night without the knowledge of her parents; and holding

all this fantasy that he had constructed as solid fact, he began to feel uneasy and to consider the perilous risk

which his virtue was about to encounter, and he resolved in his heart to commit no treason to his lady

Dulcinea del Toboso, even though the queen Guinevere herself and the dame Quintanona should present

While he was taken up with these vagaries, then, the time and the hour an unlucky one for him arrived for

the Asturian to come, who in her smock, with bare feet and her hair gathered into a fustian coif, with

noiseless and cautious steps entered the chamber where the three were quartered, in quest of the carrier; but

scarcely had she gained the door when Don Quixote perceived her, and sitting up in his bed in spite of his

plasters and the pain of his ribs, he stretched out his arms to receive his beauteous damsel. The Asturian, who

went all doubled up and in silence with her hands before her feeling for her lover, encountered the arms of

Don Quixote, who grasped her tightly by the wrist, and drawing her towards him, while she dared not utter a

word, made her sit down on the bed. He then felt her smock, and although it was of sackcloth it appeared to

him to be of the finest and softest silk: on her wrists she wore some glass beads, but to him they had the sheen

of precious Orient pearls: her hair, which in some measure resembled a horse's mane, he rated as threads of

the brightest gold of Araby, whose refulgence dimmed the sun himself: her breath, which no doubt smelt of

yesterday's stale salad, seemed to him to diffuse a sweet aromatic fragrance from her mouth; and, in short, he

drew her portrait in his imagination with the same features and in the same style as that which he had seen in

his books of the other princesses who, smitten by love, came with all the adornments that are here set down,

to see the sorely wounded knight; and so great was the poor gentleman's blindness that neither touch, nor

smell, nor anything else about the good lass that would have made any but a carrier vomit, were enough to

undeceive him; on the contrary, he was persuaded he had the goddess of beauty in his arms, and holding her

"Would that found myself, lovely and exalted lady, in a position to repay such a favour as that which you, by

the sight of your great beauty, have granted me; but fortune, which is never weary of persecuting the good,

has chosen to place me upon this bed, where I lie so bruised and broken that though my inclination would

gladly comply with yours it is impossible; besides, to this impossibility another yet greater is to be added,

which is the faith that I have pledged to the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, sole lady of my most secret

thoughts; and were it not that this stood in the way I should not be so insensible a knight as to miss the happy

Maritornes was fretting and sweating at finding herself held so fast by Don Quixote, and not understanding or

heeding the words he addressed to her, she strove without speaking to free herself. The worthy carrier, whose

unholy thoughts kept him awake, was aware of his doxy the moment she entered the door, and was listening

attentively to all Don Quixote said; and jealous that the Asturian should have broken her word with him for

another, drew nearer to Don Quixote's bed and stood still to see what would come of this talk which he could

not understand; but when he perceived the wench struggling to get free and Don Quixote striving to hold her,

not relishing the joke he raised his arm and delivered such a terrible cuff on the lank jaws of the amorous

knight that be bathed all his mouth in blood, and not content with this he mounted on his ribs and with his

feet tramped all over them at a pace rather smarter than a trot. The bed which was somewhat crazy and not

very firm on its feet, unable to support the additional weight of the carrier, came to the ground, and at the

mighty crash of this the innkeeper awoke and at once concluded that it must be some brawl of Maritornes',

because after calling loudly to her he got no answer. With this suspicion he got up, and lighting a lamp

hastened to the quarter where he had heard the disturbance. The wench, seeing that her master was coming

and knowing that his temper was terrible, frightened and panicstricken made for the bed of Sancho Panza,

The innkeeper came in exclaiming, "Where art thou, strumpet? Of course this is some of thy work." At this

Sancho awoke, and feeling this mass almost on top of him fancied he had the nightmare and began to

distribute fisticuffs all round, of which a certain share fell upon Maritornes, who, irritated by the pain and

flinging modesty aside, paid back so many in return to Sancho that she woke him up in spite of himself. He

then, finding himself so handled, by whom he knew not, raising himself up as well as he could, grappled with

Maritornes, and he and she between them began the bitterest and drollest scrimmage in the world. The

carrier, however, perceiving by the light of the innkeeper candle how it fared with his ladylove, quitting Don

Quixote, ran to bring her the help she needed; and the innkeeper did the same but with a different intention,

for his was to chastise the lass, as he believed that beyond a doubt she alone was the cause of all the harmony.

And so, as the saying is, cat to rat, rat to rope, rope to stick, the carrier pounded Sancho, Sancho the lass, she

him, and the innkeeper her, and all worked away so briskly that they did not give themselves a moment's rest;

and the best of it was that the innkeeper's lamp went out, and as they were left in the dark they all laid on one

upon the other in a mass so unmercifully that there was not a sound spot left where a hand could light.

It so happened that there was lodging that night in the inn a caudrillero of what they call the Old Holy

Brotherhood of Toledo, who, also hearing the extraordinary noise of the conflict, seized his staff and the tin

case with his warrants, and made his way in the dark into the room crying: "Hold! in the name of the

The first that he came upon was the pummelled Don Quixote, who lay stretched senseless on his back upon

his brokendown bed, and, his hand falling on the beard as he felt about, he continued to cry, "Help for the

Jurisdiction!" but perceiving that he whom he had laid hold of did not move or stir, he concluded that he was

dead and that those in the room were his murderers, and with this suspicion he raised his voice still higher,

calling out, "Shut the inn gate; see that no one goes out; they have killed a man here!" This cry startled them

all, and each dropped the contest at the point at which the voice reached him. The innkeeper retreated to his

room, the carrier to his packsaddles, the lass to her crib; the unlucky Don Quixote and Sancho alone were

unable to move from where they were. The cuadrillero on this let go Don Quixote's beard, and went out to

look for a light to search for and apprehend the culprits; but not finding one, as the innkeeper had purposely

extinguished the lantern on retreating to his room, he was compelled to have recourse to the hearth, where

By this time Don Quixote had recovered from his swoon; and in the same tone of voice in which he had

called to his squire the day before when he lay stretched "in the vale of the stakes," he began calling to him

"How can I sleep, curses on it!" returned Sancho discontentedly and bitterly, "when it is plain that all the

"Thou mayest well believe that," answered Don Quixote, "because, either I know little, or this castle is

enchanted, for thou must know but this that I am now about to tell thee thou must swear to keep secret until

"I say so," continued Don Quixote, "because I hate taking away anyone's good name."

"I say," replied Sancho, "that I swear to hold my tongue about it till the end of your worship's days, and God

"Do I do thee such injuries, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that thou wouldst see me dead so soon?"

"It is not for that," replied Sancho, "but because I hate keeping things long, and I don't want them to grow

"At any rate," said Don Quixote, "I have more confidence in thy affection and good nature; and so I would

have thee know that this night there befell me one of the strangest adventures that I could describe, and to

relate it to thee briefly thou must know that a little while ago the daughter of the lord of this castle came to

me, and that she is the most elegant and beautiful damsel that could be found in the wide world. What I could

tell thee of the charms of her person! of her lively wit! of other secret matters which, to preserve the fealty I

owe to my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, I shall pass over unnoticed and in silence! I will only tell thee that,

either fate being envious of so great a boon placed in my hands by good fortune, or perhaps (and this is more

probable) this castle being, as I have already said, enchanted, at the time when I was engaged in the sweetest

and most amorous discourse with her, there came, without my seeing or knowing whence it came, a hand

attached to some arm of some huge giant, that planted such a cuff on my jaws that I have them all bathed in

blood, and then pummelled me in such a way that I am in a worse plight than yesterday when the carriers, on

account of Rocinante's misbehaviour, inflicted on us the injury thou knowest of; whence conjecture that there

must be some enchanted Moor guarding the treasure of this damsel's beauty, and that it is not for me."

"Not for me either," said Sancho, "for more than four hundred Moors have so thrashed me that the drubbing

of the stakes was cakes and fancybread to it. But tell me, senor, what do you call this excellent and rare

adventure that has left us as we are left now? Though your worship was not so badly off, having in your arms

that incomparable beauty you spoke of; but I, what did I have, except the heaviest whacks I think I had in all

my life? Unlucky me and the mother that bore me! for I am not a knighterrant and never expect to be one,

"Be not distressed, friend," said Don Quixote, "for I will now make the precious balsam with which we shall

By this time the cuadrillero had succeeded in lighting the lamp, and came in to see the man that he thought

had been killed; and as Sancho caught sight of him at the door, seeing him coming in his shirt, with a cloth on

his head, and a lamp in his hand, and a very forbidding countenance, he said to his master, "Senor, can it be

that this is the enchanted Moor coming back to give us more castigation if there be anything still left in the

"It cannot be the Moor," answered Don Quixote, "for those under enchantment do not let themselves be seen

"If they don't let themselves be seen, they let themselves be felt," said Sancho; "if not, let my shoulders speak

"Mine could speak too," said Don Quixote, "but that is not a sufficient reason for believing that what we see

The officer came up, and finding them engaged in such a peaceful conversation, stood amazed; though Don

Quixote, to be sure, still lay on his back unable to move from pure pummelling and plasters. The officer

"I would speak more politely if I were you," replied Don Quixote; "is it the way of this country to address

The cuadrillero finding himself so disrespectfully treated by such a sorrylooking individual, lost his temper,

and raising the lamp full of oil, smote Don Quixote such a blow with it on the head that he gave him a badly

broken pate; then, all being in darkness, he went out, and Sancho Panza said, "That is certainly the enchanted

Moor, Senor, and he keeps the treasure for others, and for us only the cuffs and lampwhacks."

"That is the truth," answered Don Quixote, "and there is no use in troubling oneself about these matters of

enchantment or being angry or vexed at them, for as they are invisible and visionary we shall find no one on

whom to avenge ourselves, do what we may; rise, Sancho, if thou canst, and call the alcaide of this fortress,

and get him to give me a little oil, wine, salt, and rosemary to make the salutiferous balsam, for indeed I

believe I have great need of it now, because I am losing much blood from the wound that phantom gave me."

Sancho got up with pain enough in his bones, and went after the innkeeper in the dark, and meeting the

officer, who was looking to see what had become of his enemy, he said to him, "Senor, whoever you are, do

us the favour and kindness to give us a little rosemary, oil, salt, and wine, for it is wanted to cure one of the

best knightserrant on earth, who lies on yonder bed wounded by the hands of the enchanted Moor that is in

When the officer heard him talk in this way, he took him for a man out of his senses, and as day was now

beginning to break, he opened the inn gate, and calling the host, he told him what this good man wanted. The

host furnished him with what he required, and Sancho brought it to Don Quixote, who, with his hand to his

head, was bewailing the pain of the blow of the lamp, which had done him no more harm than raising a

couple of rather large lumps, and what he fancied blood was only the sweat that flowed from him in his

sufferings during the late storm. To be brief, he took the materials, of which he made a compound, mixing

them all and boiling them a good while until it seemed to him they had come to perfection. He then asked for

some vial to pour it into, and as there was not one in the inn, he decided on putting it into a tin oilbottle or

flask of which the host made him a free gift; and over the flask he repeated more than eighty paternosters and

as many more avemarias, salves, and credos, accompanying each word with a cross by way of benediction,

at all which there were present Sancho, the innkeeper, and the cuadrillero; for the carrier was now peacefully

This being accomplished, he felt anxious to make trial himself, on the spot, of the virtue of this precious

balsam, as he considered it, and so he drank near a quart of what could not be put into the flask and remained

in the pigskin in which it had been boiled; but scarcely had he done drinking when he began to vomit in such

a way that nothing was left in his stomach, and with the pangs and spasms of vomiting he broke into a

profuse sweat, on account of which he bade them cover him up and leave him alone. They did so, and he lay

sleeping more than three hours, at the end of which he awoke and felt very great bodily relief and so much

ease from his bruises that he thought himself quite cured, and verily believed he had hit upon the balsam of

Fierabras; and that with this remedy he might thenceforward, without any fear, face any kind of destruction,

Sancho Panza, who also regarded the amendment of his master as miraculous, begged him to give him what

was left in the pigskin, which was no small quantity. Don Quixote consented, and he, taking it with both

hands, in good faith and with a better will, gulped down and drained off very little less than his master. But

the fact is, that the stomach of poor Sancho was of necessity not so delicate as that of his master, and so,

before vomiting, he was seized with such gripings and retchings, and such sweats and faintness, that verily

and truly be believed his last hour had come, and finding himself so racked and tormented he cursed the

Don Quixote seeing him in this state said, "It is my belief, Sancho, that this mischief comes of thy not being

dubbed a knight, for I am persuaded this liquor cannot be good for those who are not so."

"If your worship knew that," returned Sancho "woe betide me and all my kindred! why did you let me taste

At this moment the draught took effect, and the poor squire began to discharge both ways at such a rate that

the rush mat on which he had thrown himself and the canvas blanket he had covering him were fit for nothing

afterwards. He sweated and perspired with such paroxysms and convulsions that not only he himself but all

present thought his end had come. This tempest and tribulation lasted about two hours, at the end of which he

was left, not like his master, but so weak and exhausted that he could not stand. Don Quixote, however, who,

as has been said, felt himself relieved and well, was eager to take his departure at once in quest of adventures,

as it seemed to him that all the time he loitered there was a fraud upon the world and those in it who stood in

need of his help and protection, all the more when he had the security and confidence his balsam afforded

him; and so, urged by this impulse, he saddled Rocinante himself and put the packsaddle on his squire's

beast, whom likewise he helped to dress and mount the ass; after which he mounted his horse and turning to a

corner of the inn he laid hold of a pike that stood there, to serve him by way of a lance. All that were in the

inn, who were more than twenty persons, stood watching him; the innkeeper's daughter was likewise

observing him, and he too never took his eyes off her, and from time to time fetched a sigh that he seemed to

pluck up from the depths of his bowels; but they all thought it must be from the pain he felt in his ribs; at any

As soon as they were both mounted, at the gate of the inn, he called to the host and said in a very grave and

measured voice, "Many and great are the favours, Senor Alcaide, that I have received in this castle of yours,

and I remain under the deepest obligation to be grateful to you for them all the days of my life; if I can repay

them in avenging you of any arrogant foe who may have wronged you, know that my calling is no other than

to aid the weak, to avenge those who suffer wrong, and to chastise perfidy. Search your memory, and if you

find anything of this kind you need only tell me of it, and I promise you by the order of knighthood which I

have received to procure you satisfaction and reparation to the utmost of your desire."

The innkeeper replied to him with equal calmness, "Sir Knight, I do not want your worship to avenge me of

any wrong, because when any is done me I can take what vengeance seems good to me; the only thing I want

is that you pay me the score that you have run up in the inn last night, as well for the straw and barley for

"I have been under a mistake all this time," answered Don Quixote, "for in truth I thought it was a castle, and

not a bad one; but since it appears that it is not a castle but an inn, all that can be done now is that you should

excuse the payment, for I cannot contravene the rule of knightserrant, of whom I know as a fact (and up to

the present I have read nothing to the contrary) that they never paid for lodging or anything else in the inn

where they might be; for any hospitality that might be offered them is their due by law and right in return for

the insufferable toil they endure in seeking adventures by night and by day, in summer and in winter, on foot

and on horseback, in hunger and thirst, cold and heat, exposed to all the inclemencies of heaven and all the

"I have little to do with that," replied the innkeeper; "pay me what you owe me, and let us have no more talk

"You are a stupid, scurvy innkeeper," said Don Quixote, and putting spurs to Rocinante and bringing his pike

to the slope he rode out of the inn before anyone could stop him, and pushed on some distance without

The innkeeper when he saw him go without paying him ran to get payment of Sancho, who said that as his

master would not pay neither would he, because, being as he was squire to a knighterrant, the same rule and

reason held good for him as for his master with regard to not paying anything in inns and hostelries. At this

the innkeeper waxed very wroth, and threatened if he did not pay to compel him in a way that he would not

like. To which Sancho made answer that by the law of chivalry his master had received he would not pay a

rap, though it cost him his life; for the excellent and ancient usage of knightserrant was not going to be

violated by him, nor should the squires of such as were yet to come into the world ever complain of him or

The illluck of the unfortunate Sancho so ordered it that among the company in the inn there were four

woolcarders from Segovia, three needlemakers from the Colt of Cordova, and two lodgers from the Fair of

Seville, lively fellows, tenderhearted, fond of a joke, and playful, who, almost as if instigated and moved by

a common impulse, made up to Sancho and dismounted him from his ass, while one of them went in for the

blanket of the host's bed; but on flinging him into it they looked up, and seeing that the ceiling was somewhat

lower what they required for their work, they decided upon going out into the yard, which was bounded by

the sky, and there, putting Sancho in the middle of the blanket, they began to raise him high, making sport

The cries of the poor blanketed wretch were so loud that they reached the ears of his master, who, halting to

listen attentively, was persuaded that some new adventure was coming, until he clearly perceived that it was

his squire who uttered them. Wheeling about he came up to the inn with a laborious gallop, and finding it

shut went round it to see if he could find some way of getting in; but as soon as he came to the wall of the

yard, which was not very high, he discovered the game that was being played with his squire. He saw him

rising and falling in the air with such grace and nimbleness that, had his rage allowed him, it is my belief he

would have laughed. He tried to climb from his horse on to the top of the wall, but he was so bruised and

battered that he could not even dismount; and so from the back of his horse he began to utter such

maledictions and objurgations against those who were blanketing Sancho as it would be impossible to write

down accurately: they, however, did not stay their laughter or their work for this, nor did the flying Sancho

cease his lamentations, mingled now with threats, now with entreaties but all to little purpose, or none at all,

until from pure weariness they left off. They then brought him his ass, and mounting him on top of it they put

his jacket round him; and the compassionate Maritornes, seeing him so exhausted, thought fit to refresh him

with a jug of water, and that it might be all the cooler she fetched it from the well. Sancho took it, and as he

was raising it to his mouth he was stopped by the cries of his master exclaiming, "Sancho, my son, drink not

water; drink it not, my son, for it will kill thee; see, here I have the blessed balsam (and he held up the flask

At these words Sancho turned his eyes asquint, and in a still louder voice said, "Can it be your worship has

forgotten that I am not a knight, or do you want me to end by vomiting up what bowels I have left after last

night? Keep your liquor in the name of all the devils, and leave me to myself!" and at one and the same

instant he left off talking and began drinking; but as at the first sup he perceived it was water he did not care

to go on with it, and begged Maritornes to fetch him some wine, which she did with right good will, and paid

for it with her own money; for indeed they say of her that, though she was in that line of life, there was some

faint and distant resemblance to a Christian about her. When Sancho had done drinking he dug his heels into

his ass, and the gate of the inn being thrown open he passed out very well pleased at having paid nothing and

carried his point, though it had been at the expense of his usual sureties, his shoulders. It is true that the

innkeeper detained his alforjas in payment of what was owing to him, but Sancho took his departure in such a

flurry that he never missed them. The innkeeper, as soon as he saw him off, wanted to bar the gate close, but

the blanketers would not agree to it, for they were fellows who would not have cared two farthings for Don

Sancho reached his master so limp and faint that he could not urge on his beast. When Don Quixote saw the

state he was in he said, "I have now come to the conclusion, good Sancho, that this castle or inn is beyond a

doubt enchanted, because those who have so atrociously diverted themselves with thee, what can they be but

phantoms or beings of another world? and I hold this confirmed by having noticed that when I was by the

wall of the yard witnessing the acts of thy sad tragedy, it was out of my power to mount upon it, nor could I

even dismount from Rocinante, because they no doubt had me enchanted; for I swear to thee by the faith of

what I am that if I had been able to climb up or dismount, I would have avenged thee in such a way that those

braggart thieves would have remembered their freak for ever, even though in so doing I knew that I

contravened the laws of chivalry, which, as I have often told thee, do not permit a knight to lay hands on him

who is not one, save in case of urgent and great necessity in defence of his own life and person."

"I would have avenged myself too if I could," said Sancho, "whether I had been dubbed knight or not, but I

could not; though for my part I am persuaded those who amused themselves with me were not phantoms or

enchanted men, as your worship says, but men of flesh and bone like ourselves; and they all had their names,

for I heard them name them when they were tossing me, and one was called Pedro Martinez, and another

Tenorio Hernandez, and the innkeeper, I heard, was called Juan Palomeque the Lefthanded; so that, senor,

your not being able to leap over the wall of the yard or dismount from your horse came of something else

besides enchantments; and what I make out clearly from all this is, that these adventures we go seeking will

in the end lead us into such misadventures that we shall not know which is our right foot; and that the best

and wisest thing, according to my small wits, would be for us to return home, now that it is harvesttime, and

attend to our business, and give over wandering from Zeca to Mecca and from pail to bucket, as the saying

"How little thou knowest about chivalry, Sancho," replied Don Quixote; "hold thy peace and have patience;

the day will come when thou shalt see with thine own eyes what an honourable thing it is to wander in the

pursuit of this calling; nay, tell me, what greater pleasure can there be in the world, or what delight can equal

that of winning a battle, and triumphing over one's enemy? None, beyond all doubt."

"Very likely," answered Sancho, "though I do not know it; all I know is that since we have been

knightserrant, or since your worship has been one (for I have no right to reckon myself one of so honourable

a number) we have never won any battle except the one with the Biscayan, and even out of that your worship

carne with half an ear and half a helmet the less; and from that till now it has been all cudgellings and more

cudgellings, cuffs and more cuffs, I getting the blanketing over and above, and falling in with enchanted

persons on whom I cannot avenge myself so as to know what the delight, as your worship calls it, of

"That is what vexes me, and what ought to vex thee, Sancho," replied Don Quixote; "but henceforward I will

endeavour to have at hand some sword made by such craft that no kind of enchantments can take effect upon

him who carries it, and it is even possible that fortune may procure for me that which belonged to Amadis

when he was called 'The Knight of the Burning Sword,' which was one of the best swords that ever knight in

the world possessed, for, besides having the said virtue, it cut like a razor, and there was no armour, however

"Such is my luck," said Sancho, "that even if that happened and your worship found some such sword, it

would, like the balsam, turn out serviceable and good for dubbed knights only, and as for the squires, they

Thus talking, Don Quixote and his squire were going along, when, on the road they were following, Don

Quixote perceived approaching them a large and thick cloud of dust, on seeing which he turned to Sancho

"This is the day, Sancho, on which will be seen the boon my fortune is reserving for me; this, I say, is the day

on which as much as on any other shall be displayed the might of my arm, and on which I shall do deeds that

shall remain written in the book of fame for all ages to come. Seest thou that cloud of dust which rises

yonder? Well, then, all that is churned up by a vast army composed of various and countless nations that

"According to that there must be two," said Sancho, "for on this opposite side also there rises just such

Don Quixote turned to look and found that it was true, and rejoicing exceedingly, he concluded that they

were two armies about to engage and encounter in the midst of that broad plain; for at all times and seasons

his fancy was full of the battles, enchantments, adventures, crazy feats, loves, and defiances that are recorded

in the books of chivalry, and everything he said, thought, or did had reference to such things. Now the cloud

of dust he had seen was raised by two great droves of sheep coming along the same road in opposite

directions, which, because of the dust, did not become visible until they drew near, but Don Quixote asserted

so positively that they were armies that Sancho was led to believe it and say, "Well, and what are we to do,

"What?" said Don Quixote: "give aid and assistance to the weak and those who need it; and thou must know,

Sancho, that this which comes opposite to us is conducted and led by the mighty emperor Alifanfaron, lord of

the great isle of Trapobana; this other that marches behind me is that of his enemy the king of the

Garamantas, Pentapolin of the Bare Arm, for he always goes into battle with his right arm bare."

"They are at enmity," replied Don Quixote, "because this Alifanfaron is a furious pagan and is in love with

the daughter of Pentapolin, who is a very beautiful and moreover gracious lady, and a Christian, and her

father is unwilling to bestow her upon the pagan king unless he first abandons the religion of his false prophet

"By my beard," said Sancho, "but Pentapolin does quite right, and I will help him as much as I can."

"In that thou wilt do what is thy duty, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "for to engage in battles of this sort it is

"That I can well understand," answered Sancho; "but where shall we put this ass where we may be sure to

find him after the fray is over? for I believe it has not been the custom so far to go into battle on a beast of

"That is true," said Don Quixote, "and what you had best do with him is to leave him to take his chance

whether he be lost or not, for the horses we shall have when we come out victors will be so many that even

Rocinante will run a risk of being changed for another. But attend to me and observe, for I wish to give thee

some account of the chief knights who accompany these two armies; and that thou mayest the better see and

mark, let us withdraw to that hillock which rises yonder, whence both armies may be seen."

They did so, and placed themselves on a rising ground from which the two droves that Don Quixote made

armies of might have been plainly seen if the clouds of dust they raised had not obscured them and blinded

the sight; nevertheless, seeing in his imagination what he did not see and what did not exist, he began thus in

"That knight whom thou seest yonder in yellow armour, who bears upon his shield a lion crowned crouching

at the feet of a damsel, is the valiant Laurcalco, lord of the Silver Bridge; that one in armour with flowers of

gold, who bears on his shield three crowns argent on an azure field, is the dreaded Micocolembo, grand duke

of Quirocia; that other of gigantic frame, on his right hand, is the ever dauntless Brandabarbaran de Boliche,

lord of the three Arabias, who for armour wears that serpent skin, and has for shield a gate which, according

to tradition, is one of those of the temple that Samson brought to the ground when by his death he revenged

himself upon his enemies. But turn thine eyes to the other side, and thou shalt see in front and in the van of

this other army the ever victorious and never vanquished Timonel of Carcajona, prince of New Biscay, who

comes in armour with arms quartered azure, vert, white, and yellow, and bears on his shield a cat or on a field

tawny with a motto which says Miau, which is the beginning of the name of his lady, who according to report

is the peerless Miaulina, daughter of the duke Alfeniquen of the Algarve; the other, who burdens and presses

the loins of that powerful charger and bears arms white as snow and a shield blank and without any device, is

a novice knight, a Frenchman by birth, Pierres Papin by name, lord of the baronies of Utrique; that other, who

with ironshod heels strikes the flanks of that nimble particoloured zebra, and for arms bears azure vair, is

the mighty duke of Nerbia, Espartafilardo del Bosque, who bears for device on his shield an asparagus plant

with a motto in Castilian that says, Rastrea mi suerte." And so he went on naming a number of knights of one

squadron or the other out of his imagination, and to all he assigned offhand their arms, colours, devices, and

mottoes, carried away by the illusions of his unheardof craze; and without a pause, he continued, "People of

divers nations compose this squadron in front; here are those that drink of the sweet waters of the famous

Xanthus, those that scour the woody Massilian plains, those that sift the pure fine gold of Arabia Felix, those

that enjoy the famed cool banks of the crystal Thermodon, those that in many and various ways divert the

streams of the golden Pactolus, the Numidians, faithless in their promises, the Persians renowned in archery,

the Parthians and the Medes that fight as they fly, the Arabs that ever shift their dwellings, the Scythians as

cruel as they are fair, the Ethiopians with pierced lips, and an infinity of other nations whose features I

recognise and descry, though I cannot recall their names. In this other squadron there come those that drink of

the crystal streams of the olivebearing Betis, those that make smooth their countenances with the water of

the ever rich and golden Tagus, those that rejoice in the fertilising flow of the divine Genil, those that roam

the Tartesian plains abounding in pasture, those that take their pleasure in the Elysian meadows of Jerez, the

rich Manchegans crowned with ruddy ears of corn, the wearers of iron, old relics of the Gothic race, those

that bathe in the Pisuerga renowned for its gentle current, those that feed their herds along the spreading

pastures of the winding Guadiana famed for its hidden course, those that tremble with the cold of the pineclad

Pyrenees or the dazzling snows of the lofty Apennine; in a word, as many as all Europe includes and

Good God! what a number of countries and nations he named! giving to each its proper attributes with

marvellous readiness; brimful and saturated with what he had read in his lying books! Sancho Panza hung

upon his words without speaking, and from time to time turned to try if he could see the knights and giants

his master was describing, and as he could not make out one of them he said to him:

"Senor, devil take it if there's a sign of any man you talk of, knight or giant, in the whole thing; maybe it's all

"How canst thou say that!" answered Don Quixote; "dost thou not hear the neighing of the steeds, the braying

"I hear nothing but a great bleating of ewes and sheep," said Sancho; which was true, for by this time the two

"The fear thou art in, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "prevents thee from seeing or hearing correctly, for one of

the effects of fear is to derange the senses and make things appear different from what they are; if thou art in

such fear, withdraw to one side and leave me to myself, for alone I suffice to bring victory to that side to

which I shall give my aid;" and so saying he gave Rocinante the spur, and putting the lance in rest, shot down

the slope like a thunderbolt. Sancho shouted after him, crying, "Come back, Senor Don Quixote; I vow to

God they are sheep and ewes you are charging! Come back! Unlucky the father that begot me! what madness

is this! Look, there is no giant, nor knight, nor cats, nor arms, nor shields quartered or whole, nor vair azure

or bedevilled. What are you about? Sinner that I am before God!" But not for all these entreaties did Don

Quixote turn back; on the contrary he went on shouting out, "Ho, knights, ye who follow and fight under the

banners of the valiant emperor Pentapolin of the Bare Arm, follow me all; ye shall see how easily I shall give

So saying, he dashed into the midst of the squadron of ewes, and began spearing them with as much spirit and

intrepidity as if he were transfixing mortal enemies in earnest. The shepherds and drovers accompanying the

flock shouted to him to desist; seeing it was no use, they ungirt their slings and began to salute his ears with

stones as big as one's fist. Don Quixote gave no heed to the stones, but, letting drive right and left kept

"Where art thou, proud Alifanfaron? Come before me; I am a single knight who would fain prove thy

prowess hand to hand, and make thee yield thy life a penalty for the wrong thou dost to the valiant Pentapolin

Garamanta." Here came a sugarplum from the brook that struck him on the side and buried a couple of ribs

in his body. Feeling himself so smitten, he imagined himself slain or badly wounded for certain, and

recollecting his liquor he drew out his flask, and putting it to his mouth began to pour the contents into his

stomach; but ere he had succeeded in swallowing what seemed to him enough, there came another almond

which struck him on the hand and on the flask so fairly that it smashed it to pieces, knocking three or four

teeth and grinders out of his mouth in its course, and sorely crushing two fingers of his hand. Such was the

force of the first blow and of the second, that the poor knight in spite of himself came down backwards off

his horse. The shepherds came up, and felt sure they had killed him; so in all haste they collected their flock

together, took up the dead beasts, of which there were more than seven, and made off without waiting to

All this time Sancho stood on the hill watching the crazy feats his master was performing, and tearing his

beard and cursing the hour and the occasion when fortune had made him acquainted with him. Seeing him,

then, brought to the ground, and that the shepherds had taken themselves off, he ran to him and found him in

"Did I not tell you to come back, Senor Don Quixote; and that what you were going to attack were not armies

"That's how that thief of a sage, my enemy, can alter and falsify things," answered Don Quixote; "thou must

know, Sancho, that it is a very easy matter for those of his sort to make us believe what they choose; and this

malignant being who persecutes me, envious of the glory he knew I was to win in this battle, has turned the

squadrons of the enemy into droves of sheep. At any rate, do this much, I beg of thee, Sancho, to undeceive

thyself, and see that what I say is true; mount thy ass and follow them quietly, and thou shalt see that when

they have gone some little distance from this they will return to their original shape and, ceasing to be sheep,

become men in all respects as I described them to thee at first. But go not just yet, for I want thy help and

assistance; come hither, and see how many of my teeth and grinders are missing, for I feel as if there was not

Sancho came so close that he almost put his eyes into his mouth; now just at that moment the balsam had

acted on the stomach of Don Quixote, so, at the very instant when Sancho came to examine his mouth, he

discharged all its contents with more force than a musket, and full into the beard of the compassionate squire.

"Holy Mary!" cried Sancho, "what is this that has happened me? Clearly this sinner is mortally wounded, as

he vomits blood from the mouth;" but considering the matter a little more closely he perceived by the colour,

taste, and smell, that it was not blood but the balsam from the flask which he had seen him drink; and he was

taken with such a loathing that his stomach turned, and he vomited up his inside over his very master, and

both were left in a precious state. Sancho ran to his ass to get something wherewith to clean himself, and

relieve his master, out of his alforjas; but not finding them, he wellnigh took leave of his senses, and cursed

himself anew, and in his heart resolved to quit his master and return home, even though he forfeited the

Don Quixote now rose, and putting his left hand to his mouth to keep his teeth from falling out altogether,

with the other he laid hold of the bridle of Rocinante, who had never stirred from his master's side so loyal

and wellbehaved was he and betook himself to where the squire stood leaning over his ass with his hand to

his cheek, like one in deep dejection. Seeing him in this mood, looking so sad, Don Quixote said to him:

"Bear in mind, Sancho, that one man is no more than another, unless he does more than another; all these

tempests that fall upon us are signs that fair weather is coming shortly, and that things will go well with us,

for it is impossible for good or evil to last for ever; and hence it follows that the evil having lasted long, the

good must be now nigh at hand; so thou must not distress thyself at the misfortunes which happen to me,

"How have I not?" replied Sancho; "was he whom they blanketed yesterday perchance any other than my

father's son? and the alforjas that are missing today with all my treasures, did they belong to any other but

"It would be so," answered Sancho, "if there were none of the herbs your worship says you know in these

meadows, those with which knightserrant as unlucky as your worship are wont to supply suchlike

"For all that," answered Don Quixote, "I would rather have just now a quarter of bread, or a loaf and a couple

of pilchards' heads, than all the herbs described by Dioscorides, even with Doctor Laguna's notes.

Nevertheless, Sancho the Good, mount thy beast and come along with me, for God, who provides for all

things, will not fail us (more especially when we are so active in his service as we are), since he fails not the

midges of the air, nor the grubs of the earth, nor the tadpoles of the water, and is so merciful that he maketh

his sun to rise on the good and on the evil, and sendeth rain on the unjust and on the just."

"Knightserrant knew and ought to know everything, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "for there were

knightserrant in former times as well qualified to deliver a sermon or discourse in the middle of an

encampment, as if they had graduated in the University of Paris; whereby we may see that the lance has never

"Well, be it as your worship says," replied Sancho; "let us be off now and find some place of shelter for the

night, and God grant it may be somewhere where there are no blankets, nor blanketeers, nor phantoms, nor

"Ask that of God, my son," said Don Quixote; and do thou lead on where thou wilt, for this time I leave our

lodging to thy choice; but reach me here thy hand, and feel with thy finger, and find out how many of my

teeth and grinders are missing from this right side of the upper jaw, for it is there I feel the pain."

Sancho put in his fingers, and feeling about asked him, "How many grinders used your worship have on this

"Four," replied Don Quixote, "besides the backtooth, all whole and quite sound."

"I say four, if not five," answered Don Quixote, "for never in my life have I had tooth or grinder drawn, nor

"Well, then," said Sancho, "in this lower side your worship has no more than two grinders and a half, and in

the upper neither a half nor any at all, for it is all as smooth as the palm of my hand."

"Luckless that I am!" said Don Quixote, hearing the sad news his squire gave him; "I had rather they

despoiled me of an arm, so it were not the swordarm; for I tell thee, Sancho, a mouth without teeth is like a

mill without a millstone, and a tooth is much more to be prized than a diamond; but we who profess the

austere order of chivalry are liable to all this. Mount, friend, and lead the way, and I will follow thee at

Sancho did as he bade him, and proceeded in the direction in which he thought he might find refuge without

quitting the high road, which was there very much frequented. As they went along, then, at a slow pace for

the pain in Don Quixote's jaws kept him uneasy and illdisposed for speed Sancho thought it well to amuse

and divert him by talk of some kind, and among the things he said to him was that which will be told in the

"It seems to me, senor, that all these mishaps that have befallen us of late have been without any doubt a

punishment for the offence committed by your worship against the order of chivalry in not keeping the oath

you made not to eat bread off a tablecloth or embrace the queen, and all the rest of it that your worship swore

to observe until you had taken that helmet of Malandrino's, or whatever the Moor is called, for I do not very

"Thou art very right, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "but to tell the truth, it had escaped my memory; and

likewise thou mayest rely upon it that the affair of the blanket happened to thee because of thy fault in not

reminding me of it in time; but I will make amends, for there are ways of compounding for everything in the

"It makes no matter that thou hast not taken an oath," said Don Quixote; "suffice it that I see thou art not

quite clear of complicity; and whether or no, it will not be ill done to provide ourselves with a remedy."

"In that case," said Sancho, "mind that your worship does not forget this as you did the oath; perhaps the

phantoms may take it into their heads to amuse themselves once more with me; or even with your worship if

While engaged in this and other talk, night overtook them on the road before they had reached or discovered

any place of shelter; and what made it still worse was that they were dying of hunger, for with the loss of the

alforjas they had lost their entire larder and commissariat; and to complete the misfortune they met with an

adventure which without any invention had really the appearance of one. It so happened that the night closed

in somewhat darkly, but for all that they pushed on, Sancho feeling sure that as the road was the king's

highway they might reasonably expect to find some inn within a league or two. Going along, then, in this

way, the night dark, the squire hungry, the master sharpset, they saw coming towards them on the road they

were travelling a great number of lights which looked exactly like stars in motion. Sancho was taken aback at

the sight of them, nor did Don Quixote altogether relish them: the one pulled up his ass by the halter, the

other his hack by the bridle, and they stood still, watching anxiously to see what all this would turn out to be,

and found that the lights were approaching them, and the nearer they came the greater they seemed, at which

spectacle Sancho began to shake like a man dosed with mercury, and Don Quixote's hair stood on end; he,

"This, no doubt, Sancho, will be a most mighty and perilous adventure, in which it will be needful for me to

"Unlucky me!" answered Sancho; "if this adventure happens to be one of phantoms, as I am beginning to

"Be they phantoms ever so much," said Don Quixote, "I will not permit them to touch a thread of thy

garments; for if they played tricks with thee the time before, it was because I was unable to leap the walls of

the yard; but now we are on a wide plain, where I shall be able to wield my sword as I please."

"And if they enchant and cripple you as they did the last time," said Sancho, "what difference will it make

"For all that," replied Don Quixote, "I entreat thee, Sancho, to keep a good heart, for experience will tell thee

"I will, please God," answered Sancho, and the two retiring to one side of the road set themselves to observe

closely what all these moving lights might be; and very soon afterwards they made out some twenty

encamisados, all on horseback, with lighted torches in their hands, the aweinspiring aspect of whom

completely extinguished the courage of Sancho, who began to chatter with his teeth like one in the cold fit of

an ague; and his heart sank and his teeth chattered still more when they perceived distinctly that behind them

there came a litter covered over with black and followed by six more mounted figures in mourning down to

the very feet of their mules for they could perceive plainly they were not horses by the easy pace at which

they went. And as the encamisados came along they muttered to themselves in a low plaintive tone. This

strange spectacle at such an hour and in such a solitary place was quite enough to strike terror into Sancho's

heart, and even into his master's; and (save in Don Quixote's case) did so, for all Sancho's resolution had now

broken down. It was just the opposite with his master, whose imagination immediately conjured up all this to

He took it into his head that the litter was a bier on which was borne some sorely wounded or slain knight, to

avenge whom was a task reserved for him alone; and without any further reasoning he laid his lance in rest,

fixed himself firmly in his saddle, and with gallant spirit and bearing took up his position in the middle of the

road where the encamisados must of necessity pass; and as soon as he saw them near at hand he raised his

"Halt, knights, or whosoever ye may be, and render me account of who ye are, whence ye come, where ye go,

what it is ye carry upon that bier, for, to judge by appearances, either ye have done some wrong or some

wrong has been done to you, and it is fitting and necessary that I should know, either that I may chastise you

for the evil ye have done, or else that I may avenge you for the injury that has been inflicted upon you."

"We are in haste," answered one of the encamisados, "and the inn is far off, and we cannot stop to render you

Don Quixote was mightily provoked by this answer, and seizing the mule by the bridle he said, "Halt, and be

more mannerly, and render an account of what I have asked of you; else, take my defiance to combat, all of

The mule was shy, and was so frightened at her bridle being seized that rearing up she flung her rider to the

ground over her haunches. An attendant who was on foot, seeing the encamisado fall, began to abuse Don

Quixote, who now moved to anger, without any more ado, laying his lance in rest charged one of the men in

mourning and brought him badly wounded to the ground, and as he wheeled round upon the others the agility

with which he attacked and routed them was a sight to see, for it seemed just as if wings had that instant

grown upon Rocinante, so lightly and proudly did he bear himself. The encamisados were all timid folk and

unarmed, so they speedily made their escape from the fray and set off at a run across the plain with their

lighted torches, looking exactly like maskers running on some gala or festival night. The mourners, too,

enveloped and swathed in their skirts and gowns, were unable to bestir themselves, and so with entire safety

to himself Don Quixote belaboured them all and drove them off against their will, for they all thought it was

no man but a devil from hell come to carry away the dead body they had in the litter.

Sancho beheld all this in astonishment at the intrepidity of his lord, and said to himself, "Clearly this master

A burning torch lay on the ground near the first man whom the mule had thrown, by the light of which Don

Quixote perceived him, and coming up to him he presented the point of the lance to his face, calling on him

to yield himself prisoner, or else he would kill him; to which the prostrate man replied, "I am prisoner enough

as it is; I cannot stir, for one of my legs is broken: I entreat you, if you be a Christian gentleman, not to kill

me, which will be committing grave sacrilege, for I am a licentiate and I hold first orders."

"Then still worse awaits you," said Don Quixote, "if you do not satisfy me as to all I asked you at first."

"You shall be soon satisfied," said the licentiate; "you must know, then, that though just now I said I was a

licentiate, I am only a bachelor, and my name is Alonzo Lopez; I am a native of Alcobendas, I come from the

city of Baeza with eleven others, priests, the same who fled with the torches, and we are going to the city of

Segovia accompanying a dead body which is in that litter, and is that of a gentleman who died in Baeza,

where he was interred; and now, as I said, we are taking his bones to their burialplace, which is in Segovia,

"In that case," said Don Quixote, "the Lord has relieved me of the task of avenging his death had any other

slain him; but, he who slew him having slain him, there is nothing for it but to be silent, and shrug one's

shoulders; I should do the same were he to slay myself; and I would have your reverence know that I am a

knight of La Mancha, Don Quixote by name, and it is my business and calling to roam the world righting

"I do not know how that about righting wrongs can be," said the bachelor, "for from straight you have made

me crooked, leaving me with a broken leg that will never see itself straight again all the days of its life; and

the injury you have redressed in my case has been to leave me injured in such a way that I shall remain

injured for ever; and the height of misadventure it was to fall in with you who go in search of adventures."

"Things do not all happen in the same way," answered Don Quixote; "it all came, Sir Bachelor Alonzo

Lopez, of your going, as you did, by night, dressed in those surplices, with lighted torches, praying, covered

with mourning, so that naturally you looked like something evil and of the other world; and so I could not

avoid doing my duty in attacking you, and I should have attacked you even had I known positively that you

were the very devils of hell, for such I certainly believed and took you to be."

"As my fate has so willed it," said the bachelor, "I entreat you, sir knighterrant, whose errand has been such

an evil one for me, to help me to get from under this mule that holds one of my legs caught between the

"I would have talked on till tomorrow," said Don Quixote; "how long were you going to wait before telling

He at once called to Sancho, who, however, had no mind to come, as he was just then engaged in unloading a

sumpter mule, well laden with provender, which these worthy gentlemen had brought with them. Sancho

made a bag of his coat, and, getting together as much as he could, and as the bag would hold, he loaded his

beast, and then hastened to obey his master's call, and helped him to remove the bachelor from under the

mule; then putting him on her back he gave him the torch, and Don Quixote bade him follow the track of his

companions, and beg pardon of them on his part for the wrong which he could not help doing them.

And said Sancho, "If by chance these gentlemen should want to know who was the hero that served them so,

your worship may tell them that he is the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called the Knight of

I forgot to mention that before he did so he said to Don Quixote, "Remember that you stand excommunicated

for having laid violent hands on a holy thing, juxta illud, si quis, suadente diabolo."

"I do not understand that Latin," answered Don Quixote, "but I know well I did not lay hands, only this pike;

besides, I did not think I was committing an assault upon priests or things of the Church, which, like a

Catholic and faithful Christian as I am, I respect and revere, but upon phantoms and spectres of the other

world; but even so, I remember how it fared with Cid Ruy Diaz when he broke the chair of the ambassador of

that king before his Holiness the Pope, who excommunicated him for the same; and yet the good Roderick of

On hearing this the bachelor took his departure, as has been said, without making any reply; and Don Quixote

asked Sancho what had induced him to call him the "Knight of the Rueful Countenance" more then than at

"I will tell you," answered Sancho; "it was because I have been looking at you for some time by the light of

the torch held by that unfortunate, and verily your worship has got of late the most illfavoured countenance

I ever saw: it must be either owing to the fatigue of this combat, or else to the want of teeth and grinders."

"It is not that," replied Don Quixote, "but because the sage whose duty it will be to write the history of my

achievements must have thought it proper that I should take some distinctive name as all knights of yore did;

one being 'He of the Burning Sword,' another 'He of the Unicorn,' this one 'He of the Damsels,' that 'He of the

Phoenix,' another 'The Knight of the Griffin,' and another 'He of the Death,' and by these names and

designations they were known all the world round; and so I say that the sage aforesaid must have put it into

your mouth and mind just now to call me 'The Knight of the Rueful Countenance,' as I intend to call myself

from this day forward; and that the said name may fit me better, I mean, when the opportunity offers, to have

"There is no occasion, senor, for wasting time or money on making that countenance," said Sancho; "for all

that need be done is for your worship to show your own, face to face, to those who look at you, and without

anything more, either image or shield, they will call you 'Him of the Rueful Countenance' and believe me I

am telling you the truth, for I assure you, senor (and in good part be it said), hunger and the loss of your

grinders have given you such an illfavoured face that, as I say, the rueful picture may be very well spared."

Don Quixote laughed at Sancho's pleasantry; nevertheless he resolved to call himself by that name, and have

Don Quixote would have looked to see whether the body in the litter were bones or not, but Sancho would

"Senor, you have ended this perilous adventure more safely for yourself than any of those I have seen:

perhaps these people, though beaten and routed, may bethink themselves that it is a single man that has

beaten them, and feeling sore and ashamed of it may take heart and come in search of us and give us trouble

enough. The ass is in proper trim, the mountains are near at hand, hunger presses, we have nothing more to

do but make good our retreat, and, as the saying is, the dead to the grave and the living to the loaf."

And driving his ass before him he begged his master to follow, who, feeling that Sancho was right, did so

without replying; and after proceeding some little distance between two hills they found themselves in a wide

and retired valley, where they alighted, and Sancho unloaded his beast, and stretched upon the green grass,

with hunger for sauce, they breakfasted, dined, lunched, and supped all at once, satisfying their appetites with

more than one store of cold meat which the dead man's clerical gentlemen (who seldom put themselves on

short allowance) had brought with them on their sumpter mule. But another piece of illluck befell them,

which Sancho held the worst of all, and that was that they had no wine to drink, nor even water to moisten

their lips; and as thirst tormented them, Sancho, observing that the meadow where they were was full of

"It cannot be, senor, but that this grass is a proof that there must be hard by some spring or brook to give it

moisture, so it would be well to move a little farther on, that we may find some place where we may quench

this terrible thirst that plagues us, which beyond a doubt is more distressing than hunger."

The advice seemed good to Don Quixote, and, he leading Rocinante by the bridle and Sancho the ass by the

halter, after he had packed away upon him the remains of the supper, they advanced the meadow feeling their

way, for the darkness of the night made it impossible to see anything; but they had not gone two hundred

paces when a loud noise of water, as if falling from great rocks, struck their ears. The sound cheered them

greatly; but halting to make out by listening from what quarter it came they heard unseasonably another noise

which spoiled the satisfaction the sound of the water gave them, especially for Sancho, who was by nature

timid and fainthearted. They heard, I say, strokes falling with a measured beat, and a certain rattling of iron

and chains that, together with the furious din of the water, would have struck terror into any heart but Don

Quixote's. The night was, as has been said, dark, and they had happened to reach a spot in among some tall

trees, whose leaves stirred by a gentle breeze made a low ominous sound; so that, what with the solitude, the

place, the darkness, the noise of the water, and the rustling of the leaves, everything inspired awe and dread;

more especially as they perceived that the strokes did not cease, nor the wind lull, nor morning approach; to

all which might be added their ignorance as to where they were. But Don Quixote, supported by his intrepid

heart, leaped on Rocinante, and bracing his buckler on his arm, brought his pike to the slope, and said,

"Friend Sancho, know that I by Heaven's will have been born in this our iron age to revive revive in it the age

of gold, or the golden as it is called; I am he for whom perils, mighty achievements, and valiant deeds are

reserved; I am, I say again, he who is to revive the Knights of the Round Table, the Twelve of France and the

Nine Worthies; and he who is to consign to oblivion the Platirs, the Tablantes, the Olivantes and Tirantes, the

Phoebuses and Belianises, with the whole herd of famous knightserrant of days gone by, performing in

these in which I live such exploits, marvels, and feats of arms as shall obscure their brightest deeds. Thou

dost mark well, faithful and trusty squire, the gloom of this night, its strange silence, the dull confused

murmur of those trees, the awful sound of that water in quest of which we came, that seems as though it were

precipitating and dashing itself down from the lofty mountains of the Moon, and that incessant hammering

that wounds and pains our ears; which things all together and each of itself are enough to instil fear, dread,

and dismay into the breast of Mars himself, much more into one not used to hazards and adventures of the

kind. Well, then, all this that I put before thee is but an incentive and stimulant to my spirit, making my heart

burst in my bosom through eagerness to engage in this adventure, arduous as it promises to be; therefore

tighten Rocinante's girths a little, and God be with thee; wait for me here three days and no more, and if in

that time I come not back, thou canst return to our village, and thence, to do me a favour and a service, thou

wilt go to El Toboso, where thou shalt say to my incomparable lady Dulcinea that her captive knight hath

When Sancho heard his master's words he began to weep in the most pathetic way, saying:

"Senor, I know not why your worship wants to attempt this so dreadful adventure; it is night now, no one sees

us here, we can easily turn about and take ourselves out of danger, even if we don't drink for three days to

come; and as there is no one to see us, all the less will there be anyone to set us down as cowards; besides, I

have many a time heard the curate of our village, whom your worship knows well, preach that he who seeks

danger perishes in it; so it is not right to tempt God by trying so tremendous a feat from which there can be

no escape save by a miracle, and Heaven has performed enough of them for your worship in delivering you

from being blanketed as I was, and bringing you out victorious and safe and sound from among all those

enemies that were with the dead man; and if all this does not move or soften that hard heart, let this thought

and reflection move it, that you will have hardly quitted this spot when from pure fear I shall yield my soul

up to anyone that will take it. I left home and wife and children to come and serve your worship, trusting to

do better and not worse; but as covetousness bursts the bag, it has rent my hopes asunder, for just as I had

them highest about getting that wretched unlucky island your worship has so often promised me, I see that

instead and in lieu of it you mean to desert me now in a place so far from human reach: for God's sake,

master mine, deal not so unjustly by me, and if your worship will not entirely give up attempting this feat, at

least put it off till morning, for by what the lore I learned when I was a shepherd tells me it cannot want three

hours of dawn now, because the mouth of the Horn is overhead and makes midnight in the line of the left

"How canst thou see, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "where it makes that line, or where this mouth or this

occiput is that thou talkest of, when the night is so dark that there is not a star to be seen in the whole

"That's true," said Sancho, "but fear has sharp eyes, and sees things underground, much more above in

heavens; besides, there is good reason to show that it now wants but little of day."

"Let it want what it may," replied Don Quixote, "it shall not be said of me now or at any time that tears or

entreaties turned me aside from doing what was in accordance with knightly usage; and so I beg of thee,

Sancho, to hold thy peace, for God, who has put it into my heart to undertake now this so unexampled and

terrible adventure, will take care to watch over my safety and console thy sorrow; what thou hast to do is to

tighten Rocinante's girths well, and wait here, for I shall come back shortly, alive or dead."

Sancho perceiving it his master's final resolve, and how little his tears, counsels, and entreaties prevailed with

him, determined to have recourse to his own ingenuity and compel him, if he could, to wait till daylight; and

so, while tightening the girths of the horse, he quietly and without being felt, with his ass' halter tied both

Rocinante's legs, so that when Don Quixote strove to go he was unable as the horse could only move by

"See there, senor! Heaven, moved by my tears and prayers, has so ordered it that Rocinante cannot stir; and if

you will be obstinate, and spur and strike him, you will only provoke fortune, and kick, as they say, against

Don Quixote at this grew desperate, but the more he drove his heels into the horse, the less he stirred him;

and not having any suspicion of the tying, he was fain to resign himself and wait till daybreak or until

Rocinante could move, firmly persuaded that all this came of something other than Sancho's ingenuity. So he

said to him, "As it is so, Sancho, and as Rocinante cannot move, I am content to wait till dawn smiles upon

"There is no need to weep," answered Sancho, "for I will amuse your worship by telling stories from this till

daylight, unless indeed you like to dismount and lie down to sleep a little on the green grass after the fashion

of knightserrant, so as to be fresher when day comes and the moment arrives for attempting this

"What art thou talking about dismounting or sleeping for?" said Don Quixote. "Am I, thinkest thou, one of

those knights that take their rest in the presence of danger? Sleep thou who art born to sleep, or do as thou

"Be not angry, master mine," replied Sancho, "I did not mean to say that;" and coming close to him he laid

one hand on the pommel of the saddle and the other on the cantle so that he held his master's left thigh in his

embrace, not daring to separate a finger's width from him; so much afraid was he of the strokes which still

resounded with a regular beat. Don Quixote bade him tell some story to amuse him as he had proposed, to

which Sancho replied that he would if his dread of what he heard would let him; "Still," said he, "I will strive

to tell a story which, if I can manage to relate it, and nobody interferes with the telling, is the best of stories,

and let your worship give me your attention, for here I begin. What was, was; and may the good that is to

come be for all, and the evil for him who goes to look for it your worship must know that the beginning the

old folk used to put to their tales was not just as each one pleased; it was a maxim of Cato Zonzorino the

Roman, that says 'the evil for him that goes to look for it,' and it comes as pat to the purpose now as ring to

finger, to show that your worship should keep quiet and not go looking for evil in any quarter, and that we

should go back by some other road, since nobody forces us to follow this in which so many terrors affright

"Go on with thy story, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and leave the choice of our road to my care."

"I say then," continued Sancho, "that in a village of Estremadura there was a goatshepherd that is to say,

one who tended goats which shepherd or goatherd, as my story goes, was called Lope Ruiz, and this Lope

Ruiz was in love with a shepherdess called Torralva, which shepherdess called Torralva was the daughter of a

"If that is the way thou tellest thy tale, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "repeating twice all thou hast to say, thou

wilt not have done these two days; go straight on with it, and tell it like a reasonable man, or else say

"Tales are always told in my country in the very way I am telling this," answered Sancho, "and I cannot tell it

"Tell it as thou wilt," replied Don Quixote; "and as fate will have it that I cannot help listening to thee, go

"And so, lord of my soul," continued Sancho, as I have said, this shepherd was in love with Torralva the

shepherdess, who was a wild buxom lass with something of the look of a man about her, for she had little

"I did not know her," said Sancho, "but he who told me the story said it was so true and certain that when I

told it to another I might safely declare and swear I had seen it all myself. And so in course of time, the devil,

who never sleeps and puts everything in confusion, contrived that the love the shepherd bore the shepherdess

turned into hatred and illwill, and the reason, according to evil tongues, was some little jealousy she caused

him that crossed the line and trespassed on forbidden ground; and so much did the shepherd hate her from

that time forward that, in order to escape from her, he determined to quit the country and go where he should

never set eyes on her again. Torralva, when she found herself spurned by Lope, was immediately smitten

"That is the natural way of women," said Don Quixote, "to scorn the one that loves them, and love the one

"It came to pass," said Sancho, "that the shepherd carried out his intention, and driving his goats before him

took his way across the plains of Estremadura to pass over into the Kingdom of Portugal. Torralva, who knew

of it, went after him, and on foot and barefoot followed him at a distance, with a pilgrim's staff in her hand

and a scrip round her neck, in which she carried, it is said, a bit of lookingglass and a piece of a comb and

some little pot or other of paint for her face; but let her carry what she did, I am not going to trouble myself to

prove it; all I say is, that the shepherd, they say, came with his flock to cross over the river Guadiana, which

was at that time swollen and almost overflowing its banks, and at the spot he came to there was neither ferry

nor boat nor anyone to carry him or his flock to the other side, at which he was much vexed, for he perceived

that Torralva was approaching and would give him great annoyance with her tears and entreaties; however,

he went looking about so closely that he discovered a fisherman who had alongside of him a boat so small

that it could only hold one person and one goat; but for all that he spoke to him and agreed with him to carry

himself and his three hundred goats across. The fisherman got into the boat and carried one goat over; he

came back and carried another over; he came back again, and again brought over another let your worship

keep count of the goats the fisherman is taking across, for if one escapes the memory there will be an end of

the story, and it will be impossible to tell another word of it. To proceed, I must tell you the landing place on

the other side was miry and slippery, and the fisherman lost a great deal of time in going and coming; still he

"Take it for granted he brought them all across," said Don Quixote, "and don't keep going and coming in this

"There it is," said Sancho, "what I told you, that you must keep a good count; well then, by God, there is an

"How can that be?" said Don Quixote; "is it so essential to the story to know to a nicety the goats that have

crossed over, that if there be a mistake of one in the reckoning, thou canst not go on with it?"

"No, senor, not a bit," replied Sancho; "for when I asked your worship to tell me how many goats had

crossed, and you answered you did not know, at that very instant all I had to say passed away out of my

"In truth," said Don Quixote, "thou hast told one of the rarest stories, tales, or histories, that anyone in the

world could have imagined, and such a way of telling it and ending it was never seen nor will be in a lifetime;

though I expected nothing else from thy excellent understanding. But I do not wonder, for perhaps those

"All that may be," replied Sancho, "but I know that as to my story, all that can be said is that it ends there

"Let it end where it will, well and good," said Don Quixote, "and let us see if Rocinante can go;" and again he

spurred him, and again Rocinante made jumps and remained where he was, so well tied was he.

Just then, whether it was the cold of the morning that was now approaching, or that he had eaten something

laxative at supper, or that it was only natural (as is most likely), Sancho felt a desire to do what no one could

do for him; but so great was the fear that had penetrated his heart, he dared not separate himself from his

master by as much as the black of his nail; to escape doing what he wanted was, however, also impossible; so

what he did for peace's sake was to remove his right hand, which held the back of the saddle, and with it to

untie gently and silently the running string which alone held up his breeches, so that on loosening it they at

once fell down round his feet like fetters; he then raised his shirt as well as he could and bared his hind

quarters, no slim ones. But, this accomplished, which he fancied was all he had to do to get out of this terrible

strait and embarrassment, another still greater difficulty presented itself, for it seemed to him impossible to

relieve himself without making some noise, and he ground his teeth and squeezed his shoulders together,

holding his breath as much as he could; but in spite of his precautions he was unlucky enough after all to

make a little noise, very different from that which was causing him so much fear.

"I don't know, senor," said he; "it must be something new, for adventures and misadventures never begin with

a trifle." Once more he tried his luck, and succeeded so well, that without any further noise or disturbance he

found himself relieved of the burden that had given him so much discomfort. But as Don Quixote's sense of

smell was as acute as his hearing, and as Sancho was so closely linked with him that the fumes rose almost in

a straight line, it could not be but that some should reach his nose, and as soon as they did he came to its

relief by compressing it between his fingers, saying in a rather snuffing tone, "Sancho, it strikes me thou art

"I am," answered Sancho; "but how does your worship perceive it now more than ever?"

"Because just now thou smellest stronger than ever, and not of ambergris," answered Don Quixote.

"Very likely," said Sancho, "but that's not my fault, but your worship's, for leading me about at unseasonable

"Then go back three or four, my friend," said Don Quixote, all the time with his fingers to his nose; "and for

the future pay more attention to thy person and to what thou owest to mine; for it is my great familiarity with

"I'll bet," replied Sancho, "that your worship thinks I have done something I ought not with my person."

With this and other talk of the same sort master and man passed the night, till Sancho, perceiving that

daybreak was coming on apace, very cautiously untied Rocinante and tied up his breeches. As soon as

Rocinante found himself free, though by nature he was not at all mettlesome, he seemed to feel lively and

began pawing for as to capering, begging his pardon, he knew not what it meant. Don Quixote, then,

observing that Rocinante could move, took it as a good sign and a signal that he should attempt the dread

adventure. By this time day had fully broken and everything showed distinctly, and Don Quixote saw that he

was among some tall trees, chestnuts, which cast a very deep shade; he perceived likewise that the sound of

the strokes did not cease, but could not discover what caused it, and so without any further delay he let

Rocinante feel the spur, and once more taking leave of Sancho, he told him to wait for him there three days at

most, as he had said before, and if he should not have returned by that time, he might feel sure it had been

God's will that he should end his days in that perilous adventure. He again repeated the message and

commission with which he was to go on his behalf to his lady Dulcinea, and said he was not to be uneasy as

to the payment of his services, for before leaving home he had made his will, in which he would find himself

fully recompensed in the matter of wages in due proportion to the time he had served; but if God delivered

him safe, sound, and unhurt out of that danger, he might look upon the promised island as much more than

certain. Sancho began to weep afresh on again hearing the affecting words of his good master, and resolved

to stay with him until the final issue and end of the business. From these tears and this honourable resolve of

Sancho Panza's the author of this history infers that he must have been of good birth and at least an old

Christian; and the feeling he displayed touched his but not so much as to make him show any weakness; on

the contrary, hiding what he felt as well as he could, he began to move towards that quarter whence the sound

Sancho followed him on foot, leading by the halter, as his custom was, his ass, his constant comrade in

prosperity or adversity; and advancing some distance through the shady chestnut trees they came upon a little

meadow at the foot of some high rocks, down which a mighty rush of water flung itself. At the foot of the

rocks were some rudely constructed houses looking more like ruins than houses, from among which came,

they perceived, the din and clatter of blows, which still continued without intermission. Rocinante took fright

at the noise of the water and of the blows, but quieting him Don Quixote advanced step by step towards the

houses, commending himself with all his heart to his lady, imploring her support in that dread pass and

enterprise, and on the way commending himself to God, too, not to forget him. Sancho who never quitted his

side, stretched his neck as far as he could and peered between the legs of Rocinante to see if he could now

discover what it was that caused him such fear and apprehension. They went it might be a hundred paces

farther, when on turning a corner the true cause, beyond the possibility of any mistake, of that

dreadsounding and to them aweinspiring noise that had kept them all the night in such fear and perplexity,

appeared plain and obvious; and it was (if, reader, thou art not disgusted and disappointed) six fulling

When Don Quixote perceived what it was, he was struck dumb and rigid from head to foot. Sancho glanced

at him and saw him with his head bent down upon his breast in manifest mortification; and Don Quixote

glanced at Sancho and saw him with his cheeks puffed out and his mouth full of laughter, and evidently ready

to explode with it, and in spite of his vexation he could not help laughing at the sight of him; and when

Sancho saw his master begin he let go so heartily that he had to hold his sides with both hands to keep

himself from bursting with laughter. Four times he stopped, and as many times did his laughter break out

afresh with the same violence as at first, whereat Don Quixote grew furious, above all when he heard him say

mockingly, "Thou must know, friend Sancho, that of Heaven's will I was born in this our iron age to revive in

it the golden or age of gold; I am he for whom are reserved perils, mighty achievements, valiant deeds;" and

here he went on repeating the words that Don Quixote uttered the first time they heard the awful strokes.

Don Quixote, then, seeing that Sancho was turning him into ridicule, was so mortified and vexed that he

lifted up his pike and smote him two such blows that if, instead of catching them on his shoulders, he had

caught them on his head there would have been no wages to pay, unless indeed to his heirs. Sancho seeing

that he was getting an awkward return in earnest for his jest, and fearing his master might carry it still further,

"Well, then, if you are joking I am not," replied Don Quixote. "Look here, my lively gentleman, if these,

instead of being fulling hammers, had been some perilous adventure, have I not, think you, shown the

courage required for the attempt and achievement? Am I, perchance, being, as I am, a gentleman, bound to

know and distinguish sounds and tell whether they come from fulling mills or not; and that, when perhaps, as

is the case, I have never in my life seen any as you have, low boor as you are, that have been born and bred

among them? But turn me these six hammers into six giants, and bring them to beard me, one by one or all

together, and if I do not knock them head over heels, then make what mockery you like of me."

"No more of that, senor," returned Sancho; "I own I went a little too far with the joke. But tell me, your

worship, now that peace is made between us (and may God bring you out of all the adventures that may befall

you as safe and sound as he has brought you out of this one), was it not a thing to laugh at, and is it not a

good story, the great fear we were in? at least that I was in; for as to your worship I see now that you neither

"I do not deny," said Don Quixote, "that what happened to us may be worth laughing at, but it is not worth

making a story about, for it is not everyone that is shrewd enough to hit the right point of a thing."

"At any rate," said Sancho, "your worship knew how to hit the right point with your pike, aiming at my head

and hitting me on the shoulders, thanks be to God and my own smartness in dodging it. But let that pass; all

will come out in the scouring; for I have heard say 'he loves thee well that makes thee weep;' and moreover

that it is the way with great lords after any hard words they give a servant to give him a pair of breeches;

though I do not know what they give after blows, unless it be that knightserrant after blows give islands, or

"It may be on the dice," said Don Quixote, "that all thou sayest will come true; overlook the past, for thou art

shrewd enough to know that our first movements are not in our own control; and one thing for the future bear

in mind, that thou curb and restrain thy loquacity in my company; for in all the books of chivalry that I have

read, and they are innumerable, I never met with a squire who talked so much to his lord as thou dost to thine;

and in fact I feel it to be a great fault of thine and of mine: of thine, that thou hast so little respect for me; of

mine, that I do not make myself more respected. There was Gandalin, the squire of Amadis of Gaul, that was

Count of the Insula Firme, and we read of him that he always addressed his lord with his cap in his hand, his

head bowed down and his body bent double, more turquesco. And then, what shall we say of Gasabal, the

squire of Galaor, who was so silent that in order to indicate to us the greatness of his marvellous taciturnity

his name is only once mentioned in the whole of that history, as long as it is truthful? From all I have said

thou wilt gather, Sancho, that there must be a difference between master and man, between lord and lackey,

between knight and squire: so that from this day forward in our intercourse we must observe more respect

and take less liberties, for in whatever way I may be provoked with you it will be bad for the pitcher. The

favours and benefits that I have promised you will come in due time, and if they do not your wages at least

"All that your worship says is very well," said Sancho, "but I should like to know (in case the time of favours

should not come, and it might be necessary to fall back upon wages) how much did the squire of a

knighterrant get in those days, and did they agree by the month, or by the day like bricklayers?"

"I do not believe," replied Don Quixote, "that such squires were ever on wages, but were dependent on

favour; and if I have now mentioned thine in the sealed will I have left at home, it was with a view to what

may happen; for as yet I know not how chivalry will turn out in these wretched times of ours, and I do not

wish my soul to suffer for trifles in the other world; for I would have thee know, Sancho, that in this there is

"That is true," said Sancho, "since the mere noise of the hammers of a fulling mill can disturb and disquiet the

heart of such a valiant errant adventurer as your worship; but you may be sure I will not open my lips

henceforward to make light of anything of your worship's, but only to honour you as my master and natural

"By so doing," replied Don Quixote, "shalt thou live long on the face of the earth; for next to parents, masters

It now began to rain a little, and Sancho was for going into the fulling mills, but Don Quixote had taken such

an abhorrence to them on account of the late joke that he would not enter them on any account; so turning

aside to right they came upon another road, different from that which they had taken the night before. Shortly

afterwards Don Quixote perceived a man on horseback who wore on his head something that shone like gold,

"I think, Sancho, there is no proverb that is not true, all being maxims drawn from experience itself, the

mother of all the sciences, especially that one that says, 'Where one door shuts, another opens.' I say so

because if last night fortune shut the door of the adventure we were looking for against us, cheating us with

the fulling mills, it now opens wide another one for another better and more certain adventure, and if I do not

contrive to enter it, it will be my own fault, and I cannot lay it to my ignorance of fulling mills, or the

darkness of the night. I say this because, if I mistake not, there comes towards us one who wears on his head

"Mind what you say, your worship, and still more what you do," said Sancho, "for I don't want any more

"The devil take thee, man," said Don Quixote; "what has a helmet to do with fulling mills?"

"I don't know," replied Sancho, "but, faith, if I might speak as I used, perhaps I could give such reasons that

"How can I be mistaken in what I say, unbelieving traitor?" returned Don Quixote; "tell me, seest thou not

yonder knight coming towards us on a dappled grey steed, who has upon his head a helmet of gold?"

"What I see and make out," answered Sancho, "is only a man on a grey ass like my own, who has something

"Well, that is the helmet of Mambrino," said Don Quixote; "stand to one side and leave me alone with him;

thou shalt see how, without saying a word, to save time, I shall bring this adventure to an issue and possess

"I will take care to stand aside," said Sancho; "but God grant, I say once more, that it may be marjoram and

"I have told thee, brother, on no account to mention those fulling mills to me again," said Don Quixote, "or I

Sancho held his peace in dread lest his master should carry out the vow he had hurled like a bowl at him.

The fact of the matter as regards the helmet, steed, and knight that Don Quixote saw, was this. In that

neighbourhood there were two villages, one of them so small that it had neither apothecary's shop nor barber,

which the other that was close to it had, so the barber of the larger served the smaller, and in it there was a

sick man who required to be bled and another man who wanted to be shaved, and on this errand the barber

was going, carrying with him a brass basin; but as luck would have it, as he was on the way it began to rain,

and not to spoil his hat, which probably was a new one, he put the basin on his head, and being clean it

glittered at half a league's distance. He rode upon a grey ass, as Sancho said, and this was what made it seem

to Don Quixote to be a dapplegrey steed and a knight and a golden helmet; for everything he saw he made

to fall in with his crazy chivalry and illerrant notions; and when he saw the poor knight draw near, without

entering into any parley with him, at Rocinante's top speed he bore down upon him with the pike pointed low,

fully determined to run him through and through, and as he reached him, without checking the fury of his

"Defend thyself, miserable being, or yield me of thine own accord that which is so reasonably my due."

The barber, who without any expectation or apprehension of it saw this apparition coming down upon him,

had no other way of saving himself from the stroke of the lance but to let himself fall off his ass; and no

sooner had he touched the ground than he sprang up more nimbly than a deer and sped away across the plain

He left the basin on the ground, with which Don Quixote contented himself, saying that the pagan had shown

his discretion and imitated the beaver, which finding itself pressed by the hunters bites and cuts off with its

"By God the basin is a good one, and worth a real of eight if it is worth a maravedis," and handed it to his

master, who immediately put it on his head, turning it round, now this way, now that, in search of fitment,

and not finding it he said, "Clearly the pagan to whose measure this famous headpiece was first forged must

When Sancho heard him call the basin a headpiece he was unable to restrain his laughter, but remembering

"I am laughing," said he, "to think of the great head the pagan must have had who owned this helmet, for it

"Dost thou know what I suspect, Sancho?" said Don Quixote; "that this wonderful piece of this enchanted

helmet must by some strange accident have come into the hands of some one who was unable to recognise or

realise its value, and who, not knowing what he did, and seeing it to be of the purest gold, must have melted

down one half for the sake of what it might be worth, and of the other made this which is like a barber's basin

as thou sayest; but be it as it may, to me who recognise it, its transformation makes no difference, for I will

set it to rights at the first village where there is a blacksmith, and in such style that that helmet the god of

smithies forged for the god of battles shall not surpass it or even come up to it; and in the meantime I will

wear it as well as I can, for something is better than nothing; all the more as it will be quite enough to protect

"That is," said Sancho, "if it is not shot with a sling as they were in the battle of the two armies, when they

signed the cross on your worship's grinders and smashed the flask with that blessed draught that made me

"It does not grieve me much to have lost it," said Don Quixote, "for thou knowest, Sancho, that I have the

"So have I," answered Sancho, "but if ever I make it, or try it again as long as I live, may this be my last hour;

moreover, I have no intention of putting myself in the way of wanting it, for I mean, with all my five senses,

to keep myself from being wounded or from wounding anyone: as to being blanketed again I say nothing, for

it is hard to prevent mishaps of that sort, and if they come there is nothing for it but to squeeze our shoulders

together, hold our breath, shut our eyes, and let ourselves go where luck and the blanket may send us."

"Thou art a bad Christian, Sancho," said Don Quixote on hearing this, "for once an injury has been done thee

thou never forgettest it: but know that it is the part of noble and generous hearts not to attach importance to

trifles. What lame leg hast thou got by it, what broken rib, what cracked head, that thou canst not forget that

jest? For jest and sport it was, properly regarded, and had I not seen it in that light I would have returned and

done more mischief in revenging thee than the Greeks did for the rape of Helen, who, if she were alive now,

or if my Dulcinea had lived then, might depend upon it she would not be so famous for her beauty as she is;"

and here he heaved a sigh and sent it aloft; and said Sancho, "Let it pass for a jest as it cannot be revenged in

earnest, but I know what sort of jest and earnest it was, and I know it will never be rubbed out of my memory

any more than off my shoulders. But putting that aside, will your worship tell me what are we to do with this

dapplegrey steed that looks like a grey ass, which that Martino that your worship overthrew has left deserted

here? for, from the way he took to his heels and bolted, he is not likely ever to come back for it; and by my

"I have never been in the habit," said Don Quixote, "of taking spoil of those whom I vanquish, nor is it the

practice of chivalry to take away their horses and leave them to go on foot, unless indeed it be that the victor

have lost his own in the combat, in which case it is lawful to take that of the vanquished as a thing won in

lawful war; therefore, Sancho, leave this horse, or ass, or whatever thou wilt have it to be; for when its owner

"God knows I should like to take it," returned Sancho, "or at least to change it for my own, which does not

seem to me as good a one: verily the laws of chivalry are strict, since they cannot be stretched to let one ass

be changed for another; I should like to know if I might at least change trappings."

"On that head I am not quite certain," answered Don Quixote, "and the matter being doubtful, pending better

information, I say thou mayest change them, if so be thou hast urgent need of them."

"So urgent is it," answered Sancho, "that if they were for my own person I could not want them more;" and

forthwith, fortified by this licence, he effected the mutatio capparum, rigging out his beast to the ninetynines

and making quite another thing of it. This done, they broke their fast on the remains of the spoils of war

plundered from the sumpter mule, and drank of the brook that flowed from the fulling mills, without casting a

look in that direction, in such loathing did they hold them for the alarm they had caused them; and, all anger

and gloom removed, they mounted and, without taking any fixed road (not to fix upon any being the proper

thing for true knightserrant), they set out, guided by Rocinante's will, which carried along with it that of his

master, not to say that of the ass, which always followed him wherever he led, lovingly and sociably;

nevertheless they returned to the high road, and pursued it at a venture without any other aim.

As they went along, then, in this way Sancho said to his master, "Senor, would your worship give me leave to

speak a little to you? For since you laid that hard injunction of silence on me several things have gone to rot

in my stomach, and I have now just one on the tip of my tongue that I don't want to be spoiled."

"Say, on, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and be brief in thy discourse, for there is no pleasure in one that is

"Well then, senor," returned Sancho, "I say that for some days past I have been considering how little is got

or gained by going in search of these adventures that your worship seeks in these wilds and crossroads,

where, even if the most perilous are victoriously achieved, there is no one to see or know of them, and so they

must be left untold for ever, to the loss of your worship's object and the credit they deserve; therefore it seems

to me it would be better (saving your worship's better judgment) if we were to go and serve some emperor or

other great prince who may have some war on hand, in whose service your worship may prove the worth of

your person, your great might, and greater understanding, on perceiving which the lord in whose service we

may be will perforce have to reward us, each according to his merits; and there you will not be at a loss for

some one to set down your achievements in writing so as to preserve their memory for ever. Of my own I say

nothing, as they will not go beyond squirely limits, though I make bold to say that, if it be the practice in

chivalry to write the achievements of squires, I think mine must not be left out."

"Thou speakest not amiss, Sancho," answered Don Quixote, "but before that point is reached it is requisite to

roam the world, as it were on probation, seeking adventures, in order that, by achieving some, name and fame

may be acquired, such that when he betakes himself to the court of some great monarch the knight may be

already known by his deeds, and that the boys, the instant they see him enter the gate of the city, may all

follow him and surround him, crying, 'This is the Knight of the Sun'or the Serpent, or any other title under

which he may have achieved great deeds. 'This,' they will say, 'is he who vanquished in single combat the

gigantic Brocabruno of mighty strength; he who delivered the great Mameluke of Persia out of the long

enchantment under which he had been for almost nine hundred years.' So from one to another they will go

proclaiming his achievements; and presently at the tumult of the boys and the others the king of that kingdom

will appear at the windows of his royal palace, and as soon as he beholds the knight, recognising him by his

arms and the device on his shield, he will as a matter of course say, 'What ho! Forth all ye, the knights of my

court, to receive the flower of chivalry who cometh hither!' At which command all will issue forth, and he

himself, advancing halfway down the stairs, will embrace him closely, and salute him, kissing him on the

cheek, and will then lead him to the queen's chamber, where the knight will find her with the princess her

daughter, who will be one of the most beautiful and accomplished damsels that could with the utmost pains

be discovered anywhere in the known world. Straightway it will come to pass that she will fix her eyes upon

the knight and he his upon her, and each will seem to the other something more divine than human, and,

without knowing how or why they will be taken and entangled in the inextricable toils of love, and sorely

distressed in their hearts not to see any way of making their pains and sufferings known by speech. Thence

they will lead him, no doubt, to some richly adorned chamber of the palace, where, having removed his

armour, they will bring him a rich mantle of scarlet wherewith to robe himself, and if he looked noble in his

armour he will look still more so in a doublet. When night comes he will sup with the king, queen, and

princess; and all the time he will never take his eyes off her, stealing stealthy glances, unnoticed by those

present, and she will do the same, and with equal cautiousness, being, as I have said, a damsel of great

discretion. The tables being removed, suddenly through the door of the hall there will enter a hideous and

diminutive dwarf followed by a fair dame, between two giants, who comes with a certain adventure, the work

of an ancient sage; and he who shall achieve it shall be deemed the best knight in the world.

"The king will then command all those present to essay it, and none will bring it to an end and conclusion

save the stranger knight, to the great enhancement of his fame, whereat the princess will be overjoyed and

will esteem herself happy and fortunate in having fixed and placed her thoughts so high. And the best of it is

that this king, or prince, or whatever he is, is engaged in a very bitter war with another as powerful as

himself, and the stranger knight, after having been some days at his court, requests leave from him to go and

serve him in the said war. The king will grant it very readily, and the knight will courteously kiss his hands

for the favour done to him; and that night he will take leave of his lady the princess at the grating of the

chamber where she sleeps, which looks upon a garden, and at which he has already many times conversed

with her, the gobetween and confidante in the matter being a damsel much trusted by the princess. He will

sigh, she will swoon, the damsel will fetch water, much distressed because morning approaches, and for the

honour of her lady he would not that they were discovered; at last the princess will come to herself and will

present her white hands through the grating to the knight, who will kiss them a thousand and a thousand

times, bathing them with his tears. It will be arranged between them how they are to inform each other of

their good or evil fortunes, and the princess will entreat him to make his absence as short as possible, which

he will promise to do with many oaths; once more he kisses her hands, and takes his leave in such grief that

he is wellnigh ready to die. He betakes him thence to his chamber, flings himself on his bed, cannot sleep

for sorrow at parting, rises early in the morning, goes to take leave of the king, queen, and princess, and, as he

takes his leave of the pair, it is told him that the princess is indisposed and cannot receive a visit; the knight

thinks it is from grief at his departure, his heart is pierced, and he is hardly able to keep from showing his

pain. The confidante is present, observes all, goes to tell her mistress, who listens with tears and says that one

of her greatest distresses is not knowing who this knight is, and whether he is of kingly lineage or not; the

damsel assures her that so much courtesy, gentleness, and gallantry of bearing as her knight possesses could

not exist in any save one who was royal and illustrious; her anxiety is thus relieved, and she strives to be of

good cheer lest she should excite suspicion in her parents, and at the end of two days she appears in public.

Meanwhile the knight has taken his departure; he fights in the war, conquers the king's enemy, wins many

cities, triumphs in many battles, returns to the court, sees his lady where he was wont to see her, and it is

agreed that he shall demand her in marriage of her parents as the reward of his services; the king is unwilling

to give her, as he knows not who he is, but nevertheless, whether carried off or in whatever other way it may

be, the princess comes to be his bride, and her father comes to regard it as very good fortune; for it so

happens that this knight is proved to be the son of a valiant king of some kingdom, I know not what, for I

fancy it is not likely to be on the map. The father dies, the princess inherits, and in two words the knight

becomes king. And here comes in at once the bestowal of rewards upon his squire and all who have aided

him in rising to so exalted a rank. He marries his squire to a damsel of the princess's, who will be, no doubt,

the one who was confidante in their amour, and is daughter of a very great duke."

"That's what I want, and no mistake about it!" said Sancho. "That's what I'm waiting for; for all this, word for

word, is in store for your worship under the title of the Knight of the Rueful Countenance."

"Thou needst not doubt it, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "for in the same manner, and by the same steps as I

have described here, knightserrant rise and have risen to be kings and emperors; all we want now is to find

out what king, Christian or pagan, is at war and has a beautiful daughter; but there will be time enough to

think of that, for, as I have told thee, fame must be won in other quarters before repairing to the court. There

is another thing, too, that is wanting; for supposing we find a king who is at war and has a beautiful daughter,

and that I have won incredible fame throughout the universe, I know not how it can be made out that I am of

royal lineage, or even second cousin to an emperor; for the king will not be willing to give me his daughter in

marriage unless he is first thoroughly satisfied on this point, however much my famous deeds may deserve it;

so that by this deficiency I fear I shall lose what my arm has fairly earned. True it is I am a gentleman of

known house, of estate and property, and entitled to the five hundred sueldos mulct; and it may be that the

sage who shall write my history will so clear up my ancestry and pedigree that I may find myself fifth or sixth

in descent from a king; for I would have thee know, Sancho, that there are two kinds of lineages in the world;

some there be tracing and deriving their descent from kings and princes, whom time has reduced little by

little until they end in a point like a pyramid upside down; and others who spring from the common herd and

go on rising step by step until they come to be great lords; so that the difference is that the one were what

they no longer are, and the others are what they formerly were not. And I may be of such that after

investigation my origin may prove great and famous, with which the king, my fatherinlaw that is to be,

ought to be satisfied; and should he not be, the princess will so love me that even though she well knew me to

be the son of a watercarrier, she will take me for her lord and husband in spite of her father; if not, then it

comes to seizing her and carrying her off where I please; for time or death will put an end to the wrath of her

"It comes to this, too," said Sancho, "what some naughty people say, 'Never ask as a favour what thou canst

take by force;' though it would fit better to say, 'A clear escape is better than good men's prayers.' I say so

because if my lord the king, your worship's fatherinlaw, will not condescend to give you my lady the

princess, there is nothing for it but, as your worship says, to seize her and transport her. But the mischief is

that until peace is made and you come into the peaceful enjoyment of your kingdom, the poor squire is

famishing as far as rewards go, unless it be that the confidante damsel that is to be his wife comes with the

princess, and that with her he tides over his bad luck until Heaven otherwise orders things; for his master, I

"Then since that may be," said Sancho, "there is nothing for it but to commend ourselves to God, and let

"God guide it according to my wishes and thy wants," said Don Quixote, "and mean be he who thinks himself

"In God's name let him be so," said Sancho: "I am an old Christian, and to fit me for a count that's enough."

"And more than enough for thee," said Don Quixote; "and even wert thou not, it would make no difference,

because I being the king can easily give thee nobility without purchase or service rendered by thee, for when

I make thee a count, then thou art at once a gentleman; and they may say what they will, but by my faith they

"So be it," answered Sancho. "I say I will know how to behave, for once in my life I was beadle of a

brotherhood, and the beadle's gown sat so well on me that all said I looked as if I was to be steward of the

same brotherhood. What will it be, then, when I put a duke's robe on my back, or dress myself in gold and

"Thou wilt look well," said Don Quixote, "but thou must shave thy beard often, for thou hast it so thick and

rough and unkempt, that if thou dost not shave it every second day at least, they will see what thou art at the

"What more will it be," said Sancho, "than having a barber, and keeping him at wages in the house? and even

"Why, how dost thou know that noblemen have equerries behind them?" asked Don Quixote.

"I will tell you," answered Sancho. "Years ago I was for a month at the capital and there I saw taking the air a

very small gentleman who they said was a very great man, and a man following him on horseback in every

turn he took, just as if he was his tail. I asked why this man did not join the other man, instead of always

going behind him; they answered me that he was his equerry, and that it was the custom with nobles to have

such persons behind them, and ever since then I know it, for I have never forgotten it."

"Thou art right," said Don Quixote, "and in the same way thou mayest carry thy barber with thee, for customs

did not come into use all together, nor were they all invented at once, and thou mayest be the first count to

have a barber to follow him; and, indeed, shaving one's beard is a greater trust than saddling one's horse."

"Let the barber business be my lookout," said Sancho; "and your worship's be it to strive to become a king,

"So it shall be," answered Don Quixote, and raising his eyes he saw what will be told in the following

Cide Hamete Benengeli, the Arab and Manchegan author, relates in this most grave, highsounding, minute,

delightful, and original history that after the discussion between the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha and

his squire Sancho Panza which is set down at the end of chapter twentyone, Don Quixote raised his eyes and

saw coming along the road he was following some dozen men on foot strung together by the neck, like beads,

on a great iron chain, and all with manacles on their hands. With them there came also two men on horseback

and two on foot; those on horseback with wheellock muskets, those on foot with javelins and swords, and as

"That is a chain of galley slaves, on the way to the galleys by force of the king's orders."

"How by force?" asked Don Quixote; "is it possible that the king uses force against anyone?"

"I do not say that," answered Sancho, "but that these are people condemned for their crimes to serve by force

"In fact," replied Don Quixote, "however it may be, these people are going where they are taking them by

"Then if so," said Don Quixote, "here is a case for the exercise of my office, to put down force and to succour

"Recollect, your worship," said Sancho, "Justice, which is the king himself, is not using force or doing wrong

The chain of galley slaves had by this time come up, and Don Quixote in very courteous language asked

those who were in custody of it to be good enough to tell him the reason or reasons for which they were

conducting these people in this manner. One of the guards on horseback answered that they were galley

slaves belonging to his majesty, that they were going to the galleys, and that was all that was to be said and

"Nevertheless," replied Don Quixote, "I should like to know from each of them separately the reason of his

misfortune;" to this he added more to the same effect to induce them to tell him what he wanted so civilly that

"Though we have here the register and certificate of the sentence of every one of these wretches, this is no

time to take them out or read them; come and ask themselves; they can tell if they choose, and they will, for

With this permission, which Don Quixote would have taken even had they not granted it, he approached the

"For that only?" replied Don Quixote; "why, if for being lovers they send people to the galleys I might have

"The love is not the sort your worship is thinking of," said the galley slave; "mine was that I loved a

washerwoman's basket of clean linen so well, and held it so close in my embrace, that if the arm of the law

had not forced it from me, I should never have let it go of my own will to this moment; I was caught in the

act, there was no occasion for torture, the case was settled, they treated me to a hundred lashes on the back,

"Gurapas are galleys," answered the galley slave, who was a young man of about fourandtwenty, and said

Don Quixote asked the same question of the second, who made no reply, so downcast and melancholy was

he; but the first answered for him, and said, "He, sir, goes as a canary, I mean as a musician and a singer."

"What!" said Don Quixote, "for being musicians and singers are people sent to the galleys too?"

"Yes, sir," answered the galley slave, "for there is nothing worse than singing under suffering."

"On the contrary, I have heard say," said Don Quixote, "that he who sings scares away his woes."

"Here it is the reverse," said the galley slave; "for he who sings once weeps all his life."

"I do not understand it," said Don Quixote; but one of the guards said to him, "Sir, to sing under suffering

means with the non sancta fraternity to confess under torture; they put this sinner to the torture and he

confessed his crime, which was being a cuatrero, that is a cattlestealer, and on his confession they sentenced

him to six years in the galleys, besides two bundred lashes that he has already had on the back; and he is

always dejected and downcast because the other thieves that were left behind and that march here illtreat,

and snub, and jeer, and despise him for confessing and not having spirit enough to say nay; for, say they, 'nay'

has no more letters in it than 'yea,' and a culprit is well off when life or death with him depends on his own

tongue and not on that of witnesses or evidence; and to my thinking they are not very far out."

"And I think so too," answered Don Quixote; then passing on to the third he asked him what he had asked the

others, and the man answered very readily and unconcernedly, "I am going for five years to their ladyships

"I will give twenty with pleasure to get you out of that trouble," said Don Quixote.

"That," said the galley slave, "is like a man having money at sea when he is dying of hunger and has no way

of buying what he wants; I say so because if at the right time I had had those twenty ducats that your worship

now offers me, I would have greased the notary's pen and freshened up the attorney's wit with them, so that

today I should be in the middle of the plaza of the Zocodover at Toledo, and not on this road coupled like a

Don Quixote passed on to the fourth, a man of venerable aspect with a white beard falling below his breast,

who on hearing himself asked the reason of his being there began to weep without answering a word, but the

fifth acted as his tongue and said, "This worthy man is going to the galleys for four years, after having gone

"That means," said Sancho Panza, "as I take it, to have been exposed to shame in public."

"Just so," replied the galley slave, "and the offence for which they gave him that punishment was having been

an earbroker, nay bodybroker; I mean, in short, that this gentleman goes as a pimp, and for having besides

"If that touch had not been thrown in," said Don Quixote, "be would not deserve, for mere pimping, to row in

the galleys, but rather to command and be admiral of them; for the office of pimp is no ordinary one, being

the office of persons of discretion, one very necessary in a wellordered state, and only to be exercised by

persons of good birth; nay, there ought to be an inspector and overseer of them, as in other offices, and

recognised number, as with the brokers on change; in this way many of the evils would be avoided which are

caused by this office and calling being in the hands of stupid and ignorant people, such as women more or

less silly, and pages and jesters of little standing and experience, who on the most urgent occasions, and when

ingenuity of contrivance is needed, let the crumbs freeze on the way to their mouths, and know not which is

their right hand. I should like to go farther, and give reasons to show that it is advisable to choose those who

are to hold so necessary an office in the state, but this is not the fit place for it; some day I will expound the

matter to some one able to see to and rectify it; all I say now is, that the additional fact of his being a sorcerer

has removed the sorrow it gave me to see these white hairs and this venerable countenance in so painful a

position on account of his being a pimp; though I know well there are no sorceries in the world that can move

or compel the will as some simple folk fancy, for our will is free, nor is there herb or charm that can force it.

All that certain silly women and quacks do is to turn men mad with potions and poisons, pretending that they

have power to cause love, for, as I say, it is an impossibility to compel the will."

"It is true," said the good old man, "and indeed, sir, as far as the charge of sorcery goes I was not guilty; as to

that of being a pimp I cannot deny it; but I never thought I was doing any harm by it, for my only object was

that all the world should enjoy itself and live in peace and quiet, without quarrels or troubles; but my good

intentions were unavailing to save me from going where I never expect to come back from, with this weight

of years upon me and a urinary ailment that never gives me a moment's ease;" and again he fell to weeping as

before, and such compassion did Sancho feel for him that he took out a real of four from his bosom and gave

Don Quixote went on and asked another what his crime was, and the man answered with no less but rather

"I am here because I carried the joke too far with a couple of cousins of mine, and with a couple of other

cousins who were none of mine; in short, I carried the joke so far with them all that it ended in such a

complicated increase of kindred that no accountant could make it clear: it was all proved against me, I got no

favour, I had no money, I was near having my neck stretched, they sentenced me to the galleys for six years, I

accepted my fate, it is the punishment of my fault; I am a young man; let life only last, and with that all will

come right. If you, sir, have anything wherewith to help the poor, God will repay it to you in heaven, and we

on earth will take care in our petitions to him to pray for the life and health of your worship, that they may be

This one was in the dress of a student, and one of the guards said he was a great talker and a very elegant

Behind all these there came a man of thirty, a very personable fellow, except that when he looked, his eyes

turned in a little one towards the other. He was bound differently from the rest, for he had to his leg a chain so

long that it was wound all round his body, and two rings on his neck, one attached to the chain, the other to

what they call a "keepfriend" or "friend's foot," from which hung two irons reaching to his waist with two

manacles fixed to them in which his hands were secured by a big padlock, so that he could neither raise his

hands to his mouth nor lower his head to his hands. Don Quixote asked why this man carried so many more

chains than the others. The guard replied that it was because he alone had committed more crimes than all the

rest put together, and was so daring and such a villain, that though they marched him in that fashion they did

"What crimes can he have committed," said Don Quixote, "if they have not deserved a heavier punishment

"He goes for ten years," replied the guard, "which is the same thing as civil death, and all that need be said is

that this good fellow is the famous Gines de Pasamonte, otherwise called Ginesillo de Parapilla."

"Gently, senor commissary," said the galley slave at this, "let us have no fixing of names or surnames; my

name is Gines, not Ginesillo, and my family name is Pasamonte, not Parapilla as you say; let each one mind

"Speak with less impertinence, master thief of extra measure," replied the commissary, "if you don't want me

"It is easy to see," returned the galley slave, "that man goes as God pleases, but some one shall know some

"They do," returned Gines, "but I will make them give over calling me so, or I will be shaved, where, I only

say behind my teeth. If you, sir, have anything to give us, give it to us at once, and God speed you, for you

are becoming tiresome with all this inquisitiveness about the lives of others; if you want to know about mine,

let me tell you I am Gines de Pasamonte, whose life is written by these fingers."

"He says true," said the commissary, "for he has himself written his story as grand as you please, and has left

"And I mean to take it out of pawn," said Gines, "though it were in for two hundred ducats."

"So good is it," replied Gines, "that a fig for 'Lazarillo de Tormes,' and all of that kind that have been written,

or shall be written compared with it: all I will say about it is that it deals with facts, and facts so neat and

"How can it be finished," said the other, "when my life is not yet finished? All that is written is from my birth

"In the service of God and the king I have been there for four years before now, and I know by this time what

the biscuit and courbash are like," replied Gines; "and it is no great grievance to me to go back to them, for

there I shall have time to finish my book; I have still many things left to say, and in the galleys of Spain there

is more than enough leisure; though I do not want much for what I have to write, for I have it by heart."

"And an unfortunate one," replied Gines, "for misfortune always persecutes good wit."

"I told you already to go gently, master commissary," said Pasamonte; "their lordships yonder never gave you

that staff to illtreat us wretches here, but to conduct and take us where his majesty orders you; if not, by the

life ofnever mind; it may be that some day the stains made in the inn will come out in the scouring; let

everyone hold his tongue and behave well and speak better; and now let us march on, for we have had quite

The commissary lifted his staff to strike Pasamonte in return for his threats, but Don Quixote came between

them, and begged him not to illuse him, as it was not too much to allow one who had his hands tied to have

"From all you have told me, dear brethren, make out clearly that though they have punished you for your

faults, the punishments you are about to endure do not give you much pleasure, and that you go to them very

much against the grain and against your will, and that perhaps this one's want of courage under torture, that

one's want of money, the other's want of advocacy, and lastly the perverted judgment of the judge may have

been the cause of your ruin and of your failure to obtain the justice you had on your side. All which presents

itself now to my mind, urging, persuading, and even compelling me to demonstrate in your case the purpose

for which Heaven sent me into the world and caused me to make profession of the order of chivalry to which

I belong, and the vow I took therein to give aid to those in need and under the oppression of the strong. But as

I know that it is a mark of prudence not to do by foul means what may be done by fair, I will ask these

gentlemen, the guards and commissary, to be so good as to release you and let you go in peace, as there will

be no lack of others to serve the king under more favourable circumstances; for it seems to me a hard case to

make slaves of those whom God and nature have made free. Moreover, sirs of the guard," added Don

Quixote, "these poor fellows have done nothing to you; let each answer for his own sins yonder; there is a

God in Heaven who will not forget to punish the wicked or reward the good; and it is not fitting that honest

men should be the instruments of punishment to others, they being therein no way concerned. This request I

make thus gently and quietly, that, if you comply with it, I may have reason for thanking you; and, if you will

not voluntarily, this lance and sword together with the might of my arm shall compel you to comply with it

"Nice nonsense!" said the commissary; "a fine piece of pleasantry he has come out with at last! He wants us

to let the king's prisoners go, as if we had any authority to release them, or he to order us to do so! Go your

way, sir, and good luck to you; put that basin straight that you've got on your head, and don't go looking for

'Tis you that are the cat, rat, and rascal," replied Don Quixote, and acting on the word he fell upon him so

suddenly that without giving him time to defend himself he brought him to the ground sorely wounded with a

lancethrust; and lucky it was for him that it was the one that had the musket. The other guards stood

thunderstruck and amazed at this unexpected event, but recovering presence of mind, those on horseback

seized their swords, and those on foot their javelins, and attacked Don Quixote, who was waiting for them

with great calmness; and no doubt it would have gone badly with him if the galley slaves, seeing the chance

before them of liberating themselves, had not effected it by contriving to break the chain on which they were

strung. Such was the confusion, that the guards, now rushing at the galley slaves who were breaking loose,

now to attack Don Quixote who was waiting for them, did nothing at all that was of any use. Sancho, on his

part, gave a helping hand to release Gines de Pasamonte, who was the first to leap forth upon the plain free

and unfettered, and who, attacking the prostrate commissary, took from him his sword and the musket, with

which, aiming at one and levelling at another, he, without ever discharging it, drove every one of the guards

off the field, for they took to flight, as well to escape Pasamonte's musket, as the showers of stones the now

released galley slaves were raining upon them. Sancho was greatly grieved at the affair, because he

anticipated that those who had fled would report the matter to the Holy Brotherhood, who at the summons of

the alarmbell would at once sally forth in quest of the offenders; and he said so to his master, and entreated

him to leave the place at once, and go into hiding in the sierra that was close by.

"That is all very well," said Don Quixote, "but I know what must be done now;" and calling together all the

galley slaves, who were now running riot, and had stripped the commissary to the skin, he collected them

round him to hear what he had to say, and addressed them as follows: "To be grateful for benefits received is

the part of persons of good birth, and one of the sins most offensive to God is ingratitude; I say so because,

sirs, ye have already seen by manifest proof the benefit ye have received of me; in return for which I desire,

and it is my good pleasure that, laden with that chain which I have taken off your necks, ye at once set out

and proceed to the city of El Toboso, and there present yourselves before the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, and

say to her that her knight, he of the Rueful Countenance, sends to commend himself to her; and that ye

recount to her in full detail all the particulars of this notable adventure, up to the recovery of your longedfor

Gines de Pasamonte made answer for all, saying, "That which you, sir, our deliverer, demand of us, is of all

impossibilities the most impossible to comply with, because we cannot go together along the roads, but only

singly and separate, and each one his own way, endeavouring to hide ourselves in the bowels of the earth to

escape the Holy Brotherhood, which, no doubt, will come out in search of us. What your worship may do,

and fairly do, is to change this service and tribute as regards the lady Dulcinea del Toboso for a certain

quantity of avemarias and credos which we will say for your worship's intention, and this is a condition that

can be complied with by night as by day, running or resting, in peace or in war; but to imagine that we are

going now to return to the fleshpots of Egypt, I mean to take up our chain and set out for El Toboso, is to

imagine that it is now night, though it is not yet ten in the morning, and to ask this of us is like asking pears

"Then by all that's good," said Don Quixote (now stirred to wrath), "Don son of a bitch, Don Ginesillo de

Paropillo, or whatever your name is, you will have to go yourself alone, with your tail between your legs and

Pasamonte, who was anything but meek (being by this time thoroughly convinced that Don Quixote was not

quite right in his head as he had committed such a vagary as to set them free), finding himself abused in this

fashion, gave the wink to his companions, and falling back they began to shower stones on Don Quixote at

such a rate that he was quite unable to protect himself with his buckler, and poor Rocinante no more heeded

the spur than if he had been made of brass. Sancho planted himself behind his ass, and with him sheltered

himself from the hailstorm that poured on both of them. Don Quixote was unable to shield himself so well

but that more pebbles than I could count struck him full on the body with such force that they brought him to

the ground; and the instant he fell the student pounced upon him, snatched the basin from his head, and with

it struck three or four blows on his shoulders, and as many more on the ground, knocking it almost to pieces.

They then stripped him of a jacket that he wore over his armour, and they would have stripped off his

stockings if his greaves had not prevented them. From Sancho they took his coat, leaving him in his

shirtsleeves; and dividing among themselves the remaining spoils of the battle, they went each one his own

way, more solicitous about keeping clear of the Holy Brotherhood they dreaded, than about burdening

themselves with the chain, or going to present themselves before the lady Dulcinea del Toboso. The ass and

Rocinante, Sancho and Don Quixote, were all that were left upon the spot; the ass with drooping head,

serious, shaking his ears from time to time as if he thought the storm of stones that assailed them was not yet

over; Rocinante stretched beside his master, for he too had been brought to the ground by a stone; Sancho

stripped, and trembling with fear of the Holy Brotherhood; and Don Quixote fuming to find himself so served

Seeing himself served in this way, Don Quixote said to his squire, "I have always heard it said, Sancho, that

to do good to boors is to throw water into the sea. If I had believed thy words, I should have avoided this

trouble; but it is done now, it is only to have patience and take warning for the future."

"Your worship will take warning as much as I am a Turk," returned Sancho; "but, as you say this mischief

might have been avoided if you had believed me, believe me now, and a still greater one will be avoided; for

I tell you chivalry is of no account with the Holy Brotherhood, and they don't care two maravedis for all the

knightserrant in the world; and I can tell you I fancy I hear their arrows whistling past my ears this minute."

"Thou art a coward by nature, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "but lest thou shouldst say I am obstinate, and that

I never do as thou dost advise, this once I will take thy advice, and withdraw out of reach of that fury thou so

dreadest; but it must be on one condition, that never, in life or in death, thou art to say to anyone that I retired

or withdrew from this danger out of fear, but only in compliance with thy entreaties; for if thou sayest

otherwise thou wilt lie therein, and from this time to that, and from that to this, I give thee lie, and say thou

liest and wilt lie every time thou thinkest or sayest it; and answer me not again; for at the mere thought that I

am withdrawing or retiring from any danger, above all from this, which does seem to carry some little

shadow of fear with it, I am ready to take my stand here and await alone, not only that Holy Brotherhood you

talk of and dread, but the brothers of the twelve tribes of Israel, and the Seven Maccabees, and Castor and

"Senor," replied Sancho, "to retire is not to flee, and there is no wisdom in waiting when danger outweighs

hope, and it is the part of wise men to preserve themselves today for tomorrow, and not risk all in one day;

and let me tell you, though I am a clown and a boor, I have got some notion of what they call safe conduct; so

repent not of having taken my advice, but mount Rocinante if you can, and if not I will help you; and follow

Don Quixote mounted without replying, and, Sancho leading the way on his ass, they entered the side of the

Sierra Morena, which was close by, as it was Sancho's design to cross it entirely and come out again at El

Viso or Almodovar del Campo, and hide for some days among its crags so as to escape the search of the

Brotherhood should they come to look for them. He was encouraged in this by perceiving that the stock of

provisions carried by the ass had come safe out of the fray with the galley slaves, a circumstance that he

That night they reached the very heart of the Sierra Morena, where it seemed prudent to Sancho to pass the

night and even some days, at least as many as the stores he carried might last, and so they encamped between

two rocks and among some cork trees; but fatal destiny, which, according to the opinion of those who have

not the light of the true faith, directs, arranges, and settles everything in its own way, so ordered it that Gines

de Pasamonte, the famous knave and thief who by the virtue and madness of Don Quixote had been released

from the chain, driven by fear of the Holy Brotherhood, which he had good reason to dread, resolved to take

hiding in the mountains; and his fate and fear led him to the same spot to which Don Quixote and Sancho

Panza had been led by theirs, just in time to recognise them and leave them to fall asleep: and as the wicked

are always ungrateful, and necessity leads to evildoing, and immediate advantage overcomes all

considerations of the future, Gines, who was neither grateful nor wellprincipled, made up his mind to steal

Sancho Panza's ass, not troubling himself about Rocinante, as being a prize that was no good either to pledge

or sell. While Sancho slept he stole his ass, and before day dawned he was far out of reach.

Aurora made her appearance bringing gladness to the earth but sadness to Sancho Panza, for he found that his

Dapple was missing, and seeing himself bereft of him he began the saddest and most doleful lament in the

world, so loud that Don Quixote awoke at his exclamations and heard him saying, "O son of my bowels, born

in my very house, my children's plaything, my wife's joy, the envy of my neighbours, relief of my burdens,

and lastly, half supporter of myself, for with the sixandtwenty maravedis thou didst earn me daily I met

Don Quixote, when he heard the lament and learned the cause, consoled Sancho with the best arguments he

could, entreating him to be patient, and promising to give him a letter of exchange ordering three out of five

asscolts that he had at home to be given to him. Sancho took comfort at this, dried his tears, suppressed his

sobs, and returned thanks for the kindness shown him by Don Quixote. He on his part was rejoiced to the

heart on entering the mountains, as they seemed to him to be just the place for the adventures he was in quest

of. They brought back to his memory the marvellous adventures that had befallen knightserrant in like

solitudes and wilds, and he went along reflecting on these things, so absorbed and carried away by them that

he had no thought for anything else. Nor had Sancho any other care (now that he fancied he was travelling in

a safe quarter) than to satisfy his appetite with such remains as were left of the clerical spoils, and so he

marched behind his master laden with what Dapple used to carry, emptying the sack and packing his paunch,

and so long as he could go that way, he would not have given a farthing to meet with another adventure.

While so engaged he raised his eyes and saw that his master had halted, and was trying with the point of his

pike to lift some bulky object that lay upon the ground, on which he hastened to join him and help him if it

were needful, and reached him just as with the point of the pike he was raising a saddlepad with a valise

attached to it, half or rather wholly rotten and torn; but so heavy were they that Sancho had to help to take

them up, and his master directed him to see what the valise contained. Sancho did so with great alacrity, and

though the valise was secured by a chain and padlock, from its torn and rotten condition he was able to see its

contents, which were four shirts of fine holland, and other articles of linen no less curious than clean; and in a

handkerchief he found a good lot of gold crowns, and as soon as he saw them he exclaimed:

Searching further he found a little memorandum book richly bound; this Don Quixote asked of him, telling

him to take the money and keep it for himself. Sancho kissed his hands for the favour, and cleared the valise

of its linen, which he stowed away in the provision sack. Considering the whole matter, Don Quixote

"It seems to me, Sancho and it is impossible it can be otherwise that some strayed traveller must have

crossed this sierra and been attacked and slain by footpads, who brought him to this remote spot to bury him."

"That cannot be," answered Sancho, "because if they had been robbers they would not have left this money."

"Thou art right," said Don Quixote, "and I cannot guess or explain what this may mean; but stay; let us see if

in this memorandum book there is anything written by which we may be able to trace out or discover what

He opened it, and the first thing he found in it, written roughly but in a very good hand, was a sonnet, and

SONNET Or Love is lacking in intelligence, Or to the height of cruelty attains, Or else it is my doom to

suffer pains Beyond the measure due to my offence. But if Love be a God, it follows thence That he knows

all, and certain it remains No God loves cruelty; then who ordains This penance that enthrals while it

torments? It were a falsehood, Chloe, thee to name; Such evil with such goodness cannot live; And against

Heaven I dare not charge the blame, I only know it is my fate to die. To him who knows not whence his

"There is nothing to be learned from that rhyme," said Sancho, "unless by that clue there's in it, one may draw

"I only said Chloe," replied Don Quixote; "and that no doubt, is the name of the lady of whom the author of

the sonnet complains; and, faith, he must be a tolerable poet, or I know little of the craft."

"And better than thou thinkest," replied Don Quixote, "as thou shalt see when thou carriest a letter written in

verse from beginning to end to my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, for I would have thee know, Sancho, that all or

most of the knightserrant in days of yore were great troubadours and great musicians, for both of these

accomplishments, or more properly speaking gifts, are the peculiar property of loverserrant: true it is that

"Read more, your worship," said Sancho, "and you will find something that will enlighten us."

"Then let your worship read it aloud," said Sancho, "for I am very fond of love matters."

"With all my heart," said Don Quixote, and reading it aloud as Sancho had requested him, he found it ran

Thy false promise and my sure misforutne carry me to a place whence the news of my death will reach thy

ears before the words of my complaint. Ungrateful one, thou hast rejected me for one more wealthy, but not

more worthy; but if virtue were esteemed wealth I should neither envy the fortunes of others nor weep for

misfortunes of my own. What thy beauty raised up thy deeds have laid low; by it I believed thee to be an

angel, by them I know thou art a woman. Peace be with thee who hast sent war to me, and Heaven grant that

the deceit of thy husband be ever hidden from thee, so that thou repent not of what thou hast done, and I reap

When he had finished the letter, Don Quixote said, "There is less to be gathered from this than from the

verses, except that he who wrote it is some rejected lover;" and turning over nearly all the pages of the book

he found more verses and letters, some of which he could read, while others he could not; but they were all

made up of complaints, laments, misgivings, desires and aversions, favours and rejections, some rapturous,

some doleful. While Don Quixote examined the book, Sancho examined the valise, not leaving a corner in

the whole of it or in the pad that he did not search, peer into, and explore, or seam that he did not rip, or tuft

of wool that he did not pick to pieces, lest anything should escape for want of care and pains; so keen was the

covetousness excited in him by the discovery of the crowns, which amounted to near a hundred; and though

he found no more booty, he held the blanket flights, balsam vomits, stake benedictions, carriers' fisticuffs,

missing alforjas, stolen coat, and all the hunger, thirst, and weariness he had endured in the service of his

good master, cheap at the price; as he considered himself more than fully indemnified for all by the payment

The Knight of the Rueful Countenance was still very anxious to find out who the owner of the valise could

be, conjecturing from the sonnet and letter, from the money in gold, and from the fineness of the shirts, that

he must be some lover of distinction whom the scorn and cruelty of his lady had driven to some desperate

course; but as in that uninhabited and rugged spot there was no one to be seen of whom he could inquire, he

saw nothing else for it but to push on, taking whatever road Rocinante chose which was where he could

make his way firmly persuaded that among these wilds he could not fail to meet some rare adventure. As he

went along, then, occupied with these thoughts, he perceived on the summit of a height that rose before their

eyes a man who went springing from rock to rock and from tussock to tussock with marvellous agility. As

well as he could make out he was unclad, with a thick black beard, long tangled hair, and bare legs and feet,

his thighs were covered by breeches apparently of tawny velvet but so ragged that they showed his skin in

several places. He was bareheaded, and notwithstanding the swiftness with which he passed as has been

described, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance observed and noted all these trifles, and though he made the

attempt, he was unable to follow him, for it was not granted to the feebleness of Rocinante to make way over

such rough ground, he being, moreover, slowpaced and sluggish by nature. Don Quixote at once came to the

conclusion that this was the owner of the saddlepad and of the valise, and made up his mind to go in search

of him, even though he should have to wander a year in those mountains before he found him, and so he

directed Sancho to take a short cut over one side of the mountain, while he himself went by the other, and

perhaps by this means they might light upon this man who had passed so quickly out of their sight.

"I could not do that," said Sancho, "for when I separate from your worship fear at once lays hold of me, and

assails me with all sorts of panics and fancies; and let what I now say be a notice that from this time forth I

"It shall be so," said he of the Rueful Countenance, "and I am very glad that thou art willing to rely on my

courage, which will never fail thee, even though the soul in thy body fail thee; so come on now behind me

slowly as well as thou canst, and make lanterns of thine eyes; let us make the circuit of this ridge; perhaps we

shall light upon this man that we saw, who no doubt is no other than the owner of what we found."

To which Sancho made answer, "Far better would it be not to look for him, for, if we find him, and he

happens to be the owner of the money, it is plain I must restore it; it would be better, therefore, that without

taking this needless trouble, I should keep possession of it until in some other less meddlesome and officious

way the real owner may be discovered; and perhaps that will be when I shall have spent it, and then the king

"Thou art wrong there, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for now that we have a suspicion who the owner is, and

have him almost before us, we are bound to seek him and make restitution; and if we do not see him, the

strong suspicion we have as to his being the owner makes us as guilty as if he were so; and so, friend Sancho,

let not our search for him give thee any uneasiness, for if we find him it will relieve mine."

And so saying he gave Rocinante the spur, and Sancho followed him on foot and loaded, and after having

partly made the circuit of the mountain they found lying in a ravine, dead and half devoured by dogs and

pecked by jackdaws, a mule saddled and bridled, all which still further strengthened their suspicion that he

As they stood looking at it they heard a whistle like that of a shepherd watching his flock, and suddenly on

their left there appeared a great number of goats and behind them on the summit of the mountain the goatherd

in charge of them, a man advanced in years. Don Quixote called aloud to him and begged him to come down

to where they stood. He shouted in return, asking what had brought them to that spot, seldom or never

trodden except by the feet of goats, or of the wolves and other wild beasts that roamed around. Sancho in

The goatherd descended, and reaching the place where Don Quixote stood, he said, "I will wager you are

looking at that hack mule that lies dead in the hollow there, and, faith, it has been lying there now these six

"We have come upon nobody," answered Don Quixote, "nor on anything except a saddlepad and a little

"I found it too," said the goatherd, "but I would not lift it nor go near it for fear of some illluck or being

charged with theft, for the devil is crafty, and things rise up under one's feet to make one fall without

"That's exactly what I say," said Sancho; "I found it too, and I would not go within a stone's throw of it; there

I left it, and there it lies just as it was, for I don't want a dog with a bell."

"Tell me, good man," said Don Quixote, "do you know who is the owner of this property?"

"All I can tell you," said the goatherd, "is that about six months ago, more or less, there arrived at a

shepherd's hut three leagues, perhaps, away from this, a youth of wellbred appearance and manners,

mounted on that same mule which lies dead here, and with the same saddlepad and valise which you say

you found and did not touch. He asked us what part of this sierra was the most rugged and retired; we told

him that it was where we now are; and so in truth it is, for if you push on half a league farther, perhaps you

will not be able to find your way out; and I am wondering how you have managed to come here, for there is

no road or path that leads to this spot. I say, then, that on hearing our answer the youth turned about and made

for the place we pointed out to him, leaving us all charmed with his good looks, and wondering at his

question and the haste with which we saw him depart in the direction of the sierra; and after that we saw him

no more, until some days afterwards he crossed the path of one of our shepherds, and without saying a word

to him, came up to him and gave him several cuffs and kicks, and then turned to the ass with our provisions

and took all the bread and cheese it carried, and having done this made off back again into the sierra with

extraordinary swiftness. When some of us goatherds learned this we went in search of him for about two days

through the most remote portion of this sierra, at the end of which we found him lodged in the hollow of a

large thick cork tree. He came out to meet us with great gentleness, with his dress now torn and his face so

disfigured and burned by the sun, that we hardly recognised him but that his clothes, though torn, convinced

us, from the recollection we had of them, that he was the person we were looking for. He saluted us

courteously, and in a few wellspoken words he told us not to wonder at seeing him going about in this guise,

as it was binding upon him in order that he might work out a penance which for his many sins had been

imposed upon him. We asked him to tell us who he was, but we were never able to find out from him: we

begged of him too, when he was in want of food, which he could not do without, to tell us where we should

find him, as we would bring it to him with all goodwill and readiness; or if this were not to his taste, at least

to come and ask it of us and not take it by force from the shepherds. He thanked us for the offer, begged

pardon for the late assault, and promised for the future to ask it in God's name without offering violence to

anybody. As for fixed abode, he said he had no other than that which chance offered wherever night might

overtake him; and his words ended in an outburst of weeping so bitter that we who listened to him must have

been very stones had we not joined him in it, comparing what we saw of him the first time with what we saw

now; for, as I said, he was a graceful and gracious youth, and in his courteous and polished language showed

himself to be of good birth and courtly breeding, and rustics as we were that listened to him, even to our

"But in the midst of his conversation he stopped and became silent, keeping his eyes fixed upon the ground

for some time, during which we stood still waiting anxiously to see what would come of this abstraction; and

with no little pity, for from his behaviour, now staring at the ground with fixed gaze and eyes wide open

without moving an eyelid, again closing them, compressing his lips and raising his eyebrows, we could

perceive plainly that a fit of madness of some kind had come upon him; and before long he showed that what

we imagined was the truth, for he arose in a fury from the ground where he had thrown himself, and attacked

the first he found near him with such rage and fierceness that if we had not dragged him off him, he would

have beaten or bitten him to death, all the while exclaiming, 'Oh faithless Fernando, here, here shalt thou pay

the penalty of the wrong thou hast done me; these hands shall tear out that heart of thine, abode and dwelling

of all iniquity, but of deceit and fraud above all; and to these he added other words all in effect upbraiding

"We forced him to release his hold with no little difficulty, and without another word he left us, and rushing

off plunged in among these brakes and brambles, so as to make it impossible for us to follow him; from this

we suppose that madness comes upon him from time to time, and that some one called Fernando must have

done him a wrong of a grievous nature such as the condition to which it had brought him seemed to show. All

this has been since then confirmed on those occasions, and they have been many, on which he has crossed our

path, at one time to beg the shepherds to give him some of the food they carry, at another to take it from them

by force; for when there is a fit of madness upon him, even though the shepherds offer it freely, he will not

accept it but snatches it from them by dint of blows; but when he is in his senses he begs it for the love of

God, courteously and civilly, and receives it with many thanks and not a few tears. And to tell you the truth,

sirs," continued the goatherd, "it was yesterday that we resolved, I and four of the lads, two of them our

servants, and the other two friends of mine, to go in search of him until we find him, and when we do to take

him, whether by force or of his own consent, to the town of Almodovar, which is eight leagues from this, and

there strive to cure him (if indeed his malady admits of a cure), or learn when he is in his senses who he is,

and if he has relatives to whom we may give notice of his misfortune. This, sirs, is all I can say in answer to

what you have asked me; and be sure that the owner of the articles you found is he whom you saw pass by

For Don Quixote had already described how he had seen the man go bounding along the mountain side, and

he was now filled with amazement at what he heard from the goatherd, and more eager than ever to discover

who the unhappy madman was; and in his heart he resolved, as he had done before, to search for him all over

the mountain, not leaving a corner or cave unexamined until he had found him. But chance arranged matters

better than he expected or hoped, for at that very moment, in a gorge on the mountain that opened where they

stood, the youth he wished to find made his appearance, coming along talking to himself in a way that would

have been unintelligible near at hand, much more at a distance. His garb was what has been described, save

that as he drew near, Don Quixote perceived that a tattered doublet which he wore was ambertanned, from

which he concluded that one who wore such garments could not be of very low rank.

Approaching them, the youth greeted them in a harsh and hoarse voice but with great courtesy. Don Quixote

returned his salutation with equal politeness, and dismounting from Rocinante advanced with wellbred

bearing and grace to embrace him, and held him for some time close in his arms as if he had known him for a

long time. The other, whom we may call the Ragged One of the Sorry Countenance, as Don Quixote was of

the Rueful, after submitting to the embrace pushed him back a little and, placing his hands on Don Quixote's

shoulders, stood gazing at him as if seeking to see whether he knew him, not less amazed, perhaps, at the

sight of the face, figure, and armour of Don Quixote than Don Quixote was at the sight of him. To be brief,

the first to speak after embracing was the Ragged One, and he said what will be told farther on.

The history relates that it was with the greatest attention Don Quixote listened to the ragged knight of the

"Of a surety, senor, whoever you are, for I know you not, I thank you for the proofs of kindness and courtesy

you have shown me, and would I were in a condition to requite with something more than goodwill that

which you have displayed towards me in the cordial reception you have given me; but my fate does not afford

me any other means of returning kindnesses done me save the hearty desire to repay them."

"Mine," replied Don Quixote, "is to be of service to you, so much so that I had resolved not to quit these

mountains until I had found you, and learned of you whether there is any kind of relief to be found for that

sorrow under which from the strangeness of your life you seem to labour; and to search for you with all

possible diligence, if search had been necessary. And if your misfortune should prove to be one of those that

refuse admission to any sort of consolation, it was my purpose to join you in lamenting and mourning over it,

so far as I could; for it is still some comfort in misfortune to find one who can feel for it. And if my good

intentions deserve to be acknowledged with any kind of courtesy, I entreat you, senor, by that which I

perceive you possess in so high a degree, and likewise conjure you by whatever you love or have loved best

in life, to tell me who you are and the cause that has brought you to live or die in these solitudes like a brute

beast, dwelling among them in a manner so foreign to your condition as your garb and appearance show. And

I swear," added Don Quixote, "by the order of knighthood which I have received, and by my vocation of

knighterrant, if you gratify me in this, to serve you with all the zeal my calling demands of me, either in

relieving your misfortune if it admits of relief, or in joining you in lamenting it as I promised to do."

The Knight of the Thicket, hearing him of the Rueful Countenance talk in this strain, did nothing but stare at

him, and stare at him again, and again survey him from head to foot; and when he had thoroughly examined

"If you have anything to give me to eat, for God's sake give it me, and after I have eaten I will do all you ask

Sancho from his sack, and the goatherd from his pouch, furnished the Ragged One with the means of

appeasing his hunger, and what they gave him he ate like a halfwitted being, so hastily that he took no time

between mouthfuls, gorging rather than swallowing; and while he ate neither he nor they who observed him

uttered a word. As soon as he had done he made signs to them to follow him, which they did, and he led them

to a green plot which lay a little farther off round the corner of a rock. On reaching it he stretched himself

upon the grass, and the others did the same, all keeping silence, until the Ragged One, settling himself in his

"If it is your wish, sirs, that I should disclose in a few words the surpassing extent of my misfortunes, you

must promise not to break the thread of my sad story with any question or other interruption, for the instant

These words of the Ragged One reminded Don Quixote of the tale his squire had told him, when he failed to

keep count of the goats that had crossed the river and the story remained unfinished; but to return to the

"I give you this warning because I wish to pass briefly over the story of my misfortunes, for recalling them to

memory only serves to add fresh ones, and the less you question me the sooner shall I make an end of the

recital, though I shall not omit to relate anything of importance in order fully to satisfy your curiosity."

Don Quixote gave the promise for himself and the others, and with this assurance he began as follows:

"My name is Cardenio, my birthplace one of the best cities of this Andalusia, my family noble, my parents

rich, my misfortune so great that my parents must have wept and my family grieved over it without being

able by their wealth to lighten it; for the gifts of fortune can do little to relieve reverses sent by Heaven. In

that same country there was a heaven in which love had placed all the glory I could desire; such was the

beauty of Luscinda, a damsel as noble and as rich as I, but of happier fortunes, and of less firmness than was

due to so worthy a passion as mine. This Luscinda I loved, worshipped, and adored from my earliest and

tenderest years, and she loved me in all the innocence and sincerity of childhood. Our parents were aware of

our feelings, and were not sorry to perceive them, for they saw clearly that as they ripened they must lead at

last to a marriage between us, a thing that seemed almost prearranged by the equality of our families and

wealth. We grew up, and with our growth grew the love between us, so that the father of Luscinda felt bound

for propriety's sake to refuse me admission to his house, in this perhaps imitating the parents of that Thisbe so

celebrated by the poets, and this refusal but added love to love and flame to flame; for though they enforced

silence upon our tongues they could not impose it upon our pens, which can make known the heart's secrets

to a loved one more freely than tongues; for many a time the presence of the object of love shakes the firmest

will and strikes dumb the boldest tongue. Ah heavens! how many letters did I write her, and how many dainty

modest replies did I receive! how many ditties and lovesongs did I compose in which my heart declared and

made known its feelings, described its ardent longings, revelled in its recollections and dallied with its

desires! At length growing impatient and feeling my heart languishing with longing to see her, I resolved to

put into execution and carry out what seemed to me the best mode of winning my desired and merited

reward, to ask her of her father for my lawful wife, which I did. To this his answer was that he thanked me

for the disposition I showed to do honour to him and to regard myself as honoured by the bestowal of his

treasure; but that as my father was alive it was his by right to make this demand, for if it were not in

accordance with his full will and pleasure, Luscinda was not to be taken or given by stealth. I thanked him for

his kindness, reflecting that there was reason in what he said, and that my father would assent to it as soon as

I should tell him, and with that view I went the very same instant to let him know what my desires were.

When I entered the room where he was I found him with an open letter in his hand, which, before I could

utter a word, he gave me, saying, 'By this letter thou wilt see, Cardenio, the disposition the Duke Ricardo has

to serve thee.' This Duke Ricardo, as you, sirs, probably know already, is a grandee of Spain who has his seat

in the best part of this Andalusia. I took and read the letter, which was couched in terms so flattering that

even I myself felt it would be wrong in my father not to comply with the request the duke made in it, which

was that he would send me immediately to him, as he wished me to become the companion, not servant, of

his eldest son, and would take upon himself the charge of placing me in a position corresponding to the

esteem in which he held me. On reading the letter my voice failed me, and still more when I heard my father

say, 'Two days hence thou wilt depart, Cardenio, in accordance with the duke's wish, and give thanks to God

who is opening a road to thee by which thou mayest attain what I know thou dost deserve; and to these words

he added others of fatherly counsel. The time for my departure arrived; I spoke one night to Luscinda, I told

her all that had occurred, as I did also to her father, entreating him to allow some delay, and to defer the

disposal of her hand until I should see what the Duke Ricardo sought of me: he gave me the promise, and she

confirmed it with vows and swoonings unnumbered. Finally, I presented myself to the duke, and was

received and treated by him so kindly that very soon envy began to do its work, the old servants growing

envious of me, and regarding the duke's inclination to show me favour as an injury to themselves. But the one

to whom my arrival gave the greatest pleasure was the duke's second son, Fernando by name, a gallant youth,

of noble, generous, and amorous disposition, who very soon made so intimate a friend of me that it was

remarked by everybody; for though the elder was attached to me, and showed me kindness, he did not carry

his affectionate treatment to the same length as Don Fernando. It so happened, then, that as between friends

no secret remains unshared, and as the favour I enjoyed with Don Fernando had grown into friendship, he

made all his thoughts known to me, and in particular a love affair which troubled his mind a little. He was

deeply in love with a peasant girl, a vassal of his father's, the daughter of wealthy parents, and herself so

beautiful, modest, discreet, and virtuous, that no one who knew her was able to decide in which of these

respects she was most highly gifted or most excelled. The attractions of the fair peasant raised the passion of

Don Fernando to such a point that, in order to gain his object and overcome her virtuous resolutions, he

determined to pledge his word to her to become her husband, for to attempt it in any other way was to attempt

an impossibility. Bound to him as I was by friendship, I strove by the best arguments and the most forcible

examples I could think of to restrain and dissuade him from such a course; but perceiving I produced no

effect I resolved to make the Duke Ricardo, his father, acquainted with the matter; but Don Fernando, being

sharpwitted and shrewd, foresaw and apprehended this, perceiving that by my duty as a good servant I was

bound not to keep concealed a thing so much opposed to the honour of my lord the duke; and so, to mislead

and deceive me, he told me he could find no better way of effacing from his mind the beauty that so enslaved

him than by absenting himself for some months, and that he wished the absence to be effected by our going,

both of us, to my father's house under the pretence, which he would make to the duke, of going to see and

buy some fine horses that there were in my city, which produces the best in the world. When I heard him say

so, even if his resolution had not been so good a one I should have hailed it as one of the happiest that could

be imagined, prompted by my affection, seeing what a favourable chance and opportunity it offered me of

returning to see my Luscinda. With this thought and wish I commended his idea and encouraged his design,

advising him to put it into execution as quickly as possible, as, in truth, absence produced its effect in spite of

the most deeply rooted feelings. But, as afterwards appeared, when he said this to me he had already enjoyed

the peasant girl under the title of husband, and was waiting for an opportunity of making it known with safety

to himself, being in dread of what his father the duke would do when he came to know of his folly. It

happened, then, that as with young men love is for the most part nothing more than appetite, which, as its

final object is enjoyment, comes to an end on obtaining it, and that which seemed to be love takes to flight, as

it cannot pass the limit fixed by nature, which fixes no limit to true love what I mean is that after Don

Fernando had enjoyed this peasant girl his passion subsided and his eagerness cooled, and if at first he

feigned a wish to absent himself in order to cure his love, he was now in reality anxious to go to avoid

"The duke gave him permission, and ordered me to accompany him; we arrived at my city, and my father

gave him the reception due to his rank; I saw Luscinda without delay, and, though it had not been dead or

deadened, my love gathered fresh life. To my sorrow I told the story of it to Don Fernando, for I thought that

in virtue of the great friendship he bore me I was bound to conceal nothing from him. I extolled her beauty,

her gaiety, her wit, so warmly, that my praises excited in him a desire to see a damsel adorned by such

attractions. To my misfortune I yielded to it, showing her to him one night by the light of a taper at a window

where we used to talk to one another. As she appeared to him in her dressinggown, she drove all the

beauties he had seen until then out of his recollection; speech failed him, his head turned, he was

spellbound, and in the end lovesmitten, as you will see in the course of the story of my misfortune; and to

inflame still further his passion, which he hid from me and revealed to Heaven alone, it so happened that one

day he found a note of hers entreating me to demand her of her father in marriage, so delicate, so modest, and

so tender, that on reading it he told me that in Luscinda alone were combined all the charms of beauty and

understanding that were distributed among all the other women in the world. It is true, and I own it now, that

though I knew what good cause Don Fernando had to praise Luscinda, it gave me uneasiness to hear these

praises from his mouth, and I began to fear, and with reason to feel distrust of him, for there was no moment

when he was not ready to talk of Luscinda, and he would start the subject himself even though he dragged it

in unseasonably, a circumstance that aroused in me a certain amount of jealousy; not that I feared any change

in the constancy or faith of Luscinda; but still my fate led me to forebode what she assured me against. Don

Fernando contrived always to read the letters I sent to Luscinda and her answers to me, under the pretence

that he enjoyed the wit and sense of both. It so happened, then, that Luscinda having begged of me a book of

"Had your worship told me at the beginning of your story that the Lady Luscinda was fond of books of

chivalry, no other laudation would have been requisite to impress upon me the superiority of her

understanding, for it could not have been of the excellence you describe had a taste for such delightful

reading been wanting; so, as far as I am concerned, you need waste no more words in describing her beauty,

worth, and intelligence; for, on merely hearing what her taste was, I declare her to be the most beautiful and

the most intelligent woman in the world; and I wish your worship had, along with Amadis of Gaul, sent her

the worthy Don Rugel of Greece, for I know the Lady Luscinda would greatly relish Daraida and Garaya, and

the shrewd sayings of the shepherd Darinel, and the admirable verses of his bucolics, sung and delivered by

him with such sprightliness, wit, and ease; but a time may come when this omission can be remedied, and to

rectify it nothing more is needed than for your worship to be so good as to come with me to my village, for

there I can give you more than three hundred books which are the delight of my soul and the entertainment of

my life; though it occurs to me that I have not got one of them now, thanks to the spite of wicked and

envious enchanters; but pardon me for having broken the promise we made not to interrupt your discourse;

for when I hear chivalry or knightserrant mentioned, I can no more help talking about them than the rays of

the sun can help giving heat, or those of the moon moisture; pardon me, therefore, and proceed, for that is

While Don Quixote was saying this, Cardenio allowed his head to fall upon his breast, and seemed plunged in

deep thought; and though twice Don Quixote bade him go on with his story, he neither looked up nor uttered

a word in reply; but after some time he raised his head and said, "I cannot get rid of the idea, nor will anyone

in the world remove it, or make me think otherwise and he would be a blockhead who would hold or believe

anything else than that that arrant knave Master Elisabad made free with Queen Madasima."

"That is not true, by all that's good," said Don Quixote in high wrath, turning upon him angrily, as his way

was; "and it is a very great slander, or rather villainy. Queen Madasima was a very illustrious lady, and it is

not to be supposed that so exalted a princess would have made free with a quack; and whoever maintains the

contrary lies like a great scoundrel, and I will give him to know it, on foot or on horseback, armed or

Cardenio was looking at him steadily, and his mad fit having now come upon him, he had no disposition to

go on with his story, nor would Don Quixote have listened to it, so much had what he had heard about

Madasima disgusted him. Strange to say, he stood up for her as if she were in earnest his veritable born lady;

to such a pass had his unholy books brought him. Cardenio, then, being, as I said, now mad, when he heard

himself given the lie, and called a scoundrel and other insulting names, not relishing the jest, snatched up a

stone that he found near him, and with it delivered such a blow on Don Quixote's breast that he laid him on

his back. Sancho Panza, seeing his master treated in this fashion, attacked the madman with his closed fist;

but the Ragged One received him in such a way that with a blow of his fist he stretched him at his feet, and

then mounting upon him crushed his ribs to his own satisfaction; the goatherd, who came to the rescue,

shared the same fate; and having beaten and pummelled them all he left them and quietly withdrew to his

hidingplace on the mountain. Sancho rose, and with the rage he felt at finding himself so belaboured

without deserving it, ran to take vengeance on the goatherd, accusing him of not giving them warning that

this man was at times taken with a mad fit, for if they had known it they would have been on their guard to

protect themselves. The goatherd replied that he had said so, and that if he had not heard him, that was no

fault of his. Sancho retorted, and the goatherd rejoined, and the altercation ended in their seizing each other

by the beard, and exchanging such fisticuffs that if Don Quixote had not made peace between them, they

"Leave me alone, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance," said Sancho, grappling with the goatherd, "for of

this fellow, who is a clown like myself, and no dubbed knight, I can safely take satisfaction for the affront he

"That is true," said Don Quixote, "but I know that he is not to blame for what has happened."

With this he pacified them, and again asked the goatherd if it would be possible to find Cardenio, as he felt

the greatest anxiety to know the end of his story. The goatherd told him, as he had told him before, that there

was no knowing of a certainty where his lair was; but that if he wandered about much in that neighbourhood

Don Quixote took leave of the goatherd, and once more mounting Rocinante bade Sancho follow him, which

he having no ass, did very discontentedly. They proceeded slowly, making their way into the most rugged

part of the mountain, Sancho all the while dying to have a talk with his master, and longing for him to begin,

so that there should be no breach of the injunction laid upon him; but unable to keep silence so long he said to

"Senor Don Quixote, give me your worship's blessing and dismissal, for I'd like to go home at once to my

wife and children with whom I can at any rate talk and converse as much as I like; for to want me to go

through these solitudes day and night and not speak to you when I have a mind is burying me alive. If luck

would have it that animals spoke as they did in the days of Guisopete, it would not be so bad, because I could

talk to Rocinante about whatever came into my head, and so put up with my illfortune; but it is a hard case,

and not to be borne with patience, to go seeking adventures all one's life and get nothing but kicks and

blanketings, brickbats and punches, and with all this to have to sew up one's mouth without daring to say

"I understand thee, Sancho," replied Don Quixote; "thou art dying to have the interdict I placed upon thy

tongue removed; consider it removed, and say what thou wilt while we are wandering in these mountains."

"So be it," said Sancho; "let me speak now, for God knows what will happen byandby; and to take

advantage of the permit at once, I ask, what made your worship stand up so for that Queen Majimasa, or

whatever her name is, or what did it matter whether that abbot was a friend of hers or not? for if your worship

had let that pass and you were not a judge in the matter it is my belief the madman would have gone on

with his story, and the blow of the stone, and the kicks, and more than half a dozen cuffs would have been

"In faith, Sancho," answered Don Quixote, "if thou knewest as I do what an honourable and illustrious lady

Queen Madasima was, I know thou wouldst say I had great patience that I did not break in pieces the mouth

that uttered such blasphemies, for a very great blasphemy it is to say or imagine that a queen has made free

with a surgeon. The truth of the story is that that Master Elisabad whom the madman mentioned was a man of

great prudence and sound judgment, and served as governor and physician to the queen, but to suppose that

she was his mistress is nonsense deserving very severe punishment; and as a proof that Cardenio did not

"That is what I say," said Sancho; "there was no occasion for minding the words of a madman; for if good

luck had not helped your worship, and he had sent that stone at your head instead of at your breast, a fine way

we should have been in for standing up for my lady yonder, God confound her! And then, would not

"Against men in their senses or against madmen," said Don Quixote, "every knighterrant is bound to stand

up for the honour of women, whoever they may be, much more for queens of such high degree and dignity as

Queen Madasima, for whom I have a particular regard on account of her amiable qualities; for, besides being

extremely beautiful, she was very wise, and very patient under her misfortunes, of which she had many; and

the counsel and society of the Master Elisabad were a great help and support to her in enduring her afflictions

with wisdom and resignation; hence the ignorant and illdisposed vulgar took occasion to say and think that

she was his mistress; and they lie, I say it once more, and will lie two hundred times more, all who think and

"I neither say nor think so," said Sancho; "let them look to it; with their bread let them eat it; they have

rendered account to God whether they misbehaved or not; I come from my vineyard, I know nothing; I am

not fond of prying into other men's lives; he who buys and lies feels it in his purse; moreover, naked was I

born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor gain; but if they did, what is that to me? many think there are

flitches where there are no hooks; but who can put gates to the open plain? moreover they said of God"

"God bless me," said Don Quixote, "what a set of absurdities thou art stringing together! What has what we

are talking about got to do with the proverbs thou art threading one after the other? for God's sake hold thy

tongue, Sancho, and henceforward keep to prodding thy ass and don't meddle in what does not concern thee;

and understand with all thy five senses that everything I have done, am doing, or shall do, is well founded on

reason and in conformity with the rules of chivalry, for I understand them better than all the world that

"Senor," replied Sancho, "is it a good rule of chivalry that we should go astray through these mountains

without path or road, looking for a madman who when he is found will perhaps take a fancy to finish what he

began, not his story, but your worship's head and my ribs, and end by breaking them altogether for us?"

"Peace, I say again, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for let me tell thee it is not so much the desire of finding

that madman that leads me into these regions as that which I have of performing among them an achievement

wherewith I shall win eternal name and fame throughout the known world; and it shall be such that I shall

"No," replied he of the Rueful Countenance; "though it may be in the dice that we may throw deuceace

"Yes," said Don Quixote, "for if thou dost return soon from the place where I mean to send thee, my penance

will be soon over, and my glory will soon begin. But as it is not right to keep thee any longer in suspense,

waiting to see what comes of my words, I would have thee know, Sancho, that the famous Amadis of Gaul

was one of the most perfect knightserrant I am wrong to say he was one; he stood alone, the first, the only

one, the lord of all that were in the world in his time. A fig for Don Belianis, and for all who say he equalled

him in any respect, for, my oath upon it, they are deceiving themselves! I say, too, that when a painter desires

to become famous in his art he endeavours to copy the originals of the rarest painters that he knows; and the

same rule holds good for all the most important crafts and callings that serve to adorn a state; thus must he

who would be esteemed prudent and patient imitate Ulysses, in whose person and labours Homer presents to

us a lively picture of prudence and patience; as Virgil, too, shows us in the person of AEneas the virtue of a

pious son and the sagacity of a brave and skilful captain; not representing or describing them as they were,

but as they ought to be, so as to leave the example of their virtues to posterity. In the same way Amadis was

the polestar, daystar, sun of valiant and devoted knights, whom all we who fight under the banner of love

and chivalry are bound to imitate. This, then, being so, I consider, friend Sancho, that the knighterrant who

shall imitate him most closely will come nearest to reaching the perfection of chivalry. Now one of the

instances in which this knight most conspicuously showed his prudence, worth, valour, endurance, fortitude,

and love, was when he withdrew, rejected by the Lady Oriana, to do penance upon the Pena Pobre, changing

his name into that of Beltenebros, a name assuredly significant and appropriate to the life which he had

voluntarily adopted. So, as it is easier for me to imitate him in this than in cleaving giants asunder, cutting off

serpents' heads, slaying dragons, routing armies, destroying fleets, and breaking enchantments, and as this

place is so well suited for a similar purpose, I must not allow the opportunity to escape which now so

"What is it in reality," said Sancho, "that your worship means to do in such an outoftheway place as

"Have I not told thee," answered Don Quixote, "that I mean to imitate Amadis here, playing the victim of

despair, the madman, the maniac, so as at the same time to imitate the valiant Don Roland, when at the

fountain he had evidence of the fair Angelica having disgraced herself with Medoro and through grief thereat

went mad, and plucked up trees, troubled the waters of the clear springs, slew destroyed flocks, burned down

huts, levelled houses, dragged mares after him, and perpetrated a hundred thousand other outrages worthy of

everlasting renown and record? And though I have no intention of imitating Roland, or Orlando, or

Rotolando (for he went by all these names), step by step in all the mad things he did, said, and thought, I will

make a rough copy to the best of my power of all that seems to me most essential; but perhaps I shall content

myself with the simple imitation of Amadis, who without giving way to any mischievous madness but merely

"It seems to me," said Sancho, "that the knights who behaved in this way had provocation and cause for those

follies and penances; but what cause has your worship for going mad? What lady has rejected you, or what

evidence have you found to prove that the lady Dulcinea del Toboso has been trifling with Moor or

"There is the point," replied Don Quixote, "and that is the beauty of this business of mine; no thanks to a

knighterrant for going mad when he has cause; the thing is to turn crazy without any provocation, and let

my lady know, if I do this in the dry, what I would do in the moist; moreover I have abundant cause in the

long separation I have endured from my lady till death, Dulcinea del Toboso; for as thou didst hear that

shepherd Ambrosio say the other day, in absence all ills are felt and feared; and so, friend Sancho, waste no

time in advising me against so rare, so happy, and so unheardof an imitation; mad I am, and mad I must be

until thou returnest with the answer to a letter that I mean to send by thee to my lady Dulcinea; and if it be

such as my constancy deserves, my insanity and penance will come to an end; and if it be to the opposite

effect, I shall become mad in earnest, and, being so, I shall suffer no more; thus in whatever way she may

answer I shall escape from the struggle and affliction in which thou wilt leave me, enjoying in my senses the

boon thou bearest me, or as a madman not feeling the evil thou bringest me. But tell me, Sancho, hast thou

got Mambrino's helmet safe? for I saw thee take it up from the ground when that ungrateful wretch tried to

break it in pieces but could not, by which the fineness of its temper may be seen."

To which Sancho made answer, "By the living God, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, I cannot endure

or bear with patience some of the things that your worship says; and from them I begin to suspect that all you

tell me about chivalry, and winning kingdoms and empires, and giving islands, and bestowing other rewards

and dignities after the custom of knightserrant, must be all made up of wind and lies, and all pigments or

figments, or whatever we may call them; for what would anyone think that heard your worship calling a

barber's basin Mambrino's helmet without ever seeing the mistake all this time, but that one who says and

maintains such things must have his brains addled? I have the basin in my sack all dinted, and I am taking it

home to have it mended, to trim my beard in it, if, by God's grace, I am allowed to see my wife and children

"Look here, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "by him thou didst swear by just now I swear thou hast the most

limited understanding that any squire in the world has or ever had. Is it possible that all this time thou hast

been going about with me thou hast never found out that all things belonging to knightserrant seem to be

illusions and nonsense and ravings, and to go always by contraries? And not because it really is so, but

because there is always a swarm of enchanters in attendance upon us that change and alter everything with us,

and turn things as they please, and according as they are disposed to aid or destroy us; thus what seems to

thee a barber's basin seems to me Mambrino's helmet, and to another it will seem something else; and rare

foresight it was in the sage who is on my side to make what is really and truly Mambrine's helmet seem a

basin to everybody, for, being held in such estimation as it is, all the world would pursue me to rob me of it;

but when they see it is only a barber's basin they do not take the trouble to obtain it; as was plainly shown by

him who tried to break it, and left it on the ground without taking it, for, by my faith, had he known it he

would never have left it behind. Keep it safe, my friend, for just now I have no need of it; indeed, I shall have

to take off all this armour and remain as naked as I was born, if I have a mind to follow Roland rather than

Thus talking they reached the foot of a high mountain which stood like an isolated peak among the others that

surrounded it. Past its base there flowed a gentle brook, all around it spread a meadow so green and luxuriant

that it was a delight to the eyes to look upon it, and forest trees in abundance, and shrubs and flowers, added

to the charms of the spot. Upon this place the Knight of the Rueful Countenance fixed his choice for the

performance of his penance, and as he beheld it exclaimed in a loud voice as though he were out of his

"This is the place, oh, ye heavens, that I select and choose for bewailing the misfortune in which ye

yourselves have plunged me: this is the spot where the overflowings of mine eyes shall swell the waters of

yon little brook, and my deep and endless sighs shall stir unceasingly the leaves of these mountain trees, in

testimony and token of the pain my persecuted heart is suffering. Oh, ye rural deities, whoever ye be that

haunt this lone spot, give ear to the complaint of a wretched lover whom long absence and brooding jealousy

have driven to bewail his fate among these wilds and complain of the hard heart of that fair and ungrateful

one, the end and limit of all human beauty! Oh, ye wood nymphs and dryads, that dwell in the thickets of the

forest, so may the nimble wanton satyrs by whom ye are vainly wooed never disturb your sweet repose, help

me to lament my hard fate or at least weary not at listening to it! Oh, Dulcinea del Toboso, day of my night,

glory of my pain, guide of my path, star of my fortune, so may Heaven grant thee in full all thou seekest of it,

bethink thee of the place and condition to which absence from thee has brought me, and make that return in

kindness that is due to my fidelity! Oh, lonely trees, that from this day forward shall bear me company in my

solitude, give me some sign by the gentle movement of your boughs that my presence is not distasteful to

you! Oh, thou, my squire, pleasant companion in my prosperous and adverse fortunes, fix well in thy memory

what thou shalt see me do here, so that thou mayest relate and report it to the sole cause of all," and so saying

he dismounted from Rocinante, and in an instant relieved him of saddle and bridle, and giving him a slap on

the croup, said, "He gives thee freedom who is bereft of it himself, oh steed as excellent in deed as thou art

unfortunate in thy lot; begone where thou wilt, for thou bearest written on thy forehead that neither Astolfo's

hippogriff, nor the famed Frontino that cost Bradamante so dear, could equal thee in speed."

Seeing this Sancho said, "Good luck to him who has saved us the trouble of stripping the packsaddle off

Dapple! By my faith he would not have gone without a slap on the croup and something said in his praise;

though if he were here I would not let anyone strip him, for there would be no occasion, as he had nothing of

the lover or victim of despair about him, inasmuch as his master, which I was while it was God's pleasure,

was nothing of the sort; and indeed, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, if my departure and your

worship's madness are to come off in earnest, it will be as well to saddle Rocinante again in order that he may

supply the want of Dapple, because it will save me time in going and returning: for if I go on foot I don't

know when I shall get there or when I shall get back, as I am, in truth, a bad walker."

"I declare, Sancho," returned Don Quixote, "it shall be as thou wilt, for thy plan does not seem to me a bad

one, and three days hence thou wilt depart, for I wish thee to observe in the meantime what I do and say for

"Much thou knowest about it!" said Don Quixote. "I have now got to tear up my garments, to scatter about

my armour, knock my head against these rocks, and more of the same sort of thing, which thou must

"For the love of God," said Sancho, "be careful, your worship, how you give yourself those knocks on the

head, for you may come across such a rock, and in such a way, that the very first may put an end to the whole

contrivance of this penance; and I should think, if indeed knocks on the head seem necessary to you, and this

business cannot be done without them, you might be content as the whole thing is feigned, and counterfeit,

and in joke you might be content, I say, with giving them to yourself in the water, or against something soft,

like cotton; and leave it all to me; for I'll tell my lady that your worship knocked your head against a point of

"I thank thee for thy good intentions, friend Sancho," answered Don Quixote, "but I would have thee know

that all these things I am doing are not in joke, but very much in earnest, for anything else would be a

transgression of the ordinances of chivalry, which forbid us to tell any lie whatever under the penalties due to

apostasy; and to do one thing instead of another is just the same as lying; so my knocks on the head must be

real, solid, and valid, without anything sophisticated or fanciful about them, and it will be needful to leave me

some lint to dress my wounds, since fortune has compelled us to do without the balsam we lost."

"It was worse losing the ass," replied Sancho, "for with him lint and all were lost; but I beg of your worship

not to remind me again of that accursed liquor, for my soul, not to say my stomach, turns at hearing the very

name of it; and I beg of you, too, to reckon as past the three days you allowed me for seeing the mad things

you do, for I take them as seen already and pronounced upon, and I will tell wonderful stories to my lady; so

write the letter and send me off at once, for I long to return and take your worship out of this purgatory where

"Purgatory dost thou call it, Sancho?" said Don Quixote, "rather call it hell, or even worse if there be

"For one who is in hell," said Sancho, "nulla est retentio, as I have heard say."

"Retentio," answered Sancho, "means that whoever is in hell never comes nor can come out of it, which will

be the opposite case with your worship or my legs will be idle, that is if I have spurs to enliven Rocinante: let

me once get to El Toboso and into the presence of my lady Dulcinea, and I will tell her such things of the

follies and madnesses (for it is all one) that your worship has done and is still doing, that I will manage to

make her softer than a glove though I find her harder than a cork tree; and with her sweet and honeyed

answer I will come back through the air like a witch, and take your worship out of this purgatory that seems

to be hell but is not, as there is hope of getting out of it; which, as I have said, those in hell have not, and I

"That is true," said he of the Rueful Countenance, "but how shall we manage to write the letter?"

"All shall be included," said Don Quixote; "and as there is no paper, it would be well done to write it on the

leaves of trees, as the ancients did, or on tablets of wax; though that would be as hard to find just now as

paper. But it has just occurred to me how it may be conveniently and even more than conveniently written,

and that is in the notebook that belonged to Cardenio, and thou wilt take care to have it copied on paper, in a

good hand, at the first village thou comest to where there is a schoolmaster, or if not, any sacristan will copy

it; but see thou give it not to any notary to copy, for they write a law hand that Satan could not make out."

"That is all very well," said Sancho, "but the order must needs be signed, and if it is copied they will say the

"The order shall go signed in the same book," said Don Quixote, "and on seeing it my niece will make no

difficulty about obeying it; as to the loveletter thou canst put by way of signature, 'Yours till death, the

Knight of the Rueful Countenance.' And it will be no great matter if it is in some other person's hand, for as

well as I recollect Dulcinea can neither read nor write, nor in the whole course of her life has she seen

handwriting or letter of mine, for my love and hers have been always platonic, not going beyond a modest

look, and even that so seldom that I can safely swear I have not seen her four times in all these twelve years I

have been loving her more than the light of these eyes that the earth will one day devour; and perhaps even of

those four times she has not once perceived that I was looking at her: such is the retirement and seclusion in

which her father Lorenzo Corchuelo and her mother Aldonza Nogales have brought her up."

"So, so!" said Sancho; "Lorenzo Corchuelo's daughter is the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, otherwise called

"She it is," said Don Quixote, "and she it is that is worthy to be lady of the whole universe."

"I know her well," said Sancho, "and let me tell you she can fling a crowbar as well as the lustiest lad in all

the town. Giver of all good! but she is a brave lass, and a right and stout one, and fit to be helpmate to any

knighterrant that is or is to be, who may make her his lady: the whoreson wench, what sting she has and

what a voice! I can tell you one day she posted herself on the top of the belfry of the village to call some

labourers of theirs that were in a ploughed field of her father's, and though they were better than half a league

off they heard her as well as if they were at the foot of the tower; and the best of her is that she is not a bit

prudish, for she has plenty of affability, and jokes with everybody, and has a grin and a jest for everything.

So, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, I say you not only may and ought to do mad freaks for her sake,

but you have a good right to give way to despair and hang yourself; and no one who knows of it but will say

you did well, though the devil should take you; and I wish I were on my road already, simply to see her, for it

is many a day since I saw her, and she must be altered by this time, for going about the fields always, and the

sun and the air spoil women's looks greatly. But I must own the truth to your worship, Senor Don Quixote;

until now I have been under a great mistake, for I believed truly and honestly that the lady Dulcinea must be

some princess your worship was in love with, or some person great enough to deserve the rich presents you

have sent her, such as the Biscayan and the galley slaves, and many more no doubt, for your worship must

have won many victories in the time when I was not yet your squire. But all things considered, what good can

it do the lady Aldonza Lorenzo, I mean the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, to have the vanquished your worship

sends or will send coming to her and going down on their knees before her? Because may be when they came

she'd be hackling flax or threshing on the threshing floor, and they'd be ashamed to see her, and she'd laugh,

"I have before now told thee many times, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that thou art a mighty great chatterer,

and that with a blunt wit thou art always striving at sharpness; but to show thee what a fool thou art and how

rational I am, I would have thee listen to a short story. Thou must know that a certain widow, fair, young,

independent, and rich, and above all free and easy, fell in love with a sturdy strapping young laybrother; his

superior came to know of it, and one day said to the worthy widow by way of brotherly remonstrance, 'I am

surprised, senora, and not without good reason, that a woman of such high standing, so fair, and so rich as

you are, should have fallen in love with such a mean, low, stupid fellow as Soandso, when in this house

there are so many masters, graduates, and divinity students from among whom you might choose as if they

were a lot of pears, saying this one I'll take, that I won't take;' but she replied to him with great sprightliness

and candour, 'My dear sir, you are very much mistaken, and your ideas are very oldfashioned, if you think

that I have made a bad choice in Soandso, fool as he seems; because for all I want with him he knows as

much and more philosophy than Aristotle.' In the same way, Sancho, for all I want with Dulcinea del Toboso

she is just as good as the most exalted princess on earth. It is not to be supposed that all those poets who sang

the praises of ladies under the fancy names they give them, had any such mistresses. Thinkest thou that the

Amarillises, the Phillises, the Sylvias, the Dianas, the Galateas, the Filidas, and all the rest of them, that the

books, the ballads, the barber's shops, the theatres are full of, were really and truly ladies of flesh and blood,

and mistresses of those that glorify and have glorified them? Nothing of the kind; they only invent them for

the most part to furnish a subject for their verses, and that they may pass for lovers, or for men valiant enough

to be so; and so it suffices me to think and believe that the good Aldonza Lorenzo is fair and virtuous; and as

to her pedigree it is very little matter, for no one will examine into it for the purpose of conferring any order

upon her, and I, for my part, reckon her the most exalted princess in the world. For thou shouldst know,

Sancho, if thou dost not know, that two things alone beyond all others are incentives to love, and these are

great beauty and a good name, and these two things are to be found in Dulcinea in the highest degree, for in

beauty no one equals her and in good name few approach her; and to put the whole thing in a nutshell, I

persuade myself that all I say is as I say, neither more nor less, and I picture her in my imagination as I would

have her to be, as well in beauty as in condition; Helen approaches her not nor does Lucretia come up to her,

nor any other of the famous women of times past, Greek, Barbarian, or Latin; and let each say what he will,

for if in this I am taken to task by the ignorant, I shall not be censured by the critical."

"I say that your worship is entirely right," said Sancho, "and that I am an ass. But I know not how the name of

ass came into my mouth, for a rope is not to be mentioned in the house of him who has been hanged; but now

Don Quixote took out the notebook, and, retiring to one side, very deliberately began to write the letter, and

when he had finished it he called to Sancho, saying he wished to read it to him, so that he might commit it to

memory, in case of losing it on the road; for with evil fortune like his anything might be apprehended. To

which Sancho replied, "Write it two or three times there in the book and give it to me, and I will carry it very

carefully, because to expect me to keep it in my memory is all nonsense, for I have such a bad one that I often

forget my own name; but for all that repeat it to me, as I shall like to hear it, for surely it will run as if it was

"Sovereign and exalted Lady, The pierced by the point of absence, the wounded to the heart's core, sends

thee, sweetest Dulcinea del Toboso, the health that he himself enjoys not. If thy beauty despises me, if thy

worth is not for me, if thy scorn is my affliction, though I be sufficiently longsuffering, hardly shall I endure

this anxiety, which, besides being oppressive, is protracted. My good squire Sancho will relate to thee in full,

fair ingrate, dear enemy, the condition to which I am reduced on thy account: if it be thy pleasure to give me

relief, I am thine; if not, do as may be pleasing to thee; for by ending my life I shall satisfy thy cruelty and my

"By the life of my father," said Sancho, when he heard the letter, "it is the loftiest thing I ever heard. Body of

me! how your worship says everything as you like in it! And how well you fit in 'The Knight of the Rueful

Countenance' into the signature. I declare your worship is indeed the very devil, and there is nothing you

"Now then," said Sancho, "let your worship put the order for the three asscolts on the other side, and sign it

"With all my heart," said Don Quixote, and as he had written it he read it to this effect:

"Mistress Niece, By this first of asscolts please pay to Sancho Panza, my squire, three of the five I left at

home in your charge: said three asscolts to be paid and delivered for the same number received here in hand,

which upon this and upon his receipt shall be duly paid. Done in the heart of the Sierra Morena, the

"There is no need to sign it," said Don Quixote, "but merely to put my flourish, which is the same as a

"I can trust your worship," returned Sancho; "let me go and saddle Rocinante, and be ready to give me your

blessing, for I mean to go at once without seeing the fooleries your worship is going to do; I'll say I saw you

"At any rate, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "I should like and there is reason for it I should like thee, I say,

to see me stripped to the skin and performing a dozen or two of insanities, which I can get done in less than

half an hour; for having seen them with thine own eyes, thou canst then safely swear to the rest that thou

wouldst add; and I promise thee thou wilt not tell of as many as I mean to perform."

"For the love of God, master mine," said Sancho, "let me not see your worship stripped, for it will sorely

grieve me, and I shall not be able to keep from tears, and my head aches so with all I shed last night for

Dapple, that I am not fit to begin any fresh weeping; but if it is your worship's pleasure that I should see some

insanities, do them in your clothes, short ones, and such as come readiest to hand; for I myself want nothing

of the sort, and, as I have said, it will be a saving of time for my return, which will be with the news your

worship desires and deserves. If not, let the lady Dulcinea look to it; if she does not answer reasonably, I

swear as solemnly as I can that I will fetch a fair answer out of her stomach with kicks and cuffs; for why

should it be borne that a knighterrant as famous as your worship should go mad without rhyme or reason for

a ? Her ladyship had best not drive me to say it, for by God I will speak out and let off everything cheap,

even if it doesn't sell: I am pretty good at that! she little knows me; faith, if she knew me she'd be in awe of

"In faith, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "to all appearance thou art no sounder in thy wits than I."

"I am not so mad," answered Sancho, "but I am more peppery; but apart from all this, what has your worship

to eat until I come back? Will you sally out on the road like Cardenio to force it from the shepherds?"

"Let not that anxiety trouble thee," replied Don Quixote, "for even if I had it I should not eat anything but the

herbs and the fruits which this meadow and these trees may yield me; the beauty of this business of mine lies

"Do you know what I am afraid of?" said Sancho upon this; "that I shall not be able to find my way back to

"Observe the landmarks well," said Don Quixote, "for I will try not to go far from this neighbourhood, and I

will even take care to mount the highest of these rocks to see if I can discover thee returning; however, not to

miss me and lose thyself, the best plan will be to cut some branches of the broom that is so abundant about

here, and as thou goest to lay them at intervals until thou hast come out upon the plain; these will serve thee,

after the fashion of the clue in the labyrinth of Theseus, as marks and signs for finding me on thy return."

"So I will," said Sancho Panza, and having cut some, he asked his master's blessing, and not without many

tears on both sides, took his leave of him, and mounting Rocinante, of whom Don Quixote charged him

earnestly to have as much care as of his own person, he set out for the plain, strewing at intervals the

branches of broom as his master had recommended him; and so he went his way, though Don Quixote still

entreated him to see him do were it only a couple of mad acts. He had not gone a hundred paces, however,

"I must say, senor, your worship said quite right, that in order to be able to swear without a weight on my

conscience that I had seen you do mad things, it would be well for me to see if it were only one; though in

"Did I not tell thee so?" said Don Quixote. "Wait, Sancho, and I will do them in the saying of a credo," and

pulling off his breeches in all haste he stripped himself to his skin and his shirt, and then, without more ado,

he cut a couple of gambados in the air, and a couple of somersaults, heels over head, making such a display

that, not to see it a second time, Sancho wheeled Rocinante round, and felt easy, and satisfied in his mind that

he could swear he had left his master mad; and so we will leave him to follow his road until his return, which

Returning to the proceedings of him of the Rueful Countenance when he found himself alone, the history

says that when Don Quixote had completed the performance of the somersaults or capers, naked from the

waist down and clothed from the waist up, and saw that Sancho had gone off without waiting to see any more

crazy feats, he climbed up to the top of a high rock, and there set himself to consider what he had several

times before considered without ever coming to any conclusion on the point, namely whether it would be

better and more to his purpose to imitate the outrageous madness of Roland, or the melancholy madness of

"What wonder is it if Roland was so good a knight and so valiant as everyone says he was, when, after all, he

was enchanted, and nobody could kill him save by thrusting a corking pin into the sole of his foot, and he

always wore shoes with seven iron soles? Though cunning devices did not avail him against Bernardo del

Carpio, who knew all about them, and strangled him in his arms at Roncesvalles. But putting the question of

his valour aside, let us come to his losing his wits, for certain it is that he did lose them in consequence of the

proofs he discovered at the fountain, and the intelligence the shepherd gave him of Angelica having slept

more than two siestas with Medoro, a little curlyheaded Moor, and page to Agramante. If he was persuaded

that this was true, and that his lady had wronged him, it is no wonder that he should have gone mad; but I,

how am I to imitate him in his madness, unless I can imitate him in the cause of it? For my Dulcinea, I will

venture to swear, never saw a Moor in her life, as he is, in his proper costume, and she is this day as the

mother that bore her, and I should plainly be doing her a wrong if, fancying anything else, I were to go mad

with the same kind of madness as Roland the Furious. On the other hand, I see that Amadis of Gaul, without

losing his senses and without doing anything mad, acquired as a lover as much fame as the most famous; for,

according to his history, on finding himself rejected by his lady Oriana, who had ordered him not to appear in

her presence until it should be her pleasure, all he did was to retire to the Pena Pobre in company with a

hermit, and there he took his fill of weeping until Heaven sent him relief in the midst of his great grief and

need. And if this be true, as it is, why should I now take the trouble to strip stark naked, or do mischief to

these trees which have done me no harm, or why am I to disturb the clear waters of these brooks which will

give me to drink whenever I have a mind? Long live the memory of Amadis and let him be imitated so far as

is possible by Don Quixote of La Mancha, of whom it will be said, as was said of the other, that if he did not

achieve great things, he died in attempting them; and if I am not repulsed or rejected by my Dulcinea, it is

enough for me, as I have said, to be absent from her. And so, now to business; come to my memory ye deeds

of Amadis, and show me how I am to begin to imitate you. I know already that what he chiefly did was to

pray and commend himself to God; but what am I to do for a rosary, for I have not got one?"

And then it occurred to him how he might make one, and that was by tearing a great strip off the tail of his

shirt which hung down, and making eleven knots on it, one bigger than the rest, and this served him for a

rosary all the time he was there, during which he repeated countless avemarias. But what distressed him

greatly was not having another hermit there to confess him and receive consolation from; and so he solaced

himself with pacing up and down the little meadow, and writing and carving on the bark of the trees and on

the fine sand a multitude of verses all in harmony with his sadness, and some in praise of Dulcinea; but, when

he was found there afterwards, the only ones completely legible that could be discovered were those that

Ye on the mountain side that grow, Ye green things all, trees, shrubs, and bushes, Are ye aweary of the woe

That this poor aching bosom crushes? If it disturb you, and I owe Some reparation, it may be a Defence for

me to let you know Don Quixote's tears are on the flow, And all for distant Dulcinea Del Toboso.

The lealest lover time can show, Doomed for a ladylove to languish, Among these solitudes doth go, A prey

to every kind of anguish. Why Love should like a spiteful foe Thus use him, he hath no idea, But hogsheads

full this doth he know Don Quixote's tears are on the flow, And all for distant Dulcinea Del Toboso.

Adventureseeking doth he go Up rugged heights, down rocky valleys, But hill or dale, or high or low,

Mishap attendeth all his sallies: Love still pursues him to and fro, And plies his cruel scourge ah me! a

Relentless fate, an endless woe; Don Quixote's tears are on the flow, And all for distant Dulcinea Del Toboso.

The addition of "Del Toboso" to Dulcinea's name gave rise to no little laughter among those who found the

above lines, for they suspected Don Quixote must have fancied that unless he added "del Toboso" when he

introduced the name of Dulcinea the verse would be unintelligible; which was indeed the fact, as he himself

afterwards admitted. He wrote many more, but, as has been said, these three verses were all that could be

plainly and perfectly deciphered. In this way, and in sighing and calling on the fauns and satyrs of the woods

and the nymphs of the streams, and Echo, moist and mournful, to answer, console, and hear him, as well as in

looking for herbs to sustain him, he passed his time until Sancho's return; and had that been delayed three

weeks, as it was three days, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance would have worn such an altered

countenance that the mother that bore him would not have known him: and here it will be well to leave him,

wrapped up in sighs and verses, to relate how Sancho Panza fared on his mission.

As for him, coming out upon the high road, he made for El Toboso, and the next day reached the inn where

the mishap of the blanket had befallen him. As soon as he recognised it he felt as if he were once more living

through the air, and he could not bring himself to enter it though it was an hour when he might well have

done so, for it was dinnertime, and he longed to taste something hot as it had been all cold fare with him for

many days past. This craving drove him to draw near to the inn, still undecided whether to go in or not, and

as he was hesitating there came out two persons who at once recognised him, and said one to the other:

"Senor licentiate, is not he on the horse there Sancho Panza who, our adventurer's housekeeper told us, went

"So it is," said the licentiate, "and that is our friend Don Quixote's horse;" and if they knew him so well it was

because they were the curate and the barber of his own village, the same who had carried out the scrutiny and

sentence upon the books; and as soon as they recognised Sancho Panza and Rocinante, being anxious to hear

of Don Quixote, they approached, and calling him by his name the curate said, "Friend Sancho Panza, where

Sancho recognised them at once, and determined to keep secret the place and circumstances where and under

which he had left his master, so he replied that his master was engaged in a certain quarter on a certain matter

of great importance to him which he could not disclose for the eyes in his head.

"Nay, nay," said the barber, "if you don't tell us where he is, Sancho Panza, we will suspect as we suspect

already, that you have murdered and robbed him, for here you are mounted on his horse; in fact, you must

"There is no need of threats with me," said Sancho, "for I am not a man to rob or murder anybody; let his

own fate, or God who made him, kill each one; my master is engaged very much to his taste doing penance in

the midst of these mountains; and then, offhand and without stopping, he told them how he had left him, what

adventures had befallen him, and how he was carrying a letter to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, the daughter

of Lorenzo Corchuelo, with whom he was over head and ears in love. They were both amazed at what Sancho

Panza told them; for though they were aware of Don Quixote's madness and the nature of it, each time they

heard of it they were filled with fresh wonder. They then asked Sancho Panza to show them the letter he was

carrying to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso. He said it was written in a notebook, and that his master's

directions were that he should have it copied on paper at the first village he came to. On this the curate said if

he showed it to him, he himself would make a fair copy of it. Sancho put his hand into his bosom in search of

the notebook but could not find it, nor, if he had been searching until now, could he have found it, for Don

Quixote had kept it, and had never given it to him, nor had he himself thought of asking for it. When Sancho

discovered he could not find the book his face grew deadly pale, and in great haste he again felt his body all

over, and seeing plainly it was not to be found, without more ado he seized his beard with both hands and

plucked away half of it, and then, as quick as he could and without stopping, gave himself half a dozen cuffs

Seeing this, the curate and the barber asked him what had happened him that he gave himself such rough

"What should happen me?" replied Sancho, "but to have lost from one hand to the other, in a moment, three

"I have lost the notebook," said Sancho, "that contained the letter to Dulcinea, and an order signed by my

master in which he directed his niece to give me three asscolts out of four or five he had at home;" and he

The curate consoled him, telling him that when his master was found he would get him to renew the order,

and make a fresh draft on paper, as was usual and customary; for those made in notebooks were never

Sancho comforted himself with this, and said if that were so the loss of Dulcinea's letter did not trouble him

much, for he had it almost by heart, and it could be taken down from him wherever and whenever they liked.

"Repeat it then, Sancho," said the barber, "and we will write it down afterwards."

Sancho Panza stopped to scratch his head to bring back the letter to his memory, and balanced himself now

on one foot, now the other, one moment staring at the ground, the next at the sky, and after having half

gnawed off the end of a finger and kept them in suspense waiting for him to begin, he said, after a long pause,

"By God, senor licentiate, devil a thing can I recollect of the letter; but it said at the beginning, 'Exalted and

"It cannot have said 'scrubbing,'" said the barber, "but 'superhuman' or 'sovereign.'"

"That is it," said Sancho; "then, as well as I remember, it went on, 'The wounded, and wanting of sleep, and

the pierced, kisses your worship's hands, ungrateful and very unrecognised fair one; and it said something or

other about health and sickness that he was sending her; and from that it went tailing off until it ended with

It gave them no little amusement, both of them, to see what a good memory Sancho had, and they

complimented him greatly upon it, and begged him to repeat the letter a couple of times more, so that they

too might get it by heart to write it out byandby. Sancho repeated it three times, and as he did, uttered three

thousand more absurdities; then he told them more about his master but he never said a word about the

blanketing that had befallen himself in that inn, into which he refused to enter. He told them, moreover, how

his lord, if he brought him a favourable answer from the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, was to put himself in the

way of endeavouring to become an emperor, or at least a monarch; for it had been so settled between them,

and with his personal worth and the might of his arm it was an easy matter to come to be one: and how on

becoming one his lord was to make a marriage for him (for he would be a widower by that time, as a matter

of course) and was to give him as a wife one of the damsels of the empress, the heiress of some rich and

grand state on the mainland, having nothing to do with islands of any sort, for he did not care for them now.

All this Sancho delivered with so much composure wiping his nose from time to time and with so little

commonsense that his two hearers were again filled with wonder at the force of Don Quixote's madness that

could run away with this poor man's reason. They did not care to take the trouble of disabusing him of his

error, as they considered that since it did not in any way hurt his conscience it would be better to leave him in

it, and they would have all the more amusement in listening to his simplicities; and so they bade him pray to

God for his lord's health, as it was a very likely and a very feasible thing for him in course of time to come to

be an emperor, as he said, or at least an archbishop or some other dignitary of equal rank.

To which Sancho made answer, "If fortune, sirs, should bring things about in such a way that my master

should have a mind, instead of being an emperor, to be an archbishop, I should like to know what

"They commonly give them," said the curate, some simple benefice or cure, or some place as sacristan which

brings them a good fixed income, not counting the altar fees, which may be reckoned at as much more."

"But for that," said Sancho, "the squire must be unmarried, and must know, at any rate, how to help at mass,

and if that be so, woe is me, for I am married already and I don't know the first letter of the A B C. What will

become of me if my master takes a fancy to be an archbishop and not an emperor, as is usual and customary

"Be not uneasy, friend Sancho," said the barber, "for we will entreat your master, and advise him, even urging

it upon him as a case of conscience, to become an emperor and not an archbishop, because it will be easier for

"So I have thought," said Sancho; "though I can tell you he is fit for anything: what I mean to do for my part

is to pray to our Lord to place him where it may be best for him, and where he may be able to bestow most

"You speak like a man of sense," said the curate, "and you will be acting like a good Christian; but what must

now be done is to take steps to coax your master out of that useless penance you say he is performing; and we

had best turn into this inn to consider what plan to adopt, and also to dine, for it is now time."

Sancho said they might go in, but that he would wait there outside, and that he would tell them afterwards the

reason why he was unwilling, and why it did not suit him to enter it; but be begged them to bring him out

something to eat, and to let it be hot, and also to bring barley for Rocinante. They left him and went in, and

presently the barber brought him out something to eat. Byandby, after they had between them carefully

thought over what they should do to carry out their object, the curate hit upon an idea very well adapted to

humour Don Quixote, and effect their purpose; and his notion, which he explained to the barber, was that he

himself should assume the disguise of a wandering damsel, while the other should try as best he could to pass

for a squire, and that they should thus proceed to where Don Quixote was, and he, pretending to be an

aggrieved and distressed damsel, should ask a favour of him, which as a valiant knighterrant he could not

refuse to grant; and the favour he meant to ask him was that he should accompany her whither she would

conduct him, in order to redress a wrong which a wicked knight had done her, while at the same time she

should entreat him not to require her to remove her mask, nor ask her any question touching her

circumstances until he had righted her with the wicked knight. And he had no doubt that Don Quixote would

comply with any request made in these terms, and that in this way they might remove him and take him to his

own village, where they would endeavour to find out if his extraordinary madness admitted of any kind of

The curate's plan did not seem a bad one to the barber, but on the contrary so good that they immediately set

about putting it in execution. They begged a petticoat and hood of the landlady, leaving her in pledge a new

cassock of the curate's; and the barber made a beard out of a greybrown or red oxtail in which the landlord

used to stick his comb. The landlady asked them what they wanted these things for, and the curate told her in

a few words about the madness of Don Quixote, and how this disguise was intended to get him away from the

mountain where he then was. The landlord and landlady immediately came to the conclusion that the

madman was their guest, the balsam man and master of the blanketed squire, and they told the curate all that

had passed between him and them, not omitting what Sancho had been so silent about. Finally the landlady

dressed up the curate in a style that left nothing to be desired; she put on him a cloth petticoat with black

velvet stripes a palm broad, all slashed, and a bodice of green velvet set off by a binding of white satin, which

as well as the petticoat must have been made in the time of king Wamba. The curate would not let them hood

him, but put on his head a little quilted linen cap which he used for a nightcap, and bound his forehead with

a strip of black silk, while with another he made a mask with which he concealed his beard and face very

well. He then put on his hat, which was broad enough to serve him for an umbrella, and enveloping himself in

his cloak seated himself womanfashion on his mule, while the barber mounted his with a beard down to the

waist of mingled red and white, for it was, as has been said, the tail of a clayred ox.

They took leave of all, and of the good Maritornes, who, sinner as she was, promised to pray a rosary of

prayers that God might grant them success in such an arduous and Christian undertaking as that they had in

hand. But hardly had he sallied forth from the inn when it struck the curate that he was doing wrong in

rigging himself out in that fashion, as it was an indecorous thing for a priest to dress himself that way even

though much might depend upon it; and saying so to the barber he begged him to change dresses, as it was

fitter he should be the distressed damsel, while he himself would play the squire's part, which would be less

derogatory to his dignity; otherwise he was resolved to have nothing more to do with the matter, and let the

devil take Don Quixote. Just at this moment Sancho came up, and on seeing the pair in such a costume he

was unable to restrain his laughter; the barber, however, agreed to do as the curate wished, and, altering their

plan, the curate went on to instruct him how to play his part and what to say to Don Quixote to induce and

compel him to come with them and give up his fancy for the place he had chosen for his idle penance. The

barber told him he could manage it properly without any instruction, and as he did not care to dress himself

up until they were near where Don Quixote was, he folded up the garments, and the curate adjusted his beard,

and they set out under the guidance of Sancho Panza, who went along telling them of the encounter with the

madman they met in the Sierra, saying nothing, however, about the finding of the valise and its contents; for

The next day they reached the place where Sancho had laid the broombranches as marks to direct him to

where he had left his master, and recognising it he told them that here was the entrance, and that they would

do well to dress themselves, if that was required to deliver his master; for they had already told him that

going in this guise and dressing in this way were of the highest importance in order to rescue his master from

the pernicious life he had adopted; and they charged him strictly not to tell his master who they were, or that

he knew them, and should he ask, as ask he would, if he had given the letter to Dulcinea, to say that he had,

and that, as she did not know how to read, she had given an answer by word of mouth, saying that she

commanded him, on pain of her displeasure, to come and see her at once; and it was a very important matter

for himself, because in this way and with what they meant to say to him they felt sure of bringing him back to

a better mode of life and inducing him to take immediate steps to become an emperor or monarch, for there

was no fear of his becoming an archbishop. All this Sancho listened to and fixed it well in his memory, and

thanked them heartily for intending to recommend his master to be an emperor instead of an archbishop, for

he felt sure that in the way of bestowing rewards on their squires emperors could do more than

archbishopserrant. He said, too, that it would be as well for him to go on before them to find him, and give

him his lady's answer; for that perhaps might be enough to bring him away from the place without putting

them to all this trouble. They approved of what Sancho proposed, and resolved to wait for him until he

Sancho pushed on into the glens of the Sierra, leaving them in one through which there flowed a little gentle

rivulet, and where the rocks and trees afforded a cool and grateful shade. It was an August day with all the

heat of one, and the heat in those parts is intense, and the hour was three in the afternoon, all which made the

spot the more inviting and tempted them to wait there for Sancho's return, which they did. They were

reposing, then, in the shade, when a voice unaccompanied by the notes of any instrument, but sweet and

pleasing in its tone, reached their ears, at which they were not a little astonished, as the place did not seem to

them likely quarters for one who sang so well; for though it is often said that shepherds of rare voice are to be

found in the woods and fields, this is rather a flight of the poet's fancy than the truth. And still more surprised

were they when they perceived that what they heard sung were the verses not of rustic shepherds, but of the

polished wits of the city; and so it proved, for the verses they heard were these:

What makes my quest of happiness seem vain? Disdain. What bids me to abandon hope of ease? Jealousies.

What holds my heart in anguish of suspense? Absence. If that be so, then for my grief Where shall I turn to

seek relief, When hope on every side lies slain By Absence, Jealousies, Disdain?

What the prime cause of all my woe doth prove? Love. What at my glory ever looks askance? Chance.

Whence is permission to afflict me given? Heaven. If that be so, I but await The stroke of a resistless fate,

Since, working for my woe, these three, Love, Chance and Heaven, in league I see.

What must I do to find a remedy? Die. What is the lure for love when coy and strange? Change. What, if all

fail, will cure the heart of sadness? Madness. If that be so, it is but folly To seek a cure for melancholy: Ask

The hour, the summer season, the solitary place, the voice and skill of the singer, all contributed to the

wonder and delight of the two listeners, who remained still waiting to hear something more; finding,

however, that the silence continued some little time, they resolved to go in search of the musician who sang

with so fine a voice; but just as they were about to do so they were checked by the same voice, which once

When heavenward, holy Friendship, thou didst go Soaring to seek thy home beyond the sky, And take thy

seat among the saints on high, It was thy will to leave on earth below Thy semblance, and upon it to bestow

Thy veil, wherewith at times hypocrisy, Parading in thy shape, deceives the eye, And makes its vileness

bright as virtue show. Friendship, return to us, or force the cheat That wears it now, thy livery to restore, By

aid whereof sincerity is slain. If thou wilt not unmask thy counterfeit, This earth will be the prey of strife

The song ended with a deep sigh, and again the listeners remained waiting attentively for the singer to

resume; but perceiving that the music had now turned to sobs and heartrending moans they determined to

find out who the unhappy being could be whose voice was as rare as his sighs were piteous, and they had not

proceeded far when on turning the corner of a rock they discovered a man of the same aspect and appearance

as Sancho had described to them when he told them the story of Cardenio. He, showing no astonishment

when he saw them, stood still with his head bent down upon his breast like one in deep thought, without

raising his eyes to look at them after the first glance when they suddenly came upon him. The curate, who

was aware of his misfortune and recognised him by the description, being a man of good address, approached

him and in a few sensible words entreated and urged him to quit a life of such misery, lest he should end it

there, which would be the greatest of all misfortunes. Cardenio was then in his right mind, free from any

attack of that madness which so frequently carried him away, and seeing them dressed in a fashion so unusual

among the frequenters of those wilds, could not help showing some surprise, especially when he heard them

speak of his case as if it were a wellknown matter (for the curate's words gave him to understand as much)

"I see plainly, sirs, whoever you may be, that Heaven, whose care it is to succour the good, and even the

wicked very often, here, in this remote spot, cut off from human intercourse, sends me, though I deserve it

not, those who seek to draw me away from this to some better retreat, showing me by many and forcible

arguments how unreasonably I act in leading the life I do; but as they know, that if I escape from this evil I

shall fall into another still greater, perhaps they will set me down as a weakminded man, or, what is worse,

one devoid of reason; nor would it be any wonder, for I myself can perceive that the effect of the recollection

of my misfortunes is so great and works so powerfully to my ruin, that in spite of myself I become at times

like a stone, without feeling or consciousness; and I come to feel the truth of it when they tell me and show

me proofs of the things I have done when the terrible fit overmasters me; and all I can do is bewail my lot in

vain, and idly curse my destiny, and plead for my madness by telling how it was caused, to any that care to

hear it; for no reasonable beings on learning the cause will wonder at the effects; and if they cannot help me

at least they will not blame me, and the repugnance they feel at my wild ways will turn into pity for my woes.

If it be, sirs, that you are here with the same design as others have come wah, before you proceed with your

wise arguments, I entreat you to hear the story of my countless misfortunes, for perhaps when you have heard

it you will spare yourselves the trouble you would take in offering consolation to grief that is beyond the

As they, both of them, desired nothing more than to hear from his own lips the cause of his suffering, they

entreated him to tell it, promising not to do anything for his relief or comfort that he did not wish; and

thereupon the unhappy gentleman began his sad story in nearly the same words and manner in which he had

related it to Don Quixote and the goatherd a few days before, when, through Master Elisabad, and Don

Quixote's scrupulous observance of what was due to chivalry, the tale was left unfinished, as this history has

already recorded; but now fortunately the mad fit kept off, allowed him to tell it to the end; and so, coming to

the incident of the note which Don Fernando had found in the volume of "Amadis of Gaul," Cardenio said

"Every day I discover merits in you that oblige and compel me to hold you in higher estimation; so if you

desire to relieve me of this obligation without cost to my honour, you may easily do so. I have a father who

knows you and loves me dearly, who without putting any constraint on my inclination will grant what will be

reasonable for you to have, if it be that you value me as you say and as I believe you do."

"By this letter I was induced, as I told you, to demand Luscinda for my wife, and it was through it that

Luscinda came to be regarded by Don Fernando as one of the most discreet and prudent women of the day,

and this letter it was that suggested his design of ruining me before mine could be carried into effect. I told

Don Fernando that all Luscinda's father was waiting for was that mine should ask her of him, which I did not

dare to suggest to him, fearing that he would not consent to do so; not because he did not know perfectly well

the rank, goodness, virtue, and beauty of Luscinda, and that she had qualities that would do honour to any

family in Spain, but because I was aware that he did not wish me to marry so soon, before seeing what the

Duke Ricardo would do for me. In short, I told him I did not venture to mention it to my father, as well on

account of that difficulty, as of many others that discouraged me though I knew not well what they were, only

that it seemed to me that what I desired was never to come to pass. To all this Don Fernando answered that he

would take it upon himself to speak to my father, and persuade him to speak to Luscinda's father. O,

ambitious Marius! O, cruel Catiline! O, wicked Sylla! O, perfidious Ganelon! O, treacherous Vellido! O,

vindictive Julian! O, covetous Judas! Traitor, cruel, vindictive, and perfidious, wherein had this poor wretch

failed in his fidelity, who with such frankness showed thee the secrets and the joys of his heart? What offence

did I commit? What words did I utter, or what counsels did I give that had not the furtherance of thy honour

and welfare for their aim? But, woe is me, wherefore do I complain? for sure it is that when misfortunes

spring from the stars, descending from on high they fall upon us with such fury and violence that no power on

earth can check their course nor human device stay their coming. Who could have thought that Don

Fernando, a highborn gentleman, intelligent, bound to me by gratitude for my services, one that could win the

object of his love wherever he might set his affections, could have become so obdurate, as they say, as to rob

me of my one ewe lamb that was not even yet in my possession? But laying aside these useless and

"To proceed, then: Don Fernando finding my presence an obstacle to the execution of his treacherous and

wicked design, resolved to send me to his elder brother under the pretext of asking money from him to pay

for six horses which, purposely, and with the sole object of sending me away that he might the better carry

out his infernal scheme, he had purchased the very day he offered to speak to my father, and the price of

which he now desired me to fetch. Could I have anticipated this treachery? Could I by any chance have

suspected it? Nay; so far from that, I offered with the greatest pleasure to go at once, in my satisfaction at the

good bargain that had been made. That night I spoke with Luscinda, and told her what had been agreed upon

with Don Fernando, and how I had strong hopes of our fair and reasonable wishes being realised. She, as

unsuspicious as I was of the treachery of Don Fernando, bade me try to return speedily, as she believed the

fulfilment of our desires would be delayed only so long as my father put off speaking to hers. I know not why

it was that on saying this to me her eyes filled with tears, and there came a lump in her throat that prevented

her from uttering a word of many more that it seemed to me she was striving to say to me. I was astonished at

this unusual turn, which I never before observed in her. for we always conversed, whenever good fortune and

my ingenuity gave us the chance, with the greatest gaiety and cheerfulness, mingling tears, sighs, jealousies,

doubts, or fears with our words; it was all on my part a eulogy of my good fortune that Heaven should have

given her to me for my mistress; I glorified her beauty, I extolled her worth and her understanding; and she

paid me back by praising in me what in her love for me she thought worthy of praise; and besides we had a

hundred thousand trifles and doings of our neighbours and acquaintances to talk about, and the utmost extent

of my boldness was to take, almost by force, one of her fair white hands and carry it to my lips, as well as the

closeness of the low grating that separated us allowed me. But the night before the unhappy day of my

departure she wept, she moaned, she sighed, and she withdrew leaving me filled with perplexity and

amazement, overwhelmed at the sight of such strange and affecting signs of grief and sorrow in Luscinda; but

not to dash my hopes I ascribed it all to the depth of her love for me and the pain that separation gives those

who love tenderly. At last I took my departure, sad and dejected, my heart filled with fancies and suspicions,

but not knowing well what it was I suspected or fancied; plain omens pointing to the sad event and

"I reached the place whither I had been sent, gave the letter to Don Fernando's brother, and was kindly

received but not promptly dismissed, for he desired me to wait, very much against my will, eight days in

some place where the duke his father was not likely to see me, as his brother wrote that the money was to be

sent without his knowledge; all of which was a scheme of the treacherous Don Fernando, for his brother had

"The command was one that exposed me to the temptation of disobeying it, as it seemed to me impossible to

endure life for so many days separated from Luscinda, especially after leaving her in the sorrowful mood I

have described to you; nevertheless as a dutiful servant I obeyed, though I felt it would be at the cost of my

wellbeing. But four days later there came a man in quest of me with a letter which he gave me, and which

by the address I perceived to be from Luscinda, as the writing was hers. I opened it with fear and trepidation,

persuaded that it must be something serious that had impelled her to write to me when at a distance, as she

seldom did so when I was near. Before reading it I asked the man who it was that had given it to him, and

how long he had been upon the road; he told me that as he happened to be passing through one of the streets

of the city at the hour of noon, a very beautiful lady called to him from a window, and with tears in her eyes

said to him hurriedly, 'Brother, if you are, as you seem to be, a Christian, for the love of God I entreat you to

have this letter despatched without a moment's delay to the place and person named in the address, all which

is well known, and by this you will render a great service to our Lord; and that you may be at no

inconvenience in doing so take what is in this handkerchief;' and said he, 'with this she threw me a

handkerchief out of the window in which were tied up a hundred reals and this gold ring which I bring here

together with the letter I have given you. And then without waiting for any answer she left the window,

though not before she saw me take the letter and the handkerchief, and I had by signs let her know that I

would do as she bade me; and so, seeing myself so well paid for the trouble I would have in bringing it to

you, and knowing by the address that it was to you it was sent (for, senor, I know you very well), and also

unable to resist that beautiful lady's tears, I resolved to trust no one else, but to come myself and give it to

you, and in sixteen hours from the time when it was given me I have made the journey, which, as you know,

"All the while the goodnatured improvised courier was telling me this, I hung upon his words, my legs

trembling under me so that I could scarcely stand. However, I opened the letter and read these words:

"'The promise Don Fernando gave you to urge your father to speak to mine, he has fulfilled much more to his

own satisfaction than to your advantage. I have to tell you, senor, that be has demanded me for a wife, and

my father, led away by what he considers Don Fernando's superiority over you, has favoured his suit so

cordially, that in two days hence the betrothal is to take place with such secrecy and so privately that the only

witnesses are to be the Heavens above and a few of the household. Picture to yourself the state I am in; judge

if it be urgent for you to come; the issue of the affair will show you whether I love you or not. God grant this

may come to your hand before mine shall be forced to link itself with his who keeps so ill the faith that he has

"Such, in brief, were the words of the letter, words that made me set out at once without waiting any longer

for reply or money; for I now saw clearly that it was not the purchase of horses but of his own pleasure that

had made Don Fernando send me to his brother. The exasperation I felt against Don Fernando, joined with

the fear of losing the prize I had won by so many years of love and devotion, lent me wings; so that almost

flying I reached home the same day, by the hour which served for speaking with Luscinda. I arrived

unobserved, and left the mule on which I had come at the house of the worthy man who had brought me the

letter, and fortune was pleased to be for once so kind that I found Luscinda at the grating that was the witness

of our loves. She recognised me at once, and I her, but not as she ought to have recognised me, or I her. But

who is there in the world that can boast of having fathomed or understood the wavering mind and unstable

nature of a woman? Of a truth no one. To proceed: as soon as Luscinda saw me she said, 'Cardenio, I am in

my bridal dress, and the treacherous Don Fernando and my covetous father are waiting for me in the hall with

the other witnesses, who shall be the witnesses of my death before they witness my betrothal. Be not

distressed, my friend, but contrive to be present at this sacrifice, and if that cannot be prevented by my words,

I have a dagger concealed which will prevent more deliberate violence, putting an end to my life and giving

thee a first proof of the love I have borne and bear thee.' I replied to her distractedly and hastily, in fear lest I

should not have time to reply, 'May thy words be verified by thy deeds, lady; and if thou hast a dagger to save

thy honour, I have a sword to defend thee or kill myself if fortune be against us.'

"I think she could not have heard all these words, for I perceived that they called her away in haste, as the

bridegroom was waiting. Now the night of my sorrow set in, the sun of my happiness went down, I felt my

eyes bereft of sight, my mind of reason. I could not enter the house, nor was I capable of any movement; but

reflecting how important it was that I should be present at what might take place on the occasion, I nerved

myself as best I could and went in, for I well knew all the entrances and outlets; and besides, with the

confusion that in secret pervaded the house no one took notice of me, so, without being seen, I found an

opportunity of placing myself in the recess formed by a window of the hall itself, and concealed by the ends

and borders of two tapestries, from between which I could, without being seen, see all that took place in the

room. Who could describe the agitation of heart I suffered as I stood there the thoughts that came to me the

reflections that passed through my mind? They were such as cannot be, nor were it well they should be, told.

Suffice it to say that the bridegroom entered the hall in his usual dress, without ornament of any kind; as

groomsman he had with him a cousin of Luscinda's and except the servants of the house there was no one

else in the chamber. Soon afterwards Luscinda came out from an antechamber, attended by her mother and

two of her damsels, arrayed and adorned as became her rank and beauty, and in full festival and ceremonial

attire. My anxiety and distraction did not allow me to observe or notice particularly what she wore; I could

only perceive the colours, which were crimson and white, and the glitter of the gems and jewels on her head

dress and apparel, surpassed by the rare beauty of her lovely auburn hair that vying with the precious stones

and the light of the four torches that stood in the hall shone with a brighter gleam than all. Oh memory,

mortal foe of my peace! why bring before me now the incomparable beauty of that adored enemy of mine?

Were it not better, cruel memory, to remind me and recall what she then did, that stirred by a wrong so

glaring I may seek, if not vengeance now, at least to rid myself of life? Be not weary, sirs, of listening to

these digressions; my sorrow is not one of those that can or should be told tersely and briefly, for to me each

To this the curate replied that not only were they not weary of listening to him, but that the details he

mentioned interested them greatly, being of a kind by no means to be omitted and deserving of the same

"To proceed, then," continued Cardenio: "all being assembled in the hall, the priest of the parish came in and

as he took the pair by the hand to perform the requisite ceremony, at the words, 'Will you, Senora Luscinda,

take Senor Don Fernando, here present, for your lawful husband, as the holy Mother Church ordains?' I thrust

my head and neck out from between the tapestries, and with eager ears and throbbing heart set myself to

listen to Luscinda's answer, awaiting in her reply the sentence of death or the grant of life. Oh, that I had but

dared at that moment to rush forward crying aloud, 'Luscinda, Luscinda! have a care what thou dost;

remember what thou owest me; bethink thee thou art mine and canst not be another's; reflect that thy

utterance of "Yes" and the end of my life will come at the same instant. O, treacherous Don Fernando! robber

of my glory, death of my life! What seekest thou? Remember that thou canst not as a Christian attain the

object of thy wishes, for Luscinda is my bride, and I am her husband!' Fool that I am! now that I am far away,

and out of danger, I say I should have done what I did not do: now that I have allowed my precious treasure

to be robbed from me, I curse the robber, on whom I might have taken vengeance had I as much heart for it as

I have for bewailing my fate; in short, as I was then a coward and a fool, little wonder is it if I am now dying

"The priest stood waiting for the answer of Luscinda, who for a long time withheld it; and just as I thought

she was taking out the dagger to save her honour, or struggling for words to make some declaration of the

truth on my behalf, I heard her say in a faint and feeble voice, 'I will:' Don Fernando said the same, and

giving her the ring they stood linked by a knot that could never be loosed. The bridegroom then approached

to embrace his bride; and she, pressing her hand upon her heart, fell fainting in her mother's arms. It only

remains now for me to tell you the state I was in when in that consent that I heard I saw all my hopes mocked,

the words and promises of Luscinda proved falsehoods, and the recovery of the prize I had that instant lost

rendered impossible for ever. I stood stupefied, wholly abandoned, it seemed, by Heaven, declared the enemy

of the earth that bore me, the air refusing me breath for my sighs, the water moisture for my tears; it was only

the fire that gathered strength so that my whole frame glowed with rage and jealousy. They were all thrown

into confusion by Luscinda's fainting, and as her mother was unlacing her to give her air a sealed paper was

discovered in her bosom which Don Fernando seized at once and began to read by the light of one of the

torches. As soon as he had read it he seated himself in a chair, leaning his cheek on his hand in the attitude of

one deep in thought, without taking any part in the efforts that were being made to recover his bride from her

"Seeing all the household in confusion, I ventured to come out regardless whether I were seen or not, and

determined, if I were, to do some frenzied deed that would prove to all the world the righteous indignation of

my breast in the punishment of the treacherous Don Fernando, and even in that of the fickle fainting traitress.

But my fate, doubtless reserving me for greater sorrows, if such there be, so ordered it that just then I had

enough and to spare of that reason which has since been wanting to me; and so, without seeking to take

vengeance on my greatest enemies (which might have been easily taken, as all thought of me was so far from

their minds), I resolved to take it upon myself, and on myself to inflict the pain they deserved, perhaps with

even greater severity than I should have dealt out to them had I then slain them; for sudden pain is soon over,

but that which is protracted by tortures is ever slaying without ending life. In a word, I quitted the house and

reached that of the man with whom I had left my mule; I made him saddle it for me, mounted without bidding

him farewell, and rode out of the city, like another Lot, not daring to turn my head to look back upon it; and

when I found myself alone in the open country, screened by the darkness of the night, and tempted by the

stillness to give vent to my grief without apprehension or fear of being heard or seen, then I broke silence and

lifted up my voice in maledictions upon Luscinda and Don Fernando, as if I could thus avenge the wrong

they had done me. I called her cruel, ungrateful, false, thankless, but above all covetous, since the wealth of

my enemy had blinded the eyes of her affection, and turned it from me to transfer it to one to whom fortune

had been more generous and liberal. And yet, in the midst of this outburst of execration and upbraiding, I

found excuses for her, saying it was no wonder that a young girl in the seclusion of her parents' house, trained

and schooled to obey them always, should have been ready to yield to their wishes when they offered her for

a husband a gentleman of such distinction, wealth, and noble birth, that if she had refused to accept him she

would have been thought out of her senses, or to have set her affection elsewhere, a suspicion injurious to her

fair name and fame. But then again, I said, had she declared I was her husband, they would have seen that in

choosing me she had not chosen so ill but that they might excuse her, for before Don Fernando had made his

offer, they themselves could not have desired, if their desires had been ruled by reason, a more eligible

husband for their daughter than I was; and she, before taking the last fatal step of giving her hand, might

easily have said that I had already given her mine, for I should have come forward to support any assertion of

hers to that effect. In short, I came to the conclusion that feeble love, little reflection, great ambition, and a

craving for rank, had made her forget the words with which she had deceived me, encouraged and supported

"Thus soliloquising and agitated, I journeyed onward for the remainder of the night, and by daybreak I

reached one of the passes of these mountains, among which I wandered for three days more without taking

any path or road, until I came to some meadows lying on I know not which side of the mountains, and there I

inquired of some herdsmen in what direction the most rugged part of the range lay. They told me that it was

in this quarter, and I at once directed my course hither, intending to end my life here; but as I was making my

way among these crags, my mule dropped dead through fatigue and hunger, or, as I think more likely, in

order to have done with such a worthless burden as it bore in me. I was left on foot, worn out, famishing,

without anyone to help me or any thought of seeking help: and so thus I lay stretched on the ground, how

long I know not, after which I rose up free from hunger, and found beside me some goatherds, who no doubt

were the persons who had relieved me in my need, for they told me how they had found me, and how I had

been uttering ravings that showed plainly I had lost my reason; and since then I am conscious that I am not

always in full possession of it, but at times so deranged and crazed that I do a thousand mad things, tearing

my clothes, crying aloud in these solitudes, cursing my fate, and idly calling on the dear name of her who is

my enemy, and only seeking to end my life in lamentation; and when I recover my senses I find myself so

exhausted and weary that I can scarcely move. Most commonly my dwelling is the hollow of a cork tree large

enough to shelter this miserable body; the herdsmen and goatherds who frequent these mountains, moved by

compassion, furnish me with food, leaving it by the wayside or on the rocks, where they think I may perhaps

pass and find it; and so, even though I may be then out of my senses, the wants of nature teach me what is

required to sustain me, and make me crave it and eager to take it. At other times, so they tell me when they

find me in a rational mood, I sally out upon the road, and though they would gladly give it me, I snatch food

by force from the shepherds bringing it from the village to their huts. Thus do pass the wretched life that

remains to me, until it be Heaven's will to bring it to a close, or so to order my memory that I no longer

recollect the beauty and treachery of Luscinda, or the wrong done me by Don Fernando; for if it will do this

without depriving me of life, I will turn my thoughts into some better channel; if not, I can only implore it to

have full mercy on my soul, for in myself I feel no power or strength to release my body from this strait in

"Such, sirs, is the dismal story of my misfortune: say if it be one that can be told with less emotion than you

have seen in me; and do not trouble yourselves with urging or pressing upon me what reason suggests as

likely to serve for my relief, for it will avail me as much as the medicine prescribed by a wise physician

avails the sick man who will not take it. I have no wish for health without Luscinda; and since it is her

pleasure to be another's, when she is or should be mine, let it be mine to be a prey to misery when I might

have enjoyed happiness. She by her fickleness strove to make my ruin irretrievable; I will strive to gratify her

wishes by seeking destruction; and it will show generations to come that I alone was deprived of that of

which all others in misfortune have a superabundance, for to them the impossibility of being consoled is itself

a consolation, while to me it is the cause of greater sorrows and sufferings, for I think that even in death there

Here Cardenio brought to a close his long discourse and story, as full of misfortune as it was of love; but just

as the curate was going to address some words of comfort to him, he was stopped by a voice that reached his

ear, saying in melancholy tones what will be told in the Fourth Part of this narrative; for at this point the sage

and sagacious historian, Cide Hamete Benengeli, brought the Third to a conclusion.

Happy and fortunate were the times when that most daring knight Don Quixote of La Mancha was sent into

the world; for by reason of his having formed a resolution so honourable as that of seeking to revive and

restore to the world the longlost and almost defunct order of knighterrantry, we now enjoy in this age of

ours, so poor in light entertainment, not only the charm of his veracious history, but also of the tales and

episodes contained in it which are, in a measure, no less pleasing, ingenious, and truthful, than the history

itself; which, resuming its thread, carded, spun, and wound, relates that just as the curate was going to offer

consolation to Cardenio, he was interrupted by a voice that fell upon his ear saying in plaintive tones:

"O God! is it possible I have found a place that may serve as a secret grave for the weary load of this body

that I support so unwillingly? If the solitude these mountains promise deceives me not, it is so; ah! woe is

me! how much more grateful to my mind will be the society of these rocks and brakes that permit me to

complain of my misfortune to Heaven, than that of any human being, for there is none on earth to look to for

All this was heard distinctly by the curate and those with him, and as it seemed to them to be uttered close by,

as indeed it was, they got up to look for the speaker, and before they had gone twenty paces they discovered

behind a rock, seated at the foot of an ash tree, a youth in the dress of a peasant, whose face they were unable

at the moment to see as he was leaning forward, bathing his feet in the brook that flowed past. They

approached so silently that he did not perceive them, being fully occupied in bathing his feet, which were so

fair that they looked like two pieces of shining crystal brought forth among the other stones of the brook. The

whiteness and beauty of these feet struck them with surprise, for they did not seem to have been made to

crush clods or to follow the plough and the oxen as their owner's dress suggested; and so, finding they had

not been noticed, the curate, who was in front, made a sign to the other two to conceal themselves behind

some fragments of rock that lay there; which they did, observing closely what the youth was about. He had on

a loose doubleskirted dark brown jacket bound tight to his body with a white cloth; he wore besides

breeches and gaiters of brown cloth, and on his head a brown montera; and he had the gaiters turned up as far

As soon as he had done bathing his beautiful feet, he wiped them with a towel he took from under the

montera, on taking off which he raised his face, and those who were watching him had an opportunity of

The youth then took off the montera, and shaking his head from side to side there broke loose and spread out

a mass of hair that the beams of the sun might have envied; by this they knew that what had seemed a peasant

was a lovely woman, nay the most beautiful the eyes of two of them had ever beheld, or even Cardenio's if

they had not seen and known Luscinda, for he afterwards declared that only the beauty of Luscinda could

compare with this. The long auburn tresses not only covered her shoulders, but such was their length and

abundance, concealed her all round beneath their masses, so that except the feet nothing of her form was

visible. She now used her hands as a comb, and if her feet had seemed like bits of crystal in the water, her

hands looked like pieces of driven snow among her locks; all which increased not only the admiration of the

three beholders, but their anxiety to learn who she was. With this object they resolved to show themselves,

and at the stir they made in getting upon their feet the fair damsel raised her head, and parting her hair from

before her eyes with both hands, she looked to see who had made the noise, and the instant she perceived

them she started to her feet, and without waiting to put on her shoes or gather up her hair, hastily snatched up

a bundle as though of clothes that she had beside her, and, scared and alarmed, endeavoured to take flight; but

before she had gone six paces she fell to the ground, her delicate feet being unable to bear the roughness of

the stones; seeing which, the three hastened towards her, and the curate addressing her first said:

"Stay, senora, whoever you may be, for those whom you see here only desire to be of service to you; you

have no need to attempt a flight so heedless, for neither can your feet bear it, nor we allow it."

Taken by surprise and bewildered, she made no reply to these words. They, however, came towards her, and

"What your dress would hide, senora, is made known to us by your hair; a clear proof that it can be no trifling

cause that has disguised your beauty in a garb so unworthy of it, and sent it into solitudes like these where we

have had the good fortune to find you, if not to relieve your distress, at least to offer you comfort; for no

distress, so long as life lasts, can be so oppressive or reach such a height as to make the sufferer refuse to

listen to comfort offered with good intention. And so, senora, or senor, or whatever you prefer to be, dismiss

the fears that our appearance has caused you and make us acquainted with your good or evil fortunes, for

from all of us together, or from each one of us, you will receive sympathy in your trouble."

While the curate was speaking, the disguised damsel stood as if spellbound, looking at them without

opening her lips or uttering a word, just like a village rustic to whom something strange that he has never

seen before has been suddenly shown; but on the curate addressing some further words to the same effect to

"Since the solitude of these mountains has been unable to conceal me, and the escape of my dishevelled

tresses will not allow my tongue to deal in falsehoods, it would be idle for me now to make any further

pretence of what, if you were to believe me, you would believe more out of courtesy than for any other

reason. This being so, I say I thank you, sirs, for the offer you have made me, which places me under the

obligation of complying with the request you have made of me; though I fear the account I shall give you of

my misfortunes will excite in you as much concern as compassion, for you will be unable to suggest anything

to remedy them or any consolation to alleviate them. However, that my honour may not be left a matter of

doubt in your minds, now that you have discovered me to be a woman, and see that I am young, alone, and in

this dress, things that taken together or separately would be enough to destroy any good name, I feel bound to

All this she who was now seen to be a lovely woman delivered without any hesitation, with so much ease and

in so sweet a voice that they were not less charmed by her intelligence than by her beauty, and as they again

repeated their offers and entreaties to her to fulfil her promise, she without further pressing, first modestly

covering her feet and gathering up her hair, seated herself on a stone with the three placed around her, and,

after an effort to restrain some tears that came to her eyes, in a clear and steady voice began her story thus:

"In this Andalusia there is a town from which a duke takes a title which makes him one of those that are

called Grandees of Spain. This nobleman has two sons, the elder heir to his dignity and apparently to his

good qualities; the younger heir to I know not what, unless it be the treachery of Vellido and the falsehood of

Ganelon. My parents are this lord's vassals, lowly in origin, but so wealthy that if birth had conferred as much

on them as fortune, they would have had nothing left to desire, nor should I have had reason to fear trouble

like that in which I find myself now; for it may be that my ill fortune came of theirs in not having been nobly

born. It is true they are not so low that they have any reason to be ashamed of their condition, but neither are

they so high as to remove from my mind the impression that my mishap comes of their humble birth. They

are, in short, peasants, plain homely people, without any taint of disreputable blood, and, as the saying is, old

rusty Christians, but so rich that by their wealth and freehanded way of life they are coming by degrees to

be considered gentlefolk by birth, and even by position; though the wealth and nobility they thought most of

was having me for their daughter; and as they have no other child to make their heir, and are affectionate

"I was the mirror in which they beheld themselves, the staff of their old age, and the object in which, with

submission to Heaven, all their wishes centred, and mine were in accordance with theirs, for I knew their

worth; and as I was mistress of their hearts, so was I also of their possessions. Through me they engaged or

dismissed their servants; through my hands passed the accounts and returns of what was sown and reaped; the

oilmills, the winepresses, the count of the flocks and herds, the beehives, all in short that a rich farmer like

my father has or can have, I had under my care, and I acted as steward and mistress with an assiduity on my

part and satisfaction on theirs that I cannot well describe to you. The leisure hours left to me after I had given

the requisite orders to the headshepherds, overseers, and other labourers, I passed in such employments as

are not only allowable but necessary for young girls, those that the needle, embroidery cushion, and spinning

wheel usually afford, and if to refresh my mind I quitted them for a while, I found recreation in reading some

devotional book or playing the harp, for experience taught me that music soothes the troubled mind and

relieves weariness of spirit. Such was the life I led in my parents' house and if I have depicted it thus

minutely, it is not out of ostentation, or to let you know that I am rich, but that you may see how, without any

fault of mine, I have fallen from the happy condition I have described, to the misery I am in at present. The

truth is, that while I was leading this busy life, in a retirement that might compare with that of a monastery,

and unseen as I thought by any except the servants of the house (for when I went to Mass it was so early in

the morning, and I was so closely attended by my mother and the women of the household, and so thickly

veiled and so shy, that my eyes scarcely saw more ground than I trod on), in spite of all this, the eyes of love,

or idleness, more properly speaking, that the lynx's cannot rival, discovered me, with the help of the assiduity

of Don Fernando; for that is the name of the younger son of the duke I told of."

The moment the speaker mentioned the name of Don Fernando, Cardenio changed colour and broke into a

sweat, with such signs of emotion that the curate and the barber, who observed it, feared that one of the mad

fits which they heard attacked him sometimes was coming upon him; but Cardenio showed no further

agitation and remained quiet, regarding the peasant girl with fixed attention, for he began to suspect who she

was. She, however, without noticing the excitement of Cardenio, continuing her story, went on to say:

"And they had hardly discovered me, when, as he owned afterwards, he was smitten with a violent love for

me, as the manner in which it displayed itself plainly showed. But to shorten the long recital of my woes, I

will pass over in silence all the artifices employed by Don Fernando for declaring his passion for me. He

bribed all the household, he gave and offered gifts and presents to my parents; every day was like a holiday or

a merrymaking in our street; by night no one could sleep for the music; the love letters that used to come to

my hand, no one knew how, were innumerable, full of tender pleadings and pledges, containing more

promises and oaths than there were letters in them; all which not only did not soften me, but hardened my

heart against him, as if he had been my mortal enemy, and as if everything he did to make me yield were

done with the opposite intention. Not that the highbred bearing of Don Fernando was disagreeable to me, or

that I found his importunities wearisome; for it gave me a certain sort of satisfaction to find myself so sought

and prized by a gentleman of such distinction, and I was not displeased at seeing my praises in his letters (for

however ugly we women may be, it seems to me it always pleases us to hear ourselves called beautiful) but

that my own sense of right was opposed to all this, as well as the repeated advice of my parents, who now

very plainly perceived Don Fernando's purpose, for he cared very little if all the world knew it. They told me

they trusted and confided their honour and good name to my virtue and rectitude alone, and bade me consider

the disparity between Don Fernando and myself, from which I might conclude that his intentions, whatever

he might say to the contrary, had for their aim his own pleasure rather than my advantage; and if I were at all

desirous of opposing an obstacle to his unreasonable suit, they were ready, they said, to marry me at once to

anyone I preferred, either among the leading people of our own town, or of any of those in the

neighbourhood; for with their wealth and my good name, a match might be looked for in any quarter. This

offer, and their sound advice strengthened my resolution, and I never gave Don Fernando a word in reply that

"All this caution of mine, which he must have taken for coyness, had apparently the effect of increasing his

wanton appetite for that is the name I give to his passion for me; had it been what he declared it to be, you

would not know of it now, because there would have been no occasion to tell you of it. At length he learned

that my parents were contemplating marriage for me in order to put an end to his hopes of obtaining

possession of me, or at least to secure additional protectors to watch over me, and this intelligence or

suspicion made him act as you shall hear. One night, as I was in my chamber with no other companion than a

damsel who waited on me, with the doors carefully locked lest my honour should be imperilled through any

carelessness, I know not nor can conceive how it happened, but, with all this seclusion and these precautions,

and in the solitude and silence of my retirement, I found him standing before me, a vision that so astounded

me that it deprived my eyes of sight, and my tongue of speech. I had no power to utter a cry, nor, I think, did

he give me time to utter one, as he immediately approached me, and taking me in his arms (for, overwhelmed

as I was, I was powerless, I say, to help myself), he began to make such professions to me that I know not

how falsehood could have had the power of dressing them up to seem so like truth; and the traitor contrived

"I, a poor young creature alone, ill versed among my people in cases such as this, began, I know not how, to

think all these lying protestations true, though without being moved by his sighs and tears to anything more

than pure compassion; and so, as the first feeling of bewilderment passed away, and I began in some degree

to recover myself, I said to him with more courage than I thought I could have possessed, 'If, as I am now in

your arms, senor, I were in the claws of a fierce lion, and my deliverance could be procured by doing or

saying anything to the prejudice of my honour, it would no more be in my power to do it or say it, than it

would be possible that what was should not have been; so then, if you hold my body clasped in your arms, I

hold my soul secured by virtuous intentions, very different from yours, as you will see if you attempt to carry

them into effect by force. I am your vassal, but I am not your slave; your nobility neither has nor should have

any right to dishonour or degrade my humble birth; and lowborn peasant as I am, I have my selfrespect as

much as you, a lord and gentleman: with me your violence will be to no purpose, your wealth will have no

weight, your words will have no power to deceive me, nor your sighs or tears to soften me: were I to see any

of the things I speak of in him whom my parents gave me as a husband, his will should be mine, and mine

should be bounded by his; and my honour being preserved even though my inclinations were not would

willingly yield him what you, senor, would now obtain by force; and this I say lest you should suppose that

any but my lawful husband shall ever win anything of me.' 'If that,' said this disloyal gentleman, 'be the only

scruple you feel, fairest Dorothea' (for that is the name of this unhappy being), 'see here I give you my hand

to be yours, and let Heaven, from which nothing is hid, and this image of Our Lady you have here, be

When Cardenio heard her say she was called Dorothea, he showed fresh agitation and felt convinced of the

truth of his former suspicion, but he was unwilling to interrupt the story, and wished to hear the end of what

"What! is Dorothea your name, senora? I have heard of another of the same name who can perhaps match

your misfortunes. But proceed; byandby I may tell you something that will astonish you as much as it will

Dorothea was struck by Cardenio's words as well as by his strange and miserable attire, and begged him if he

knew anything concerning her to tell it to her at once, for if fortune had left her any blessing it was courage to

bear whatever calamity might fall upon her, as she felt sure that none could reach her capable of increasing in

"I would not let the occasion pass, senora," replied Cardenio, "of telling you what I think, if what I suspect

were the truth, but so far there has been no opportunity, nor is it of any importance to you to know it."

"Be it as it may," replied Dorothea, "what happened in my story was that Don Fernando, taking an image that

stood in the chamber, placed it as a witness of our betrothal, and with the most binding words and extravagant

oaths gave me his promise to become my husband; though before he had made an end of pledging himself I

bade him consider well what he was doing, and think of the anger his father would feel at seeing him married

to a peasant girl and one of his vassals; I told him not to let my beauty, such as it was, blind him, for that was

not enough to furnish an excuse for his transgression; and if in the love he bore me he wished to do me any

kindness, it would be to leave my lot to follow its course at the level my condition required; for marriages so

unequal never brought happiness, nor did they continue long to afford the enjoyment they began with.

"All this that I have now repeated I said to him, and much more which I cannot recollect; but it had no effect

in inducing him to forego his purpose; he who has no intention of paying does not trouble himself about

difficulties when he is striking the bargain. At the same time I argued the matter briefly in my own mind,

saying to myself, 'I shall not be the first who has risen through marriage from a lowly to a lofty station, nor

will Don Fernando be the first whom beauty or, as is more likely, a blind attachment, has led to mate himself

below his rank. Then, since I am introducing no new usage or practice, I may as well avail myself of the

honour that chance offers me, for even though his inclination for me should not outlast the attainment of his

wishes, I shall be, after all, his wife before God. And if I strive to repel him by scorn, I can see that, fair

means failing, he is in a mood to use force, and I shall be left dishonoured and without any means of proving

my innocence to those who cannot know how innocently I have come to be in this position; for what

arguments would persuade my parents that this gentleman entered my chamber without my consent?'

"All these questions and answers passed through my mind in a moment; but the oaths of Don Fernando, the

witnesses he appealed to, the tears he shed, and lastly the charms of his person and his highbred grace,

which, accompanied by such signs of genuine love, might well have conquered a heart even more free and

coy than mine these were the things that more than all began to influence me and lead me unawares to my

ruin. I called my waitingmaid to me, that there might be a witness on earth besides those in Heaven, and

again Don Fernando renewed and repeated his oaths, invoked as witnesses fresh saints in addition to the

former ones, called down upon himself a thousand curses hereafter should he fail to keep his promise, shed

more tears, redoubled his sighs and pressed me closer in his arms, from which he had never allowed me to

escape; and so I was left by my maid, and ceased to be one, and he became a traitor and a perjured man.

"The day which followed the night of my misfortune did not come so quickly, I imagine, as Don Fernando

wished, for when desire has attained its object, the greatest pleasure is to fly from the scene of pleasure. I say

so because Don Fernando made all haste to leave me, and by the adroitness of my maid, who was indeed the

one who had admitted him, gained the street before daybreak; but on taking leave of me he told me, though

not with as much earnestness and fervour as when he came, that I might rest assured of his faith and of the

sanctity and sincerity of his oaths; and to confirm his words he drew a rich ring off his finger and placed it

upon mine. He then took his departure and I was left, I know not whether sorrowful or happy; all I can say is,

I was left agitated and troubled in mind and almost bewildered by what had taken place, and I had not the

spirit, or else it did not occur to me, to chide my maid for the treachery she had been guilty of in concealing

Don Fernando in my chamber; for as yet I was unable to make up my mind whether what had befallen me

was for good or evil. I told Don Fernando at parting, that as I was now his, he might see me on other nights in

the same way, until it should be his pleasure to let the matter become known; but, except the following night,

he came no more, nor for more than a month could I catch a glimpse of him in the street or in church, while I

wearied myself with watching for one; although I knew he was in the town, and almost every day went out

hunting, a pastime he was very fond of. I remember well how sad and dreary those days and hours were to

me; I remember well how I began to doubt as they went by, and even to lose confidence in the faith of Don

Fernando; and I remember, too, how my maid heard those words in reproof of her audacity that she had not

heard before, and how I was forced to put a constraint on my tears and on the expression of my countenance,

not to give my parents cause to ask me why I was so melancholy, and drive me to invent falsehoods in reply.

But all this was suddenly brought to an end, for the time came when all such considerations were disregarded,

and there was no further question of honour, when my patience gave way and the secret of my heart became

known abroad. The reason was, that a few days later it was reported in the town that Don Fernando had been

married in a neighbouring city to a maiden of rare beauty, the daughter of parents of distinguished position,

though not so rich that her portion would entitle her to look for so brilliant a match; it was said, too, that her

Cardenio heard the name of Luscinda, but he only shrugged his shoulders, bit his lips, bent his brows, and

before long two streams of tears escaped from his eyes. Dorothea, however, did not interrupt her story, but

"This sad intelligence reached my ears, and, instead of being struck with a chill, with such wrath and fury did

my heart burn that I scarcely restrained myself from rushing out into the streets, crying aloud and proclaiming

openly the perfidy and treachery of which I was the victim; but this transport of rage was for the time

checked by a resolution I formed, to be carried out the same night, and that was to assume this dress, which I

got from a servant of my father's, one of the zagals, as they are called in farmhouses, to whom I confided the

whole of my misfortune, and whom I entreated to accompany me to the city where I heard my enemy was.

He, though he remonstrated with me for my boldness, and condemned my resolution, when he saw me bent

upon my purpose, offered to bear me company, as he said, to the end of the world. I at once packed up in a

linen pillowcase a woman's dress, and some jewels and money to provide for emergencies, and in the

silence of the night, without letting my treacherous maid know, I sallied forth from the house, accompanied

by my servant and abundant anxieties, and on foot set out for the city, but borne as it were on wings by my

eagerness to reach it, if not to prevent what I presumed to be already done, at least to call upon Don Fernando

to tell me with what conscience he had done it. I reached my destination in two days and a half, and on

entering the city inquired for the house of Luscinda's parents. The first person I asked gave me more in reply

than I sought to know; he showed me the house, and told me all that had occurred at the betrothal of the

daughter of the family, an affair of such notoriety in the city that it was the talk of every knot of idlers in the

street. He said that on the night of Don Fernando's betrothal with Luscinda, as soon as she had consented to

be his bride by saying 'Yes,' she was taken with a sudden fainting fit, and that on the bridegroom approaching

to unlace the bosom of her dress to give her air, he found a paper in her own handwriting, in which she said

and declared that she could not be Don Fernando's bride, because she was already Cardenio's, who, according

to the man's account, was a gentleman of distinction of the same city; and that if she had accepted Don

Fernando, it was only in obedience to her parents. In short, he said, the words of the paper made it clear she

meant to kill herself on the completion of the betrothal, and gave her reasons for putting an end to herself all

which was confirmed, it was said, by a dagger they found somewhere in her clothes. On seeing this, Don

Fernando, persuaded that Luscinda had befooled, slighted, and trifled with him, assailed her before she had

recovered from her swoon, and tried to stab her with the dagger that had been found, and would have

succeeded had not her parents and those who were present prevented him. It was said, moreover, that Don

Fernando went away at once, and that Luscinda did not recover from her prostration until the next day, when

she told her parents how she was really the bride of that Cardenio I have mentioned. I learned besides that

Cardenio, according to report, had been present at the betrothal; and that upon seeing her betrothed contrary

to his expectation, he had quitted the city in despair, leaving behind him a letter declaring the wrong Luscinda

had done him, and his intention of going where no one should ever see him again. All this was a matter of

notoriety in the city, and everyone spoke of it; especially when it became known that Luscinda was missing

from her father's house and from the city, for she was not to be found anywhere, to the distraction of her

parents, who knew not what steps to take to recover her. What I learned revived my hopes, and I was better

pleased not to have found Don Fernando than to find him married, for it seemed to me that the door was not

yet entirely shut upon relief in my case, and I thought that perhaps Heaven had put this impediment in the

way of the second marriage, to lead him to recognise his obligations under the former one, and reflect that as

a Christian he was bound to consider his soul above all human objects. All this passed through my mind, and

I strove to comfort myself without comfort, indulging in faint and distant hopes of cherishing that life that I

"But while I was in the city, uncertain what to do, as I could not find Don Fernando, I heard notice given by

the public crier offering a great reward to anyone who should find me, and giving the particulars of my age

and of the very dress I wore; and I heard it said that the lad who came with me had taken me away from my

father's house; a thing that cut me to the heart, showing how low my good name had fallen, since it was not

enough that I should lose it by my flight, but they must add with whom I had fled, and that one so much

beneath me and so unworthy of my consideration. The instant I heard the notice I quitted the city with my

servant, who now began to show signs of wavering in his fidelity to me, and the same night, for fear of

discovery, we entered the most thickly wooded part of these mountains. But, as is commonly said, one evil

calls up another and the end of one misfortune is apt to be the beginning of one still greater, and so it proved

in my case; for my worthy servant, until then so faithful and trusty when he found me in this lonely spot,

moved more by his own villainy than by my beauty, sought to take advantage of the opportunity which these

solitudes seemed to present him, and with little shame and less fear of God and respect for me, began to make

overtures to me; and finding that I replied to the effrontery of his proposals with justly severe language, he

laid aside the entreaties which he had employed at first, and began to use violence. But just Heaven, that

seldom fails to watch over and aid good intentions, so aided mine that with my slight strength and with little

exertion I pushed him over a precipice, where I left him, whether dead or alive I know not; and then, with

greater speed than seemed possible in my terror and fatigue, I made my way into the mountains, without any

other thought or purpose save that of hiding myself among them, and escaping my father and those

despatched in search of me by his orders. It is now I know not how many months since with this object I

came here, where I met a herdsman who engaged me as his servant at a place in the heart of this Sierra, and

all this time I have been serving him as herd, striving to keep always afield to hide these locks which have

now unexpectedly betrayed me. But all my care and pains were unavailing, for my master made the discovery

that I was not a man, and harboured the same base designs as my servant; and as fortune does not always

supply a remedy in cases of difficulty, and I had no precipice or ravine at hand down which to fling the

master and cure his passion, as I had in the servant's case, I thought it a lesser evil to leave him and again

conceal myself among these crags, than make trial of my strength and argument with him. So, as I say, once

more I went into hiding to seek for some place where I might with sighs and tears implore Heaven to have

pity on my misery, and grant me help and strength to escape from it, or let me die among the solitudes,

leaving no trace of an unhappy being who, by no fault of hers, has furnished matter for talk and scandal at

"Such, sirs, is the true story of my sad adventures; judge for yourselves now whether the sighs and

lamentations you heard, and the tears that flowed from my eyes, had not sufficient cause even if I had

indulged in them more freely; and if you consider the nature of my misfortune you will see that consolation is

idle, as there is no possible remedy for it. All I ask of you is, what you may easily and reasonably do, to show

me where I may pass my life unharassed by the fear and dread of discovery by those who are in search of me;

for though the great love my parents bear me makes me feel sure of being kindly received by them, so great is

my feeling of shame at the mere thought that I cannot present myself before them as they expect, that I had

rather banish myself from their sight for ever than look them in the face with the reflection that they beheld

With these words she became silent, and the colour that overspread her face showed plainly the pain and

shame she was suffering at heart. In theirs the listeners felt as much pity as wonder at her misfortunes; but as

the curate was just about to offer her some consolation and advice Cardenio forestalled him, saying, "So then,

senora, you are the fair Dorothea, the only daughter of the rich Clenardo?" Dorothea was astonished at

hearing her father's name, and at the miserable appearance of him who mentioned it, for it has been already

"And who may you be, brother, who seem to know my father's name so well? For so far, if I remember

"I am that unhappy being, senora," replied Cardenio, "whom, as you have said, Luscinda declared to be her

husband; I am the unfortunate Cardenio, whom the wrongdoing of him who has brought you to your present

condition has reduced to the state you see me in, bare, ragged, bereft of all human comfort, and what is

worse, of reason, for I only possess it when Heaven is pleased for some short space to restore it to me. I,

Dorothea, am he who witnessed the wrong done by Don Fernando, and waited to hear the 'Yes' uttered by

which Luscinda owned herself his betrothed: I am he who had not courage enough to see how her fainting fit

ended, or what came of the paper that was found in her bosom, because my heart had not the fortitude to

endure so many strokes of illfortune at once; and so losing patience I quitted the house, and leaving a letter

with my host, which I entreated him to place in Luscinda's hands, I betook myself to these solitudes, resolved

to end here the life I hated as if it were my mortal enemy. But fate would not rid me of it, contenting itself

with robbing me of my reason, perhaps to preserve me for the good fortune I have had in meeting you; for if

that which you have just told us be true, as I believe it to be, it may be that Heaven has yet in store for both of

us a happier termination to our misfortunes than we look for; because seeing that Luscinda cannot marry Don

Fernando, being mine, as she has herself so openly declared, and that Don Fernando cannot marry her as he is

yours, we may reasonably hope that Heaven will restore to us what is ours, as it is still in existence and not

yet alienated or destroyed. And as we have this consolation springing from no very visionary hope or wild

fancy, I entreat you, senora, to form new resolutions in your better mind, as I mean to do in mine, preparing

yourself to look forward to happier fortunes; for I swear to you by the faith of a gentleman and a Christian not

to desert you until I see you in possession of Don Fernando, and if I cannot by words induce him to recognise

his obligation to you, in that case to avail myself of the right which my rank as a gentleman gives me, and

with just cause challenge him on account of the injury he has done you, not regarding my own wrongs, which

Cardenio's words completed the astonishment of Dorothea, and not knowing how to return thanks for such an

offer, she attempted to kiss his feet; but Cardenio would not permit it, and the licentiate replied for both,

commended the sound reasoning of Cardenio, and lastly, begged, advised, and urged them to come with him

to his village, where they might furnish themselves with what they needed, and take measures to discover

Don Fernando, or restore Dorothea to her parents, or do what seemed to them most advisable. Cardenio and

Dorothea thanked him, and accepted the kind offer he made them; and the barber, who had been listening to

all attentively and in silence, on his part some kindly words also, and with no less goodwill than the curate

offered his services in any way that might be of use to them. He also explained to them in a few words the

object that had brought them there, and the strange nature of Don Quixote's madness, and how they were

waiting for his squire, who had gone in search of him. Like the recollection of a dream, the quarrel he had

had with Don Quixote came back to Cardenio's memory, and he described it to the others; but he was unable

At this moment they heard a shout, and recognised it as coming from Sancho Panza, who, not finding them

where he had left them, was calling aloud to them. They went to meet him, and in answer to their inquiries

about Don Quixote, be told them how he had found him stripped to his shirt, lank, yellow, half dead with

hunger, and sighing for his lady Dulcinea; and although he had told him that she commanded him to quit that

place and come to El Toboso, where she was expecting him, he had answered that he was determined not to

appear in the presence of her beauty until he had done deeds to make him worthy of her favour; and if this

went on, Sancho said, he ran the risk of not becoming an emperor as in duty bound, or even an archbishop,

which was the least he could be; for which reason they ought to consider what was to be done to get him

away from there. The licentiate in reply told him not to be uneasy, for they would fetch him away in spite of

himself. He then told Cardenio and Dorothea what they had proposed to do to cure Don Quixote, or at any

rate take him home; upon which Dorothea said that she could play the distressed damsel better than the

barber; especially as she had there the dress in which to do it to the life, and that they might trust to her acting

the part in every particular requisite for carrying out their scheme, for she had read a great many books of

chivalry, and knew exactly the style in which afflicted damsels begged boons of knightserrant.

"In that case," said the curate, "there is nothing more required than to set about it at once, for beyond a doubt

fortune is declaring itself in our favour, since it has so unexpectedly begun to open a door for your relief, and

Dorothea then took out of her pillowcase a complete petticoat of some rich stuff, and a green mantle of

some other fine material, and a necklace and other ornaments out of a little box, and with these in an instant

she so arrayed herself that she looked like a great and rich lady. All this, and more, she said, she had taken

from home in case of need, but that until then she had had no occasion to make use of it. They were all highly

delighted with her grace, air, and beauty, and declared Don Fernando to be a man of very little taste when he

rejected such charms. But the one who admired her most was Sancho Panza, for it seemed to him (what

indeed was true) that in all the days of his life he had never seen such a lovely creature; and he asked the

curate with great eagerness who this beautiful lady was, and what she wanted in these outoftheway

"This fair lady, brother Sancho," replied the curate, "is no less a personage than the heiress in the direct male

line of the great kingdom of Micomicon, who has come in search of your master to beg a boon of him, which

is that he redress a wrong or injury that a wicked giant has done her; and from the fame as a good knight

which your master has acquired far and wide, this princess has come from Guinea to seek him."

"A lucky seeking and a lucky finding!" said Sancho Panza at this; "especially if my master has the good

fortune to redress that injury, and right that wrong, and kill that son of a bitch of a giant your worship speaks

of; as kill him he will if he meets him, unless, indeed, he happens to be a phantom; for my master has no

power at all against phantoms. But one thing among others I would beg of you, senor licentiate, which is,

that, to prevent my master taking a fancy to be an archbishop, for that is what I'm afraid of, your worship

would recommend him to marry this princess at once; for in this way he will be disabled from taking

archbishop's orders, and will easily come into his empire, and I to the end of my desires; I have been thinking

over the matter carefully, and by what I can make out I find it will not do for me that my master should

become an archbishop, because I am no good for the Church, as I am married; and for me now, having as I

have a wife and children, to set about obtaining dispensations to enable me to hold a place of profit under the

Church, would be endless work; so that, senor, it all turns on my master marrying this lady at once for as yet

"She is called the Princess Micomicona," said the curate; "for as her kingdom is Micomicon, it is clear that

"There's no doubt of that," replied Sancho, "for I have known many to take their name and title from the place

where they were born and call themselves Pedro of Alcala, Juan of Ubeda, and Diego of Valladolid; and it

may be that over there in Guinea queens have the same way of taking the names of their kingdoms."

"So it may," said the curate; "and as for your master's marrying, I will do all in my power towards it:" with

which Sancho was as much pleased as the curate was amazed at his simplicity and at seeing what a hold the

absurdities of his master had taken of his fancy, for he had evidently persuaded himself that he was going to

By this time Dorothea had seated herself upon the curate's mule, and the barber had fitted the oxtail beard to

his face, and they now told Sancho to conduct them to where Don Quixote was, warning him not to say that

he knew either the licentiate or the barber, as his master's becoming an emperor entirely depended on his not

recognising them; neither the curate nor Cardenio, however, thought fit to go with them; Cardenio lest he

should remind Don Quixote of the quarrel he had with him, and the curate as there was no necessity for his

presence just yet, so they allowed the others to go on before them, while they themselves followed slowly on

foot. The curate did not forget to instruct Dorothea how to act, but she said they might make their minds easy,

as everything would be done exactly as the books of chivalry required and described.

They had gone about threequarters of a league when they discovered Don Quixote in a wilderness of rocks,

by this time clothed, but without his armour; and as soon as Dorothea saw him and was told by Sancho that

that was Don Quixote, she whipped her palfrey, the wellbearded barber following her, and on coming up to

him her squire sprang from his mule and came forward to receive her in his arms, and she dismounting with

great ease of manner advanced to kneel before the feet of Don Quixote; and though he strove to raise her up,

"From this spot I will not rise, valiant and doughty knight, until your goodness and courtesy grant me a boon,

which will redound to the honour and renown of your person and render a service to the most disconsolate

and afflicted damsel the sun has seen; and if the might of your strong arm corresponds to the repute of your

immortal fame, you are bound to aid the helpless being who, led by the savour of your renowned name, hath

"I will not answer a word, beauteous lady," replied Don Quixote, "nor will I listen to anything further

"I will not rise, senor," answered the afflicted damsel, "unless of your courtesy the boon I ask is first granted

"I grant and accord it," said Don Quixote, "provided without detriment or prejudice to my king, my country,

"It will not be to the detriment or prejudice of any of them, my worthy lord," said the afflicted damsel; and

here Sancho Panza drew close to his master's ear and said to him very softly, "Your worship may very safely

grant the boon she asks; it's nothing at all; only to kill a big giant; and she who asks it is the exalted Princess

"Let her be who she may," replied Don Quixote, "I will do what is my bounden duty, and what my

conscience bids me, in conformity with what I have professed;" and turning to the damsel he said, "Let your

"Then what I ask," said the damsel, "is that your magnanimous person accompany me at once whither I will

conduct you, and that you promise not to engage in any other adventure or quest until you have avenged me

"I repeat that I grant it," replied Don Quixote; "and so, lady, you may from this day forth lay aside the

melancholy that distresses you, and let your failing hopes gather new life and strength, for with the help of

God and of my arm you will soon see yourself restored to your kingdom, and seated upon the throne of your

ancient and mighty realm, notwithstanding and despite of the felons who would gainsay it; and now hands to

The distressed damsel strove with much pertinacity to kiss his hands; but Don Quixote, who was in all things

a polished and courteous knight, would by no means allow it, but made her rise and embraced her with great

courtesy and politeness, and ordered Sancho to look to Rocinante's girths, and to arm him without a moment's

delay. Sancho took down the armour, which was hung up on a tree like a trophy, and having seen to the girths

armed his master in a trice, who as soon as he found himself in his armour exclaimed:

The barber was all this time on his knees at great pains to hide his laughter and not let his beard fall, for had it

fallen maybe their fine scheme would have come to nothing; but now seeing the boon granted, and the

promptitude with which Don Quixote prepared to set out in compliance with it, he rose and took his lady's

hand, and between them they placed her upon the mule. Don Quixote then mounted Rocinante, and the barber

settled himself on his beast, Sancho being left to go on foot, which made him feel anew the loss of his

Dapple, finding the want of him now. But he bore all with cheerfulness, being persuaded that his master had

now fairly started and was just on the point of becoming an emperor; for he felt no doubt at all that he would

marry this princess, and be king of Micomicon at least. The only thing that troubled him was the reflection

that this kingdom was in the land of the blacks, and that the people they would give him for vassals would be

all black; but for this he soon found a remedy in his fancy, and said he to himself, "What is it to me if my

vassals are blacks? What more have I to do than make a cargo of them and carry them to Spain, where I can

sell them and get ready money for them, and with it buy some title or some office in which to live at ease all

the days of my life? Not unless you go to sleep and haven't the wit or skill to turn things to account and sell

three, six, or ten thousand vassals while you would he talking about it! By God I will stir them up, big and

little, or as best I can, and let them be ever so black I'll turn them into white or yellow. Come, come, what a

fool I am!" And so he jogged on, so occupied with his thoughts and easy in his mind that he forgot all about

Cardenio and the curate were watching all this from among some bushes, not knowing how to join company

with the others; but the curate, who was very fertile in devices, soon hit upon a way of effecting their

purpose, and with a pair of scissors he had in a case he quickly cut off Cardenio's beard, and putting on him a

grey jerkin of his own he gave him a black cloak, leaving himself in his breeches and doublet, while

Cardenio's appearance was so different from what it had been that he would not have known himself had he

seen himself in a mirror. Having effected this, although the others had gone on ahead while they were

disguising themselves, they easily came out on the high road before them, for the brambles and awkward

places they encountered did not allow those on horseback to go as fast as those on foot. They then posted

themselves on the level ground at the outlet of the Sierra, and as soon as Don Quixote and his companions

emerged from it the curate began to examine him very deliberately, as though he were striving to recognise

him, and after having stared at him for some time he hastened towards him with open arms exclaiming, "A

happy meeting with the mirror of chivalry, my worthy compatriot Don Quixote of La Mancha, the flower and

cream of high breeding, the protection and relief of the distressed, the quintessence of knightserrant!" And

so saying he clasped in his arms the knee of Don Quixote's left leg. He, astonished at the stranger's words and

behaviour, looked at him attentively, and at length recognised him, very much surprised to see him there, and

made great efforts to dismount. This, however, the curate would not allow, on which Don Quixote said,

"Permit me, senor licentiate, for it is not fitting that I should be on horseback and so reverend a person as

"On no account will I allow it," said the curate; "your mightiness must remain on horseback, for it is on

horseback you achieve the greatest deeds and adventures that have been beheld in our age; as for me, an

unworthy priest, it will serve me well enough to mount on the haunches of one of the mules of these

gentlefolk who accompany your worship, if they have no objection, and I will fancy I am mounted on the

steed Pegasus, or on the zebra or charger that bore the famous Moor, Muzaraque, who to this day lies

enchanted in the great hill of Zulema, a little distance from the great Complutum."

"Nor even that will I consent to, senor licentiate," answered Don Quixote, "and I know it will be the good

pleasure of my lady the princess, out of love for me, to order her squire to give up the saddle of his mule to

"It will, I am sure," said the princess, "and I am sure, too, that I need not order my squire, for he is too

courteous and considerate to allow a Churchman to go on foot when he might be mounted."

"That he is," said the barber, and at once alighting, he offered his saddle to the curate, who accepted it

without much entreaty; but unfortunately as the barber was mounting behind, the mule, being as it happened a

hired one, which is the same thing as saying illconditioned, lifted its hind hoofs and let fly a couple of kicks

in the air, which would have made Master Nicholas wish his expedition in quest of Don Quixote at the devil

had they caught him on the breast or head. As it was, they so took him by surprise that he came to the ground,

giving so little heed to his beard that it fell off, and all he could do when he found himself without it was to

cover his face hastily with both his hands and moan that his teeth were knocked out. Don Quixote when he

saw all that bundle of beard detached, without jaws or blood, from the face of the fallen squire, exclaimed:

"By the living God, but this is a great miracle! it has knocked off and plucked away the beard from his face as

The curate, seeing the danger of discovery that threatened his scheme, at once pounced upon the beard and

hastened with it to where Master Nicholas lay, still uttering moans, and drawing his head to his breast had it

on in an instant, muttering over him some words which he said were a certain special charm for sticking on

beards, as they would see; and as soon as he had it fixed he left him, and the squire appeared well bearded

and whole as before, whereat Don Quixote was beyond measure astonished, and begged the curate to teach

him that charm when he had an opportunity, as he was persuaded its virtue must extend beyond the sticking

on of beards, for it was clear that where the beard had been stripped off the flesh must have remained torn

and lacerated, and when it could heal all that it must be good for more than beards.

"And so it is," said the curate, and he promised to teach it to him on the first opportunity. They then agreed

that for the present the curate should mount, and that the three should ride by turns until they reached the inn,

Three then being mounted, that is to say, Don Quixote, the princess, and the curate, and three on foot,

"Let your highness, lady, lead on whithersoever is most pleasing to you;" but before she could answer the

"Towards what kingdom would your ladyship direct our course? Is it perchance towards that of Micomicon?

She, being ready on all points, understood that she was to answer "Yes," so she said "Yes, senor, my way lies

"In that case," said the curate, "we must pass right through my village, and there your worship will take the

road to Cartagena, where you will be able to embark, fortune favouring; and if the wind be fair and the sea

smooth and tranquil, in somewhat less than nine years you may come in sight of the great lake Meona, I mean

Meotides, which is little more than a hundred days' journey this side of your highness's kingdom."

"Your worship is mistaken, senor," said she; "for it is not two years since I set out from it, and though I never

had good weather, nevertheless I am here to behold what I so longed for, and that is my lord Don Quixote of

La Mancha, whose fame came to my ears as soon as I set foot in Spain and impelled me to go in search of

him, to commend myself to his courtesy, and entrust the justice of my cause to the might of his invincible

"Enough; no more praise," said Don Quixote at this, "for I hate all flattery; and though this may not be so,

still language of the kind is offensive to my chaste ears. I will only say, senora, that whether it has might or

not, that which it may or may not have shall be devoted to your service even to death; and now, leaving this

to its proper season, I would ask the senor licentiate to tell me what it is that has brought him into these parts,

"I will answer that briefly," replied the curate; "you must know then, Senor Don Quixote, that Master

Nicholas, our friend and barber, and I were going to Seville to receive some money that a relative of mine

who went to the Indies many years ago had sent me, and not such a small sum but that it was over sixty

thousand pieces of eight, full weight, which is something; and passing by this place yesterday we were

attacked by four footpads, who stripped us even to our beards, and them they stripped off so that the barber

found it necessary to put on a false one, and even this young man here" pointing to Cardenio "they

completely transformed. But the best of it is, the story goes in the neighbourhood that those who attacked us

belong to a number of galley slaves who, they say, were set free almost on the very same spot by a man of

such valour that, in spite of the commissary and of the guards, he released the whole of them; and beyond all

doubt he must have been out of his senses, or he must be as great a scoundrel as they, or some man without

heart or conscience to let the wolf loose among the sheep, the fox among the hens, the fly among the honey.

He has defrauded justice, and opposed his king and lawful master, for he opposed his just commands; he has,

I say, robbed the galleys of their feet, stirred up the Holy Brotherhood which for many years past has been

quiet, and, lastly, has done a deed by which his soul may be lost without any gain to his body." Sancho had

told the curate and the barber of the adventure of the galley slaves, which, so much to his glory, his master

had achieved, and hence the curate in alluding to it made the most of it to see what would be said or done by

Don Quixote; who changed colour at every word, not daring to say that it was he who had been the liberator

of those worthy people. "These, then," said the curate, "were they who robbed us; and God in his mercy

The curate had hardly ceased speaking, when Sancho said, "In faith, then, senor licentiate, he who did that

deed was my master; and it was not for want of my telling him beforehand and warning him to mind what he

was about, and that it was a sin to set them at liberty, as they were all on the march there because they were

"Blockhead!" said Don Quixote at this, "it is no business or concern of knightserrant to inquire whether any

persons in affliction, in chains, or oppressed that they may meet on the high roads go that way and suffer as

they do because of their faults or because of their misfortunes. It only concerns them to aid them as persons in

need of help, having regard to their sufferings and not to their rascalities. I encountered a chaplet or string of

miserable and unfortunate people, and did for them what my sense of duty demands of me, and as for the rest

be that as it may; and whoever takes objection to it, saving the sacred dignity of the senor licentiate and his

honoured person, I say he knows little about chivalry and lies like a whoreson villain, and this I will give him

to know to the fullest extent with my sword;" and so saying he settled himself in his stirrups and pressed

down his morion; for the barber's basin, which according to him was Mambrino's helmet, he carried hanging

at the saddlebow until he could repair the damage done to it by the galley slaves.

Dorothea, who was shrewd and sprightly, and by this time thoroughly understood Don Quixote's crazy turn,

and that all except Sancho Panza were making game of him, not to be behind the rest said to him, on

observing his irritation, "Sir Knight, remember the boon you have promised me, and that in accordance with

it you must not engage in any other adventure, be it ever so pressing; calm yourself, for if the licentiate had

known that the galley slaves had been set free by that unconquered arm he would have stopped his mouth

thrice over, or even bitten his tongue three times before he would have said a word that tended towards

"That I swear heartily," said the curate, "and I would have even plucked off a moustache."

"I will hold my peace, senora," said Don Quixote, "and I will curb the natural anger that had arisen in my

breast, and will proceed in peace and quietness until I have fulfilled my promise; but in return for this

consideration I entreat you to tell me, if you have no objection to do so, what is the nature of your trouble,

and how many, who, and what are the persons of whom I am to require due satisfaction, and on whom I am to

"That I will do with all my heart," replied Dorothea, "if it will not be wearisome to you to hear of miseries

"It will not be wearisome, senora," said Don Quixote; to which Dorothea replied, "Well, if that be so, give me

your attention." As soon as she said this, Cardenio and the barber drew close to her side, eager to hear what

sort of story the quickwitted Dorothea would invent for herself; and Sancho did the same, for he was as

much taken in by her as his master; and she having settled herself comfortably in the saddle, and with the

help of coughing and other preliminaries taken time to think, began with great sprightliness of manner in this

"First of all, I would have you know, sirs, that my name is" and here she stopped for a moment, for she

forgot the name the curate had given her; but he came to her relief, seeing what her difficulty was, and said,

"It is no wonder, senora, that your highness should be confused and embarrassed in telling the tale of your

misfortunes; for such afflictions often have the effect of depriving the sufferers of memory, so that they do

not even remember their own names, as is the case now with your ladyship, who has forgotten that she is

called the Princess Micomicona, lawful heiress of the great kingdom of Micomicon; and with this cue your

highness may now recall to your sorrowful recollection all you may wish to tell us."

"That is the truth," said the damsel; "but I think from this on I shall have no need of any prompting, and I

shall bring my true story safe into port, and here it is. The king my father, who was called Tinacrio the

Sapient, was very learned in what they call magic arts, and became aware by his craft that my mother, who

was called Queen Jaramilla, was to die before he did, and that soon after he too was to depart this life, and I

was to be left an orphan without father or mother. But all this, he declared, did not so much grieve or distress

him as his certain knowledge that a prodigious giant, the lord of a great island close to our kingdom,

Pandafilando of the Scowl by name for it is averred that, though his eyes are properly placed and straight,

he always looks askew as if he squinted, and this he does out of malignity, to strike fear and terror into those

he looks at that he knew, I say, that this giant on becoming aware of my orphan condition would overrun my

kingdom with a mighty force and strip me of all, not leaving me even a small village to shelter me; but that I

could avoid all this ruin and misfortune if I were willing to marry him; however, as far as he could see, he

never expected that I would consent to a marriage so unequal; and he said no more than the truth in this, for it

has never entered my mind to marry that giant, or any other, let him be ever so great or enormous. My father

said, too, that when he was dead, and I saw Pandafilando about to invade my kingdom, I was not to wait and

attempt to defend myself, for that would be destructive to me, but that I should leave the kingdom entirely

open to him if I wished to avoid the death and total destruction of my good and loyal vassals, for there would

be no possibility of defending myself against the giant's devilish power; and that I should at once with some

of my followers set out for Spain, where I should obtain relief in my distress on finding a certain

knighterrant whose fame by that time would extend over the whole kingdom, and who would be called, if I

"'Don Quixote,' he must have said, senora," observed Sancho at this, "otherwise called the Knight of the

"That is it," said Dorothea; "he said, moreover, that he would be tall of stature and lank featured; and that on

his right side under the left shoulder, or thereabouts, he would have a grey mole with hairs like bristles."

On hearing this, Don Quixote said to his squire, "Here, Sancho my son, bear a hand and help me to strip, for I

"There is no occasion to strip," said Sancho; "for I know your worship has just such a mole on the middle of

"That is enough," said Dorothea, "for with friends we must not look too closely into trifles; and whether it be

on the shoulder or on the backbone matters little; it is enough if there is a mole, be it where it may, for it is all

the same flesh; no doubt my good father hit the truth in every particular, and I have made a lucky hit in

commending myself to Don Quixote; for he is the one my father spoke of, as the features of his countenance

correspond with those assigned to this knight by that wide fame he has acquired not only in Spain but in all

La Mancha; for I had scarcely landed at Osuna when I heard such accounts of his achievements, that at once

"But how did you land at Osuna, senora," asked Don Quixote, "when it is not a seaport?"

But before Dorothea could reply the curate anticipated her, saying, "The princess meant to say that after she

had landed at Malaga the first place where she heard of your worship was Osuna."

"And that would be only natural," said the curate. "Will your majesty please proceed?"

"There is no more to add," said Dorothea, "save that in finding Don Quixote I have had such good fortune,

that I already reckon and regard myself queen and mistress of my entire dominions, since of his courtesy and

magnanimity he has granted me the boon of accompanying me whithersoever I may conduct him, which will

be only to bring him face to face with Pandafilando of the Scowl, that he may slay him and restore to me

what has been unjustly usurped by him: for all this must come to pass satisfactorily since my good father

Tinacrio the Sapient foretold it, who likewise left it declared in writing in Chaldee or Greek characters (for I

cannot read them), that if this predicted knight, after having cut the giant's throat, should be disposed to marry

me I was to offer myself at once without demur as his lawful wife, and yield him possession of my kingdom

"What thinkest thou now, friend Sancho?" said Don Quixote at this. "Hearest thou that? Did I not tell thee so?

"On my oath it is so," said Sancho; "and foul fortune to him who won't marry after slitting Senor

Pandahilado's windpipe! And then, how illfavoured the queen is! I wish the fleas in my bed were that sort!"

And so saying he cut a couple of capers in the air with every sign of extreme satisfaction, and then ran to

seize the bridle of Dorothea's mule, and checking it fell on his knees before her, begging her to give him her

hand to kiss in token of his acknowledgment of her as his queen and mistress. Which of the bystanders could

have helped laughing to see the madness of the master and the simplicity of the servant? Dorothea therefore

gave her hand, and promised to make him a great lord in her kingdom, when Heaven should be so good as to

permit her to recover and enjoy it, for which Sancho returned thanks in words that set them all laughing

"This, sirs," continued Dorothea, "is my story; it only remains to tell you that of all the attendants I took with

me from my kingdom I have none left except this wellbearded squire, for all were drowned in a great

tempest we encountered when in sight of port; and he and I came to land on a couple of planks as if by a

miracle; and indeed the whole course of my life is a miracle and a mystery as you may have observed; and if

I have been over minute in any respect or not as precise as I ought, let it be accounted for by what the

licentiate said at the beginning of my tale, that constant and excessive troubles deprive the sufferers of their

"They shall not deprive me of mine, exalted and worthy princess," said Don Quixote, "however great and

unexampled those which I shall endure in your service may be; and here I confirm anew the boon I have

promised you, and I swear to go with you to the end of the world until I find myself in the presence of your

fierce enemy, whose haughty head I trust by the aid of my arm to cut off with the edge of this I will not say

good sword, thanks to Gines de Pasamonte who carried away mine" (this he said between his teeth, and then

continued), "and when it has been cut off and you have been put in peaceful possession of your realm it shall

be left to your own decision to dispose of your person as may be most pleasing to you; for so long as my

memory is occupied, my will enslaved, and my understanding enthralled by her I say no more it is

The last words of his master about not wanting to marry were so disagreeable to Sancho that raising his voice

"By my oath, Senor Don Quixote, you are not in your right senses; for how can your worship possibly object

to marrying such an exalted princess as this? Do you think Fortune will offer you behind every stone such a

piece of luck as is offered you now? Is my lady Dulcinea fairer, perchance? Not she; nor half as fair; and I

will even go so far as to say she does not come up to the shoe of this one here. A poor chance I have of

getting that county I am waiting for if your worship goes looking for dainties in the bottom of the sea. In the

devil's name, marry, marry, and take this kingdom that comes to hand without any trouble, and when you are

king make me a marquis or governor of a province, and for the rest let the devil take it all."

Don Quixote, when he heard such blasphemies uttered against his lady Dulcinea, could not endure it, and

lifting his pike, without saying anything to Sancho or uttering a word, he gave him two such thwacks that he

brought him to the ground; and had it not been that Dorothea cried out to him to spare him he would have no

"Do you think," he said to him after a pause, "you scurvy clown, that you are to be always interfering with

me, and that you are to be always offending and I always pardoning? Don't fancy it, impious scoundrel, for

that beyond a doubt thou art, since thou hast set thy tongue going against the peerless Dulcinea. Know you

not, lout, vagabond, beggar, that were it not for the might that she infuses into my arm I should not have

strength enough to kill a flea? Say, scoffer with a viper's tongue, what think you has won this kingdom and

cut off this giant's head and made you a marquis (for all this I count as already accomplished and decided),

but the might of Dulcinea, employing my arm as the instrument of her achievements? She fights in me and

conquers in me, and I live and breathe in her, and owe my life and being to her. O whoreson scoundrel, how

ungrateful you are, you see yourself raised from the dust of the earth to be a titled lord, and the return you

make for so great a benefit is to speak evil of her who has conferred it upon you!"

Sancho was not so stunned but that he heard all his master said, and rising with some degree of nimbleness he

ran to place himself behind Dorothea's palfrey, and from that position he said to his master:

"Tell me, senor; if your worship is resolved not to marry this great princess, it is plain the kingdom will not

be yours; and not being so, how can you bestow favours upon me? That is what I complain of. Let your

worship at any rate marry this queen, now that we have got her here as if showered down from heaven, and

afterwards you may go back to my lady Dulcinea; for there must have been kings in the world who kept

mistresses. As to beauty, I have nothing to do with it; and if the truth is to be told, I like them both; though I

"How! never seen her, blasphemous traitor!" exclaimed Don Quixote; "hast thou not just now brought me a

"I mean," said Sancho, "that I did not see her so much at my leisure that I could take particular notice of her

"Now I forgive thee," said Don Quixote; "and do thou forgive me the injury I have done thee; for our first

"That I see," replied Sancho, "and with me the wish to speak is always the first impulse, and I cannot help

"For all that, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "take heed of what thou sayest, for the pitcher goes so often to the

"Well, well," said Sancho, "God is in heaven, and sees all tricks, and will judge who does most harm, I in not

"That is enough," said Dorothea; "run, Sancho, and kiss your lord's hand and beg his pardon, and

henceforward be more circumspect with your praise and abuse; and say nothing in disparagement of that lady

Toboso, of whom I know nothing save that I am her servant; and put your trust in God, for you will not fail to

Sancho advanced hanging his head and begged his master's hand, which Don Quixote with dignity presented

to him, giving him his blessing as soon as he had kissed it; he then bade him go on ahead a little, as he had

questions to ask him and matters of great importance to discuss with him. Sancho obeyed, and when the two

had gone some distance in advance Don Quixote said to him, "Since thy return I have had no opportunity or

time to ask thee many particulars touching thy mission and the answer thou hast brought back, and now that

chance has granted us the time and opportunity, deny me not the happiness thou canst give me by such good

"Let your worship ask what you will," answered Sancho, "for I shall find a way out of all as as I found a way

"I say it," he returned, "because those blows just now were more because of the quarrel the devil stirred up

between us both the other night, than for what I said against my lady Dulcinea, whom I love and reverence as

I would a relic though there is nothing of that about her merely as something belonging to your worship."

"Say no more on that subject for thy life, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for it is displeasing to me; I have

already pardoned thee for that, and thou knowest the common saying, 'for a fresh sin a fresh penance.'"

While this was going on they saw coming along the road they were following a man mounted on an ass, who

when he came close seemed to be a gipsy; but Sancho Panza, whose eyes and heart were there wherever he

saw asses, no sooner beheld the man than he knew him to be Gines de Pasamonte; and by the thread of the

gipsy he got at the ball, his ass, for it was, in fact, Dapple that carried Pasamonte, who to escape recognition

and to sell the ass had disguised himself as a gipsy, being able to speak the gipsy language, and many more,

as well as if they were his own. Sancho saw him and recognised him, and the instant he did so he shouted to

him, "Ginesillo, you thief, give up my treasure, release my life, embarrass thyself not with my repose, quit

my ass, leave my delight, be off, rip, get thee gone, thief, and give up what is not thine."

There was no necessity for so many words or objurgations, for at the first one Gines jumped down, and at a

like racing speed made off and got clear of them all. Sancho hastened to his Dapple, and embracing him he

said, "How hast thou fared, my blessing, Dapple of my eyes, my comrade?" all the while kissing him and

caressing him as if he were a human being. The ass held his peace, and let himself be kissed and caressed by

Sancho without answering a single word. They all came up and congratulated him on having found Dapple,

Don Quixote especially, who told him that notwithstanding this he would not cancel the order for the three

While the two had been going along conversing in this fashion, the curate observed to Dorothea that she had

shown great cleverness, as well in the story itself as in its conciseness, and the resemblance it bore to those of

the books of chivalry. She said that she had many times amused herself reading them; but that she did not

know the situation of the provinces or seaports, and so she had said at haphazard that she had landed at

"So I saw," said the curate, "and for that reason I made haste to say what I did, by which it was all set right.

But is it not a strange thing to see how readily this unhappy gentleman believes all these figments and lies,

simply because they are in the style and manner of the absurdities of his books?"

"So it is," said Cardenio; "and so uncommon and unexampled, that were one to attempt to invent and concoct

"But another strange thing about it," said the curate, "is that, apart from the silly things which this worthy

gentleman says in connection with his craze, when other subjects are dealt with, he can discuss them in a

perfectly rational manner, showing that his mind is quite clear and composed; so that, provided his chivalry is

not touched upon, no one would take him to be anything but a man of thoroughly sound understanding."

While they were holding this conversation Don Quixote continued his with Sancho, saying:

"Friend Panza, let us forgive and forget as to our quarrels, and tell me now, dismissing anger and irritation,

where, how, and when didst thou find Dulcinea? What was she doing? What didst thou say to her? What did

she answer? How did she look when she was reading my letter? Who copied it out for thee? and everything in

the matter that seems to thee worth knowing, asking, and learning; neither adding nor falsifying to give me

"Senor," replied Sancho, "if the truth is to be told, nobody copied out the letter for me, for I carried no letter

"It is as thou sayest," said Don Quixote, "for the notebook in which I wrote it I found in my own possession

two days after thy departure, which gave me very great vexation, as I knew not what thou wouldst do on

finding thyself without any letter; and I made sure thou wouldst return from the place where thou didst first

"So I should have done," said Sancho, "if I had not got it by heart when your worship read it to me, so that I

repeated it to a sacristan, who copied it out for me from hearing it, so exactly that he said in all the days of his

life, though he had read many a letter of excommunication, he had never seen or read so pretty a letter as

"No, senor," replied Sancho, "for as soon as I had repeated it, seeing there was no further use for it, I set

about forgetting it; and if I recollect any of it, it is that about 'Scrubbing,'I mean to say 'Sovereign Lady,' and

the end 'Yours till death, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance;' and between these two I put into it more

"All that is not unsatisfactory to me," said Don Quixote. "Go on; thou didst reach her; and what was that

queen of beauty doing? Surely thou didst find her stringing pearls, or embroidering some device in gold

"I did not," said Sancho, "but I found her winnowing two bushels of wheat in the yard of her house."

"Then depend upon it," said Don Quixote, "the grains of that wheat were pearls when touched by her hands;

"Then I promise thee," said Don Quixote, "that, winnowed by her hands, beyond a doubt the bread it made

was of the whitest; but go on; when thou gavest her my letter, did she kiss it? Did she place it on her head?

"When I went to give it to her," replied Sancho, "she was hard at it swaying from side to side with a lot of

wheat she had in the sieve, and she said to me, 'Lay the letter, friend, on the top of that sack, for I cannot read

"Discreet lady!" said Don Quixote; "that was in order to read it at her leisure and enjoy it; proceed, Sancho;

while she was engaged in her occupation what converse did she hold with thee? What did she ask about me,

and what answer didst thou give? Make haste; tell me all, and let not an atom be left behind in the

"She asked me nothing," said Sancho; "but I told her how your worship was left doing penance in her service,

naked from the waist up, in among these mountains like a savage, sleeping on the ground, not eating bread

"In saying I cursed my fortune thou saidst wrong," said Don Quixote; "for rather do I bless it and shall bless it

all the days of my life for having made me worthy of aspiring to love so lofty a lady as Dulcinea del Toboso."

"And so lofty she is," said Sancho, "that she overtops me by more than a hand'sbreadth."

"I measured in this way," said Sancho; "going to help her to put a sack of wheat on the back of an ass, we

came so close together that I could see she stood more than a good palm over me."

"Well!" said Don Quixote, "and doth she not of a truth accompany and adorn this greatness with a thousand

million charms of mind! But one thing thou wilt not deny, Sancho; when thou camest close to her didst thou

not perceive a Sabaean odour, an aromatic fragrance, a, I know not what, delicious, that I cannot find a name

for; I mean a redolence, an exhalation, as if thou wert in the shop of some dainty glover?"

"All I can say is," said Sancho, "that I did perceive a little odour, something goaty; it must have been that she

"It could not be that," said Don Quixote, "but thou must have been suffering from cold in the head, or must

have smelt thyself; for I know well what would be the scent of that rose among thorns, that lily of the field,

"Maybe so," replied Sancho; "there often comes from myself that same odour which then seemed to me to

come from her grace the lady Dulcinea; but that's no wonder, for one devil is like another."

"Well then," continued Don Quixote, "now she has done sifting the corn and sent it to the mill; what did she

"As for the letter," said Sancho, "she did not read it, for she said she could neither read nor write; instead of

that she tore it up into small pieces, saying that she did not want to let anyone read it lest her secrets should

become known in the village, and that what I had told her by word of mouth about the love your worship bore

her, and the extraordinary penance you were doing for her sake, was enough; and, to make an end of it, she

told me to tell your worship that she kissed your hands, and that she had a greater desire to see you than to

write to you; and that therefore she entreated and commanded you, on sight of this present, to come out of

these thickets, and to have done with carrying on absurdities, and to set out at once for El Toboso, unless

something else of greater importance should happen, for she had a great desire to see your worship. She

laughed greatly when I told her how your worship was called The Knight of the Rueful Countenance; I asked

her if that Biscayan the other day had been there; and she told me he had, and that he was an honest fellow; I

asked her too about the galley slaves, but she said she had not seen any as yet."

"So far all goes well," said Don Quixote; "but tell me what jewel was it that she gave thee on taking thy

leave, in return for thy tidings of me? For it is a usual and ancient custom with knights and ladies errant to

give the squires, damsels, or dwarfs who bring tidings of their ladies to the knights, or of their knights to the

ladies, some rich jewel as a guerdon for good news,' and acknowledgment of the message."

"That is very likely," said Sancho, "and a good custom it was, to my mind; but that must have been in days

gone by, for now it would seem to be the custom only to give a piece of bread and cheese; because that was

what my lady Dulcinea gave me over the top of the yardwall when I took leave of her; and more by token it

"She is generous in the extreme," said Don Quixote, "and if she did not give thee a jewel of gold, no doubt it

must have been because she had not one to hand there to give thee; but sleeves are good after Easter; I shall

see her and all shall be made right. But knowest thou what amazes me, Sancho? It seems to me thou must

have gone and come through the air, for thou hast taken but little more than three days to go to El Toboso and

return, though it is more than thirty leagues from here to there. From which I am inclined to think that the

sage magician who is my friend, and watches over my interests (for of necessity there is and must be one, or

else I should not be a right knighterrant), that this same, I say, must have helped thee to travel without thy

knowledge; for some of these sages will catch up a knighterrant sleeping in his bed, and without his

knowing how or in what way it happened, he wakes up the next day more than a thousand leagues away from

the place where he went to sleep. And if it were not for this, knightserrant would not be able to give aid to

one another in peril, as they do at every turn. For a knight, maybe, is fighting in the mountains of Armenia

with some dragon, or fierce serpent, or another knight, and gets the worst of the battle, and is at the point of

death; but when he least looks for it, there appears over against him on a cloud, or chariot of fire, another

knight, a friend of his, who just before had been in England, and who takes his part, and delivers him from

death; and at night he finds himself in his own quarters supping very much to his satisfaction; and yet from

one place to the other will have been two or three thousand leagues. And all this is done by the craft and skill

of the sage enchanters who take care of those valiant knights; so that, friend Sancho, I find no difficulty in

believing that thou mayest have gone from this place to El Toboso and returned in such a short time, since, as

I have said, some friendly sage must have carried thee through the air without thee perceiving it."

"That must have been it," said Sancho, "for indeed Rocinante went like a gipsy's ass with quicksilver in his

"Quicksilver!" said Don Quixote, "aye and what is more, a legion of devils, folk that can travel and make

others travel without being weary, exactly as the whim seizes them. But putting this aside, what thinkest thou

I ought to do about my lady's command to go and see her? For though I feel that I am bound to obey her

mandate, I feel too that I am debarred by the boon I have accorded to the princess that accompanies us, and

the law of chivalry compels me to have regard for my word in preference to my inclination; on the one hand

the desire to see my lady pursues and harasses me, on the other my solemn promise and the glory I shall win

in this enterprise urge and call me; but what I think I shall do is to travel with all speed and reach quickly the

place where this giant is, and on my arrival I shall cut off his head, and establish the princess peacefully in

her realm, and forthwith I shall return to behold the light that lightens my senses, to whom I shall make such

excuses that she will be led to approve of my delay, for she will see that it entirely tends to increase her glory

and fame; for all that I have won, am winning, or shall win by arms in this life, comes to me of the favour she

"Ah! what a sad state your worship's brains are in!" said Sancho. "Tell me, senor, do you mean to travel all

that way for nothing, and to let slip and lose so rich and great a match as this where they give as a portion a

kingdom that in sober truth I have heard say is more than twenty thousand leagues round about, and abounds

with all things necessary to support human life, and is bigger than Portugal and Castile put together? Peace,

for the love of God! Blush for what you have said, and take my advice, and forgive me, and marry at once in

the first village where there is a curate; if not, here is our licentiate who will do the business beautifully;

remember, I am old enough to give advice, and this I am giving comes pat to the purpose; for a sparrow in the

hand is better than a vulture on the wing, and he who has the good to his hand and chooses the bad, that the

"Look here, Sancho," said Don Quixote. "If thou art advising me to marry, in order that immediately on

slaying the giant I may become king, and be able to confer favours on thee, and give thee what I have

promised, let me tell thee I shall be able very easily to satisfy thy desires without marrying; for before going

into battle I will make it a stipulation that, if I come out of it victorious, even I do not marry, they shall give

me a portion portion of the kingdom, that I may bestow it upon whomsoever I choose, and when they give it

"That is plain speaking," said Sancho; "but let your worship take care to choose it on the seacoast, so that if I

don't like the life, I may be able to ship off my black vassals and deal with them as I have said; don't mind

going to see my lady Dulcinea now, but go and kill this giant and let us finish off this business; for by God it

"I hold thou art in the right of it, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and I will take thy advice as to accompanying

the princess before going to see Dulcinea; but I counsel thee not to say anything to any one, or to those who

are with us, about what we have considered and discussed, for as Dulcinea is so decorous that she does not

wish her thoughts to be known it is not right that I or anyone for me should disclose them."

"Well then, if that be so," said Sancho, "how is it that your worship makes all those you overcome by your

arm go to present themselves before my lady Dulcinea, this being the same thing as signing your name to it

that you love her and are her lover? And as those who go must perforce kneel before her and say they come

from your worship to submit themselves to her, how can the thoughts of both of you be hid?"

"O, how silly and simple thou art!" said Don Quixote; "seest thou not, Sancho, that this tends to her greater

exaltation? For thou must know that according to our way of thinking in chivalry, it is a high honour to a lady

to have many knightserrant in her service, whose thoughts never go beyond serving her for her own sake,

and who look for no other reward for their great and true devotion than that she should be willing to accept

"It is with that kind of love," said Sancho, "I have heard preachers say we ought to love our Lord, for himself

alone, without being moved by the hope of glory or the fear of punishment; though for my part, I would

"The devil take thee for a clown!" said Don Quixote, "and what shrewd things thou sayest at times! One

Master Nicholas here called out to them to wait a while, as they wanted to halt and drink at a little spring

there was there. Don Quixote drew up, not a little to the satisfaction of Sancho, for he was by this time weary

of telling so many lies, and in dread of his master catching him tripping, for though he knew that Dulcinea

was a peasant girl of El Toboso, he had never seen her in all his life. Cardenio had now put on the clothes

which Dorothea was wearing when they found her, and though they were not very good, they were far better

than those he put off. They dismounted together by the side of the spring, and with what the curate had

provided himself with at the inn they appeased, though not very well, the keen appetite they all of them

While they were so employed there happened to come by a youth passing on his way, who stopping to

examine the party at the spring, the next moment ran to Don Quixote and clasping him round the legs, began

to weep freely, saying, "O, senor, do you not know me? Look at me well; I am that lad Andres that your

Don Quixote recognised him, and taking his hand he turned to those present and said: "That your worships

may see how important it is to have knightserrant to redress the wrongs and injuries done by tyrannical and

wicked men in this world, I may tell you that some days ago passing through a wood, I heard cries and

piteous complaints as of a person in pain and distress; I immediately hastened, impelled by my bounden duty,

to the quarter whence the plaintive accents seemed to me to proceed, and I found tied to an oak this lad who

now stands before you, which in my heart I rejoice at, for his testimony will not permit me to depart from the

truth in any particular. He was, I say, tied to an oak, naked from the waist up, and a clown, whom I

afterwards found to be his master, was scarifying him by lashes with the reins of his mare. As soon as I saw

him I asked the reason of so cruel a flagellation. The boor replied that he was flogging him because he was

his servant and because of carelessness that proceeded rather from dishonesty than stupidity; on which this

boy said, 'Senor, he flogs me only because I ask for my wages.' The master made I know not what speeches

and explanations, which, though I listened to them, I did not accept. In short, I compelled the clown to unbind

him, and to swear he would take him with him, and pay him real by real, and perfumed into the bargain. Is

not all this true, Andres my son? Didst thou not mark with what authority I commanded him, and with what

humility he promised to do all I enjoined, specified, and required of him? Answer without hesitation; tell

these gentlemen what took place, that they may see that it is as great an advantage as I say to have

"All that your worship has said is quite true," answered the lad; "but the end of the business turned out just

"Not only did he not pay me," replied the lad, "but as soon as your worship had passed out of the wood and

we were alone, he tied me up again to the same oak and gave me a fresh flogging, that left me like a flayed

Saint Bartholomew; and every stroke he gave me he followed up with some jest or gibe about having made a

fool of your worship, and but for the pain I was suffering I should have laughed at the things he said. In short

he left me in such a condition that I have been until now in a hospital getting cured of the injuries which that

rascally clown inflicted on me then; for all which your worship is to blame; for if you had gone your own

way and not come where there was no call for you, nor meddled in other people's affairs, my master would

have been content with giving me one or two dozen lashes, and would have then loosed me and paid me what

he owed me; but when your worship abused him so out of measure, and gave him so many hard words, his

anger was kindled; and as he could not revenge himself on you, as soon as he saw you had left him the storm

"The mischief," said Don Quixote, "lay in my going away; for I should not have gone until I had seen thee

paid; because I ought to have known well by long experience that there is no clown who will keep his word if

he finds it will not suit him to keep it; but thou rememberest, Andres, that I swore if he did not pay thee I

would go and seek him, and find him though he were to hide himself in the whale's belly."

"Thou shalt see now whether it is of use or not," said Don Quixote; and so saying, he got up hastily and bade

Sancho bridle Rocinante, who was browsing while they were eating. Dorothea asked him what he meant to

do. He replied that he meant to go in search of this clown and chastise him for such iniquitous conduct, and

see Andres paid to the last maravedi, despite and in the teeth of all the clowns in the world. To which she

replied that he must remember that in accordance with his promise he could not engage in any enterprise until

he had concluded hers; and that as he knew this better than anyone, he should restrain his ardour until his

"That is true," said Don Quixote, "and Andres must have patience until my return as you say, senora; but I

once more swear and promise not to stop until I have seen him avenged and paid."

"I have no faith in those oaths," said Andres; "I would rather have now something to help me to get to Seville

than all the revenges in the world; if you have here anything to eat that I can take with me, give it me, and

God be with your worship and all knightserrant; and may their errands turn out as well for themselves as

Sancho took out from his store a piece of bread and another of cheese, and giving them to the lad he said,

"Here, take this, brother Andres, for we have all of us a share in your misfortune."

"This share of bread and cheese I am giving you," answered Sancho; "and God knows whether I shall feel the

want of it myself or not; for I would have you know, friend, that we squires to knightserrant have to bear a

great deal of hunger and hard fortune, and even other things more easily felt than told."

Andres seized his bread and cheese, and seeing that nobody gave him anything more, bent his head, and took

hold of the road, as the saying is. However, before leaving he said, "For the love of God, sir knighterrant, if

you ever meet me again, though you may see them cutting me to pieces, give me no aid or succour, but leave

me to my misfortune, which will not be so great but that a greater will come to me by being helped by your

worship, on whom and all the knightserrant that have ever been born God send his curse."

Don Quixote was getting up to chastise him, but he took to his heels at such a pace that no one attempted to

follow him; and mightily chapfallen was Don Quixote at Andres' story, and the others had to take great care

Their dainty repast being finished, they saddled at once, and without any adventure worth mentioning they

reached next day the inn, the object of Sancho Panza's fear and dread; but though he would have rather not

entered it, there was no help for it. The landlady, the landlord, their daughter, and Maritornes, when they saw

Don Quixote and Sancho coming, went out to welcome them with signs of hearty satisfaction, which Don

Quixote received with dignity and gravity, and bade them make up a better bed for him than the last time: to

which the landlady replied that if he paid better than he did the last time she would give him one fit for a

prince. Don Quixote said he would, so they made up a tolerable one for him in the same garret as before; and

No sooner was the door shut upon him than the landlady made at the barber, and seizing him by the beard,

"By my faith you are not going to make a beard of my tail any longer; you must give me back tail, for it is a

shame the way that thing of my husband's goes tossing about on the floor; I mean the comb that I used to

But for all she tugged at it the barber would not give it up until the licentiate told him to let her have it, as

there was now no further occasion for that stratagem, because he might declare himself and appear in his own

character, and tell Don Quixote that he had fled to this inn when those thieves the galley slaves robbed him;

and should he ask for the princess's squire, they could tell him that she had sent him on before her to give

notice to the people of her kingdom that she was coming, and bringing with her the deliverer of them all. On

this the barber cheerfully restored the tail to the landlady, and at the same time they returned all the

accessories they had borrowed to effect Don Quixote's deliverance. All the people of the inn were struck with

astonishment at the beauty of Dorothea, and even at the comely figure of the shepherd Cardenio. The curate

made them get ready such fare as there was in the inn, and the landlord, in hope of better payment, served

them up a tolerably good dinner. All this time Don Quixote was asleep, and they thought it best not to waken

While at dinner, the company consisting of the landlord, his wife, their daughter, Maritornes, and all the

travellers, they discussed the strange craze of Don Quixote and the manner in which he had been found; and

the landlady told them what had taken place between him and the carrier; and then, looking round to see if

Sancho was there, when she saw he was not, she gave them the whole story of his blanketing, which they

received with no little amusement. But on the curate observing that it was the books of chivalry which Don

"I cannot understand how that can be, for in truth to my mind there is no better reading in the world, and I

have here two or three of them, with other writings that are the very life, not only of myself but of plenty

more; for when it is harvesttime, the reapers flock here on holidays, and there is always one among them

who can read and who takes up one of these books, and we gather round him, thirty or more of us, and stay

listening to him with a delight that makes our grey hairs grow young again. At least I can say for myself that

when I hear of what furious and terrible blows the knights deliver, I am seized with the longing to do the

"And I just as much," said the landlady, "because I never have a quiet moment in my house except when you

are listening to some one reading; for then you are so taken up that for the time being you forget to scold."

"That is true," said Maritornes; "and, faith, I relish hearing these things greatly too, for they are very pretty;

especially when they describe some lady or another in the arms of her knight under the orange trees, and the

duenna who is keeping watch for them half dead with envy and fright; all this I say is as good as honey."

"And you, what do you think, young lady?" said the curate turning to the landlord's daughter.

"I don't know indeed, senor," said she; "I listen too, and to tell the truth, though I do not understand it, I like

hearing it; but it is not the blows that my father likes that I like, but the laments the knights utter when they

are separated from their ladies; and indeed they sometimes make me weep with the pity I feel for them."

"Then you would console them if it was for you they wept, young lady?" said Dorothea.

"I don't know what I should do," said the girl; "I only know that there are some of those ladies so cruel that

they call their knights tigers and lions and a thousand other foul names: and Jesus! I don't know what sort of

folk they can be, so unfeeling and heartless, that rather than bestow a glance upon a worthy man they leave

him to die or go mad. I don't know what is the good of such prudery; if it is for honour's sake, why not marry

"Hush, child," said the landlady; "it seems to me thou knowest a great deal about these things, and it is not fit

"Well then," said the curate, "bring me these books, senor landlord, for I should like to see them."

"With all my heart," said he, and going into his own room he brought out an old valise secured with a little

chain, on opening which the curate found in it three large books and some manuscripts written in a very good

hand. The first that he opened he found to be "Don Cirongilio of Thrace," and the second "Don Felixmarte of

Hircania," and the other the "History of the Great Captain Gonzalo Hernandez de Cordova, with the Life of

When the curate read the two first titles he looked over at the barber and said, "We want my friend's

"Nay," said the barber, "I can do just as well to carry them to the yard or to the hearth, and there is a very

"Are my books, then, heretics or phlegmaties that you want to burn them?" said the landlord.

"That's it," said the landlord; "but if you want to burn any, let it be that about the Great Captain and that

Diego Garcia; for I would rather have a child of mine burnt than either of the others."

"Brother," said the curate, "those two books are made up of lies, and are full of folly and nonsense; but this of

the Great Captain is a true history, and contains the deeds of Gonzalo Hernandez of Cordova, who by his

many and great achievements earned the title all over the world of the Great Captain, a famous and illustrious

name, and deserved by him alone; and this Diego Garcia de Paredes was a distinguished knight of the city of

Trujillo in Estremadura, a most gallant soldier, and of such bodily strength that with one finger he stopped a

millwheel in full motion; and posted with a twohanded sword at the foot of a bridge he kept the whole of

an immense army from passing over it, and achieved such other exploits that if, instead of his relating them

himself with the modesty of a knight and of one writing his own history, some free and unbiassed writer had

recorded them, they would have thrown into the shade all the deeds of the Hectors, Achilleses, and Rolands."

"Tell that to my father," said the landlord. "There's a thing to be astonished at! Stopping a millwheel! By

God your worship should read what I have read of Felixmarte of Hircania, how with one single backstroke he

cleft five giants asunder through the middle as if they had been made of beanpods like the little friars the

children make; and another time he attacked a very great and powerful army, in which there were more than a

million six hundred thousand soldiers, all armed from head to foot, and he routed them all as if they had been

flocks of sheep. And then, what do you say to the good Cirongilio of Thrace, that was so stout and bold; as

may be seen in the book, where it is related that as he was sailing along a river there came up out of the midst

of the water against him a fiery serpent, and he, as soon as he saw it, flung himself upon it and got astride of

its scaly shoulders, and squeezed its throat with both hands with such force that the serpent, finding he was

throttling it, had nothing for it but to let itself sink to the bottom of the river, carrying with it the knight who

would not let go his hold; and when they got down there he found himself among palaces and gardens so

pretty that it was a wonder to see; and then the serpent changed itself into an old ancient man, who told him

such things as were never heard. Hold your peace, senor; for if you were to hear this you would go mad with

Hearing this Dorothea said in a whisper to Cardenio, "Our landlord is almost fit to play a second part to Don

"I think so," said Cardenio, "for, as he shows, he accepts it as a certainty that everything those books relate

took place exactly as it is written down; and the barefooted friars themselves would not persuade him to the

"But consider, brother, said the curate once more, "there never was any Felixmarte of Hircania in the world,

nor any Cirongilio of Thrace, or any of the other knights of the same sort, that the books of chivalry talk of;

the whole thing is the fabrication and invention of idle wits, devised by them for the purpose you describe of

beguiling the time, as your reapers do when they read; for I swear to you in all seriousness there never were

any such knights in the world, and no such exploits or nonsense ever happened anywhere."

"Try that bone on another dog," said the landlord; "as if I did not know how many make five, and where my

shoe pinches me; don't think to feed me with pap, for by God I am no fool. It is a good joke for your worship

to try and persuade me that everything these good books say is nonsense and lies, and they printed by the

license of the Lords of the Royal Council, as if they were people who would allow such a lot of lies to be

printed all together, and so many battles and enchantments that they take away one's senses."

"I have told you, friend," said the curate, "that this is done to divert our idle thoughts; and as in wellordered

states games of chess, fives, and billiards are allowed for the diversion of those who do not care, or are not

obliged, or are unable to work, so books of this kind are allowed to be printed, on the supposition that, what

indeed is the truth, there can be nobody so ignorant as to take any of them for true stories; and if it were

permitted me now, and the present company desired it, I could say something about the qualities books of

chivalry should possess to be good ones, that would be to the advantage and even to the taste of some; but I

hope the time will come when I can communicate my ideas to some one who may be able to mend matters;

and in the meantime, senor landlord, believe what I have said, and take your books, and make up your mind

about their truth or falsehood, and much good may they do you; and God grant you may not fall lame of the

"No fear of that," returned the landlord; "I shall not be so mad as to make a knighterrant of myself; for I see

well enough that things are not now as they used to be in those days, when they say those famous knights

Sancho had made his appearance in the middle of this conversation, and he was very much troubled and cast

down by what he heard said about knightserrant being now no longer in vogue, and all books of chivalry

being folly and lies; and he resolved in his heart to wait and see what came of this journey of his master's, and

if it did not turn out as happily as his master expected, he determined to leave him and go back to his wife

The landlord was carrying away the valise and the books, but the curate said to him, "Wait; I want to see

what those papers are that are written in such a good hand." The landlord taking them out handed them to him

to read, and he perceived they were a work of about eight sheets of manuscript, with, in large letters at the

beginning, the title of "Novel of the Illadvised Curiosity." The curate read three or four lines to himself, and

said, "I must say the title of this novel does not seem to me a bad one, and I feel an inclination to read it all."

To which the landlord replied, "Then your reverence will do well to read it, for I can tell you that some guests

who have read it here have been much pleased with it, and have begged it of me very earnestly; but I would

not give it, meaning to return it to the person who forgot the valise, books, and papers here, for maybe he will

return here some time or other; and though I know I shall miss the books, faith I mean to return them; for

"You are very right, friend," said the curate; "but for all that, if the novel pleases me you must let me copy it."

While they were talking Cardenio had taken up the novel and begun to read it, and forming the same opinion

"I would read it," said the curate, "if the time would not be better spent in sleeping."

"It will be rest enough for me," said Dorothea, "to while away the time by listening to some tale, for my

spirits are not yet tranquil enough to let me sleep when it would be seasonable."

"Well then, in that case," said the curate, "I will read it, if it were only out of curiosity; perhaps it may contain

Master Nicholas added his entreaties to the same effect, and Sancho too; seeing which, and considering that

he would give pleasure to all, and receive it himself, the curate said, "Well then, attend to me everyone, for

In Florence, a rich and famous city of Italy in the province called Tuscany, there lived two gentlemen of

wealth and quality, Anselmo and Lothario, such great friends that by way of distinction they were called by

all that knew them "The Two Friends." They were unmarried, young, of the same age and of the same tastes,

which was enough to account for the reciprocal friendship between them. Anselmo, it is true, was somewhat

more inclined to seek pleasure in love than Lothario, for whom the pleasures of the chase had more attraction;

but on occasion Anselmo would forego his own tastes to yield to those of Lothario, and Lothario would

surrender his to fall in with those of Anselmo, and in this way their inclinations kept pace one with the other

Anselmo was deep in love with a highborn and beautiful maiden of the same city, the daughter of parents so

estimable, and so estimable herself, that he resolved, with the approval of his friend Lothario, without whom

he did nothing, to ask her of them in marriage, and did so, Lothario being the bearer of the demand, and

conducting the negotiation so much to the satisfaction of his friend that in a short time he was in possession

of the object of his desires, and Camilla so happy in having won Anselmo for her husband, that she gave

thanks unceasingly to heaven and to Lothario, by whose means such good fortune had fallen to her. The first

few days, those of a wedding being usually days of merrymaking, Lothario frequented his friend Anselmo's

house as he had been wont, striving to do honour to him and to the occasion, and to gratify him in every way

he could; but when the wedding days were over and the succession of visits and congratulations had

slackened, he began purposely to leave off going to the house of Anselmo, for it seemed to him, as it

naturally would to all men of sense, that friends' houses ought not to be visited after marriage with the same

frequency as in their masters' bachelor days: because, though true and genuine friendship cannot and should

not be in any way suspicious, still a married man's honour is a thing of such delicacy that it is held liable to

injury from brothers, much more from friends. Anselmo remarked the cessation of Lothario's visits, and

complained of it to him, saying that if he had known that marriage was to keep him from enjoying his society

as he used, he would have never married; and that, if by the thorough harmony that subsisted between them

while he was a bachelor they had earned such a sweet name as that of "The Two Friends," he should not

allow a title so rare and so delightful to be lost through a needless anxiety to act circumspectly; and so he

entreated him, if such a phrase was allowable between them, to be once more master of his house and to

come in and go out as formerly, assuring him that his wife Camilla had no other desire or inclination than that

which he would wish her to have, and that knowing how sincerely they loved one another she was grieved to

To all this and much more that Anselmo said to Lothario to persuade him to come to his house as he had been

in the habit of doing, Lothario replied with so much prudence, sense, and judgment, that Anselmo was

satisfied of his friend's good intentions, and it was agreed that on two days in the week, and on holidays,

Lothario should come to dine with him; but though this arrangement was made between them Lothario

resolved to observe it no further than he considered to be in accordance with the honour of his friend, whose

good name was more to him than his own. He said, and justly, that a married man upon whom heaven had

bestowed a beautiful wife should consider as carefully what friends he brought to his house as what female

friends his wife associated with, for what cannot be done or arranged in the marketplace, in church, at

public festivals or at stations (opportunities that husbands cannot always deny their wives), may be easily

managed in the house of the female friend or relative in whom most confidence is reposed. Lothario said, too,

that every married man should have some friend who would point out to him any negligence he might be

guilty of in his conduct, for it will sometimes happen that owing to the deep affection the husband bears his

wife either he does not caution her, or, not to vex her, refrains from telling her to do or not to do certain

things, doing or avoiding which may be a matter of honour or reproach to him; and errors of this kind he

could easily correct if warned by a friend. But where is such a friend to be found as Lothario would have, so

Of a truth I know not; Lothario alone was such a one, for with the utmost care and vigilance he watched over

the honour of his friend, and strove to diminish, cut down, and reduce the number of days for going to his

house according to their agreement, lest the visits of a young man, wealthy, highborn, and with the

attractions he was conscious of possessing, at the house of a woman so beautiful as Camilla, should be

regarded with suspicion by the inquisitive and malicious eyes of the idle public. For though his integrity and

reputation might bridle slanderous tongues, still he was unwilling to hazard either his own good name or that

of his friend; and for this reason most of the days agreed upon he devoted to some other business which he

pretended was unavoidable; so that a great portion of the day was taken up with complaints on one side and

excuses on the other. It happened, however, that on one occasion when the two were strolling together

"Thou mayest suppose, Lothario my friend, that I am unable to give sufficient thanks for the favours God has

rendered me in making me the son of such parents as mine were, and bestowing upon me with no niggard

hand what are called the gifts of nature as well as those of fortune, and above all for what he has done in

giving me thee for a friend and Camilla for a wife two treasures that I value, if not as highly as I ought, at

least as highly as I am able. And yet, with all these good things, which are commonly all that men need to

enable them to live happily, I am the most discontented and dissatisfied man in the whole world; for, I know

not how long since, I have been harassed and oppressed by a desire so strange and so unusual, that I wonder

at myself and blame and chide myself when I am alone, and strive to stifle it and hide it from my own

thoughts, and with no better success than if I were endeavouring deliberately to publish it to all the world;

and as, in short, it must come out, I would confide it to thy safe keeping, feeling sure that by this means, and

by thy readiness as a true friend to afford me relief, I shall soon find myself freed from the distress it causes

me, and that thy care will give me happiness in the same degree as my own folly has caused me misery."

The words of Anselmo struck Lothario with astonishment, unable as he was to conjecture the purport of such

a lengthy preamble; and though be strove to imagine what desire it could be that so troubled his friend, his

conjectures were all far from the truth, and to relieve the anxiety which this perplexity was causing him, he

told him he was doing a flagrant injustice to their great friendship in seeking circuitous methods of confiding

to him his most hidden thoughts, for be well knew he might reckon upon his counsel in diverting them, or his

"That is the truth," replied Anselmo, "and relying upon that I will tell thee, friend Lothario, that the desire

which harasses me is that of knowing whether my wife Camilla is as good and as perfect as I think her to be;

and I cannot satisfy myself of the truth on this point except by testing her in such a way that the trial may

prove the purity of her virtue as the fire proves that of gold; because I am persuaded, my friend, that a woman

is virtuous only in proportion as she is or is not tempted; and that she alone is strong who does not yield to

the promises, gifts, tears, and importunities of earnest lovers; for what thanks does a woman deserve for

being good if no one urges her to be bad, and what wonder is it that she is reserved and circumspect to whom

no opportunity is given of going wrong and who knows she has a husband that will take her life the first time

he detects her in an impropriety? I do not therefore hold her who is virtuous through fear or want of

opportunity in the same estimation as her who comes out of temptation and trial with a crown of victory; and

so, for these reasons and many others that I could give thee to justify and support the opinion I hold, I am

desirous that my wife Camilla should pass this crisis, and be refined and tested by the fire of finding herself

wooed and by one worthy to set his affections upon her; and if she comes out, as I know she will, victorious

from this struggle, I shall look upon my good fortune as unequalled, I shall be able to say that the cup of my

desire is full, and that the virtuous woman of whom the sage says 'Who shall find her?' has fallen to my lot.

And if the result be the contrary of what I expect, in the satisfaction of knowing that I have been right in my

opinion, I shall bear without complaint the pain which my so dearly bought experience will naturally cause

me. And, as nothing of all thou wilt urge in opposition to my wish will avail to keep me from carrying it into

effect, it is my desire, friend Lothario, that thou shouldst consent to become the instrument for effecting this

purpose that I am bent upon, for I will afford thee opportunities to that end, and nothing shall be wanting that

I may think necessary for the pursuit of a virtuous, honourable, modest and highminded woman. And

among other reasons, I am induced to entrust this arduous task to thee by the consideration that if Camilla be

conquered by thee the conquest will not be pushed to extremes, but only far enough to account that

accomplished which from a sense of honour will be left undone; thus I shall not be wronged in anything more

than intention, and my wrong will remain buried in the integrity of thy silence, which I know well will be as

lasting as that of death in what concerns me. If, therefore, thou wouldst have me enjoy what can be called

life, thou wilt at once engage in this love struggle, not lukewarmly nor slothfully, but with the energy and

zeal that my desire demands, and with the loyalty our friendship assures me of."

Such were the words Anselmo addressed to Lothario, who listened to them with such attention that, except to

say what has been already mentioned, he did not open his lips until the other had finished. Then perceiving

that he had no more to say, after regarding him for awhile, as one would regard something never before seen

that excited wonder and amazement, he said to him, "I cannot persuade myself, Anselmo my friend, that what

thou hast said to me is not in jest; if I thought that thou wert speaking seriously I would not have allowed thee

to go so far; so as to put a stop to thy long harangue by not listening to thee I verily suspect that either thou

dost not know me, or I do not know thee; but no, I know well thou art Anselmo, and thou knowest that I am

Lothario; the misfortune is, it seems to me, that thou art not the Anselmo thou wert, and must have thought

that I am not the Lothario I should be; for the things that thou hast said to me are not those of that Anselmo

who was my friend, nor are those that thou demandest of me what should be asked of the Lothario thou

knowest. True friends will prove their friends and make use of them, as a poet has said, usque ad aras;

whereby he meant that they will not make use of their friendship in things that are contrary to God's will. If

this, then, was a heathen's feeling about friendship, how much more should it be a Christian's, who knows

that the divine must not be forfeited for the sake of any human friendship? And if a friend should go so far as

to put aside his duty to Heaven to fulfil his duty to his friend, it should not be in matters that are trifling or of

little moment, but in such as affect the friend's life and honour. Now tell me, Anselmo, in which of these two

art thou imperilled, that I should hazard myself to gratify thee, and do a thing so detestable as that thou

seekest of me? Neither forsooth; on the contrary, thou dost ask of me, so far as I understand, to strive and

labour to rob thee of honour and life, and to rob myself of them at the same time; for if I take away thy

honour it is plain I take away thy life, as a man without honour is worse than dead; and being the instrument,

as thou wilt have it so, of so much wrong to thee, shall not I, too, be left without honour, and consequently

without life? Listen to me, Anselmo my friend, and be not impatient to answer me until I have said what

occurs to me touching the object of thy desire, for there will be time enough left for thee to reply and for me

Lothario then went on to say, "It seems to me, Anselmo, that thine is just now the temper of mind which is

always that of the Moors, who can never be brought to see the error of their creed by quotations from the

Holy Scriptures, or by reasons which depend upon the examination of the understanding or are founded upon

the articles of faith, but must have examples that are palpable, easy, intelligible, capable of proof, not

admitting of doubt, with mathematical demonstrations that cannot be denied, like, 'If equals be taken from

equals, the remainders are equal:' and if they do not understand this in words, and indeed they do not, it has to

be shown to them with the hands, and put before their eyes, and even with all this no one succeeds in

convincing them of the truth of our holy religion. This same mode of proceeding I shall have to adopt with

thee, for the desire which has sprung up in thee is so absurd and remote from everything that has a semblance

of reason, that I feel it would be a waste of time to employ it in reasoning with thy simplicity, for at present I

will call it by no other name; and I am even tempted to leave thee in thy folly as a punishment for thy

pernicious desire; but the friendship I bear thee, which will not allow me to desert thee in such manifest

danger of destruction, keeps me from dealing so harshly by thee. And that thou mayest clearly see this, say,

Anselmo, hast thou not told me that I must force my suit upon a modest woman, decoy one that is virtuous,

make overtures to one that is pureminded, pay court to one that is prudent? Yes, thou hast told me so. Then,

if thou knowest that thou hast a wife, modest, virtuous, pureminded and prudent, what is it that thou

seekest? And if thou believest that she will come forth victorious from all my attacks as doubtless she

would what higher titles than those she possesses now dost thou think thou canst upon her then, or in what

will she be better then than she is now? Either thou dost not hold her to be what thou sayest, or thou knowest

not what thou dost demand. If thou dost not hold her to be what thou why dost thou seek to prove her instead

of treating her as guilty in the way that may seem best to thee? but if she be as virtuous as thou believest, it is

an uncalledfor proceeding to make trial of truth itself, for, after trial, it will but be in the same estimation as

before. Thus, then, it is conclusive that to attempt things from which harm rather than advantage may come to

us is the part of unreasoning and reckless minds, more especially when they are things which we are not

forced or compelled to attempt, and which show from afar that it is plainly madness to attempt them.

"Difficulties are attempted either for the sake of God or for the sake of the world, or for both; those

undertaken for God's sake are those which the saints undertake when they attempt to live the lives of angels

in human bodies; those undertaken for the sake of the world are those of the men who traverse such a vast

expanse of water, such a variety of climates, so many strange countries, to acquire what are called the

blessings of fortune; and those undertaken for the sake of God and the world together are those of brave

soldiers, who no sooner do they see in the enemy's wall a breach as wide as a cannon ball could make, than,

casting aside all fear, without hesitating, or heeding the manifest peril that threatens them, borne onward by

the desire of defending their faith, their country, and their king, they fling themselves dauntlessly into the

midst of the thousand opposing deaths that await them. Such are the things that men are wont to attempt, and

there is honour, glory, gain, in attempting them, however full of difficulty and peril they may be; but that

which thou sayest it is thy wish to attempt and carry out will not win thee the glory of God nor the blessings

of fortune nor fame among men; for even if the issue he as thou wouldst have it, thou wilt be no happier,

richer, or more honoured than thou art this moment; and if it be otherwise thou wilt be reduced to misery

greater than can be imagined, for then it will avail thee nothing to reflect that no one is aware of the

misfortune that has befallen thee; it will suffice to torture and crush thee that thou knowest it thyself. And in

confirmation of the truth of what I say, let me repeat to thee a stanza made by the famous poet Luigi Tansillo

The anguish and the shame but greater grew In Peter's heart as morning slowly came; No eye was there to see

him, well he knew, Yet he himself was to himself a shame; Exposed to all men's gaze, or screened from view,

A noble heart will feel the pang the same; A prey to shame the sinning soul will be, Though none but heaven

Thus by keeping it secret thou wilt not escape thy sorrow, but rather thou wilt shed tears unceasingly, if not

tears of the eyes, tears of blood from the heart, like those shed by that simple doctor our poet tells us of, that

tried the test of the cup, which the wise Rinaldo, better advised, refused to do; for though this may be a poetic

fiction it contains a moral lesson worthy of attention and study and imitation. Moreover by what I am about

"Tell me, Anselmo, if Heaven or good fortune had made thee master and lawful owner of a diamond of the

finest quality, with the excellence and purity of which all the lapidaries that had seen it had been satisfied,

saying with one voice and common consent that in purity, quality, and fineness, it was all that a stone of the

kind could possibly be, thou thyself too being of the same belief, as knowing nothing to the contrary, would it

be reasonable in thee to desire to take that diamond and place it between an anvil and a hammer, and by mere

force of blows and strength of arm try if it were as hard and as fine as they said? And if thou didst, and if the

stone should resist so silly a test, that would add nothing to its value or reputation; and if it were broken, as it

might be, would not all be lost? Undoubtedly it would, leaving its owner to be rated as a fool in the opinion

of all. Consider, then, Anselmo my friend, that Camilla is a diamond of the finest quality as well in thy

estimation as in that of others, and that it is contrary to reason to expose her to the risk of being broken; for if

she remains intact she cannot rise to a higher value than she now possesses; and if she give way and be

unable to resist, bethink thee now how thou wilt be deprived of her, and with what good reason thou wilt

complain of thyself for having been the cause of her ruin and thine own. Remember there is no jewel in the

world so precious as a chaste and virtuous woman, and that the whole honour of women consists in

reputation; and since thy wife's is of that high excellence that thou knowest, wherefore shouldst thou seek to

call that truth in question? Remember, my friend, that woman is an imperfect animal, and that impediments

are not to be placed in her way to make her trip and fall, but that they should be removed, and her path left

clear of all obstacles, so that without hindrance she may run her course freely to attain the desired perfection,

which consists in being virtuous. Naturalists tell us that the ermine is a little animal which has a fur of purest

white, and that when the hunters wish to take it, they make use of this artifice. Having ascertained the places

which it frequents and passes, they stop the way to them with mud, and then rousing it, drive it towards the

spot, and as soon as the ermine comes to the mud it halts, and allows itself to be taken captive rather than

pass through the mire, and spoil and sully its whiteness, which it values more than life and liberty. The

virtuous and chaste woman is an ermine, and whiter and purer than snow is the virtue of modesty; and he who

wishes her not to lose it, but to keep and preserve it, must adopt a course different from that employed with

the ermine; he must not put before her the mire of the gifts and attentions of persevering lovers, because

perhaps and even without a perhaps she may not have sufficient virtue and natural strength in herself to

pass through and tread under foot these impediments; they must be removed, and the brightness of virtue and

the beauty of a fair fame must be put before her. A virtuous woman, too, is like a mirror, of clear shining

crystal, liable to be tarnished and dimmed by every breath that touches it. She must be treated as relics are;

adored, not touched. She must be protected and prized as one protects and prizes a fair garden full of roses

and flowers, the owner of which allows no one to trespass or pluck a blossom; enough for others that from

afar and through the iron grating they may enjoy its fragrance and its beauty. Finally let me repeat to thee

some verses that come to my mind; I heard them in a modern comedy, and it seems to me they bear upon the

point we are discussing. A prudent old man was giving advice to another, the father of a young girl, to lock

her up, watch over her and keep her in seclusion, and among other arguments he used these:

Woman is a thing of glass; But her brittleness 'tis best Not too curiously to test: Who knows what may come

Breaking is an easy matter, And it's folly to expose What you cannot mend to blows; What you can't make

This, then, all may hold as true, And the reason's plain to see; For if Danaes there be, There are golden

"All that I have said to thee so far, Anselmo, has had reference to what concerns thee; now it is right that I

should say something of what regards myself; and if I be prolix, pardon me, for the labyrinth into which thou

hast entered and from which thou wouldst have me extricate thee makes it necessary.

"Thou dost reckon me thy friend, and thou wouldst rob me of honour, a thing wholly inconsistent with

friendship; and not only dost thou aim at this, but thou wouldst have me rob thee of it also. That thou wouldst

rob me of it is clear, for when Camilla sees that I pay court to her as thou requirest, she will certainly regard

me as a man without honour or right feeling, since I attempt and do a thing so much opposed to what I owe to

my own position and thy friendship. That thou wouldst have me rob thee of it is beyond a doubt, for Camilla,

seeing that I press my suit upon her, will suppose that I have perceived in her something light that has

encouraged me to make known to her my base desire; and if she holds herself dishonoured, her dishonour

touches thee as belonging to her; and hence arises what so commonly takes place, that the husband of the

adulterous woman, though he may not be aware of or have given any cause for his wife's failure in her duty,

or (being careless or negligent) have had it in his power to prevent his dishonour, nevertheless is stigmatised

by a vile and reproachful name, and in a manner regarded with eyes of contempt instead of pity by all who

know of his wife's guilt, though they see that he is unfortunate not by his own fault, but by the lust of a

vicious consort. But I will tell thee why with good reason dishonour attaches to the husband of the unchaste

wife, though he know not that she is so, nor be to blame, nor have done anything, or given any provocation to

make her so; and be not weary with listening to me, for it will be for thy good.

"When God created our first parent in the earthly paradise, the Holy Scripture says that he infused sleep into

Adam and while he slept took a rib from his left side of which he formed our mother Eve, and when Adam

awoke and beheld her he said, 'This is flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone.' And God said 'For this shall a

man leave his father and his mother, and they shall be two in one flesh; and then was instituted the divine

sacrament of marriage, with such ties that death alone can loose them. And such is the force and virtue of this

miraculous sacrament that it makes two different persons one and the same flesh; and even more than this

when the virtuous are married; for though they have two souls they have but one will. And hence it follows

that as the flesh of the wife is one and the same with that of her husband the stains that may come upon it, or

the injuries it incurs fall upon the husband's flesh, though he, as has been said, may have given no cause for

them; for as the pain of the foot or any member of the body is felt by the whole body, because all is one flesh,

as the head feels the hurt to the ankle without having caused it, so the husband, being one with her, shares the

dishonour of the wife; and as all worldly honour or dishonour comes of flesh and blood, and the erring wife's

is of that kind, the husband must needs bear his part of it and be held dishonoured without knowing it. See,

then, Anselmo, the peril thou art encountering in seeking to disturb the peace of thy virtuous consort; see for

what an empty and illadvised curiosity thou wouldst rouse up passions that now repose in quiet in the breast

of thy chaste wife; reflect that what thou art staking all to win is little, and what thou wilt lose so much that I

leave it undescribed, not having the words to express it. But if all I have said be not enough to turn thee from

thy vile purpose, thou must seek some other instrument for thy dishonour and misfortune; for such I will not

consent to be, though I lose thy friendship, the greatest loss that I can conceive."

Having said this, the wise and virtuous Lothario was silent, and Anselmo, troubled in mind and deep in

thought, was unable for a while to utter a word in reply; but at length he said, "I have listened, Lothario my

friend, attentively, as thou hast seen, to what thou hast chosen to say to me, and in thy arguments, examples,

and comparisons I have seen that high intelligence thou dost possess, and the perfection of true friendship

thou hast reached; and likewise I see and confess that if I am not guided by thy opinion, but follow my own, I

am flying from the good and pursuing the evil. This being so, thou must remember that I am now labouring

under that infirmity which women sometimes suffer from, when the craving seizes them to eat clay, plaster,

charcoal, and things even worse, disgusting to look at, much more to eat; so that it will be necessary to have

recourse to some artifice to cure me; and this can be easily effected if only thou wilt make a beginning, even

though it be in a lukewarm and makebelieve fashion, to pay court to Camilla, who will not be so yielding

that her virtue will give way at the first attack: with this mere attempt I shall rest satisfied, and thou wilt have

done what our friendship binds thee to do, not only in giving me life, but in persuading me not to discard my

honour. And this thou art bound to do for one reason alone, that, being, as I am, resolved to apply this test, it

is not for thee to permit me to reveal my weakness to another, and so imperil that honour thou art striving to

keep me from losing; and if thine may not stand as high as it ought in the estimation of Camilla while thou art

paying court to her, that is of little or no importance, because ere long, on finding in her that constancy which

we expect, thou canst tell her the plain truth as regards our stratagem, and so regain thy place in her esteem;

and as thou art venturing so little, and by the venture canst afford me so much satisfaction, refuse not to

undertake it, even if further difficulties present themselves to thee; for, as I have said, if thou wilt only make a

Lothario seeing the fixed determination of Anselmo, and not knowing what further examples to offer or

arguments to urge in order to dissuade him from it, and perceiving that he threatened to confide his pernicious

scheme to some one else, to avoid a greater evil resolved to gratify him and do what he asked, intending to

manage the business so as to satisfy Anselmo without corrupting the mind of Camilla; so in reply he told him

not to communicate his purpose to any other, for he would undertake the task himself, and would begin it as

soon as he pleased. Anselmo embraced him warmly and affectionately, and thanked him for his offer as if he

had bestowed some great favour upon him; and it was agreed between them to set about it the next day,

Anselmo affording opportunity and time to Lothario to converse alone with Camilla, and furnishing him with

money and jewels to offer and present to her. He suggested, too, that he should treat her to music, and write

verses in her praise, and if he was unwilling to take the trouble of composing them, he offered to do it

himself. Lothario agreed to all with an intention very different from what Anselmo supposed, and with this

understanding they returned to Anselmo's house, where they found Camilla awaiting her husband anxiously

and uneasily, for he was later than usual in returning that day. Lothario repaired to his own house, and

Anselmo remained in his, as well satisfied as Lothario was troubled in mind; for he could see no satisfactory

way out of this illadvised business. That night, however, he thought of a plan by which he might deceive

Anselmo without any injury to Camilla. The next day he went to dine with his friend, and was welcomed by

Camilla, who received and treated him with great cordiality, knowing the affection her husband felt for him.

When dinner was over and the cloth removed, Anselmo told Lothario to stay there with Camilla while he

attended to some pressing business, as he would return in an hour and a half. Camilla begged him not to go,

and Lothario offered to accompany him, but nothing could persuade Anselmo, who on the contrary pressed

Lothario to remain waiting for him as he had a matter of great importance to discuss with him. At the same

time he bade Camilla not to leave Lothario alone until he came back. In short he contrived to put so good a

face on the reason, or the folly, of his absence that no one could have suspected it was a pretence.

Anselmo took his departure, and Camilla and Lothario were left alone at the table, for the rest of the

household had gone to dinner. Lothario saw himself in the lists according to his friend's wish, and facing an

enemy that could by her beauty alone vanquish a squadron of armed knights; judge whether he had good

reason to fear; but what he did was to lean his elbow on the arm of the chair, and his cheek upon his hand,

and, asking Camilla's pardon for his ill manners, he said he wished to take a little sleep until Anselmo

returned. Camilla in reply said he could repose more at his ease in the receptionroom than in his chair, and

begged of him to go in and sleep there; but Lothario declined, and there he remained asleep until the return of

Anselmo, who finding Camilla in her own room, and Lothario asleep, imagined that he had stayed away so

long as to have afforded them time enough for conversation and even for sleep, and was all impatience until

Lothario should wake up, that he might go out with him and question him as to his success. Everything fell

out as he wished; Lothario awoke, and the two at once left the house, and Anselmo asked what he was

anxious to know, and Lothario in answer told him that he had not thought it advisable to declare himself

entirely the first time, and therefore had only extolled the charms of Camilla, telling her that all the city spoke

of nothing else but her beauty and wit, for this seemed to him an excellent way of beginning to gain her

goodwill and render her disposed to listen to him with pleasure the next time, thus availing himself of the

device the devil has recourse to when he would deceive one who is on the watch; for he being the angel of

darkness transforms himself into an angel of light, and, under cover of a fair seeming, discloses himself at

length, and effects his purpose if at the beginning his wiles are not discovered. All this gave great satisfaction

to Anselmo, and he said he would afford the same opportunity every day, but without leaving the house, for

Thus, then, several days went by, and Lothario, without uttering a word to Camilla, reported to Anselmo that

he had talked with her and that he had never been able to draw from her the slightest indication of consent to

anything dishonourable, nor even a sign or shadow of hope; on the contrary, he said she would inform her

"So far well," said Anselmo; "Camilla has thus far resisted words; we must now see how she will resist

deeds. I will give you tomorrow two thousand crowns in gold for you to offer or even present, and as many

more to buy jewels to lure her, for women are fond of being becomingly attired and going gaily dressed, and

all the more so if they are beautiful, however chaste they may be; and if she resists this temptation, I will rest

Lothario replied that now he had begun he would carry on the undertaking to the end, though he perceived he

was to come out of it wearied and vanquished. The next day he received the four thousand crowns, and with

them four thousand perplexities, for he knew not what to say by way of a new falsehood; but in the end he

made up his mind to tell him that Camilla stood as firm against gifts and promises as against words, and that

there was no use in taking any further trouble, for the time was all spent to no purpose.

But chance, directing things in a different manner, so ordered it that Anselmo, having left Lothario and

Camilla alone as on other occasions, shut himself into a chamber and posted himself to watch and listen

through the keyhole to what passed between them, and perceived that for more than half an hour Lothario did

not utter a word to Camilla, nor would utter a word though he were to be there for an age; and he came to the

conclusion that what his friend had told him about the replies of Camilla was all invention and falsehood, and

to ascertain if it were so, he came out, and calling Lothario aside asked him what news he had and in what

humour Camilla was. Lothario replied that he was not disposed to go on with the business, for she had

answered him so angrily and harshly that he had no heart to say anything more to her.

"Ah, Lothario, Lothario," said Anselmo, "how ill dost thou meet thy obligations to me, and the great

confidence I repose in thee! I have been just now watching through this keyhole, and I have seen that thou

has not said a word to Camilla, whence I conclude that on the former occasions thou hast not spoken to her

either, and if this be so, as no doubt it is, why dost thou deceive me, or wherefore seekest thou by craft to

Anselmo said no more, but he had said enough to cover Lothario with shame and confusion, and he, feeling

as it were his honour touched by having been detected in a lie, swore to Anselmo that he would from that

moment devote himself to satisfying him without any deception, as he would see if he had the curiosity to

watch; though he need not take the trouble, for the pains he would take to satisfy him would remove all

suspicions from his mind. Anselmo believed him, and to afford him an opportunity more free and less liable

to surprise, he resolved to absent himself from his house for eight days, betaking himself to that of a friend of

his who lived in a village not far from the city; and, the better to account for his departure to Camilla, he so

Unhappy, shortsighted Anselmo, what art thou doing, what art thou plotting, what art thou devising? Bethink

thee thou art working against thyself, plotting thine own dishonour, devising thine own ruin. Thy wife

Camilla is virtuous, thou dost possess her in peace and quietness, no one assails thy happiness, her thoughts

wander not beyond the walls of thy house, thou art her heaven on earth, the object of her wishes, the

fulfilment of her desires, the measure wherewith she measures her will, making it conform in all things to

thine and Heaven's. If, then, the mine of her honour, beauty, virtue, and modesty yields thee without labour

all the wealth it contains and thou canst wish for, why wilt thou dig the earth in search of fresh veins, of new

unknown treasure, risking the collapse of all, since it but rests on the feeble props of her weak nature?

Bethink thee that from him who seeks impossibilities that which is possible may with justice be withheld, as

was better expressed by a poet who said: 'Tis mine to seek for life in death, Health in disease seek I,I seek in

prison freedom's breath, In traitors loyalty. So Fate that ever scorns to grant Or grace or boon to me,Since

The next day Anselmo took his departure for the village, leaving instructions with Camilla that during his

absence Lothario would come to look after his house and to dine with her, and that she was to treat him as she

would himself. Camilla was distressed, as a discreet and rightminded woman would be, at the orders her

husband left her, and bade him remember that it was not becoming that anyone should occupy his seat at the

table during his absence, and if he acted thus from not feeling confidence that she would be able to manage

his house, let him try her this time, and he would find by experience that she was equal to greater

responsibilities. Anselmo replied that it was his pleasure to have it so, and that she had only to submit and

Anselmo went, and the next day Lothario came to his house, where he was received by Camilla with a

friendly and modest welcome; but she never suffered Lothario to see her alone, for she was always attended

by her men and women servants, especially by a handmaid of hers, Leonela by name, to whom she was much

attached (for they had been brought up together from childhood in her father's house), and whom she had

kept with her after her marriage with Anselmo. The first three days Lothario did not speak to her, though he

might have done so when they removed the cloth and the servants retired to dine hastily; for such were

Camilla's orders; nay more, Leonela had directions to dine earlier than Camilla and never to leave her side.

She, however, having her thoughts fixed upon other things more to her taste, and wanting that time and

opportunity for her own pleasures, did not always obey her mistress's commands, but on the contrary left

them alone, as if they had ordered her to do so; but the modest bearing of Camilla, the calmness of her

countenance, the composure of her aspect were enough to bridle the tongue of Lothario. But the influence

which the many virtues of Camilla exerted in imposing silence on Lothario's tongue proved mischievous for

both of them, for if his tongue was silent his thoughts were busy, and could dwell at leisure upon the

perfections of Camilla's goodness and beauty one by one, charms enough to warm with love a marble statue,

not to say a heart of flesh. Lothario gazed upon her when he might have been speaking to her, and thought

how worthy of being loved she was; and thus reflection began little by little to assail his allegiance to

Anselmo, and a thousand times he thought of withdrawing from the city and going where Anselmo should

never see him nor he see Camilla. But already the delight he found in gazing on her interposed and held him

fast. He put a constraint upon himself, and struggled to repel and repress the pleasure he found in

contemplating Camilla; when alone he blamed himself for his weakness, called himself a bad friend, nay a

bad Christian; then he argued the matter and compared himself with Anselmo; always coming to the

conclusion that the folly and rashness of Anselmo had been worse than his faithlessness, and that if he could

excuse his intentions as easily before God as with man, he had no reason to fear any punishment for his

In short the beauty and goodness of Camilla, joined with the opportunity which the blind husband had placed

in his hands, overthrew the loyalty of Lothario; and giving heed to nothing save the object towards which his

inclinations led him, after Anselmo had been three days absent, during which he had been carrying on a

continual struggle with his passion, he began to make love to Camilla with so much vehemence and warmth

of language that she was overwhelmed with amazement, and could only rise from her place and retire to her

room without answering him a word. But the hope which always springs up with love was not weakened in

Lothario by this repelling demeanour; on the contrary his passion for Camilla increased, and she discovering

in him what she had never expected, knew not what to do; and considering it neither safe nor right to give

him the chance or opportunity of speaking to her again, she resolved to send, as she did that very night, one

of her servants with a letter to Anselmo, in which she addressed the following words to him.

"It is commonly said that an army looks ill without its general and a castle without its castellan, and I say that

a young married woman looks still worse without her husband unless there are very good reasons for it. I find

myself so ill at ease without you, and so incapable of enduring this separation, that unless you return quickly

I shall have to go for relief to my parents' house, even if I leave yours without a protector; for the one you left

me, if indeed he deserved that title, has, I think, more regard to his own pleasure than to what concerns you:

as you are possessed of discernment I need say no more to you, nor indeed is it fitting I should say more."

Anselmo received this letter, and from it he gathered that Lothario had already begun his task and that

Camilla must have replied to him as he would have wished; and delighted beyond measure at such

intelligence he sent word to her not to leave his house on any account, as he would very shortly return.

Camilla was astonished at Anselmo's reply, which placed her in greater perplexity than before, for she neither

dared to remain in her own house, nor yet to go to her parents'; for in remaining her virtue was imperilled,

and in going she was opposing her husband's commands. Finally she decided upon what was the worse

course for her, to remain, resolving not to fly from the presence of Lothario, that she might not give food for

gossip to her servants; and she now began to regret having written as she had to her husband, fearing he

might imagine that Lothario had perceived in her some lightness which had impelled him to lay aside the

respect he owed her; but confident of her rectitude she put her trust in God and in her own virtuous intentions,

with which she hoped to resist in silence all the solicitations of Lothario, without saying anything to her

husband so as not to involve him in any quarrel or trouble; and she even began to consider how to excuse

Lothario to Anselmo when he should ask her what it was that induced her to write that letter. With these

resolutions, more honourable than judicious or effectual, she remained the next day listening to Lothario, who

pressed his suit so strenuously that Camilla's firmness began to waver, and her virtue had enough to do to

come to the rescue of her eyes and keep them from showing signs of a certain tender compassion which the

tears and appeals of Lothario had awakened in her bosom. Lothario observed all this, and it inflamed him all

the more. In short he felt that while Anselmo's absence afforded time and opportunity he must press the siege

of the fortress, and so he assailed her selfesteem with praises of her beauty, for there is nothing that more

quickly reduces and levels the castle towers of fair women's vanity than vanity itself upon the tongue of

flattery. In fact with the utmost assiduity he undermined the rock of her purity with such engines that had

Camilla been of brass she must have fallen. He wept, he entreated, he promised, he flattered, he importuned,

he pretended with so much feeling and apparent sincerity, that he overthrew the virtuous resolves of Camilla

and won the triumph he least expected and most longed for. Camilla yielded, Camilla fell; but what wonder if

the friendship of Lothario could not stand firm? A clear proof to us that the passion of love is to be conquered

only by flying from it, and that no one should engage in a struggle with an enemy so mighty; for divine

strength is needed to overcome his human power. Leonela alone knew of her mistress's weakness, for the two

false friends and new lovers were unable to conceal it. Lothario did not care to tell Camilla the object

Anselmo had in view, nor that he had afforded him the opportunity of attaining such a result, lest she should

undervalue his love and think that it was by chance and without intending it and not of his own accord that he

A few days later Anselmo returned to his house and did not perceive what it had lost, that which he so lightly

treated and so highly prized. He went at once to see Lothario, and found him at home; they embraced each

"The tidings I have to give thee, Anselmo my friend," said Lothario, "are that thou dost possess a wife that is

worthy to be the pattern and crown of all good wives. The words that I have addressed to her were borne

away on the wind, my promises have been despised, my presents have been refused, such feigned tears as I

shed have been turned into open ridicule. In short, as Camilla is the essence of all beauty, so is she the

treasurehouse where purity dwells, and gentleness and modesty abide with all the virtues that can confer

praise, honour, and happiness upon a woman. Take back thy money, my friend; here it is, and I have had no

need to touch it, for the chastity of Camilla yields not to things so base as gifts or promises. Be content,

Anselmo, and refrain from making further proof; and as thou hast passed dryshod through the sea of those

doubts and suspicions that are and may be entertained of women, seek not to plunge again into the deep

ocean of new embarrassments, or with another pilot make trial of the goodness and strength of the bark that

Heaven has granted thee for thy passage across the sea of this world; but reckon thyself now safe in port,

moor thyself with the anchor of sound reflection, and rest in peace until thou art called upon to pay that debt

Anselmo was completely satisfied by the words of Lothario, and believed them as fully as if they had been

spoken by an oracle; nevertheless he begged of him not to relinquish the undertaking, were it but for the sake

of curiosity and amusement; though thenceforward he need not make use of the same earnest endeavours as

before; all he wished him to do was to write some verses to her, praising her under the name of Chloris, for

he himself would give her to understand that he was in love with a lady to whom he had given that name to

enable him to sing her praises with the decorum due to her modesty; and if Lothario were unwilling to take

"That will not be necessary," said Lothario, "for the muses are not such enemies of mine but that they visit

me now and then in the course of the year. Do thou tell Camilla what thou hast proposed about a pretended

amour of mine; as for the verses will make them, and if not as good as the subject deserves, they shall be at

least the best I can produce." An agreement to this effect was made between the friends, the illadvised one

and the treacherous, and Anselmo returning to his house asked Camilla the question she already wondered he

had not asked before what it was that had caused her to write the letter she had sent him. Camilla replied

that it had seemed to her that Lothario looked at her somewhat more freely than when he had been at home;

but that now she was undeceived and believed it to have been only her own imagination, for Lothario now

avoided seeing her, or being alone with her. Anselmo told her she might be quite easy on the score of that

suspicion, for he knew that Lothario was in love with a damsel of rank in the city whom he celebrated under

the name of Chloris, and that even if he were not, his fidelity and their great friendship left no room for fear.

Had not Camilla, however, been informed beforehand by Lothario that this love for Chloris was a pretence,

and that he himself had told Anselmo of it in order to be able sometimes to give utterance to the praises of

Camilla herself, no doubt she would have fallen into the despairing toils of jealousy; but being forewarned

The next day as the three were at table Anselmo asked Lothario to recite something of what he had composed

for his mistress Chloris; for as Camilla did not know her, he might safely say what he liked.

"Even did she know her," returned Lothario, "I would hide nothing, for when a lover praises his lady's beauty,

and charges her with cruelty, he casts no imputation upon her fair name; at any rate, all I can say is that

At midnight, in the silence, when the eyes Of happier mortals balmy slumbers close, The weary tale of my

unnumbered woes To Chloris and to Heaven is wont to rise. And when the light of day returning dyes The

portals of the east with tints of rose, With undiminished force my sorrow flows In broken accents and in

burning sighs. And when the sun ascends his stargirt throne, And on the earth pours down his midday

beams, Noon but renews my wailing and my tears; And with the night again goes up my moan. Yet ever in

The sonnet pleased Camilla, and still more Anselmo, for he praised it and said the lady was excessively cruel

who made no return for sincerity so manifest. On which Camilla said, "Then all that lovesmitten poets say is

"As poets they do not tell the truth," replied Lothario; "but as lovers they are not more defective in expression

"There is no doubt of that," observed Anselmo, anxious to support and uphold Lothario's ideas with Camilla,

who was as regardless of his design as she was deep in love with Lothario; and so taking delight in anything

that was his, and knowing that his thoughts and writings had her for their object, and that she herself was the

real Chloris, she asked him to repeat some other sonnet or verses if he recollected any.

"I do," replied Lothario, "but I do not think it as good as the first one, or, more correctly speaking, less bad;

I know that I am doomed; death is to me As certain as that thou, ungrateful fair, Dead at thy feet shouldst see

me lying, ere My heart repented of its love for thee. If buried in oblivion I should be, Bereft of life, fame,

favour, even there It would be found that I thy image bear Deep graven in my breast for all to see. This like

some holy relic do I prize To save me from the fate my truth entails, Truth that to thy hard heart its vigour

owes. Alas for him that under lowering skies, In peril o'er a trackless ocean sails, Where neither friendly port

Anselmo praised this second sonnet too, as he had praised the first; and so he went on adding link after link to

the chain with which he was binding himself and making his dishonour secure; for when Lothario was doing

most to dishonour him he told him he was most honoured; and thus each step that Camilla descended towards

the depths of her abasement, she mounted, in his opinion, towards the summit of virtue and fair fame.

It so happened that finding herself on one occasion alone with her maid, Camilla said to her, "I am ashamed

to think, my dear Leonela, how lightly I have valued myself that I did not compel Lothario to purchase by at

least some expenditure of time that full possession of me that I so quickly yielded him of my own free will. I

fear that he will think ill of my pliancy or lightness, not considering the irresistible influence he brought to

"Let not that trouble you, my lady," said Leonela, "for it does not take away the value of the thing given or

make it the less precious to give it quickly if it be really valuable and worthy of being prized; nay, they are

"That saying does not hold good in your case," replied Leonela, "for love, as I have heard say, sometimes

flies and sometimes walks; with this one it runs, with that it moves slowly; some it cools, others it burns;

some it wounds, others it slays; it begins the course of its desires, and at the same moment completes and

ends it; in the morning it will lay siege to a fortress and by night will have taken it, for there is no power that

can resist it; so what are you in dread of, what do you fear, when the same must have befallen Lothario, love

having chosen the absence of my lord as the instrument for subduing you? and it was absolutely necessary to

complete then what love had resolved upon, without affording the time to let Anselmo return and by his

presence compel the work to be left unfinished; for love has no better agent for carrying out his designs than

opportunity; and of opportunity he avails himself in all his feats, especially at the outset. All this I know well

myself, more by experience than by hearsay, and some day, senora, I will enlighten you on the subject, for I

am of your flesh and blood too. Moreover, lady Camilla, you did not surrender yourself or yield so quickly

but that first you saw Lothario's whole soul in his eyes, in his sighs, in his words, his promises and his gifts,

and by it and his good qualities perceived how worthy he was of your love. This, then, being the case, let not

these scrupulous and prudish ideas trouble your imagination, but be assured that Lothario prizes you as you

do him, and rest content and satisfied that as you are caught in the noose of love it is one of worth and merit

that has taken you, and one that has not only the four S's that they say true lovers ought to have, but a

complete alphabet; only listen to me and you will see how I can repeat it by rote. He is to my eyes and

thinking, Amiable, Brave, Courteous, Distinguished, Elegant, Fond, Gay, Honourable, Illustrious, Loyal,

Manly, Noble, Open, Polite, Quickwitted, Rich, and the S's according to the saying, and then Tender,

Veracious: X does not suit him, for it is a rough letter; Y has been given already; and Z Zealous for your

Camilla laughed at her maid's alphabet, and perceived her to be more experienced in love affairs than she

said, which she admitted, confessing to Camilla that she had love passages with a young man of good birth of

the same city. Camilla was uneasy at this, dreading lest it might prove the means of endangering her honour,

and asked whether her intrigue had gone beyond words, and she with little shame and much effrontery said it

had; for certain it is that ladies' imprudences make servants shameless, who, when they see their mistresses

make a false step, think nothing of going astray themselves, or of its being known. All that Camilla could do

was to entreat Leonela to say nothing about her doings to him whom she called her lover, and to conduct her

own affairs secretly lest they should come to the knowledge of Anselmo or of Lothario. Leonela said she

would, but kept her word in such a way that she confirmed Camilla's apprehension of losing her reputation

through her means; for this abandoned and bold Leonela, as soon as she perceived that her mistress's

demeanour was not what it was wont to be, had the audacity to introduce her lover into the house, confident

that even if her mistress saw him she would not dare to expose him; for the sins of mistresses entail this

mischief among others; they make themselves the slaves of their own servants, and are obliged to hide their

laxities and depravities; as was the case with Camilla, who though she perceived, not once but many times,

that Leonela was with her lover in some room of the house, not only did not dare to chide her, but afforded

her opportunities for concealing him and removed all difficulties, lest he should be seen by her husband. She

was unable, however, to prevent him from being seen on one occasion, as he sallied forth at daybreak, by

Lothario, who, not knowing who he was, at first took him for a spectre; but, as soon as he saw him hasten

away, muffling his face with his cloak and concealing himself carefully and cautiously, he rejected this

foolish idea, and adopted another, which would have been the ruin of all had not Camilla found a remedy. It

did not occur to Lothario that this man he had seen issuing at such an untimely hour from Anselmo's house

could have entered it on Leonela's account, nor did he even remember there was such a person as Leonela; all

he thought was that as Camilla had been light and yielding with him, so she had been with another; for this

further penalty the erring woman's sin brings with it, that her honour is distrusted even by him to whose

overtures and persuasions she has yielded; and he believes her to have surrendered more easily to others, and

gives implicit credence to every suspicion that comes into his mind. All Lothario's good sense seems to have

failed him at this juncture; all his prudent maxims escaped his memory; for without once reflecting rationally,

and without more ado, in his impatience and in the blindness of the jealous rage that gnawed his heart, and

dying to revenge himself upon Camilla, who had done him no wrong, before Anselmo had risen he hastened

to him and said to him, "Know, Anselmo, that for several days past I have been struggling with myself,

striving to withhold from thee what it is no longer possible or right that I should conceal from thee. Know

that Camilla's fortress has surrendered and is ready to submit to my will; and if I have been slow to reveal this

fact to thee, it was in order to see if it were some light caprice of hers, or if she sought to try me and ascertain

if the love I began to make to her with thy permission was made with a serious intention. I thought, too, that

she, if she were what she ought to be, and what we both believed her, would have ere this given thee

information of my addresses; but seeing that she delays, I believe the truth of the promise she has given me

that the next time thou art absent from the house she will grant me an interview in the closet where thy jewels

are kept (and it was true that Camilla used to meet him there); but I do not wish thee to rush precipitately to

take vengeance, for the sin is as yet only committed in intention, and Camilla's may change perhaps between

this and the appointed time, and repentance spring up in its place. As hitherto thou hast always followed my

advice wholly or in part, follow and observe this that I will give thee now, so that, without mistake, and with

mature deliberation, thou mayest satisfy thyself as to what may seem the best course; pretend to absent

thyself for two or three days as thou hast been wont to do on other occasions, and contrive to hide thyself in

the closet; for the tapestries and other things there afford great facilities for thy concealment, and then thou

wilt see with thine own eyes and I with mine what Camilla's purpose may be. And if it be a guilty one, which

may be feared rather than expected, with silence, prudence, and discretion thou canst thyself become the

Anselmo was amazed, overwhelmed, and astounded at the words of Lothario, which came upon him at a time

when he least expected to hear them, for he now looked upon Camilla as having triumphed over the

pretended attacks of Lothario, and was beginning to enjoy the glory of her victory. He remained silent for a

considerable time, looking on the ground with fixed gaze, and at length said, "Thou hast behaved, Lothario,

as I expected of thy friendship: I will follow thy advice in everything; do as thou wilt, and keep this secret as

Lothario gave him his word, but after leaving him he repented altogether of what he had said to him,

perceiving how foolishly he had acted, as he might have revenged himself upon Camilla in some less cruel

and degrading way. He cursed his want of sense, condemned his hasty resolution, and knew not what course

to take to undo the mischief or find some ready escape from it. At last he decided upon revealing all to

Camilla, and, as there was no want of opportunity for doing so, he found her alone the same day; but she, as

soon as she had the chance of speaking to him, said, "Lothario my friend, I must tell thee I have a sorrow in

my heart which fills it so that it seems ready to burst; and it will be a wonder if it does not; for the audacity of

Leonela has now reached such a pitch that every night she conceals a gallant of hers in this house and

remains with him till morning, at the expense of my reputation; inasmuch as it is open to anyone to question

it who may see him quitting my house at such unseasonable hours; but what distresses me is that I cannot

punish or chide her, for her privity to our intrigue bridles my mouth and keeps me silent about hers, while I

As Camilla said this Lothario at first imagined it was some device to delude him into the idea that the man he

had seen going out was Leonela's lover and not hers; but when he saw how she wept and suffered, and

begged him to help her, he became convinced of the truth, and the conviction completed his confusion and

remorse; however, he told Camilla not to distress herself, as he would take measures to put a stop to the

insolence of Leonela. At the same time he told her what, driven by the fierce rage of jealousy, he had said to

Anselmo, and how he had arranged to hide himself in the closet that he might there see plainly how little she

preserved her fidelity to him; and he entreated her pardon for this madness, and her advice as to how to repair

it, and escape safely from the intricate labyrinth in which his imprudence had involved him. Camilla was

struck with alarm at hearing what Lothario said, and with much anger, and great good sense, she reproved

him and rebuked his base design and the foolish and mischievous resolution he had made; but as woman has

by nature a nimbler wit than man for good and for evil, though it is apt to fail when she sets herself

deliberately to reason, Camilla on the spur of the moment thought of a way to remedy what was to all

appearance irremediable, and told Lothario to contrive that the next day Anselmo should conceal himself in

the place he mentioned, for she hoped from his concealment to obtain the means of their enjoying themselves

for the future without any apprehension; and without revealing her purpose to him entirely she charged him to

be careful, as soon as Anselmo was concealed, to come to her when Leonela should call him, and to all she

said to him to answer as he would have answered had he not known that Anselmo was listening. Lothario

pressed her to explain her intention fully, so that he might with more certainty and precaution take care to do

"I tell you," said Camilla, "there is nothing to take care of except to answer me what I shall ask you;" for she

did not wish to explain to him beforehand what she meant to do, fearing lest he should be unwilling to follow

out an idea which seemed to her such a good one, and should try or devise some other less practicable plan.

Lothario then retired, and the next day Anselmo, under pretence of going to his friend's country house, took

his departure, and then returned to conceal himself, which he was able to do easily, as Camilla and Leonela

took care to give him the opportunity; and so he placed himself in hiding in the state of agitation that it may

be imagined he would feel who expected to see the vitals of his honour laid bare before his eyes, and found

himself on the point of losing the supreme blessing he thought he possessed in his beloved Camilla. Having

made sure of Anselmo's being in his hidingplace, Camilla and Leonela entered the closet, and the instant she

set foot within it Camilla said, with a deep sigh, "Ah! dear Leonela, would it not be better, before I do what I

am unwilling you should know lest you should seek to prevent it, that you should take Anselmo's dagger that

I have asked of you and with it pierce this vile heart of mine? But no; there is no reason why I should suffer

the punishment of another's fault. I will first know what it is that the bold licentious eyes of Lothario have

seen in me that could have encouraged him to reveal to me a design so base as that which he has disclosed

regardless of his friend and of my honour. Go to the window, Leonela, and call him, for no doubt he is in the

street waiting to carry out his vile project; but mine, cruel it may be, but honourable, shall be carried out

"Ah, senora," said the crafty Leonela, who knew her part, "what is it you want to do with this dagger? Can it

be that you mean to take your own life, or Lothario's? for whichever you mean to do, it will lead to the loss of

your reputation and good name. It is better to dissemble your wrong and not give this wicked man the chance

of entering the house now and finding us alone; consider, senora, we are weak women and he is a man, and

determined, and as he comes with such a base purpose, blind and urged by passion, perhaps before you can

put yours into execution he may do what will be worse for you than taking your life. Ill betide my master,

Anselmo, for giving such authority in his house to this shameless fellow! And supposing you kill him, senora,

"What, my friend?" replied Camilla, "we shall leave him for Anselmo to bury him; for in reason it will be to

him a light labour to hide his own infamy under ground. Summon him, make haste, for all the time I delay in

taking vengeance for my wrong seems to me an offence against the loyalty I owe my husband."

Anselmo was listening to all this, and every word that Camilla uttered made him change his mind; but when

he heard that it was resolved to kill Lothario his first impulse was to come out and show himself to avert such

a disaster; but in his anxiety to see the issue of a resolution so bold and virtuous he restrained himself,

intending to come forth in time to prevent the deed. At this moment Camilla, throwing herself upon a bed that

was close by, swooned away, and Leonela began to weep bitterly, exclaiming, "Woe is me! that I should be

fated to have dying here in my arms the flower of virtue upon earth, the crown of true wives, the pattern of

chastity!" with more to the same effect, so that anyone who heard her would have taken her for the most

tenderhearted and faithful handmaid in the world, and her mistress for another persecuted Penelope.

Camilla was not long in recovering from her fainting fit and on coming to herself she said, "Why do you not

go, Leonela, to call hither that friend, the falsest to his friend the sun ever shone upon or night concealed?

Away, run, haste, speed! lest the fire of my wrath burn itself out with delay, and the righteous vengeance that

"I am just going to call him, senora," said Leonela; "but you must first give me that dagger, lest while I am

gone you should by means of it give cause to all who love you to weep all their lives."

"Go in peace, dear Leonela, I will not do so," said Camilla, "for rash and foolish as I may be, to your mind, in

defending my honour, I am not going to be so much so as that Lucretia who they say killed herself without

having done anything wrong, and without having first killed him on whom the guilt of her misfortune lay. I

shall die, if I am to die; but it must be after full vengeance upon him who has brought me here to weep over

Leonela required much pressing before she would go to summon Lothario, but at last she went, and while

awaiting her return Camilla continued, as if speaking to herself, "Good God! would it not have been more

prudent to have repulsed Lothario, as I have done many a time before, than to allow him, as I am now doing,

to think me unchaste and vile, even for the short time I must wait until I undeceive him? No doubt it would

have been better; but I should not be avenged, nor the honour of my husband vindicated, should he find so

clear and easy an escape from the strait into which his depravity has led him. Let the traitor pay with his life

for the temerity of his wanton wishes, and let the world know (if haply it shall ever come to know) that

Camilla not only preserved her allegiance to her husband, but avenged him of the man who dared to wrong

him. Still, I think it might be better to disclose this to Anselmo. But then I have called his attention to it in the

letter I wrote to him in the country, and, if he did nothing to prevent the mischief I there pointed out to him, I

suppose it was that from pure goodness of heart and trustfulness he would not and could not believe that any

thought against his honour could harbour in the breast of so stanch a friend; nor indeed did I myself believe it

for many days, nor should I have ever believed it if his insolence had not gone so far as to make it manifest

by open presents, lavish promises, and ceaseless tears. But why do I argue thus? Does a bold determination

stand in need of arguments? Surely not. Then traitors avaunt! Vengeance to my aid! Let the false one come,

approach, advance, die, yield up his life, and then befall what may. Pure I came to him whom Heaven

bestowed upon me, pure I shall leave him; and at the worst bathed in my own chaste blood and in the foul

blood of the falsest friend that friendship ever saw in the world;" and as she uttered these words she paced the

room holding the unsheathed dagger, with such irregular and disordered steps, and such gestures that one

would have supposed her to have lost her senses, and taken her for some violent desperado instead of a

Anselmo, hidden behind some tapestries where he had concealed himself, beheld and was amazed at all, and

already felt that what he had seen and heard was a sufficient answer to even greater suspicions; and he would

have been now well pleased if the proof afforded by Lothario's coming were dispensed with, as he feared

some sudden mishap; but as he was on the point of showing himself and coming forth to embrace and

undeceive his wife he paused as he saw Leonela returning, leading Lothario. Camilla when she saw him,

drawing a long line in front of her on the floor with the dagger, said to him, "Lothario, pay attention to what I

say to thee: if by any chance thou darest to cross this line thou seest, or even approach it, the instant I see thee

attempt it that same instant will I pierce my bosom with this dagger that I hold in my hand; and before thou

answerest me a word desire thee to listen to a few from me, and afterwards thou shalt reply as may please

thee. First, I desire thee to tell me, Lothario, if thou knowest my husband Anselmo, and in what light thou

regardest him; and secondly I desire to know if thou knowest me too. Answer me this, without

embarrassment or reflecting deeply what thou wilt answer, for they are no riddles I put to thee."

Lothario was not so dull but that from the first moment when Camilla directed him to make Anselmo hide

himself he understood what she intended to do, and therefore he fell in with her idea so readily and promptly

that between them they made the imposture look more true than truth; so he answered her thus: "I did not

think, fair Camilla, that thou wert calling me to ask questions so remote from the object with which I come;

but if it is to defer the promised reward thou art doing so, thou mightst have put it off still longer, for the

longing for happiness gives the more distress the nearer comes the hope of gaining it; but lest thou shouldst

say that I do not answer thy questions, I say that I know thy husband Anselmo, and that we have known each

other from our earliest years; I will not speak of what thou too knowest, of our friendship, that I may not

compel myself to testify against the wrong that love, the mighty excuse for greater errors, makes me inflict

upon him. Thee I know and hold in the same estimation as he does, for were it not so I had not for a lesser

prize acted in opposition to what I owe to my station and the holy laws of true friendship, now broken and

"If thou dost confess that," returned Camilla, "mortal enemy of all that rightly deserves to be loved, with what

face dost thou dare to come before one whom thou knowest to be the mirror wherein he is reflected on whom

thou shouldst look to see how unworthily thou him? But, woe is me, I now comprehend what has made thee

give so little heed to what thou owest to thyself; it must have been some freedom of mine, for I will not call it

immodesty, as it did not proceed from any deliberate intention, but from some heedlessness such as women

are guilty of through inadvertence when they think they have no occasion for reserve. But tell me, traitor,

when did I by word or sign give a reply to thy prayers that could awaken in thee a shadow of hope of

attaining thy base wishes? When were not thy professions of love sternly and scornfully rejected and

rebuked? When were thy frequent pledges and still more frequent gifts believed or accepted? But as I am

persuaded that no one can long persevere in the attempt to win love unsustained by some hope, I am willing

to attribute to myself the blame of thy assurance, for no doubt some thoughtlessness of mine has all this time

fostered thy hopes; and therefore will I punish myself and inflict upon myself the penalty thy guilt deserves.

And that thou mayest see that being so relentless to myself I cannot possibly be otherwise to thee, I have

summoned thee to be a witness of the sacrifice I mean to offer to the injured honour of my honoured husband,

wronged by thee with all the assiduity thou wert capable of, and by me too through want of caution in

avoiding every occasion, if I have given any, of encouraging and sanctioning thy base designs. Once more I

say the suspicion in my mind that some imprudence of mine has engendered these lawless thoughts in thee, is

what causes me most distress and what I desire most to punish with my own hands, for were any other

instrument of punishment employed my error might become perhaps more widely known; but before I do so,

in my death I mean to inflict death, and take with me one that will fully satisfy my longing for the revenge I

hope for and have; for I shall see, wheresoever it may be that I go, the penalty awarded by inflexible,

As she uttered these words, with incredible energy and swiftness she flew upon Lothario with the naked

dagger, so manifestly bent on burying it in his breast that he was almost uncertain whether these

demonstrations were real or feigned, for he was obliged to have recourse to all his skill and strength to

prevent her from striking him; and with such reality did she act this strange farce and mystification that, to

give it a colour of truth, she determined to stain it with her own blood; for perceiving, or pretending, that she

could not wound Lothario, she said, "Fate, it seems, will not grant my just desire complete satisfaction, but it

will not be able to keep me from satisfying it partially at least;" and making an effort to free the hand with the

dagger which Lothario held in his grasp, she released it, and directing the point to a place where it could not

inflict a deep wound, she plunged it into her left side high up close to the shoulder, and then allowed herself

Leonela and Lothario stood amazed and astounded at the catastrophe, and seeing Camilla stretched on the

ground and bathed in her blood they were still uncertain as to the true nature of the act. Lothario, terrified and

breathless, ran in haste to pluck out the dagger; but when he saw how slight the wound was he was relieved

of his fears and once more admired the subtlety, coolness, and ready wit of the fair Camilla; and the better to

support the part he had to play he began to utter profuse and doleful lamentations over her body as if she were

dead, invoking maledictions not only on himself but also on him who had been the means of placing him in

such a position: and knowing that his friend Anselmo heard him he spoke in such a way as to make a listener

feel much more pity for him than for Camilla, even though he supposed her dead. Leonela took her up in her

arms and laid her on the bed, entreating Lothario to go in quest of some one to attend to her wound in secret,

and at the same time asking his advice and opinion as to what they should say to Anselmo about his lady's

wound if he should chance to return before it was healed. He replied they might say what they liked, for he

was not in a state to give advice that would be of any use; all he could tell her was to try and stanch the blood,

as he was going where he should never more be seen; and with every appearance of deep grief and sorrow he

left the house; but when he found himself alone, and where there was nobody to see him, he crossed himself

unceasingly, lost in wonder at the adroitness of Camilla and the consistent acting of Leonela. He reflected

how convinced Anselmo would be that he had a second Portia for a wife, and he looked forward anxiously to

meeting him in order to rejoice together over falsehood and truth the most craftily veiled that could be

Leonela, as he told her, stanched her lady's blood, which was no more than sufficed to support her deception;

and washing the wound with a little wine she bound it up to the best of her skill, talking all the time she was

tending her in a strain that, even if nothing else had been said before, would have been enough to assure

Anselmo that he had in Camilla a model of purity. To Leonela's words Camilla added her own, calling herself

cowardly and wanting in spirit, since she had not enough at the time she had most need of it to rid herself of

the life she so much loathed. She asked her attendant's advice as to whether or not she ought to inform her

beloved husband of all that had happened, but the other bade her say nothing about it, as she would lay upon

him the obligation of taking vengeance on Lothario, which he could not do but at great risk to himself; and it

was the duty of a true wife not to give her husband provocation to quarrel, but, on the contrary, to remove it

Camilla replied that she believed she was right and that she would follow her advice, but at any rate it would

be well to consider how she was to explain the wound to Anselmo, for he could not help seeing it; to which

"How then can I know, my dear?" said Camilla, "for I should not dare to forge or keep up a falsehood if my

life depended on it. If we can think of no escape from this difficulty, it will be better to tell him the plain truth

"Be not uneasy, senora," said Leonela; "between this and tomorrow I will think of what we must say to him,

and perhaps the wound being where it is it can be hidden from his sight, and Heaven will be pleased to aid us

in a purpose so good and honourable. Compose yourself, senora, and endeavour to calm your excitement lest

my lord find you agitated; and leave the rest to my care and God's, who always supports good intentions."

Anselmo had with the deepest attention listened to and seen played out the tragedy of the death of his honour,

which the performers acted with such wonderfully effective truth that it seemed as if they had become the

realities of the parts they played. He longed for night and an opportunity of escaping from the house to go and

see his good friend Lothario, and with him give vent to his joy over the precious pearl he had gained in

having established his wife's purity. Both mistress and maid took care to give him time and opportunity to get

away, and taking advantage of it he made his escape, and at once went in quest of Lothario, and it would be

impossible to describe how he embraced him when he found him, and the things he said to him in the joy of

his heart, and the praises he bestowed upon Camilla; all which Lothario listened to without being able to

show any pleasure, for he could not forget how deceived his friend was, and how dishonourably he had

wronged him; and though Anselmo could see that Lothario was not glad, still he imagined it was only

because he had left Camilla wounded and had been himself the cause of it; and so among other things he told

him not to be distressed about Camilla's accident, for, as they had agreed to hide it from him, the wound was

evidently trifling; and that being so, he had no cause for fear, but should henceforward be of good cheer and

rejoice with him, seeing that by his means and adroitness he found himself raised to the greatest height of

happiness that he could have ventured to hope for, and desired no better pastime than making verses in praise

of Camilla that would preserve her name for all time to come. Lothario commended his purpose, and

And so Anselmo was left the most charmingly hoodwinked man there could be in the world. He himself,

persuaded he was conducting the instrument of his glory, led home by the hand him who had been the utter

destruction of his good name; whom Camilla received with averted countenance, though with smiles in her

heart. The deception was carried on for some time, until at the end of a few months Fortune turned her wheel

and the guilt which had been until then so skilfully concealed was published abroad, and Anselmo paid with

There remained but little more of the novel to be read, when Sancho Panza burst forth in wild excitement

from the garret where Don Quixote was lying, shouting, "Run, sirs! quick; and help my master, who is in the

thick of the toughest and stiffest battle I ever laid eyes on. By the living God he has given the giant, the

enemy of my lady the Princess Micomicona, such a slash that he has sliced his head clean off as if it were a

"What are you talking about, brother?" said the curate, pausing as he was about to read the remainder of the

novel. "Are you in your senses, Sancho? How the devil can it be as you say, when the giant is two thousand

Here they heard a loud noise in the chamber, and Don Quixote shouting out, "Stand, thief, brigand, villain;

now I have got thee, and thy scimitar shall not avail thee!" And then it seemed as though he were slashing

"Don't stop to listen," said Sancho, "but go in and part them or help my master: though there is no need of

that now, for no doubt the giant is dead by this time and giving account to God of his past wicked life; for I

saw the blood flowing on the ground, and the head cut off and fallen on one side, and it is as big as a large

"May I die," said the landlord at this, "if Don Quixote or Don Devil has not been slashing some of the skins

of red wine that stand full at his bed's head, and the spilt wine must be what this good fellow takes for blood;"

and so saying he went into the room and the rest after him, and there they found Don Quixote in the strangest

costume in the world. He was in his shirt, which was not long enough in front to cover his thighs completely

and was six fingers shorter behind; his legs were very long and lean, covered with hair, and anything but

clean; on his head he had a little greasy red cap that belonged to the host, round his left arm he had rolled the

blanket of the bed, to which Sancho, for reasons best known to himself, owed a grudge, and in his right hand

he held his unsheathed sword, with which he was slashing about on all sides, uttering exclamations as if he

were actually fighting some giant: and the best of it was his eyes were not open, for he was fast asleep, and

dreaming that he was doing battle with the giant. For his imagination was so wrought upon by the adventure

he was going to accomplish, that it made him dream he had already reached the kingdom of Micomicon, and

was engaged in combat with his enemy; and believing he was laying on the giant, he had given so many

sword cuts to the skins that the whole room was full of wine. On seeing this the landlord was so enraged that

he fell on Don Quixote, and with his clenched fist began to pummel him in such a way, that if Cardenio and

the curate had not dragged him off, he would have brought the war of the giant to an end. But in spite of all

the poor gentleman never woke until the barber brought a great pot of cold water from the well and flung it

with one dash all over his body, on which Don Quixote woke up, but not so completely as to understand what

was the matter. Dorothea, seeing how short and slight his attire was, would not go in to witness the battle

between her champion and her opponent. As for Sancho, he went searching all over the floor for the head of

the giant, and not finding it he said, "I see now that it's all enchantment in this house; for the last time, on this

very spot where I am now, I got ever so many thumps without knowing who gave them to me, or being able

to see anybody; and now this head is not to be seen anywhere about, though I saw it cut off with my own eyes

"What blood and fountains are you talking about, enemy of God and his saints?" said the landlord. "Don't you

see, you thief, that the blood and the fountain are only these skins here that have been stabbed and the red

wine swimming all over the room? and I wish I saw the soul of him that stabbed them swimming in hell."

"I know nothing about that," said Sancho; "all I know is it will be my bad luck that through not finding this

head my county will melt away like salt in water;" for Sancho awake was worse than his master asleep, so

The landlord was beside himself at the coolness of the squire and the mischievous doings of the master, and

swore it should not be like the last time when they went without paying; and that their privileges of chivalry

should not hold good this time to let one or other of them off without paying, even to the cost of the plugs

that would have to be put to the damaged wineskins. The curate was holding Don Quixote's hands, who,

fancying he had now ended the adventure and was in the presence of the Princess Micomicona, knelt before

the curate and said, "Exalted and beauteous lady, your highness may live from this day forth fearless of any

harm this base being could do you; and I too from this day forth am released from the promise I gave you,

since by the help of God on high and by the favour of her by whom I live and breathe, I have fulfilled it so

"Did not I say so?" said Sancho on hearing this. "You see I wasn't drunk; there you see my master has already

Who could have helped laughing at the absurdities of the pair, master and man? And laugh they did, all

except the landlord, who cursed himself; but at length the barber, Cardenio, and the curate contrived with no

small trouble to get Don Quixote on the bed, and he fell asleep with every appearance of excessive weariness.

They left him to sleep, and came out to the gate of the inn to console Sancho Panza on not having found the

head of the giant; but much more work had they to appease the landlord, who was furious at the sudden death

of his wineskins; and said the landlady half scolding, half crying, "At an evil moment and in an unlucky

hour he came into my house, this knighterrant would that I had never set eyes on him, for dear he has cost

me; the last time he went off with the overnight score against him for supper, bed, straw, and barley, for

himself and his squire and a hack and an ass, saying he was a knight adventurer God send unlucky

adventures to him and all the adventurers in the world and therefore not bound to pay anything, for it was so

settled by the knighterrantry tariff: and then, all because of him, came the other gentleman and carried off

my tail, and gives it back more than two cuartillos the worse, all stripped of its hair, so that it is no use for my

husband's purpose; and then, for a finishing touch to all, to burst my wineskins and spill my wine! I wish I

saw his own blood spilt! But let him not deceive himself, for, by the bones of my father and the shade of my

mother, they shall pay me down every quarts; or my name is not what it is, and I am not my father's

daughter." All this and more to the same effect the landlady delivered with great irritation, and her good maid

Maritornes backed her up, while the daughter held her peace and smiled from time to time. The curate

smoothed matters by promising to make good all losses to the best of his power, not only as regarded the

wineskins but also the wine, and above all the depreciation of the tail which they set such store by. Dorothea

comforted Sancho, telling him that she pledged herself, as soon as it should appear certain that his master had

decapitated the giant, and she found herself peacefully established in her kingdom, to bestow upon him the

best county there was in it. With this Sancho consoled himself, and assured the princess she might rely upon

it that he had seen the head of the giant, and more by token it had a beard that reached to the girdle, and that if

it was not to be seen now it was because everything that happened in that house went by enchantment, as he

himself had proved the last time he had lodged there. Dorothea said she fully believed it, and that he need not

be uneasy, for all would go well and turn out as he wished. All therefore being appeased, the curate was

anxious to go on with the novel, as he saw there was but little more left to read. Dorothea and the others

begged him to finish it, and he, as he was willing to please them, and enjoyed reading it himself, continued

The result was, that from the confidence Anselmo felt in Camilla's virtue, he lived happy and free from

anxiety, and Camilla purposely looked coldly on Lothario, that Anselmo might suppose her feelings towards

him to be the opposite of what they were; and the better to support the position, Lothario begged to be

excused from coming to the house, as the displeasure with which Camilla regarded his presence was plain to

be seen. But the befooled Anselmo said he would on no account allow such a thing, and so in a thousand

ways he became the author of his own dishonour, while he believed he was insuring his happiness.

Meanwhile the satisfaction with which Leonela saw herself empowered to carry on her amour reached such a

height that, regardless of everything else, she followed her inclinations unrestrainedly, feeling confident that

her mistress would screen her, and even show her how to manage it safely. At last one night Anselmo heard

footsteps in Leonela's room, and on trying to enter to see who it was, he found that the door was held against

him, which made him all the more determined to open it; and exerting his strength he forced it open, and

entered the room in time to see a man leaping through the window into the street. He ran quickly to seize him

or discover who he was, but he was unable to effect either purpose, for Leonela flung her arms round him

crying, "Be calm, senor; do not give way to passion or follow him who has escaped from this; he belongs to

Anselmo would not believe it, but blind with rage drew a dagger and threatened to stab Leonela, bidding her

tell the truth or he would kill her. She, in her fear, not knowing what she was saying, exclaimed, "Do not kill

"It would be impossible for me now," said Leonela, "I am so agitated: leave me till tomorrow, and then you

shall hear from me what will fill you with astonishment; but rest assured that he who leaped through the

window is a young man of this city, who has given me his promise to become my husband."

Anselmo was appeased with this, and was content to wait the time she asked of him, for he never expected to

hear anything against Camilla, so satisfied and sure of her virtue was he; and so he quitted the room, and left

Leonela locked in, telling her she should not come out until she had told him all she had to make known to

him. He went at once to see Camilla, and tell her, as he did, all that had passed between him and her

handmaid, and the promise she had given him to inform him matters of serious importance.

There is no need of saying whether Camilla was agitated or not, for so great was her fear and dismay, that,

making sure, as she had good reason to do, that Leonela would tell Anselmo all she knew of her faithlessness,

she had not the courage to wait and see if her suspicions were confirmed; and that same night, as soon as she

thought that Anselmo was asleep, she packed up the most valuable jewels she had and some money, and

without being observed by anybody escaped from the house and betook herself to Lothario's, to whom she

related what had occurred, imploring him to convey her to some place of safety or fly with her where they

might be safe from Anselmo. The state of perplexity to which Camilla reduced Lothario was such that he was

unable to utter a word in reply, still less to decide upon what he should do. At length he resolved to conduct

her to a convent of which a sister of his was prioress; Camilla agreed to this, and with the speed which the

circumstances demanded, Lothario took her to the convent and left her there, and then himself quitted the city

As soon as daylight came Anselmo, without missing Camilla from his side, rose cager to learn what Leonela

had to tell him, and hastened to the room where he had locked her in. He opened the door, entered, but found

no Leonela; all he found was some sheets knotted to the window, a plain proof that she had let herself down

from it and escaped. He returned, uneasy, to tell Camilla, but not finding her in bed or anywhere in the house

he was lost in amazement. He asked the servants of the house about her, but none of them could give him any

explanation. As he was going in search of Camilla it happened by chance that he observed her boxes were

lying open, and that the greater part of her jewels were gone; and now he became fully aware of his disgrace,

and that Leonela was not the cause of his misfortune; and, just as he was, without delaying to dress himself

completely, he repaired, sad at heart and dejected, to his friend Lothario to make known his sorrow to him;

but when he failed to find him and the servants reported that he had been absent from his house all night and

had taken with him all the money he had, he felt as though he were losing his senses; and to make all

complete on returning to his own house he found it deserted and empty, not one of all his servants, male or

female, remaining in it. He knew not what to think, or say, or do, and his reason seemed to be deserting him

little by little. He reviewed his position, and saw himself in a moment left without wife, friend, or servants,

abandoned, he felt, by the heaven above him, and more than all robbed of his honour, for in Camilla's

disappearance he saw his own ruin. After long reflection he resolved at last to go to his friend's village, where

he had been staying when he afforded opportunities for the contrivance of this complication of misfortune.

He locked the doors of his house, mounted his horse, and with a broken spirit set out on his journey; but he

had hardly gone halfway when, harassed by his reflections, he had to dismount and tie his horse to a tree, at

the foot of which he threw himself, giving vent to piteous heartrending sighs; and there he remained till

nearly nightfall, when he observed a man approaching on horseback from the city, of whom, after saluting

The citizen replied, "The strangest that have been heard for many a day; for it is reported abroad that

Lothario, the great friend of the wealthy Anselmo, who lived at San Giovanni, carried off last night Camilla,

the wife of Anselmo, who also has disappeared. All this has been told by a maidservant of Camilla's, whom

the governor found last night lowering herself by a sheet from the windows of Anselmo's house. I know not

indeed, precisely, how the affair came to pass; all I know is that the whole city is wondering at the

occurrence, for no one could have expected a thing of the kind, seeing the great and intimate friendship that

existed between them, so great, they say, that they were called 'The Two Friends.'"

"Not in the least," said the citizen, "though the governor has been very active in searching for them."

This disastrous intelligence almost robbed Anselmo not only of his senses but of his life. He got up as well as

he was able and reached the house of his friend, who as yet knew nothing of his misfortune, but seeing him

come pale, worn, and haggard, perceived that he was suffering some heavy affliction. Anselmo at once

begged to be allowed to retire to rest, and to be given writing materials. His wish was complied with and he

was left lying down and alone, for he desired this, and even that the door should be locked. Finding himself

alone he so took to heart the thought of his misfortune that by the signs of death he felt within him he knew

well his life was drawing to a close, and therefore he resolved to leave behind him a declaration of the cause

of his strange end. He began to write, but before he had put down all he meant to say, his breath failed him

and he yielded up his life, a victim to the suffering which his illadvised curiosity had entailed upon him. The

master of the house observing that it was now late and that Anselmo did not call, determined to go in and

ascertain if his indisposition was increasing, and found him lying on his face, his body partly in the bed,

partly on the writingtable, on which he lay with the written paper open and the pen still in his hand. Having

first called to him without receiving any answer, his host approached him, and taking him by the hand, found

that it was cold, and saw that he was dead. Greatly surprised and distressed he summoned the household to

witness the sad fate which had befallen Anselmo; and then he read the paper, the handwriting of which he

"A foolish and illadvised desire has robbed me of life. If the news of my death should reach the ears of

Camilla, let her know that I forgive her, for she was not bound to perform miracles, nor ought I to have

required her to perform them; and since I have been the author of my own dishonour, there is no reason

So far Anselmo had written, and thus it was plain that at this point, before he could finish what he had to say,

his life came to an end. The next day his friend sent intelligence of his death to his relatives, who had already

ascertained his misfortune, as well as the convent where Camilla lay almost on the point of accompanying her

husband on that inevitable journey, not on account of the tidings of his death, but because of those she

received of her lover's departure. Although she saw herself a widow, it is said she refused either to quit the

convent or take the veil, until, not long afterwards, intelligence reached her that Lothario had been killed in a

battle in which M. de Lautrec had been recently engaged with the Great Captain Gonzalo Fernandez de

Cordova in the kingdom of Naples, whither her too late repentant lover had repaired. On learning this Camilla

took the veil, and shortly afterwards died, worn out by grief and melancholy. This was the end of all three, an

"I like this novel," said the curate; "but I cannot persuade myself of its truth; and if it has been invented, the

author's invention is faulty, for it is impossible to imagine any husband so foolish as to try such a costly

experiment as Anselmo's. If it had been represented as occurring between a gallant and his mistress it might

pass; but between husband and wife there is something of an impossibility about it. As to the way in which

Just at that instant the landlord, who was standing at the gate of the inn, exclaimed, "Here comes a fine troop

"Four men," said the landlord, "riding a la jineta, with lances and bucklers, and all with black veils, and with

them there is a woman in white on a sidesaddle, whose face is also veiled, and two attendants on foot."

Hearing this Dorothea covered her face, and Cardenio retreated into Don Quixote's room, and they hardly had

time to do so before the whole party the host had described entered the inn, and the four that were on

horseback, who were of highbred appearance and bearing, dismounted, and came forward to take down the

woman who rode on the sidesaddle, and one of them taking her in his arms placed her in a chair that stood

at the entrance of the room where Cardenio had hidden himself. All this time neither she nor they had

removed their veils or spoken a word, only on sitting down on the chair the woman gave a deep sigh and let

her arms fall like one that was ill and weak. The attendants on foot then led the horses away to the stable.

Observing this the curate, curious to know who these people in such a dress and preserving such silence were,

went to where the servants were standing and put the question to one of them, who answered him.

"Faith, sir, I cannot tell you who they are, I only know they seem to be people of distinction, particularly he

who advanced to take the lady you saw in his arms; and I say so because all the rest show him respect, and

"That I cannot tell you either," said the servant, "for I have not seen her face all the way: I have indeed heard

her sigh many times and utter such groans that she seems to be giving up the ghost every time; but it is no

wonder if we do not know more than we have told you, as my comrade and I have only been in their

company two days, for having met us on the road they begged and persuaded us to accompany them to

"No, indeed," replied the servant; "they all preserve a marvellous silence on the road, for not a sound is to be

heard among them except the poor lady's sighs and sobs, which make us pity her; and we feel sure that

wherever it is she is going, it is against her will, and as far as one can judge from her dress she is a nun or,

what is more likely, about to become one; and perhaps it is because taking the vows is not of her own free

"That may well be," said the curate, and leaving them he returned to where Dorothea was, who, hearing the

veiled lady sigh, moved by natural compassion drew near to her and said, "What are you suffering from,

senora? If it be anything that women are accustomed and know how to relieve, I offer you my services with

To this the unhappy lady made no reply; and though Dorothea repeated her offers more earnestly she still

kept silence, until the gentleman with the veil, who, the servant said, was obeyed by the rest, approached and

said to Dorothea, "Do not give yourself the trouble, senora, of making any offers to that woman, for it is her

way to give no thanks for anything that is done for her; and do not try to make her answer unless you want to

"I have never told a lie," was the immediate reply of her who had been silent until now; "on the contrary, it is

because I am so truthful and so ignorant of lying devices that I am now in this miserable condition; and this I

call you yourself to witness, for it is my unstained truth that has made you false and a liar."

Cardenio heard these words clearly and distinctly, being quite close to the speaker, for there was only the

door of Don Quixote's room between them, and the instant he did so, uttering a loud exclamation he cried,

"Good God! what is this I hear? What voice is this that has reached my ears?" Startled at the voice the lady

turned her head; and not seeing the speaker she stood up and attempted to enter the room; observing which

the gentleman held her back, preventing her from moving a step. In her agitation and sudden movement the

silk with which she had covered her face fell off and disclosed a countenance of incomparable and

marvellous beauty, but pale and terrified; for she kept turning her eyes, everywhere she could direct her gaze,

with an eagerness that made her look as if she had lost her senses, and so marked that it excited the pity of

Dorothea and all who beheld her, though they knew not what caused it. The gentleman grasped her firmly by

the shoulders, and being so fully occupied with holding her back, he was unable to put a hand to his veil

which was falling off, as it did at length entirely, and Dorothea, who was holding the lady in her arms, raising

her eyes saw that he who likewise held her was her husband, Don Fernando. The instant she recognised him,

with a prolonged plaintive cry drawn from the depths of her heart, she fell backwards fainting, and but for the

barber being close by to catch her in his arms, she would have fallen completely to the ground. The curate at

once hastened to uncover her face and throw water on it, and as he did so Don Fernando, for he it was who

held the other in his arms, recognised her and stood as if deathstricken by the sight; not, however, relaxing

his grasp of Luscinda, for it was she that was struggling to release herself from his hold, having recognised

Cardenio by his voice, as he had recognised her. Cardenio also heard Dorothea's cry as she fell fainting, and

imagining that it came from his Luscinda burst forth in terror from the room, and the first thing he saw was

Don Fernando with Luscinda in his arms. Don Fernando, too, knew Cardenio at once; and all three, Luscinda,

Cardenio, and Dorothea, stood in silent amazement scarcely knowing what had happened to them.

They gazed at one another without speaking, Dorothea at Don Fernando, Don Fernando at Cardenio,

Cardenio at Luscinda, and Luscinda at Cardenio. The first to break silence was Luscinda, who thus addressed

Don Fernando: "Leave me, Senor Don Fernando, for the sake of what you owe to yourself; if no other reason

will induce you, leave me to cling to the wall of which I am the ivy, to the support from which neither your

importunities, nor your threats, nor your promises, nor your gifts have been able to detach me. See how

Heaven, by ways strange and hidden from our sight, has brought me face to face with my true husband; and

well you know by dearbought experience that death alone will be able to efface him from my memory. May

this plain declaration, then, lead you, as you can do nothing else, to turn your love into rage, your affection

into resentment, and so to take my life; for if I yield it up in the presence of my beloved husband I count it

well bestowed; it may be by my death he will be convinced that I kept my faith to him to the last moment of

Meanwhile Dorothea had come to herself, and had heard Luscinda's words, by means of which she divined

who she was; but seeing that Don Fernando did not yet release her or reply to her, summoning up her

resolution as well as she could she rose and knelt at his feet, and with a flood of bright and touching tears

"If, my lord, the beams of that sun that thou holdest eclipsed in thine arms did not dazzle and rob thine eyes

of sight thou wouldst have seen by this time that she who kneels at thy feet is, so long as thou wilt have it so,

the unhappy and unfortunate Dorothea. I am that lowly peasant girl whom thou in thy goodness or for thy

pleasure wouldst raise high enough to call herself thine; I am she who in the seclusion of innocence led a

contented life until at the voice of thy importunity, and thy true and tender passion, as it seemed, she opened

the gates of her modesty and surrendered to thee the keys of her liberty; a gift received by thee but

thanklessly, as is clearly shown by my forced retreat to the place where thou dost find me, and by thy

appearance under the circumstances in which I see thee. Nevertheless, I would not have thee suppose that I

have come here driven by my shame; it is only grief and sorrow at seeing myself forgotten by thee that have

led me. It was thy will to make me thine, and thou didst so follow thy will, that now, even though thou

repentest, thou canst not help being mine. Bethink thee, my lord, the unsurpassable affection I bear thee may

compensate for the beauty and noble birth for which thou wouldst desert me. Thou canst not be the fair

Luscinda's because thou art mine, nor can she be thine because she is Cardenio's; and it will be easier,

remember, to bend thy will to love one who adores thee, than to lead one to love thee who abhors thee now.

Thou didst address thyself to my simplicity, thou didst lay siege to my virtue, thou wert not ignorant of my

station, well dost thou know how I yielded wholly to thy will; there is no ground or reason for thee to plead

deception, and if it be so, as it is, and if thou art a Christian as thou art a gentleman, why dost thou by such

subterfuges put off making me as happy at last as thou didst at first? And if thou wilt not have me for what I

am, thy true and lawful wife, at least take and accept me as thy slave, for so long as I am thine I will count

myself happy and fortunate. Do not by deserting me let my shame become the talk of the gossips in the

streets; make not the old age of my parents miserable; for the loyal services they as faithful vassals have ever

rendered thine are not deserving of such a return; and if thou thinkest it will debase thy blood to mingle it

with mine, reflect that there is little or no nobility in the world that has not travelled the same road, and that in

illustrious lineages it is not the woman's blood that is of account; and, moreover, that true nobility consists in

virtue, and if thou art wanting in that, refusing me what in justice thou owest me, then even I have higher

claims to nobility than thine. To make an end, senor, these are my last words to thee: whether thou wilt, or

wilt not, I am thy wife; witness thy words, which must not and ought not to be false, if thou dost pride thyself

on that for want of which thou scornest me; witness the pledge which thou didst give me, and witness

Heaven, which thou thyself didst call to witness the promise thou hadst made me; and if all this fail, thy own

conscience will not fail to lift up its silent voice in the midst of all thy gaiety, and vindicate the truth of what I

All this and more the injured Dorothea delivered with such earnest feeling and such tears that all present,

even those who came with Don Fernando, were constrained to join her in them. Don Fernando listened to her

without replying, until, ceasing to speak, she gave way to such sobs and sighs that it must have been a heart

of brass that was not softened by the sight of so great sorrow. Luscinda stood regarding her with no less

compassion for her sufferings than admiration for her intelligence and beauty, and would have gone to her to

say some words of comfort to her, but was prevented by Don Fernando's grasp which held her fast. He,

overwhelmed with confusion and astonishment, after regarding Dorothea for some moments with a fixed

"Thou hast conquered, fair Dorothea, thou hast conquered, for it is impossible to have the heart to deny the

Luscinda in her feebleness was on the point of falling to the ground when Don Fernando released her, but

Cardenio, who stood near, having retreated behind Don Fernando to escape recognition, casting fear aside

and regardless of what might happen, ran forward to support her, and said as he clasped her in his arms, "If

Heaven in its compassion is willing to let thee rest at last, mistress of my heart, true, constant, and fair,

nowhere canst thou rest more safely than in these arms that now receive thee, and received thee before when

At these words Luscinda looked up at Cardenio, at first beginning to recognise him by his voice and then

satisfying herself by her eyes that it was he, and hardly knowing what she did, and heedless of all

considerations of decorum, she flung her arms around his neck and pressing her face close to his, said, "Yes,

my dear lord, you are the true master of this your slave, even though adverse fate interpose again, and fresh

A strange sight was this for Don Fernando and those that stood around, filled with surprise at an incident so

unlooked for. Dorothea fancied that Don Fernando changed colour and looked as though he meant to take

vengeance on Cardenio, for she observed him put his hand to his sword; and the instant the idea struck her,

with wonderful quickness she clasped him round the knees, and kissing them and holding him so as to

prevent his moving, she said, while her tears continued to flow, "What is it thou wouldst do, my only refuge,

in this unforeseen event? Thou hast thy wife at thy feet, and she whom thou wouldst have for thy wife is in

the arms of her husband: reflect whether it will be right for thee, whether it will be possible for thee to undo

what Heaven has done, or whether it will be becoming in thee to seek to raise her to be thy mate who in spite

of every obstacle, and strong in her truth and constancy, is before thine eyes, bathing with the tears of love

the face and bosom of her lawful husband. For God's sake I entreat of thee, for thine own I implore thee, let

not this open manifestation rouse thy anger; but rather so calm it as to allow these two lovers to live in peace

and quiet without any interference from thee so long as Heaven permits them; and in so doing thou wilt prove

the generosity of thy lofty noble spirit, and the world shall see that with thee reason has more influence than

All the time Dorothea was speaking, Cardenio, though he held Luscinda in his arms, never took his eyes off

Don Fernando, determined, if he saw him make any hostile movement, to try and defend himself and resist as

best he could all who might assail him, though it should cost him his life. But now Don Fernando's friends, as

well as the curate and the barber, who had been present all the while, not forgetting the worthy Sancho Panza,

ran forward and gathered round Don Fernando, entreating him to have regard for the tears of Dorothea, and

not suffer her reasonable hopes to be disappointed, since, as they firmly believed, what she said was but the

truth; and bidding him observe that it was not, as it might seem, by accident, but by a special disposition of

Providence that they had all met in a place where no one could have expected a meeting. And the curate bade

him remember that only death could part Luscinda from Cardenio; that even if some sword were to separate

them they would think their death most happy; and that in a case that admitted of no remedy his wisest course

was, by conquering and putting a constraint upon himself, to show a generous mind, and of his own accord

suffer these two to enjoy the happiness Heaven had granted them. He bade him, too, turn his eyes upon the

beauty of Dorothea and he would see that few if any could equal much less excel her; while to that beauty

should be added her modesty and the surpassing love she bore him. But besides all this, he reminded him that

if he prided himself on being a gentleman and a Christian, he could not do otherwise than keep his plighted

word; and that in doing so he would obey God and meet the approval of all sensible people, who know and

recognised it to be the privilege of beauty, even in one of humble birth, provided virtue accompany it, to be

able to raise itself to the level of any rank, without any slur upon him who places it upon an equality with

himself; and furthermore that when the potent sway of passion asserts itself, so long as there be no mixture of

To be brief, they added to these such other forcible arguments that Don Fernando's manly heart, being after

all nourished by noble blood, was touched, and yielded to the truth which, even had he wished it, he could not

gainsay; and he showed his submission, and acceptance of the good advice that had been offered to him, by

stooping down and embracing Dorothea, saying to her, "Rise, dear lady, it is not right that what I hold in my

heart should be kneeling at my feet; and if until now I have shown no sign of what I own, it may have been

by Heaven's decree in order that, seeing the constancy with which you love me, I may learn to value you as

you deserve. What I entreat of you is that you reproach me not with my transgression and grievous

wrongdoing; for the same cause and force that drove me to make you mine impelled me to struggle against

being yours; and to prove this, turn and look at the eyes of the now happy Luscinda, and you will see in them

an excuse for all my errors: and as she has found and gained the object of her desires, and I have found in you

what satisfies all my wishes, may she live in peace and contentment as many happy years with her Cardenio,

as on my knees I pray Heaven to allow me to live with my Dorothea;" and with these words he once more

embraced her and pressed his face to hers with so much tenderness that he had to take great heed to keep his

tears from completing the proof of his love and repentance in the sight of all. Not so Luscinda, and Cardenio,

and almost all the others, for they shed so many tears, some in their own happiness, some at that of the others,

that one would have supposed a heavy calamity had fallen upon them all. Even Sancho Panza was weeping;

though afterwards he said he only wept because he saw that Dorothea was not as he fancied the queen

Micomicona, of whom he expected such great favours. Their wonder as well as their weeping lasted some

time, and then Cardenio and Luscinda went and fell on their knees before Don Fernando, returning him

thanks for the favour he had rendered them in language so grateful that he knew not how to answer them, and

He then asked Dorothea how she had managed to reach a place so far removed from her own home, and she

in a few fitting words told all that she had previously related to Cardenio, with which Don Fernando and his

companions were so delighted that they wished the story had been longer; so charmingly did Dorothea

describe her misadventures. When she had finished Don Fernando recounted what had befallen him in the

city after he had found in Luscinda's bosom the paper in which she declared that she was Cardenio's wife, and

never could be his. He said he meant to kill her, and would have done so had he not been prevented by her

parents, and that he quitted the house full of rage and shame, and resolved to avenge himself when a more

convenient opportunity should offer. The next day he learned that Luscinda had disappeared from her father's

house, and that no one could tell whither she had gone. Finally, at the end of some months he ascertained that

she was in a convent and meant to remain there all the rest of her life, if she were not to share it with

Cardenio; and as soon as he had learned this, taking these three gentlemen as his companions, he arrived at

the place where she was, but avoided speaking to her, fearing that if it were known he was there stricter

precautions would be taken in the convent; and watching a time when the porter's lodge was open he left two

to guard the gate, and he and the other entered the convent in quest of Luscinda, whom they found in the

cloisters in conversation with one of the nuns, and carrying her off without giving her time to resist, they

reached a place with her where they provided themselves with what they required for taking her away; all

which they were able to do in complete safety, as the convent was in the country at a considerable distance

from the city. He added that when Luscinda found herself in his power she lost all consciousness, and after

returning to herself did nothing but weep and sigh without speaking a word; and thus in silence and tears they

reached that inn, which for him was reaching heaven where all the mischances of earth are over and at an

To all this Sancho listened with no little sorrow at heart to see how his hopes of dignity were fading away and

vanishing in smoke, and how the fair Princess Micomicona had turned into Dorothea, and the giant into Don

Fernando, while his master was sleeping tranquilly, totally unconscious of all that had come to pass.

Dorothea was unable to persuade herself that her present happiness was not all a dream; Cardenio was in a

similar state of mind, and Luscinda's thoughts ran in the same direction. Don Fernando gave thanks to

Heaven for the favour shown to him and for having been rescued from the intricate labyrinth in which he had

been brought so near the destruction of his good name and of his soul; and in short everybody in the inn was

full of contentment and satisfaction at the happy issue of such a complicated and hopeless business. The

curate as a sensible man made sound reflections upon the whole affair, and congratulated each upon his good

fortune; but the one that was in the highest spirits and good humour was the landlady, because of the promise

Cardenio and the curate had given her to pay for all the losses and damage she had sustained through Don

Quixote's means. Sancho, as has been already said, was the only one who was distressed, unhappy, and

dejected; and so with a long face he went in to his master, who had just awoke, and said to him:

"Sir Rueful Countenance, your worship may as well sleep on as much as you like, without troubling yourself

about killing any giant or restoring her kingdom to the princess; for that is all over and settled now."

"I should think it was," replied Don Quixote, "for I have had the most prodigious and stupendous battle with

the giant that I ever remember having had all the days of my life; and with one backstroke swish! I

brought his head tumbling to the ground, and so much blood gushed forth from him that it ran in rivulets over

"Like red wine, your worship had better say," replied Sancho; "for I would have you know, if you don't know

it, that the dead giant is a hacked wineskin, and the blood fourandtwenty gallons of red wine that it had in

its belly, and the cutoff head is the bitch that bore me; and the devil take it all."

"What art thou talking about, fool?" said Don Quixote; "art thou in thy senses?"

"Let your worship get up," said Sancho, "and you will see the nice business you have made of it, and what we

have to pay; and you will see the queen turned into a private lady called Dorothea, and other things that will

"I shall not be surprised at anything of the kind," returned Don Quixote; "for if thou dost remember the last

time we were here I told thee that everything that happened here was a matter of enchantment, and it would

"I could believe all that," replied Sancho, "if my blanketing was the same sort of thing also; only it wasn't, but

real and genuine; for I saw the landlord, Who is here today, holding one end of the blanket and jerking me

up to the skies very neatly and smartly, and with as much laughter as strength; and when it comes to be a case

of knowing people, I hold for my part, simple and sinner as I am, that there is no enchantment about it at all,

"Well, well, God will give a remedy," said Don Quixote; "hand me my clothes and let me go out, for I want

Sancho fetched him his clothes; and while he was dressing, the curate gave Don Fernando and the others

present an account of Don Quixote's madness and of the stratagem they had made use of to withdraw him

from that Pena Pobre where he fancied himself stationed because of his lady's scorn. He described to them

also nearly all the adventures that Sancho had mentioned, at which they marvelled and laughed not a little,

thinking it, as all did, the strangest form of madness a crazy intellect could be capable of. But now, the curate

said, that the lady Dorothea's good fortune prevented her from proceeding with their purpose, it would be

Cardenio proposed to carry out the scheme they had begun, and suggested that Luscinda would act and

"No," said Don Fernando, "that must not be, for I want Dorothea to follow out this idea of hers; and if the

worthy gentleman's village is not very far off, I shall be happy if I can do anything for his relief."

"Even if it were more," said Don Fernando, "I would gladly travel so far for the sake of doing so good a

"At this moment Don Quixote came out in full panoply, with Mambrino's helmet, all dinted as it was, on his

head, his buckler on his arm, and leaning on his staff or pike. The strange figure he presented filled Don

Fernando and the rest with amazement as they contemplated his lean yellow face half a league long, his

armour of all sorts, and the solemnity of his deportment. They stood silent waiting to see what he would say,

and he, fixing his eyes on the air Dorothea, addressed her with great gravity and composure:

"I am informed, fair lady, by my squire here that your greatness has been annihilated and your being

abolished, since, from a queen and lady of high degree as you used to be, you have been turned into a private

maiden. If this has been done by the command of the magician king your father, through fear that I should not

afford you the aid you need and are entitled to, I may tell you he did not know and does not know half the

mass, and was little versed in the annals of chivalry; for, if he had read and gone through them as attentively

and deliberately as I have, he would have found at every turn that knights of less renown than mine have

accomplished things more difficult: it is no great matter to kill a whelp of a giant, however arrogant he may

be; for it is not many hours since I myself was engaged with one, and I will not speak of it, that they may

not say I am lying; time, however, that reveals all, will tell the tale when we least expect it."

"You were engaged with a couple of wineskins, and not a giant," said the landlord at this; but Don Fernando

told him to hold his tongue and on no account interrupt Don Quixote, who continued, "I say in conclusion,

high and disinherited lady, that if your father has brought about this metamorphosis in your person for the

reason I have mentioned, you ought not to attach any importance to it; for there is no peril on earth through

which my sword will not force a way, and with it, before many days are over, I will bring your enemy's head

Don Quixote said no more, and waited for the reply of the princess, who aware of Don Fernando's

determination to carry on the deception until Don Quixote had been conveyed to his home, with great ease of

manner and gravity made answer, "Whoever told you, valiant Knight of the Rueful Countenance, that I had

undergone any change or transformation did not tell you the truth, for I am the same as I was yesterday. It is

true that certain strokes of good fortune, that have given me more than I could have hoped for, have made

some alteration in me; but I have not therefore ceased to be what I was before, or to entertain the same desire

I have had all through of availing myself of the might of your valiant and invincible arm. And so, senor, let

your goodness reinstate the father that begot me in your good opinion, and be assured that he was a wise and

prudent man, since by his craft he found out such a sure and easy way of remedying my misfortune; for I

believe, senor, that had it not been for you I should never have lit upon the good fortune I now possess; and in

this I am saying what is perfectly true; as most of these gentlemen who are present can fully testify. All that

remains is to set out on our journey tomorrow, for today we could not make much way; and for the rest of

the happy result I am looking forward to, I trust to God and the valour of your heart."

So said the sprightly Dorothea, and on hearing her Don Quixote turned to Sancho, and said to him, with an

angry air, "I declare now, little Sancho, thou art the greatest little villain in Spain. Say, thief and vagabond,

hast thou not just now told me that this princess had been turned into a maiden called Dorothea, and that the

head which I am persuaded I cut off from a giant was the bitch that bore thee, and other nonsense that put me

in the greatest perplexity I have ever been in all my life? I vow" (and here he looked to heaven and ground his

teeth) "I have a mind to play the mischief with thee, in a way that will teach sense for the future to all lying

"Let your worship be calm, senor," returned Sancho, "for it may well be that I have been mistaken as to the

change of the lady princess Micomicona; but as to the giant's head, or at least as to the piercing of the

wineskins, and the blood being red wine, I make no mistake, as sure as there is a God; because the wounded

skins are there at the head of your worship's bed, and the wine has made a lake of the room; if not you will

see when the eggs come to be fried; I mean when his worship the landlord calls for all the damages: for the

rest, I am heartily glad that her ladyship the queen is as she was, for it concerns me as much as anyone."

"I tell thee again, Sancho, thou art a fool," said Don Quixote; "forgive me, and that will do."

"That will do," said Don Fernando; "let us say no more about it; and as her ladyship the princess proposes to

set out tomorrow because it is too late today, so be it, and we will pass the night in pleasant conversation,

and tomorrow we will all accompany Senor Don Quixote; for we wish to witness the valiant and

unparalleled achievements he is about to perform in the course of this mighty enterprise which he has

"It is I who shall wait upon and accompany you," said Don Quixote; "and I am much gratified by the favour

that is bestowed upon me, and the good opinion entertained of me, which I shall strive to justify or it shall

Many were the compliments and expressions of politeness that passed between Don Quixote and Don

Fernando; but they were brought to an end by a traveller who at this moment entered the inn, and who

seemed from his attire to be a Christian lately come from the country of the Moors, for he was dressed in a

shortskirted coat of blue cloth with halfsleeves and without a collar; his breeches were also of blue cloth,

and his cap of the same colour, and he wore yellow buskins and had a Moorish cutlass slung from a baldric

across his breast. Behind him, mounted upon an ass, there came a woman dressed in Moorish fashion, with

her face veiled and a scarf on her head, and wearing a little brocaded cap, and a mantle that covered her from

her shoulders to her feet. The man was of a robust and wellproportioned frame, in age a little over forty,

rather swarthy in complexion, with long moustaches and a full beard, and, in short, his appearance was such

that if he had been well dressed he would have been taken for a person of quality and good birth. On entering

he asked for a room, and when they told him there was none in the inn he seemed distressed, and approaching

her who by her dress seemed to be a Moor he her down from saddle in his arms. Luscinda, Dorothea, the

landlady, her daughter and Maritornes, attracted by the strange, and to them entirely new costume, gathered

round her; and Dorothea, who was always kindly, courteous, and quickwitted, perceiving that both she and

the man who had brought her were annoyed at not finding a room, said to her, "Do not be put out, senora, by

the discomfort and want of luxuries here, for it is the way of roadside inns to be without them; still, if you

will be pleased to share our lodging with us (pointing to Luscinda) perhaps you will have found worse

To this the veiled lady made no reply; all she did was to rise from her seat, crossing her hands upon her

bosom, bowing her head and bending her body as a sign that she returned thanks. From her silence they

At this moment the captive came up, having been until now otherwise engaged, and seeing that they all stood

round his companion and that she made no reply to what they addressed to her, he said, "Ladies, this damsel

hardly understands my language and can speak none but that of her own country, for which reason she does

"Nothing has been asked of her," returned Luscinda; "she has only been offered our company for this evening

and a share of the quarters we occupy, where she shall be made as comfortable as the circumstances allow,

with the goodwill we are bound to show all strangers that stand in need of it, especially if it be a woman to

"On her part and my own, senora," replied the captive, "I kiss your hands, and I esteem highly, as I ought, the

favour you have offered, which, on such an occasion and coming from persons of your appearance, is, it is

"Tell me, senor," said Dorothea, "is this lady a Christian or a Moor? for her dress and her silence lead us to

"In dress and outwardly," said he, "she is a Moor, but at heart she is a thoroughly good Christian, for she has

"There has been no opportunity for that," replied the captive, "since she left Algiers, her native country and

home; and up to the present she has not found herself in any such imminent danger of death as to make it

necessary to baptise her before she has been instructed in all the ceremonies our holy mother Church ordains;

but, please God, ere long she shall be baptised with the solemnity befitting her which is higher than her dress

By these words he excited a desire in all who heard him, to know who the Moorish lady and the captive were,

but no one liked to ask just then, seeing that it was a fitter moment for helping them to rest themselves than

for questioning them about their lives. Dorothea took the Moorish lady by the hand and leading her to a seat

beside herself, requested her to remove her veil. She looked at the captive as if to ask him what they meant

and what she was to do. He said to her in Arabic that they asked her to take off her veil, and thereupon she

removed it and disclosed a countenance so lovely, that to Dorothea she seemed more beautiful than Luscinda,

and to Luscinda more beautiful than Dorothea, and all the bystanders felt that if any beauty could compare

with theirs it was the Moorish lady's, and there were even those who were inclined to give it somewhat the

preference. And as it is the privilege and charm of beauty to win the heart and secure goodwill, all forthwith

Don Fernando asked the captive what her name was, and he replied that it was Lela Zoraida; but the instant

she heard him, she guessed what the Christian had asked, and said hastily, with some displeasure and energy,

"No, not Zoraida; Maria, Maria!" giving them to understand that she was called "Maria" and not "Zoraida."

These words, and the touching earnestness with which she uttered them, drew more than one tear from some

of the listeners, particularly the women, who are by nature tenderhearted and compassionate. Luscinda

embraced her affectionately, saying, "Yes, yes, Maria, Maria," to which the Moor replied, "Yes, yes, Maria;

Night was now approaching, and by the orders of those who accompanied Don Fernando the landlord had

taken care and pains to prepare for them the best supper that was in his power. The hour therefore having

arrived they all took their seats at a long table like a refectory one, for round or square table there was none in

the inn, and the seat of honour at the head of it, though he was for refusing it, they assigned to Don Quixote,

who desired the lady Micomicona to place herself by his side, as he was her protector. Luscinda and Zoraida

took their places next her, opposite to them were Don Fernando and Cardenio, and next the captive and the

other gentlemen, and by the side of the ladies, the curate and the barber. And so they supped in high

enjoyment, which was increased when they observed Don Quixote leave off eating, and, moved by an

impulse like that which made him deliver himself at such length when he supped with the goatherds, begin to

"Verily, gentlemen, if we reflect upon it, great and marvellous are the things they see, who make profession

of the order of knighterrantry. Say, what being is there in this world, who entering the gate of this castle at

this moment, and seeing us as we are here, would suppose or imagine us to be what we are? Who would say

that this lady who is beside me was the great queen that we all know her to be, or that I am that Knight of the

Rueful Countenance, trumpeted far and wide by the mouth of Fame? Now, there can be no doubt that this art

and calling surpasses all those that mankind has invented, and is the more deserving of being held in honour

in proportion as it is the more exposed to peril. Away with those who assert that letters have the preeminence

over arms; I will tell them, whosoever they may be, that they know not what they say. For the reason which

such persons commonly assign, and upon which they chiefly rest, is, that the labours of the mind are greater

than those of the body, and that arms give employment to the body alone; as if the calling were a porter's

trade, for which nothing more is required than sturdy strength; or as if, in what we who profess them call

arms, there were not included acts of vigour for the execution of which high intelligence is requisite; or as if

the soul of the warrior, when he has an army, or the defence of a city under his care, did not exert itself as

much by mind as by body. Nay; see whether by bodily strength it be possible to learn or divine the intentions

of the enemy, his plans, stratagems, or obstacles, or to ward off impending mischief; for all these are the work

of the mind, and in them the body has no share whatever. Since, therefore, arms have need of the mind, as

much as letters, let us see now which of the two minds, that of the man of letters or that of the warrior, has

most to do; and this will be seen by the end and goal that each seeks to attain; for that purpose is the more

estimable which has for its aim the nobler object. The end and goal of letters I am not speaking now of

divine letters, the aim of which is to raise and direct the soul to Heaven; for with an end so infinite no other

can be compared I speak of human letters, the end of which is to establish distributive justice, give to every

man that which is his, and see and take care that good laws are observed: an end undoubtedly noble, lofty,

and deserving of high praise, but not such as should be given to that sought by arms, which have for their end

and object peace, the greatest boon that men can desire in this life. The first good news the world and

mankind received was that which the angels announced on the night that was our day, when they sang in the

air, 'Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to men of goodwill;' and the salutation which the great

Master of heaven and earth taught his disciples and chosen followers when they entered any house, was to

say, 'Peace be on this house;' and many other times he said to them, 'My peace I give unto you, my peace I

leave you, peace be with you;' a jewel and a precious gift given and left by such a hand: a jewel without

which there can be no happiness either on earth or in heaven. This peace is the true end of war; and war is

only another name for arms. This, then, being admitted, that the end of war is peace, and that so far it has the

advantage of the end of letters, let us turn to the bodily labours of the man of letters, and those of him who

Don Quixote delivered his discourse in such a manner and in such correct language, that for the time being he

made it impossible for any of his hearers to consider him a madman; on the contrary, as they were mostly

gentlemen, to whom arms are an appurtenance by birth, they listened to him with great pleasure as he

continued: "Here, then, I say is what the student has to undergo; first of all poverty: not that all are poor, but

to put the case as strongly as possible: and when I have said that he endures poverty, I think nothing more

need be said about his hard fortune, for he who is poor has no share of the good things of life. This poverty he

suffers from in various ways, hunger, or cold, or nakedness, or all together; but for all that it is not so extreme

but that he gets something to eat, though it may be at somewhat unseasonable hours and from the leavings of

the rich; for the greatest misery of the student is what they themselves call 'going out for soup,' and there is

always some neighbour's brazier or hearth for them, which, if it does not warm, at least tempers the cold to

them, and lastly, they sleep comfortably at night under a roof. I will not go into other particulars, as for

example want of shirts, and no superabundance of shoes, thin and threadbare garments, and gorging

themselves to surfeit in their voracity when good luck has treated them to a banquet of some sort. By this

road that I have described, rough and hard, stumbling here, falling there, getting up again to fall again, they

reach the rank they desire, and that once attained, we have seen many who have passed these Syrtes and

Scyllas and Charybdises, as if borne flying on the wings of favouring fortune; we have seen them, I say,

ruling and governing the world from a chair, their hunger turned into satiety, their cold into comfort, their

nakedness into fine raiment, their sleep on a mat into repose in holland and damask, the justly earned reward

of their virtue; but, contrasted and compared with what the warrior undergoes, all they have undergone falls

Continuing his discourse Don Quixote said: "As we began in the student's case with poverty and its

accompaniments, let us see now if the soldier is richer, and we shall find that in poverty itself there is no one

poorer; for he is dependent on his miserable pay, which comes late or never, or else on what he can plunder,

seriously imperilling his life and conscience; and sometimes his nakedness will be so great that a slashed

doublet serves him for uniform and shirt, and in the depth of winter he has to defend himself against the

inclemency of the weather in the open field with nothing better than the breath of his mouth, which I need not

say, coming from an empty place, must come out cold, contrary to the laws of nature. To be sure he looks

forward to the approach of night to make up for all these discomforts on the bed that awaits him, which,

unless by some fault of his, never sins by being over narrow, for he can easily measure out on the ground as

he likes, and roll himself about in it to his heart's content without any fear of the sheets slipping away from

him. Then, after all this, suppose the day and hour for taking his degree in his calling to have come; suppose

the day of battle to have arrived, when they invest him with the doctor's cap made of lint, to mend some

bullethole, perhaps, that has gone through his temples, or left him with a crippled arm or leg. Or if this does

not happen, and merciful Heaven watches over him and keeps him safe and sound, it may be he will be in the

same poverty he was in before, and he must go through more engagements and more battles, and come

victorious out of all before he betters himself; but miracles of that sort are seldom seen. For tell me, sirs, if

you have ever reflected upon it, by how much do those who have gained by war fall short of the number of

those who have perished in it? No doubt you will reply that there can be no comparison, that the dead cannot

be numbered, while the living who have been rewarded may be summed up with three figures. All which is

the reverse in the case of men of letters; for by skirts, to say nothing of sleeves, they all find means of

support; so that though the soldier has more to endure, his reward is much less. But against all this it may be

urged that it is easier to reward two thousand soldiers, for the former may be remunerated by giving them

places, which must perforce be conferred upon men of their calling, while the latter can only be recompensed

out of the very property of the master they serve; but this impossibility only strengthens my argument.

"Putting this, however, aside, for it is a puzzling question for which it is difficult to find a solution, let us

return to the superiority of arms over letters, a matter still undecided, so many are the arguments put forward

on each side; for besides those I have mentioned, letters say that without them arms cannot maintain

themselves, for war, too, has its laws and is governed by them, and laws belong to the domain of letters and

men of letters. To this arms make answer that without them laws cannot be maintained, for by arms states are

defended, kingdoms preserved, cities protected, roads made safe, seas cleared of pirates; and, in short, if it

were not for them, states, kingdoms, monarchies, cities, ways by sea and land would be exposed to the

violence and confusion which war brings with it, so long as it lasts and is free to make use of its privileges

and powers. And then it is plain that whatever costs most is valued and deserves to be valued most. To attain

to eminence in letters costs a man time, watching, hunger, nakedness, headaches, indigestions, and other

things of the sort, some of which I have already referred to. But for a man to come in the ordinary course of

things to be a good soldier costs him all the student suffers, and in an incomparably higher degree, for at

every step he runs the risk of losing his life. For what dread of want or poverty that can reach or harass the

student can compare with what the soldier feels, who finds himself beleaguered in some stronghold mounting

guard in some ravelin or cavalier, knows that the enemy is pushing a mine towards the post where he is

stationed, and cannot under any circumstances retire or fly from the imminent danger that threatens him? All

he can do is to inform his captain of what is going on so that he may try to remedy it by a countermine, and

then stand his ground in fear and expectation of the moment when he will fly up to the clouds without wings

and descend into the deep against his will. And if this seems a trifling risk, let us see whether it is equalled or

surpassed by the encounter of two galleys stem to stem, in the midst of the open sea, locked and entangled

one with the other, when the soldier has no more standing room than two feet of the plank of the spur; and

yet, though he sees before him threatening him as many ministers of death as there are cannon of the foe

pointed at him, not a lance length from his body, and sees too that with the first heedless step he will go down

to visit the profundities of Neptune's bosom, still with dauntless heart, urged on by honour that nerves him, he

makes himself a target for all that musketry, and struggles to cross that narrow path to the enemy's ship. And

what is still more marvellous, no sooner has one gone down into the depths he will never rise from till the end

of the world, than another takes his place; and if he too falls into the sea that waits for him like an enemy,

another and another will succeed him without a moment's pause between their deaths: courage and daring the

greatest that all the chances of war can show. Happy the blest ages that knew not the dread fury of those

devilish engines of artillery, whose inventor I am persuaded is in hell receiving the reward of his diabolical

invention, by which he made it easy for a base and cowardly arm to take the life of a gallant gentleman; and

that, when he knows not how or whence, in the height of the ardour and enthusiasm that fire and animate

brave hearts, there should come some random bullet, discharged perhaps by one who fled in terror at the flash

when he fired off his accursed machine, which in an instant puts an end to the projects and cuts off the life of

one who deserved to live for ages to come. And thus when I reflect on this, I am almost tempted to say that in

my heart I repent of having adopted this profession of knighterrant in so detestable an age as we live in now;

for though no peril can make me fear, still it gives me some uneasiness to think that powder and lead may rob

me of the opportunity of making myself famous and renowned throughout the known earth by the might of

my arm and the edge of my sword. But Heaven's will be done; if I succeed in my attempt I shall be all the

more honoured, as I have faced greater dangers than the knightserrant of yore exposed themselves to."

All this lengthy discourse Don Quixote delivered while the others supped, forgetting to raise a morsel to his

lips, though Sancho more than once told him to eat his supper, as he would have time enough afterwards to

say all he wanted. It excited fresh pity in those who had heard him to see a man of apparently sound sense,

and with rational views on every subject he discussed, so hopelessly wanting in all, when his wretched

unlucky chivalry was in question. The curate told him he was quite right in all he had said in favour of arms,

and that he himself, though a man of letters and a graduate, was of the same opinion.

They finished their supper, the cloth was removed, and while the hostess, her daughter, and Maritornes were

getting Don Quixote of La Mancha's garret ready, in which it was arranged that the women were to be

quartered by themselves for the night, Don Fernando begged the captive to tell them the story of his life, for it

could not fail to be strange and interesting, to judge by the hints he had let fall on his arrival in company with

Zoraida. To this the captive replied that he would very willingly yield to his request, only he feared his tale

would not give them as much pleasure as he wished; nevertheless, not to be wanting in compliance, he would

tell it. The curate and the others thanked him and added their entreaties, and he finding himself so pressed

said there was no occasion ask, where a command had such weight, and added, "If your worships will give

me your attention you will hear a true story which, perhaps, fictitious ones constructed with ingenious and

studied art cannot come up to." These words made them settle themselves in their places and preserve a deep

silence, and he seeing them waiting on his words in mute expectation, began thus in a pleasant quiet voice.

My family had its origin in a village in the mountains of Leon, and nature had been kinder and more generous

to it than fortune; though in the general poverty of those communities my father passed for being even a rich

man; and he would have been so in reality had he been as clever in preserving his property as he was in

spending it. This tendency of his to be liberal and profuse he had acquired from having been a soldier in his

youth, for the soldier's life is a school in which the niggard becomes freehanded and the freehanded

prodigal; and if any soldiers are to be found who are misers, they are monsters of rare occurrence. My father

went beyond liberality and bordered on prodigality, a disposition by no means advantageous to a married man

who has children to succeed to his name and position. My father had three, all sons, and all of sufficient age

to make choice of a profession. Finding, then, that he was unable to resist his propensity, he resolved to

divest himself of the instrument and cause of his prodigality and lavishness, to divest himself of wealth,

without which Alexander himself would have seemed parsimonious; and so calling us all three aside one day

"My sons, to assure you that I love you, no more need be known or said than that you are my sons; and to

encourage a suspicion that I do not love you, no more is needed than the knowledge that I have no

selfcontrol as far as preservation of your patrimony is concerned; therefore, that you may for the future feel

sure that I love you like a father, and have no wish to ruin you like a stepfather, I propose to do with you what

I have for some time back meditated, and after mature deliberation decided upon. You are now of an age to

choose your line of life or at least make choice of a calling that will bring you honour and profit when you are

older; and what I have resolved to do is to divide my property into four parts; three I will give to you, to each

his portion without making any difference, and the other I will retain to live upon and support myself for

whatever remainder of life Heaven may be pleased to grant me. But I wish each of you on taking possession

of the share that falls to him to follow one of the paths I shall indicate. In this Spain of ours there is a proverb,

to my mind very true as they all are, being short aphorisms drawn from long practical experience and the

one I refer to says, 'The church, or the sea, or the king's house;' as much as to say, in plainer language,

whoever wants to flourish and become rich, let him follow the church, or go to sea, adopting commerce as his

calling, or go into the king's service in his household, for they say, 'Better a king's crumb than a lord's favour.'

I say so because it is my will and pleasure that one of you should follow letters, another trade, and the third

serve the king in the wars, for it is a difficult matter to gain admission to his service in his household, and if

war does not bring much wealth it confers great distinction and fame. Eight days hence I will give you your

full shares in money, without defrauding you of a farthing, as you will see in the end. Now tell me if you are

Having called upon me as the eldest to answer, I, after urging him not to strip himself of his property but to

spend it all as he pleased, for we were young men able to gain our living, consented to comply with his

wishes, and said that mine were to follow the profession of arms and thereby serve God and my king. My

second brother having made the same proposal, decided upon going to the Indies, embarking the portion that

fell to him in trade. The youngest, and in my opinion the wisest, said he would rather follow the church, or go

to complete his studies at Salamanca. As soon as we had come to an understanding, and made choice of our

professions, my father embraced us all, and in the short time he mentioned carried into effect all he had

promised; and when he had given to each his share, which as well as I remember was three thousand ducats

apiece in cash (for an uncle of ours bought the estate and paid for it down, not to let it go out of the family),

we all three on the same day took leave of our good father; and at the same time, as it seemed to me inhuman

to leave my father with such scanty means in his old age, I induced him to take two of my three thousand

ducats, as the remainder would be enough to provide me with all a soldier needed. My two brothers, moved

by my example, gave him each a thousand ducats, so that there was left for my father four thousand ducats in

money, besides three thousand, the value of the portion that fell to him which he preferred to retain in land

instead of selling it. Finally, as I said, we took leave of him, and of our uncle whom I have mentioned, not

without sorrow and tears on both sides, they charging us to let them know whenever an opportunity offered

how we fared, whether well or ill. We promised to do so, and when he had embraced us and given us his

blessing, one set out for Salamanca, the other for Seville, and I for Alicante, where I had heard there was a

It is now some twentytwo years since I left my father's house, and all that time, though I have written

several letters, I have had no news whatever of him or of my brothers; my own adventures during that period

I will now relate briefly. I embarked at Alicante, reached Genoa after a prosperous voyage, and proceeded

thence to Milan, where I provided myself with arms and a few soldier's accoutrements; thence it was my

intention to go and take service in Piedmont, but as I was already on the road to Alessandria della Paglia, I

learned that the great Duke of Alva was on his way to Flanders. I changed my plans, joined him, served under

him in the campaigns he made, was present at the deaths of the Counts Egmont and Horn, and was promoted

to be ensign under a famous captain of Guadalajara, Diego de Urbina by name. Some time after my arrival in

Flanders news came of the league that his Holiness Pope Pius V of happy memory, had made with Venice

and Spain against the common enemy, the Turk, who had just then with his fleet taken the famous island of

Cyprus, which belonged to the Venetians, a loss deplorable and disastrous. It was known as a fact that the

Most Serene Don John of Austria, natural brother of our good king Don Philip, was coming as

commanderinchief of the allied forces, and rumours were abroad of the vast warlike preparations which

were being made, all which stirred my heart and filled me with a longing to take part in the campaign which

was expected; and though I had reason to believe, and almost certain promises, that on the first opportunity

that presented itself I should be promoted to be captain, I preferred to leave all and betake myself, as I did, to

Italy; and it was my good fortune that Don John had just arrived at Genoa, and was going on to Naples to join

the Venetian fleet, as he afterwards did at Messina. I may say, in short, that I took part in that glorious

expedition, promoted by this time to be a captain of infantry, to which honourable charge my good luck

rather than my merits raised me; and that day so fortunate for Christendom, because then all the nations of

the earth were disabused of the error under which they lay in imagining the Turks to be invincible on seaon

that day, I say, on which the Ottoman pride and arrogance were broken, among all that were there made

happy (for the Christians who died that day were happier than those who remained alive and victorious) I

alone was miserable; for, instead of some naval crown that I might have expected had it been in Roman

times, on the night that followed that famous day I found myself with fetters on my feet and manacles on my

It happened in this way: El Uchali, the king of Algiers, a daring and successful corsair, having attacked and

taken the leading Maltese galley (only three knights being left alive in it, and they badly wounded), the chief

galley of John Andrea, on board of which I and my company were placed, came to its relief, and doing as was

bound to do in such a case, I leaped on board the enemy's galley, which, sheering off from that which had

attacked it, prevented my men from following me, and so I found myself alone in the midst of my enemies,

who were in such numbers that I was unable to resist; in short I was taken, covered with wounds; El Uchali,

as you know, sirs, made his escape with his entire squadron, and I was left a prisoner in his power, the only

sad being among so many filled with joy, and the only captive among so many free; for there were fifteen

thousand Christians, all at the oar in the Turkish fleet, that regained their longedfor liberty that day.

They carried me to Constantinople, where the Grand Turk, Selim, made my master general at sea for having

done his duty in the battle and carried off as evidence of his bravery the standard of the Order of Malta. The

following year, which was the year seventytwo, I found myself at Navarino rowing in the leading galley

with the three lanterns. There I saw and observed how the opportunity of capturing the whole Turkish fleet in

harbour was lost; for all the marines and janizzaries that belonged to it made sure that they were about to be

attacked inside the very harbour, and had their kits and pasamaques, or shoes, ready to flee at once on shore

without waiting to be assailed, in so great fear did they stand of our fleet. But Heaven ordered it otherwise,

not for any fault or neglect of the general who commanded on our side, but for the sins of Christendom, and

because it was God's will and pleasure that we should always have instruments of punishment to chastise us.

As it was, El Uchali took refuge at Modon, which is an island near Navarino, and landing forces fortified the

mouth of the harbour and waited quietly until Don John retired. On this expedition was taken the galley

called the Prize, whose captain was a son of the famous corsair Barbarossa. It was taken by the chief

Neapolitan galley called the Shewolf, commanded by that thunderbolt of war, that father of his men, that

successful and unconquered captain Don Alvaro de Bazan, Marquis of Santa Cruz; and I cannot help telling

The son of Barbarossa was so cruel, and treated his slaves so badly, that, when those who were at the oars

saw that the Shewolf galley was bearing down upon them and gaining upon them, they all at once dropped

their oars and seized their captain who stood on the stage at the end of the gangway shouting to them to row

lustily; and passing him on from bench to bench, from the poop to the prow, they so bit him that before he

had got much past the mast his soul had already got to hell; so great, as I said, was the cruelty with which he

We returned to Constantinople, and the following year, seventythree, it became known that Don John had

seized Tunis and taken the kingdom from the Turks, and placed Muley Hamet in possession, putting an end

to the hopes which Muley Hamida, the cruelest and bravest Moor in the world, entertained of returning to

reign there. The Grand Turk took the loss greatly to heart, and with the cunning which all his race possess, he

made peace with the Venetians (who were much more eager for it than he was), and the following year,

seventyfour, he attacked the Goletta and the fort which Don John had left half built near Tunis. While all

these events were occurring, I was labouring at the oar without any hope of freedom; at least I had no hope of

obtaining it by ransom, for I was firmly resolved not to write to my father telling him of my misfortunes. At

length the Goletta fell, and the fort fell, before which places there were seventyfive thousand regular

Turkish soldiers, and more than four hundred thousand Moors and Arabs from all parts of Africa, and in the

train of all this great host such munitions and engines of war, and so many pioneers that with their hands they

might have covered the Goletta and the fort with handfuls of earth. The first to fall was the Goletta, until then

reckoned impregnable, and it fell, not by any fault of its defenders, who did all that they could and should

have done, but because experiment proved how easily entrenchments could be made in the desert sand there;

for water used to be found at two palms depth, while the Turks found none at two yards; and so by means of a

quantity of sandbags they raised their works so high that they commanded the walls of the fort, sweeping

them as if from a cavalier, so that no one was able to make a stand or maintain the defence.

It was a common opinion that our men should not have shut themselves up in the Goletta, but should have

waited in the open at the landingplace; but those who say so talk at random and with little knowledge of

such matters; for if in the Goletta and in the fort there were barely seven thousand soldiers, how could such a

small number, however resolute, sally out and hold their own against numbers like those of the enemy? And

how is it possible to help losing a stronghold that is not relieved, above all when surrounded by a host of

determined enemies in their own country? But many thought, and I thought so too, that it was special favour

and mercy which Heaven showed to Spain in permitting the destruction of that source and hiding place of

mischief, that devourer, sponge, and moth of countless money, fruitlessly wasted there to no other purpose

save preserving the memory of its capture by the invincible Charles V; as if to make that eternal, as it is and

will be, these stones were needed to support it. The fort also fell; but the Turks had to win it inch by inch, for

the soldiers who defended it fought so gallantly and stoutly that the number of the enemy killed in

twentytwo general assaults exceeded twentyfive thousand. Of three hundred that remained alive not one

was taken unwounded, a clear and manifest proof of their gallantry and resolution, and how sturdily they had

defended themselves and held their post. A small fort or tower which was in the middle of the lagoon under

the command of Don Juan Zanoguera, a Valencian gentleman and a famous soldier, capitulated upon terms.

They took prisoner Don Pedro Puertocarrero, commandant of the Goletta, who had done all in his power to

defend his fortress, and took the loss of it so much to heart that he died of grief on the way to Constantinople,

where they were carrying him a prisoner. They also took the commandant of the fort, Gabrio Cerbellon by

name, a Milanese gentleman, a great engineer and a very brave soldier. In these two fortresses perished many

persons of note, among whom was Pagano Doria, knight of the Order of St. John, a man of generous

disposition, as was shown by his extreme liberality to his brother, the famous John Andrea Doria; and what

made his death the more sad was that he was slain by some Arabs to whom, seeing that the fort was now lost,

he entrusted himself, and who offered to conduct him in the disguise of a Moor to Tabarca, a small fort or

station on the coast held by the Genoese employed in the coral fishery. These Arabs cut off his head and

carried it to the commander of the Turkish fleet, who proved on them the truth of our Castilian proverb, that

"though the treason may please, the traitor is hated;" for they say he ordered those who brought him the

Among the Christians who were taken in the fort was one named Don Pedro de Aguilar, a native of some

place, I know not what, in Andalusia, who had been ensign in the fort, a soldier of great repute and rare

intelligence, who had in particular a special gift for what they call poetry. I say so because his fate brought

him to my galley and to my bench, and made him a slave to the same master; and before we left the port this

gentleman composed two sonnets by way of epitaphs, one on the Goletta and the other on the fort; indeed, I

may as well repeat them, for I have them by heart, and I think they will be liked rather than disliked.

The instant the captive mentioned the name of Don Pedro de Aguilar, Don Fernando looked at his

companions and they all three smiled; and when he came to speak of the sonnets one of them said, "Before

your worship proceeds any further I entreat you to tell me what became of that Don Pedro de Aguilar you

"All I know is," replied the captive, "that after having been in Constantinople two years, he escaped in the

disguise of an Arnaut, in company with a Greek spy; but whether he regained his liberty or not I cannot tell,

though I fancy he did, because a year afterwards I saw the Greek at Constantinople, though I was unable to

"Well then, you are right," returned the gentleman, "for that Don Pedro is my brother, and he is now in our

"Thanks be to God for all the mercies he has shown him," said the captive; "for to my mind there is no

"Then let your worship repeat them," said the captive, "for you will recite them better than I can."

"Well then, that on the fort," said the gentleman, "if my memory serves me, goes thus:

The sonnets were not disliked, and the captive was rejoiced at the tidings they gave him of his comrade, and

The Goletta and the fort being thus in their hands, the Turks gave orders to dismantle the Goletta for the fort

was reduced to such a state that there was nothing left to level and to do the work more quickly and easily

they mined it in three places; but nowhere were they able to blow up the part which seemed to be the least

strong, that is to say, the old walls, while all that remained standing of the new fortifications that the Fratin

had made came to the ground with the greatest ease. Finally the fleet returned victorious and triumphant to

Constantinople, and a few months later died my master, El Uchali, otherwise Uchali Fartax, which means in

Turkish "the scabby renegade;" for that he was; it is the practice with the Turks to name people from some

defect or virtue they may possess; the reason being that there are among them only four surnames belonging

to families tracing their descent from the Ottoman house, and the others, as I have said, take their names and

surnames either from bodily blemishes or moral qualities. This "scabby one" rowed at the oar as a slave of

the Grand Signor's for fourteen years, and when over thirtyfour years of age, in resentment at having been

struck by a Turk while at the oar, turned renegade and renounced his faith in order to be able to revenge

himself; and such was his valour that, without owing his advancement to the base ways and means by which

most favourites of the Grand Signor rise to power, he came to be king of Algiers, and afterwards

generalonsea, which is the third place of trust in the realm. He was a Calabrian by birth, and a worthy man

morally, and he treated his slaves with great humanity. He had three thousand of them, and after his death

they were divided, as he directed by his will, between the Grand Signor (who is heir of all who die and shares

with the children of the deceased) and his renegades. I fell to the lot of a Venetian renegade who, when a

cabin boy on board a ship, had been taken by Uchali and was so much beloved by him that he became one of

his most favoured youths. He came to be the most cruel renegade I ever saw: his name was Hassan Aga, and

he grew very rich and became king of Algiers. With him I went there from Constantinople, rather glad to be

so near Spain, not that I intended to write to anyone about my unhappy lot, but to try if fortune would be

kinder to me in Algiers than in Constantinople, where I had attempted in a thousand ways to escape without

ever finding a favourable time or chance; but in Algiers I resolved to seek for other means of effecting the

purpose I cherished so dearly; for the hope of obtaining my liberty never deserted me; and when in my plots

and schemes and attempts the result did not answer my expectations, without giving way to despair I

immediately began to look out for or conjure up some new hope to support me, however faint or feeble it

In this way I lived on immured in a building or prison called by the Turks a bano in which they confine the

Christian captives, as well those that are the king's as those belonging to private individuals, and also what

they call those of the Almacen, which is as much as to say the slaves of the municipality, who serve the city

in the public works and other employments; but captives of this kind recover their liberty with great

difficulty, for, as they are public property and have no particular master, there is no one with whom to treat

for their ransom, even though they may have the means. To these banos, as I have said, some private

individuals of the town are in the habit of bringing their captives, especially when they are to be ransomed;

because there they can keep them in safety and comfort until their ransom arrives. The king's captives also,

that are on ransom, do not go out to work with the rest of the crew, unless when their ransom is delayed; for

then, to make them write for it more pressingly, they compel them to work and go for wood, which is no light

I, however, was one of those on ransom, for when it was discovered that I was a captain, although I declared

my scanty means and want of fortune, nothing could dissuade them from including me among the gentlemen

and those waiting to be ransomed. They put a chain on me, more as a mark of this than to keep me safe, and

so I passed my life in that bano with several other gentlemen and persons of quality marked out as held to

ransom; but though at times, or rather almost always, we suffered from hunger and scanty clothing, nothing

distressed us so much as hearing and seeing at every turn the unexampled and unheardof cruelties my

master inflicted upon the Christians. Every day he hanged a man, impaled one, cut off the ears of another;

and all with so little provocation, or so entirely without any, that the Turks acknowledged he did it merely for

the sake of doing it, and because he was by nature murderously disposed towards the whole human race. The

only one that fared at all well with him was a Spanish soldier, something de Saavedra by name, to whom he

never gave a blow himself, or ordered a blow to be given, or addressed a hard word, although he had done

things that will dwell in the memory of the people there for many a year, and all to recover his liberty; and for

the least of the many things he did we all dreaded that he would be impaled, and he himself was in fear of it

more than once; and only that time does not allow, I could tell you now something of what that soldier did,

that would interest and astonish you much more than the narration of my own tale.

To go on with my story; the courtyard of our prison was overlooked by the windows of the house belonging

to a wealthy Moor of high position; and these, as is usual in Moorish houses, were rather loopholes than

windows, and besides were covered with thick and close latticework. It so happened, then, that as I was one

day on the terrace of our prison with three other comrades, trying, to pass away the time, how far we could

leap with our chains, we being alone, for all the other Christians had gone out to work, I chanced to raise my

eyes, and from one of these little closed windows I saw a reed appear with a cloth attached to the end of it,

and it kept waving to and fro, and moving as if making signs to us to come and take it. We watched it, and

one of those who were with me went and stood under the reed to see whether they would let it drop, or what

they would do, but as he did so the reed was raised and moved from side to side, as if they meant to say "no"

by a shake of the head. The Christian came back, and it was again lowered, making the same movements as

before. Another of my comrades went, and with him the same happened as with the first, and then the third

went forward, but with the same result as the first and second. Seeing this I did not like not to try my luck,

and as soon as I came under the reed it was dropped and fell inside the bano at my feet. I hastened to untie the

cloth, in which I perceived a knot, and in this were ten cianis, which are coins of base gold, current among the

It is needless to say I rejoiced over this godsend, and my joy was not less than my wonder as I strove to

imagine how this good fortune could have come to us, but to me specially; for the evident unwillingness to

drop the reed for any but me showed that it was for me the favour was intended. I took my welcome money,

broke the reed, and returned to the terrace, and looking up at the window, I saw a very white hand put out that

opened and shut very quickly. From this we gathered or fancied that it must be some woman living in that

house that had done us this kindness, and to show that we were grateful for it, we made salaams after the

fashion of the Moors, bowing the head, bending the body, and crossing the arms on the breast. Shortly

afterwards at the same window a small cross made of reeds was put out and immediately withdrawn. This

sign led us to believe that some Christian woman was a captive in the house, and that it was she who had

been so good to us; but the whiteness of the hand and the bracelets we had perceived made us dismiss that

idea, though we thought it might be one of the Christian renegades whom their masters very often take as

lawful wives, and gladly, for they prefer them to the women of their own nation. In all our conjectures we

were wide of the truth; so from that time forward our sole occupation was watching and gazing at the window

where the cross had appeared to us, as if it were our polestar; but at least fifteen days passed without our

seeing either it or the hand, or any other sign and though meanwhile we endeavoured with the utmost pains to

ascertain who it was that lived in the house, and whether there were any Christian renegade in it, nobody

could ever tell us anything more than that he who lived there was a rich Moor of high position, Hadji Morato

by name, formerly alcaide of La Pata, an office of high dignity among them. But when we least thought it

was going to rain any more cianis from that quarter, we saw the reed suddenly appear with another cloth tied

in a larger knot attached to it, and this at a time when, as on the former occasion, the bano was deserted and

We made trial as before, each of the same three going forward before I did; but the reed was delivered to

none but me, and on my approach it was let drop. I untied the knot and I found forty Spanish gold crowns

with a paper written in Arabic, and at the end of the writing there was a large cross drawn. I kissed the cross,

took the crowns and returned to the terrace, and we all made our salaams; again the hand appeared, I made

signs that I would read the paper, and then the window was closed. We were all puzzled, though filled with

joy at what had taken place; and as none of us understood Arabic, great was our curiosity to know what the

paper contained, and still greater the difficulty of finding some one to read it. At last I resolved to confide in a

renegade, a native of Murcia, who professed a very great friendship for me, and had given pledges that bound

him to keep any secret I might entrust to him; for it is the custom with some renegades, when they intend to

return to Christian territory, to carry about them certificates from captives of mark testifying, in whatever

form they can, that such and such a renegade is a worthy man who has always shown kindness to Christians,

and is anxious to escape on the first opportunity that may present itself. Some obtain these testimonials with

good intentions, others put them to a cunning use; for when they go to pillage on Christian territory, if they

chance to be cast away, or taken prisoners, they produce their certificates and say that from these papers may

be seen the object they came for, which was to remain on Christian ground, and that it was to this end they

joined the Turks in their foray. In this way they escape the consequences of the first outburst and make their

peace with the Church before it does them any harm, and then when they have the chance they return to

Barbary to become what they were before. Others, however, there are who procure these papers and make use

of them honestly, and remain on Christian soil. This friend of mine, then, was one of these renegades that I

have described; he had certificates from all our comrades, in which we testified in his favour as strongly as

we could; and if the Moors had found the papers they would have burned him alive.

I knew that he understood Arabic very well, and could not only speak but also write it; but before I disclosed

the whole matter to him, I asked him to read for me this paper which I had found by accident in a hole in my

cell. He opened it and remained some time examining it and muttering to himself as he translated it. I asked

him if he understood it, and he told me he did perfectly well, and that if I wished him to tell me its meaning

word for word, I must give him pen and ink that he might do it more satisfactorily. We at once gave him what

he required, and he set about translating it bit by bit, and when he had done he said:

"All that is here in Spanish is what the Moorish paper contains, and you must bear in mind that when it says

"When I was a child my father had a slave who taught me to pray the Christian prayer in my own language,

and told me many things about Lela Marien. The Christian died, and I know that she did not go to the fire,

but to Allah, because since then I have seen her twice, and she told me to go to the land of the Christians to

see Lela Marien, who had great love for me. I know not how to go. I have seen many Christians, but except

thyself none has seemed to me to be a gentleman. I am young and beautiful, and have plenty of money to take

with me. See if thou canst contrive how we may go, and if thou wilt thou shalt be my husband there, and if

thou wilt not it will not distress me, for Lela Marien will find me some one to marry me. I myself have

written this: have a care to whom thou givest it to read: trust no Moor, for they are all perfidious. I am greatly

troubled on this account, for I would not have thee confide in anyone, because if my father knew it he would

at once fling me down a well and cover me with stones. I will put a thread to the reed; tie the answer to it, and

if thou hast no one to write for thee in Arabic, tell it to me by signs, for Lela Marien will make me understand

thee. She and Allah and this cross, which I often kiss as the captive bade me, protect thee."

Judge, sirs, whether we had reason for surprise and joy at the words of this paper; and both one and the other

were so great, that the renegade perceived that the paper had not been found by chance, but had been in

reality addressed to some one of us, and he begged us, if what he suspected were the truth, to trust him and

tell him all, for he would risk his life for our freedom; and so saying he took out from his breast a metal

crucifix, and with many tears swore by the God the image represented, in whom, sinful and wicked as he was,

he truly and faithfully believed, to be loyal to us and keep secret whatever we chose to reveal to him; for he

thought and almost foresaw that by means of her who had written that paper, he and all of us would obtain

our liberty, and he himself obtain the object he so much desired, his restoration to the bosom of the Holy

Mother Church, from which by his own sin and ignorance he was now severed like a corrupt limb. The

renegade said this with so many tears and such signs of repentance, that with one consent we all agreed to tell

him the whole truth of the matter, and so we gave him a full account of all, without hiding anything from

him. We pointed out to him the window at which the reed appeared, and he by that means took note of the

house, and resolved to ascertain with particular care who lived in it. We agreed also that it would be advisable

to answer the Moorish lady's letter, and the renegade without a moment's delay took down the words I

dictated to him, which were exactly what I shall tell you, for nothing of importance that took place in this

affair has escaped my memory, or ever will while life lasts. This, then, was the answer returned to the

"The true Allah protect thee, Lady, and that blessed Marien who is the true mother of God, and who has put it

into thy heart to go to the land of the Christians, because she loves thee. Entreat her that she be pleased to

show thee how thou canst execute the command she gives thee, for she will, such is her goodness. On my

own part, and on that of all these Christians who are with me, I promise to do all that we can for thee, even to

death. Fail not to write to me and inform me what thou dost mean to do, and I will always answer thee; for

the great Allah has given us a Christian captive who can speak and write thy language well, as thou mayest

see by this paper; without fear, therefore, thou canst inform us of all thou wouldst. As to what thou sayest,

that if thou dost reach the land of the Christians thou wilt be my wife, I give thee my promise upon it as a

good Christian; and know that the Christians keep their promises better than the Moors. Allah and Marien his

The paper being written and folded I waited two days until the bano was empty as before, and immediately

repaired to the usual walk on the terrace to see if there were any sign of the reed, which was not long in

making its appearance. As soon as I saw it, although I could not distinguish who put it out, I showed the

paper as a sign to attach the thread, but it was already fixed to the reed, and to it I tied the paper; and shortly

afterwards our star once more made its appearance with the white flag of peace, the little bundle. It was

dropped, and I picked it up, and found in the cloth, in gold and silver coins of all sorts, more than fifty

crowns, which fifty times more strengthened our joy and doubled our hope of gaining our liberty. That very

night our renegade returned and said he had learned that the Moor we had been told of lived in that house,

that his name was Hadji Morato, that he was enormously rich, that he had one only daughter the heiress of all

his wealth, and that it was the general opinion throughout the city that she was the most beautiful woman in

Barbary, and that several of the viceroys who came there had sought her for a wife, but that she had been

always unwilling to marry; and he had learned, moreover, that she had a Christian slave who was now dead;

all which agreed with the contents of the paper. We immediately took counsel with the renegade as to what

means would have to be adopted in order to carry off the Moorish lady and bring us all to Christian territory;

and in the end it was agreed that for the present we should wait for a second communication from Zoraida

(for that was the name of her who now desires to be called Maria), because we saw clearly that she and no

one else could find a way out of all these difficulties. When we had decided upon this the renegade told us

not to be uneasy, for he would lose his life or restore us to liberty. For four days the bano was filled with

people, for which reason the reed delayed its appearance for four days, but at the end of that time, when the

bano was, as it generally was, empty, it appeared with the cloth so bulky that it promised a happy birth. Reed

and cloth came down to me, and I found another paper and a hundred crowns in gold, without any other coin.

The renegade was present, and in our cell we gave him the paper to read, which was to this effect:

"I cannot think of a plan, senor, for our going to Spain, nor has Lela Marien shown me one, though I have

asked her. All that can be done is for me to give you plenty of money in gold from this window. With it

ransom yourself and your friends, and let one of you go to the land of the Christians, and there buy a vessel

and come back for the others; and he will find me in my father's garden, which is at the Babazon gate near the

seashore, where I shall be all this summer with my father and my servants. You can carry me away from

there by night without any danger, and bring me to the vessel. And remember thou art to be my husband, else

I will pray to Marien to punish thee. If thou canst not trust anyone to go for the vessel, ransom thyself and do

thou go, for I know thou wilt return more surely than any other, as thou art a gentleman and a Christian.

Endeavour to make thyself acquainted with the garden; and when I see thee walking yonder I shall know that

the bano is empty and I will give thee abundance of money. Allah protect thee, senor."

These were the words and contents of the second paper, and on hearing them, each declared himself willing

to be the ransomed one, and promised to go and return with scrupulous good faith; and I too made the same

offer; but to all this the renegade objected, saying that he would not on any account consent to one being set

free before all went together, as experience had taught him how ill those who have been set free keep

promises which they made in captivity; for captives of distinction frequently had recourse to this plan, paying

the ransom of one who was to go to Valencia or Majorca with money to enable him to arm a bark and return

for the others who had ransomed him, but who never came back; for recovered liberty and the dread of losing

it again efface from the memory all the obligations in the world. And to prove the truth of what he said, he

told us briefly what had happened to a certain Christian gentleman almost at that very time, the strangest case

that had ever occurred even there, where astonishing and marvellous things are happening every instant. In

short, he ended by saying that what could and ought to be done was to give the money intended for the

ransom of one of us Christians to him, so that he might with it buy a vessel there in Algiers under the

pretence of becoming a merchant and trader at Tetuan and along the coast; and when master of the vessel, it

would be easy for him to hit on some way of getting us all out of the bano and putting us on board; especially

if the Moorish lady gave, as she said, money enough to ransom all, because once free it would be the easiest

thing in the world for us to embark even in open day; but the greatest difficulty was that the Moors do not

allow any renegade to buy or own any craft, unless it be a large vessel for going on roving expeditions,

because they are afraid that anyone who buys a small vessel, especially if he be a Spaniard, only wants it for

the purpose of escaping to Christian territory. This however he could get over by arranging with a Tagarin

Moor to go shares with him in the purchase of the vessel, and in the profit on the cargo; and under cover of

this he could become master of the vessel, in which case he looked upon all the rest as accomplished. But

though to me and my comrades it had seemed a better plan to send to Majorca for the vessel, as the Moorish

lady suggested, we did not dare to oppose him, fearing that if we did not do as he said he would denounce us,

and place us in danger of losing all our lives if he were to disclose our dealings with Zoraida, for whose life

we would have all given our own. We therefore resolved to put ourselves in the hands of God and in the

renegade's; and at the same time an answer was given to Zoraida, telling her that we would do all she

recommended, for she had given as good advice as if Lela Marien had delivered it, and that it depended on

her alone whether we were to defer the business or put it in execution at once. I renewed my promise to be

her husband; and thus the next day that the bano chanced to be empty she at different times gave us by means

of the reed and cloth two thousand gold crowns and a paper in which she said that the next Juma, that is to

say Friday, she was going to her father's garden, but that before she went she would give us more money; and

if it were not enough we were to let her know, as she would give us as much as we asked, for her father had

We at once gave the renegade five hundred crowns to buy the vessel, and with eight hundred I ransomed

myself, giving the money to a Valencian merchant who happened to be in Algiers at the time, and who had

me released on his word, pledging it that on the arrival of the first ship from Valencia he would pay my

ransom; for if he had given the money at once it would have made the king suspect that my ransom money

had been for a long time in Algiers, and that the merchant had for his own advantage kept it secret. In fact my

master was so difficult to deal with that I dared not on any account pay down the money at once. The

Thursday before the Friday on which the fair Zoraida was to go to the garden she gave us a thousand crowns

more, and warned us of her departure, begging me, if I were ransomed, to find out her father's garden at once,

and by all means to seek an opportunity of going there to see her. I answered in a few words that I would do

so, and that she must remember to commend us to Lela Marien with all the prayers the captive had taught her.

This having been done, steps were taken to ransom our three comrades, so as to enable them to quit the bano,

and lest, seeing me ransomed and themselves not, though the money was forthcoming, they should make a

disturbance about it and the devil should prompt them to do something that might injure Zoraida; for though

their position might be sufficient to relieve me from this apprehension, nevertheless I was unwilling to run

any risk in the matter; and so I had them ransomed in the same way as I was, handing over all the money to

the merchant so that he might with safety and confidence give security; without, however, confiding our

Before fifteen days were over our renegade had already purchased an excellent vessel with room for more

than thirty persons; and to make the transaction safe and lend a colour to it, he thought it well to make, as he

did, a voyage to a place called Shershel, twenty leagues from Algiers on the Oran side, where there is an

extensive trade in dried figs. Two or three times he made this voyage in company with the Tagarin already

mentioned. The Moors of Aragon are called Tagarins in Barbary, and those of Granada Mudejars; but in the

Kingdom of Fez they call the Mudejars Elches, and they are the people the king chiefly employs in war. To

proceed: every time he passed with his vessel he anchored in a cove that was not two crossbow shots from the

garden where Zoraida was waiting; and there the renegade, together with the two Moorish lads that rowed,

used purposely to station himself, either going through his prayers, or else practising as a part what he meant

to perform in earnest. And thus he would go to Zoraida's garden and ask for fruit, which her father gave him,

not knowing him; but though, as he afterwards told me, he sought to speak to Zoraida, and tell her who he

was, and that by my orders he was to take her to the land of the Christians, so that she might feel satisfied and

easy, he had never been able to do so; for the Moorish women do not allow themselves to be seen by any

Moor or Turk, unless their husband or father bid them: with Christian captives they permit freedom of

intercourse and communication, even more than might be considered proper. But for my part I should have

been sorry if he had spoken to her, for perhaps it might have alarmed her to find her affairs talked of by

renegades. But God, who ordered it otherwise, afforded no opportunity for our renegade's wellmeant

purpose; and he, seeing how safely he could go to Shershel and return, and anchor when and how and where

he liked, and that the Tagarin his partner had no will but his, and that, now I was ransomed, all we wanted

was to find some Christians to row, told me to look out for any I should he willing to take with me, over and

above those who had been ransomed, and to engage them for the next Friday, which he fixed upon for our

departure. On this I spoke to twelve Spaniards, all stout rowers, and such as could most easily leave the city;

but it was no easy matter to find so many just then, because there were twenty ships out on a cruise and they

had taken all the rowers with them; and these would not have been found were it not that their master

remained at home that summer without going to sea in order to finish a galliot that he had upon the stocks. To

these men I said nothing more than that the next Friday in the evening they were to come out stealthily one

by one and hang about Hadji Morato's garden, waiting for me there until I came. These directions I gave each

one separately, with orders that if they saw any other Christians there they were not to say anything to them

This preliminary having been settled, another still more necessary step had to be taken, which was to let

Zoraida know how matters stood that she might be prepared and forewarned, so as not to be taken by surprise

if we were suddenly to seize upon her before she thought the Christians' vessel could have returned. I

determined, therefore, to go to the garden and try if I could speak to her; and the day before my departure I

went there under the pretence of gathering herbs. The first person I met was her father, who addressed me in

the language that all over Barbary and even in Constantinople is the medium between captives and Moors,

and is neither Morisco nor Castilian, nor of any other nation, but a mixture of all languages, by means of

which we can all understand one another. In this sort of language, I say, he asked me what I wanted in his

garden, and to whom I belonged. I replied that I was a slave of the Arnaut Mami (for I knew as a certainty

that he was a very great friend of his), and that I wanted some herbs to make a salad. He asked me then

whether I were on ransom or not, and what my master demanded for me. While these questions and answers

were proceeding, the fair Zoraida, who had already perceived me some time before, came out of the house in

the garden, and as Moorish women are by no means particular about letting themselves be seen by Christians,

or, as I have said before, at all coy, she had no hesitation in coming to where her father stood with me;

moreover her father, seeing her approaching slowly, called to her to come. It would be beyond my power now

to describe to you the great beauty, the highbred air, the brilliant attire of my beloved Zoraida as she

presented herself before my eyes. I will content myself with saying that more pearls hung from her fair neck,

her ears, and her hair than she had hairs on her head. On her ankles, which as is customary were bare, she had

carcajes (for so bracelets or anklets are called in Morisco) of the purest gold, set with so many diamonds that

she told me afterwards her father valued them at ten thousand doubloons, and those she had on her wrists

were worth as much more. The pearls were in profusion and very fine, for the highest display and adornment

of the Moorish women is decking themselves with rich pearls and seedpearls; and of these there are

therefore more among the Moors than among any other people. Zoraida's father had to the reputation of

possessing a great number, and the purest in all Algiers, and of possessing also more than two hundred

thousand Spanish crowns; and she, who is now mistress of me only, was mistress of all this. Whether thus

adorned she would have been beautiful or not, and what she must have been in her prosperity, may be

imagined from the beauty remaining to her after so many hardships; for, as everyone knows, the beauty of

some women has its times and its seasons, and is increased or diminished by chance causes; and naturally the

emotions of the mind will heighten or impair it, though indeed more frequently they totally destroy it. In a

word she presented herself before me that day attired with the utmost splendour, and supremely beautiful; at

any rate, she seemed to me the most beautiful object I had ever seen; and when, besides, I thought of all I

owed to her I felt as though I had before me some heavenly being come to earth to bring me relief and

As she approached her father told her in his own language that I was a captive belonging to his friend the

She took up the conversation, and in that mixture of tongues I have spoken of she asked me if I was a

I answered that I was already ransomed, and that by the price it might be seen what value my master set on

me, as I had given one thousand five hundred zoltanis for me; to which she replied, "Hadst thou been my

father's, I can tell thee, I would not have let him part with thee for twice as much, for you Christians always

"That may be, lady," said I; "but indeed I dealt truthfully with my master, as I do and mean to do with

"Tomorrow, I think," said I, "for there is a vessel here from France which sails tomorrow, and I think I

"Would it not be better," said Zoraida, "to wait for the arrival of ships from Spain and go with them and not

"No," said I; "though if there were intelligence that a vessel were now coming from Spain it is true I might,

perhaps, wait for it; however, it is more likely I shall depart tomorrow, for the longing I feel to return to my

country and to those I love is so great that it will not allow me to wait for another opportunity, however more

"No doubt thou art married in thine own country," said Zoraida, "and for that reason thou art anxious to go

"I am not married," I replied, "but I have given my promise to marry on my arrival there."

"So beautiful," said I, "that, to describe her worthily and tell thee the truth, she is very like thee."

At this her father laughed very heartily and said, "By Allah, Christian, she must be very beautiful if she is like

my daughter, who is the most beautiful woman in all this kingdom: only look at her well and thou wilt see I

Zoraida's father as the better linguist helped to interpret most of these words and phrases, for though she

spoke the bastard language, that, as I have said, is employed there, she expressed her meaning more by signs

While we were still engaged in this conversation, a Moor came running up, exclaiming that four Turks had

leaped over the fence or wall of the garden, and were gathering the fruit though it was not yet ripe. The old

man was alarmed and Zoraida too, for the Moors commonly, and, so to speak, instinctively have a dread of

the Turks, but particularly of the soldiers, who are so insolent and domineering to the Moors who are under

their power that they treat them worse than if they were their slaves. Her father said to Zoraida, "Daughter,

retire into the house and shut thyself in while I go and speak to these dogs; and thou, Christian, pick thy

I bowed, and he went away to look for the Turks, leaving me alone with Zoraida, who made as if she were

about to retire as her father bade her; but the moment he was concealed by the trees of the garden, turning to

me with her eyes full of tears she said, Tameji, cristiano, tameji?" that is to say, "Art thou going, Christian,

I made answer, "Yes, lady, but not without thee, come what may: be on the watch for me on the next Juma,

and be not alarmed when thou seest us; for most surely we shall go to the land of the Christians."

This I said in such a way that she understood perfectly all that passed between us, and throwing her arm

round my neck she began with feeble steps to move towards the house; but as fate would have it (and it might

have been very unfortunate if Heaven had not otherwise ordered it), just as we were moving on in the manner

and position I have described, with her arm round my neck, her father, as he returned after having sent away

the Turks, saw how we were walking and we perceived that he saw us; but Zoraida, ready and quickwitted,

took care not to remove her arm from my neck, but on the contrary drew closer to me and laid her head on

my breast, bending her knees a little and showing all the signs and tokens of ainting, while I at the same time

made it seem as though I were supporting her against my will. Her father came running up to where we were,

and seeing his daughter in this state asked what was the matter with her; she, however, giving no answer, he

said, "No doubt she has fainted in alarm at the entrance of those dogs," and taking her from mine he drew her

to his own breast, while she sighing, her eyes still wet with tears, said again, "Ameji, cristiano, ameji" "Go,

Christian, go." To this her father replied, "There is no need, daughter, for the Christian to go, for he has done

thee no harm, and the Turks have now gone; feel no alarm, there is nothing to hurt thee, for as I say, the

"It was they who terrified her, as thou hast said, senor," said I to her father; "but since she tells me to go, I

have no wish to displease her: peace be with thee, and with thy leave I will come back to this garden for herbs

if need be, for my master says there are nowhere better herbs for salad then here."

"Come back for any thou hast need of," replied Hadji Morato; "for my daughter does not speak thus because

she is displeased with thee or any Christian: she only meant that the Turks should go, not thou; or that it was

With this I at once took my leave of both; and she, looking as though her heart were breaking, retired with her

father. While pretending to look for herbs I made the round of the garden at my ease, and studied carefully all

the approaches and outlets, and the fastenings of the house and everything that could be taken advantage of to

make our task easy. Having done so I went and gave an account of all that had taken place to the renegade

and my comrades, and looked forward with impatience to the hour when, all fear at an end, I should find

myself in possession of the prize which fortune held out to me in the fair and lovely Zoraida. The time passed

at length, and the appointed day we so longed for arrived; and, all following out the arrangement and plan

which, after careful consideration and many a long discussion, we had decided upon, we succeeded as fully

as we could have wished; for on the Friday following the day upon which I spoke to Zoraida in the garden,

the renegade anchored his vessel at nightfall almost opposite the spot where she was. The Christians who

were to row were ready and in hiding in different places round about, all waiting for me, anxious and elated,

and eager to attack the vessel they had before their eyes; for they did not know the renegade's plan, but

expected that they were to gain their liberty by force of arms and by killing the Moors who were on board the

vessel. As soon, then, as I and my comrades made our appearance, all those that were in hiding seeing us

came and joined us. It was now the time when the city gates are shut, and there was no one to be seen in all

the space outside. When we were collected together we debated whether it would be better first to go for

Zoraida, or to make prisoners of the Moorish rowers who rowed in the vessel; but while we were still

uncertain our renegade came up asking us what kept us, as it was now the time, and all the Moors were off

their guard and most of them asleep. We told him why we hesitated, but he said it was of more importance

first to secure the vessel, which could be done with the greatest ease and without any danger, and then we

could go for Zoraida. We all approved of what he said, and so without further delay, guided by him we made

for the vessel, and he leaping on board first, drew his cutlass and said in Morisco, "Let no one stir from this if

he does not want it to cost him his life." By this almost all the Christians were on board, and the Moors, who

were fainthearted, hearing their captain speak in this way, were cowed, and without any one of them taking to

his arms (and indeed they had few or hardly any) they submitted without saying a word to be bound by the

Christians, who quickly secured them, threatening them that if they raised any kind of outcry they would be

all put to the sword. This having been accomplished, and half of our party being left to keep guard over them,

the rest of us, again taking the renegade as our guide, hastened towards Hadji Morato's garden, and as good

luck would have it, on trying the gate it opened as easily as if it had not been locked; and so, quite quietly and

in silence, we reached the house without being perceived by anybody. The lovely Zoraida was watching for

us at a window, and as soon as she perceived that there were people there, she asked in a low voice if we

were "Nizarani," as much as to say or ask if we were Christians. I answered that we were, and begged her to

come down. As soon as she recognised me she did not delay an instant, but without answering a word came

down immediately, opened the door and presented herself before us all, so beautiful and so richly attired that

I cannot attempt to describe her. The moment I saw her I took her hand and kissed it, and the renegade and

my two comrades did the same; and the rest, who knew nothing of the circumstances, did as they saw us do,

for it only seemed as if we were returning thanks to her, and recognising her as the giver of our liberty. The

renegade asked her in the Morisco language if her father was in the house. She replied that he was and that he

"Then it will be necessary to waken him and take him with us," said the renegade, "and everything of value in

"Nay," said she, "my father must not on any account be touched, and there is nothing in the house except

what I shall take, and that will be quite enough to enrich and satisfy all of you; wait a little and you shall see,"

and so saying she went in, telling us she would return immediately and bidding us keep quiet making any

I asked the renegade what had passed between them, and when he told me, I declared that nothing should be

done except in accordance with the wishes of Zoraida, who now came back with a little trunk so full of gold

crowns that she could scarcely carry it. Unfortunately her father awoke while this was going on, and hearing

a noise in the garden, came to the window, and at once perceiving that all those who were there were

Christians, raising a prodigiously loud outcry, he began to call out in Arabic, "Christians, Christians! thieves,

thieves!" by which cries we were all thrown into the greatest fear and embarrassment; but the renegade seeing

the danger we were in and how important it was for him to effect his purpose before we were heard, mounted

with the utmost quickness to where Hadji Morato was, and with him went some of our party; I, however, did

not dare to leave Zoraida, who had fallen almost fainting in my arms. To be brief, those who had gone

upstairs acted so promptly that in an instant they came down, carrying Hadji Morato with his hands bound

and a napkin tied over his mouth, which prevented him from uttering a word, warning him at the same time

that to attempt to speak would cost him his life. When his daughter caught sight of him she covered her eyes

so as not to see him, and her father was horrorstricken, not knowing how willingly she had placed herself in

our hands. But it was now most essential for us to be on the move, and carefully and quickly we regained the

vessel, where those who had remained on board were waiting for us in apprehension of some mishap having

befallen us. It was barely two hours after night set in when we were all on board the vessel, where the cords

were removed from the hands of Zoraida's father, and the napkin from his mouth; but the renegade once more

told him not to utter a word, or they would take his life. He, when he saw his daughter there, began to sigh

piteously, and still more when he perceived that I held her closely embraced and that she lay quiet without

resisting or complaining, or showing any reluctance; nevertheless he remained silent lest they should carry

Finding herself now on board, and that we were about to give way with the oars, Zoraida, seeing her father

there, and the other Moors bound, bade the renegade ask me to do her the favour of releasing the Moors and

setting her father at liberty, for she would rather drown herself in the sea than suffer a father that had loved

her so dearly to be carried away captive before her eyes and on her account. The renegade repeated this to

me, and I replied that I was very willing to do so; but he replied that it was not advisable, because if they

were left there they would at once raise the country and stir up the city, and lead to the despatch of swift

cruisers in pursuit, and our being taken, by sea or land, without any possibility of escape; and that all that

could be done was to set them free on the first Christian ground we reached. On this point we all agreed; and

Zoraida, to whom it was explained, together with the reasons that prevented us from doing at once what she

desired, was satisfied likewise; and then in glad silence and with cheerful alacrity each of our stout rowers

took his oar, and commending ourselves to God with all our hearts, we began to shape our course for the

island of Majorca, the nearest Christian land. Owing, however, to the Tramontana rising a little, and the sea

growing somewhat rough, it was impossible for us to keep a straight course for Majorca, and we were

compelled to coast in the direction of Oran, not without great uneasiness on our part lest we should be

observed from the town of Shershel, which lies on that coast, not more than sixty miles from Algiers.

Moreover we were afraid of meeting on that course one of the galliots that usually come with goods from

Tetuan; although each of us for himself and all of us together felt confident that, if we were to meet a

merchant galliot, so that it were not a cruiser, not only should we not be lost, but that we should take a vessel

in which we could more safely accomplish our voyage. As we pursued our course Zoraida kept her head

between my hands so as not to see her father, and I felt that she was praying to Lela Marien to help us.

We might have made about thirty miles when daybreak found us some three musketshots off the land,

which seemed to us deserted, and without anyone to see us. For all that, however, by hard rowing we put out

a little to sea, for it was now somewhat calmer, and having gained about two leagues the word was given to

row by batches, while we ate something, for the vessel was well provided; but the rowers said it was not a

time to take any rest; let food be served out to those who were not rowing, but they would not leave their oars

on any account. This was done, but now a stiff breeze began to blow, which obliged us to leave off rowing

and make sail at once and steer for Oran, as it was impossible to make any other course. All this was done

very promptly, and under sail we ran more than eight miles an hour without any fear, except that of coming

across some vessel out on a roving expedition. We gave the Moorish rowers some food, and the renegade

comforted them by telling them that they were not held as captives, as we should set them free on the first

The same was said to Zoraida's father, who replied, "Anything else, Christian, I might hope for or think likely

from your generosity and good behaviour, but do not think me so simple as to imagine you will give me my

liberty; for you would have never exposed yourselves to the danger of depriving me of it only to restore it to

me so generously, especially as you know who I am and the sum you may expect to receive on restoring it;

and if you will only name that, I here offer you all you require for myself and for my unhappy daughter there;

or else for her alone, for she is the greatest and most precious part of my soul."

As he said this he began to weep so bitterly that he filled us all with compassion and forced Zoraida to look at

him, and when she saw him weeping she was so moved that she rose from my feet and ran to throw her arms

round him, and pressing her face to his, they both gave way to such an outburst of tears that several of us

But when her father saw her in full dress and with all her jewels about her, he said to her in his own language,

"What means this, my daughter? Last night, before this terrible misfortune in which we are plunged befell us,

I saw thee in thy everyday and indoor garments; and now, without having had time to attire thyself, and

without my bringing thee any joyful tidings to furnish an occasion for adorning and bedecking thyself, I see

thee arrayed in the finest attire it would be in my power to give thee when fortune was most kind to us.

Answer me this; for it causes me greater anxiety and surprise than even this misfortune itself."

The renegade interpreted to us what the Moor said to his daughter; she, however, returned him no answer.

But when he observed in one corner of the vessel the little trunk in which she used to keep her jewels, which

he well knew he had left in Algiers and had not brought to the garden, he was still more amazed, and asked

her how that trunk had come into our hands, and what there was in it. To which the renegade, without waiting

for Zoraida to reply, made answer, "Do not trouble thyself by asking thy daughter Zoraida so many questions,

senor, for the one answer I will give thee will serve for all; I would have thee know that she is a Christian,

and that it is she who has been the file for our chains and our deliverer from captivity. She is here of her own

free will, as glad, I imagine, to find herself in this position as he who escapes from darkness into the light,

"That thou art in truth a Christian," said the old man, "and that thou hast given thy father into the power of his

To which Zoraida made answer, "A Christian I am, but it is not I who have placed thee in this position, for it

never was my wish to leave thee or do thee harm, but only to do good to myself."

"Ask thou that," said she, "of Lela Marien, for she can tell thee better than I."

The Moor had hardly heard these words when with marvellous quickness he flung himself headforemost into

the sea, where no doubt he would have been drowned had not the long and full dress he wore held him up for

a little on the surface of the water. Zoraida cried aloud to us to save him, and we all hastened to help, and

seizing him by his robe we drew him in half drowned and insensible, at which Zoraida was in such distress

that she wept over him as piteously and bitterly as though he were already dead. We turned him upon his face

and he voided a great quantity of water, and at the end of two hours came to himself. Meanwhile, the wind

having changed we were compelled to head for the land, and ply our oars to avoid being driven on shore; but

it was our good fortune to reach a creek that lies on one side of a small promontory or cape, called by the

Moors that of the "Cava rumia," which in our language means "the wicked Christian woman;" for it is a

tradition among them that La Cava, through whom Spain was lost, lies buried at that spot; "cava" in their

language meaning "wicked woman," and "rumia" "Christian;" moreover, they count it unlucky to anchor

there when necessity compels them, and they never do so otherwise. For us, however, it was not the

restingplace of the wicked woman but a haven of safety for our relief, so much had the sea now got up. We

posted a lookout on shore, and never let the oars out of our hands, and ate of the stores the renegade had laid

in, imploring God and Our Lady with all our hearts to help and protect us, that we might give a happy ending

to a beginning so prosperous. At the entreaty of Zoraida orders were given to set on shore her father and the

other Moors who were still bound, for she could not endure, nor could her tender heart bear to see her father

in bonds and her fellowcountrymen prisoners before her eyes. We promised her to do this at the moment of

departure, for as it was uninhabited we ran no risk in releasing them at that place.

Our prayers were not so far in vain as to be unheard by Heaven, for after a while the wind changed in our

favour, and made the sea calm, inviting us once more to resume our voyage with a good heart. Seeing this we

unbound the Moors, and one by one put them on shore, at which they were filled with amazement; but when

we came to land Zoraida's father, who had now completely recovered his senses, he said:

"Why is it, think ye, Christians, that this wicked woman is rejoiced at your giving me my liberty? Think ye it

is because of the affection she bears me? Nay verily, it is only because of the hindrance my presence offers to

the execution of her base designs. And think not that it is her belief that yours is better than ours that has led

her to change her religion; it is only because she knows that immodesty is more freely practised in your

country than in ours." Then turning to Zoraida, while I and another of the Christians held him fast by both

arms, lest he should do some mad act, he said to her, "Infamous girl, misguided maiden, whither in thy

blindness and madness art thou going in the hands of these dogs, our natural enemies? Cursed be the hour

But seeing that he was not likely soon to cease I made haste to put him on shore, and thence he continued his

maledictions and lamentations aloud; calling on Mohammed to pray to Allah to destroy us, to confound us, to

make an end of us; and when, in consequence of having made sail, we could no longer hear what he said we

could see what he did; how he plucked out his beard and tore his hair and lay writhing on the ground. But

once he raised his voice to such a pitch that we were able to hear what he said. "Come back, dear daughter,

come back to shore; I forgive thee all; let those men have the money, for it is theirs now, and come back to

comfort thy sorrowing father, who will yield up his life on this barren strand if thou dost leave him."

All this Zoraida heard, and heard with sorrow and tears, and all she could say in answer was, "Allah grant

that Lela Marien, who has made me become a Christian, give thee comfort in thy sorrow, my father. Allah

knows that I could not do otherwise than I have done, and that these Christians owe nothing to my will; for

even had I wished not to accompany them, but remain at home, it would have been impossible for me, so

eagerly did my soul urge me on to the accomplishment of this purpose, which I feel to be as righteous as to

But neither could her father hear her nor we see him when she said this; and so, while I consoled Zoraida, we

turned our attention to our voyage, in which a breeze from the right point so favoured us that we made sure of

finding ourselves off the coast of Spain on the morrow by daybreak. But, as good seldom or never comes

pure and unmixed, without being attended or followed by some disturbing evil that gives a shock to it, our

fortune, or perhaps the curses which the Moor had hurled at his daughter (for whatever kind of father they

may come from these are always to be dreaded), brought it about that when we were now in midsea, and the

night about three hours spent, as we were running with all sail set and oars lashed, for the favouring breeze

saved us the trouble of using them, we saw by the light of the moon, which shone brilliantly, a squarerigged

vessel in full sail close to us, luffing up and standing across our course, and so close that we had to strike sail

to avoid running foul of her, while they too put the helm hard up to let us pass. They came to the side of the

ship to ask who we were, whither we were bound, and whence we came, but as they asked this in French our

renegade said, "Let no one answer, for no doubt these are French corsairs who plunder all comers." Acting on

this warning no one answered a word, but after we had gone a little ahead, and the vessel was now lying to

leeward, suddenly they fired two guns, and apparently both loaded with chainshot, for with one they cut our

mast in half and brought down both it and the sail into the sea, and the other, discharged at the same moment,

sent a ball into our vessel amidships, staving her in completely, but without doing any further damage. We,

however, finding ourselves sinking began to shout for help and call upon those in the ship to pick us up as we

were beginning to fill. They then lay to, and lowering a skiff or boat, as many as a dozen Frenchmen, well

armed with matchlocks, and their matches burning, got into it and came alongside; and seeing how few we

were, and that our vessel was going down, they took us in, telling us that this had come to us through our

incivility in not giving them an answer. Our renegade took the trunk containing Zoraida's wealth and dropped

it into the sea without anyone perceiving what he did. In short we went on board with the Frenchmen, who,

after having ascertained all they wanted to know about us, rifled us of everything we had, as if they had been

our bitterest enemies, and from Zoraida they took even the anklets she wore on her feet; but the distress they

caused her did not distress me so much as the fear I was in that from robbing her of her rich and precious

jewels they would proceed to rob her of the most precious jewel that she valued more than all. The desires,

however, of those people do not go beyond money, but of that their covetousness is insatiable, and on this

occasion it was carried to such a pitch that they would have taken even the clothes we wore as captives if they

had been worth anything to them. It was the advice of some of them to throw us all into the sea wrapped up in

a sail; for their purpose was to trade at some of the ports of Spain, giving themselves out as Bretons, and if

they brought us alive they would be punished as soon as the robbery was discovered; but the captain (who

was the one who had plundered my beloved Zoraida) said he was satisfied with the prize he had got, and that

he would not touch at any Spanish port, but pass the Straits of Gibraltar by night, or as best he could, and

make for La Rochelle, from which he had sailed. So they agreed by common consent to give us the skiff

belonging to their ship and all we required for the short voyage that remained to us, and this they did the next

day on coming in sight of the Spanish coast, with which, and the joy we felt, all our sufferings and miseries

were as completely forgotten as if they had never been endured by us, such is the delight of recovering lost

It may have been about midday when they placed us in the boat, giving us two kegs of water and some

biscuit; and the captain, moved by I know not what compassion, as the lovely Zoraida was about to embark,

gave her some forty gold crowns, and would not permit his men to take from her those same garments which

she has on now. We got into the boat, returning them thanks for their kindness to us, and showing ourselves

grateful rather than indignant. They stood out to sea, steering for the straits; we, without looking to any

compass save the land we had before us, set ourselves to row with such energy that by sunset we were so near

that we might easily, we thought, land before the night was far advanced. But as the moon did not show that

night, and the sky was clouded, and as we knew not whereabouts we were, it did not seem to us a prudent

thing to make for the shore, as several of us advised, saying we ought to run ourselves ashore even if it were

on rocks and far from any habitation, for in this way we should be relieved from the apprehensions we

naturally felt of the prowling vessels of the Tetuan corsairs, who leave Barbary at nightfall and are on the

Spanish coast by daybreak, where they commonly take some prize, and then go home to sleep in their own

houses. But of the conflicting counsels the one which was adopted was that we should approach gradually,

and land where we could if the sea were calm enough to permit us. This was done, and a little before

midnight we drew near to the foot of a huge and lofty mountain, not so close to the sea but that it left a

narrow space on which to land conveniently. We ran our boat up on the sand, and all sprang out and kissed

the ground, and with tears of joyful satisfaction returned thanks to God our Lord for all his incomparable

goodness to us on our voyage. We took out of the boat the provisions it contained, and drew it up on the

shore, and then climbed a long way up the mountain, for even there we could not feel easy in our hearts, or

The dawn came, more slowly, I think, than we could have wished; we completed the ascent in order to see if

from the summit any habitation or any shepherds' huts could be discovered, but strain our eyes as we might,

neither dwelling, nor human being, nor path nor road could we perceive. However, we determined to push on

farther, as it could not but be that ere long we must see some one who could tell us where we were. But what

distressed me most was to see Zoraida going on foot over that rough ground; for though I once carried her on

my shoulders, she was more wearied by my weariness than rested by the rest; and so she would never again

allow me to undergo the exertion, and went on very patiently and cheerfully, while I led her by the hand. We

had gone rather less than a quarter of a league when the sound of a little bell fell on our ears, a clear proof

that there were flocks hard by, and looking about carefully to see if any were within view, we observed a

young shepherd tranquilly and unsuspiciously trimming a stick with his knife at the foot of a cork tree. We

called to him, and he, raising his head, sprang nimbly to his feet, for, as we afterwards learned, the first who

presented themselves to his sight were the renegade and Zoraida, and seeing them in Moorish dress he

imagined that all the Moors of Barbary were upon him; and plunging with marvellous swiftness into the

thicket in front of him, he began to raise a prodigious outcry, exclaiming, "The Moors the Moors have

landed! To arms, to arms!" We were all thrown into perplexity by these cries, not knowing what to do; but

reflecting that the shouts of the shepherd would raise the country and that the mounted coastguard would

come at once to see what was the matter, we agreed that the renegade must strip off his Turkish garments and

put on a captive's jacket or coat which one of our party gave him at once, though he himself was reduced to

his shirt; and so commending ourselves to God, we followed the same road which we saw the shepherd take,

expecting every moment that the coastguard would be down upon us. Nor did our expectation deceive us,

for two hours had not passed when, coming out of the brushwood into the open ground, we perceived some

fifty mounted men swiftly approaching us at a handgallop. As soon as we saw them we stood still, waiting

for them; but as they came close and, instead of the Moors they were in quest of, saw a set of poor Christians,

they were taken aback, and one of them asked if it could be we who were the cause of the shepherd having

raised the call to arms. I said "Yes," and as I was about to explain to him what had occurred, and whence we

came and who we were, one of the Christians of our party recognised the horseman who had put the question

"Thanks be to God, sirs, for bringing us to such good quarters; for, if I do not deceive myself, the ground we

stand on is that of Velez Malaga unless, indeed, all my years of captivity have made me unable to recollect

The Christian captive had hardly uttered these words, when the horseman threw himself off his horse, and ran

"Nephew of my soul and life! I recognise thee now; and long have I mourned thee as dead, I, and my sister,

thy mother, and all thy kin that are still alive, and whom God has been pleased to preserve that they may

enjoy the happiness of seeing thee. We knew long since that thou wert in Algiers, and from the appearance of

thy garments and those of all this company, I conclude that ye have had a miraculous restoration to liberty."

As soon as the horsemen understood that we were Christian captives, they dismounted from their horses, and

each offered his to carry us to the city of Velez Malaga, which was a league and a half distant. Some of them

went to bring the boat to the city, we having told them where we had left it; others took us up behind them,

and Zoraida was placed on the horse of the young man's uncle. The whole town came out to meet us, for they

had by this time heard of our arrival from one who had gone on in advance. They were not astonished to see

liberated captives or captive Moors, for people on that coast are well used to see both one and the other; but

they were astonished at the beauty of Zoraida, which was just then heightened, as well by the exertion of

travelling as by joy at finding herself on Christian soil, and relieved of all fear of being lost; for this had

brought such a glow upon her face, that unless my affection for her were deceiving me, I would venture to

say that there was not a more beautiful creature in the world at least, that I had ever seen. We went straight

to the church to return thanks to God for the mercies we had received, and when Zoraida entered it she said

there were faces there like Lela Marien's. We told her they were her images; and as well as he could the

renegade explained to her what they meant, that she might adore them as if each of them were the very same

Lela Marien that had spoken to her; and she, having great intelligence and a quick and clear instinct,

understood at once all he said to her about them. Thence they took us away and distributed us all in different

houses in the town; but as for the renegade, Zoraida, and myself, the Christian who came with us brought us

to the house of his parents, who had a fair share of the gifts of fortune, and treated us with as much kindness

We remained six days in Velez, at the end of which the renegade, having informed himself of all that was

requisite for him to do, set out for the city of Granada to restore himself to the sacred bosom of the Church

through the medium of the Holy Inquisition. The other released captives took their departures, each the way

that seemed best to him, and Zoraida and I were left alone, with nothing more than the crowns which the

courtesy of the Frenchman had bestowed upon Zoraida, out of which I bought the beast on which she rides;

and, I for the present attending her as her father and squire and not as her husband, we are now going to

ascertain if my father is living, or if any of my brothers has had better fortune than mine has been; though, as

Heaven has made me the companion of Zoraida, I think no other lot could be assigned to me, however happy,

that I would rather have. The patience with which she endures the hardships that poverty brings with it, and

the eagerness she shows to become a Christian, are such that they fill me with admiration, and bind me to

serve her all my life; though the happiness I feel in seeing myself hers, and her mine, is disturbed and marred

by not knowing whether I shall find any corner to shelter her in my own country, or whether time and death

may not have made such changes in the fortunes and lives of my father and brothers, that I shall hardly find

I have no more of my story to tell you, gentlemen; whether it be an interesting or a curious one let your better

judgments decide; all I can say is I would gladly have told it to you more briefly; although my fear of

With these words the captive held his peace, and Don Fernando said to him, "In truth, captain, the manner in

which you have related this remarkable adventure has been such as befitted the novelty and strangeness of the

matter. The whole story is curious and uncommon, and abounds with incidents that fill the hearers with

wonder and astonishment; and so great is the pleasure we have found in listening to it that we should be glad

if it were to begin again, even though tomorrow were to find us still occupied with the same tale." And

while he said this Cardenio and the rest of them offered to be of service to him in any way that lay in their

power, and in words and language so kindly and sincere that the captain was much gratified by their

goodwill. In particular Don Fernando offered, if he would go back with him, to get his brother the marquis

to become godfather at the baptism of Zoraida, and on his own part to provide him with the means of making

his appearance in his own country with the credit and comfort he was entitled to. For all this the captive

returned thanks very courteously, although he would not accept any of their generous offers.

By this time night closed in, and as it did, there came up to the inn a coach attended by some men on

horseback, who demanded accommodation; to which the landlady replied that there was not a hand's breadth

"Still, for all that," said one of those who had entered on horseback, "room must be found for his lordship the

At this name the landlady was taken aback, and said, "Senor, the fact is I have no beds; but if his lordship the

Judge carries one with him, as no doubt he does, let him come in and welcome; for my husband and I will

"Very good, so be it," said the squire; but in the meantime a man had got out of the coach whose dress

indicated at a glance the office and post he held, for the long robe with ruffled sleeves that he wore showed

that he was, as his servant said, a Judge of appeal. He led by the hand a young girl in a travelling dress,

apparently about sixteen years of age, and of such a highbred air, so beautiful and so graceful, that all were

filled with admiration when she made her appearance, and but for having seen Dorothea, Luscinda, and

Zoraida, who were there in the inn, they would have fancied that a beauty like that of this maiden's would

have been hard to find. Don Quixote was present at the entrance of the Judge with the young lady, and as

soon as he saw him he said, "Your worship may with confidence enter and take your ease in this castle; for

though the accommodation be scanty and poor, there are no quarters so cramped or inconvenient that they

cannot make room for arms and letters; above all if arms and letters have beauty for a guide and leader, as

letters represented by your worship have in this fair maiden, to whom not only ought castles to throw

themselves open and yield themselves up, but rocks should rend themselves asunder and mountains divide

and bow themselves down to give her a reception. Enter, your worship, I say, into this paradise, for here you

will find stars and suns to accompany the heaven your worship brings with you, here you will find arms in

The Judge was struck with amazement at the language of Don Quixote, whom he scrutinized very carefully,

no less astonished by his figure than by his talk; and before he could find words to answer him he had a fresh

surprise, when he saw opposite to him Luscinda, Dorothea, and Zoraida, who, having heard of the new guests

and of the beauty of the young lady, had come to see her and welcome her; Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the

curate, however, greeted him in a more intelligible and polished style. In short, the Judge made his entrance

in a state of bewilderment, as well with what he saw as what he heard, and the fair ladies of the inn gave the

fair damsel a cordial welcome. On the whole he could perceive that all who were there were people of

quality; but with the figure, countenance, and bearing of Don Quixote he was at his wits' end; and all

civilities having been exchanged, and the accommodation of the inn inquired into, it was settled, as it had

been before settled, that all the women should retire to the garret that has been already mentioned, and that

the men should remain outside as if to guard them; the Judge, therefore, was very well pleased to allow his

daughter, for such the damsel was, to go with the ladies, which she did very willingly; and with part of the

host's narrow bed and half of what the Judge had brought with him, they made a more comfortable

The captive, whose heart had leaped within him the instant he saw the Judge, telling him somehow that this

was his brother, asked one of the servants who accompanied him what his name was, and whether he knew

from what part of the country he came. The servant replied that he was called the Licentiate Juan Perez de

Viedma, and that he had heard it said he came from a village in the mountains of Leon. From this statement,

and what he himself had seen, he felt convinced that this was his brother who had adopted letters by his

father's advice; and excited and rejoiced, he called Don Fernando and Cardenio and the curate aside, and told

them how the matter stood, assuring them that the judge was his brother. The servant had further informed

him that he was now going to the Indies with the appointment of Judge of the Supreme Court of Mexico; and

he had learned, likewise, that the young lady was his daughter, whose mother had died in giving birth to her,

and that he was very rich in consequence of the dowry left to him with the daughter. He asked their advice as

to what means he should adopt to make himself known, or to ascertain beforehand whether, when he had

made himself known, his brother, seeing him so poor, would be ashamed of him, or would receive him with a

"Leave it to me to find out that," said the curate; "though there is no reason for supposing, senor captain, that

you will not be kindly received, because the worth and wisdom that your brother's bearing shows him to

possess do not make it likely that he will prove haughty or insensible, or that he will not know how to

"Still," said the captain, "I would not make myself known abruptly, but in some indirect way."

"I have told you already," said the curate, "that I will manage it in a way to satisfy us all."

By this time supper was ready, and they all took their seats at the table, except the captive, and the ladies,

who supped by themselves in their own room. In the middle of supper the curate said:

"I had a comrade of your worship's name, Senor Judge, in Constantinople, where I was a captive for several

years, and that same comrade was one of the stoutest soldiers and captains in the whole Spanish infantry; but

"He was called Ruy Perez de Viedma," replied the curate, "and he was born in a village in the mountains of

Leon; and he mentioned a circumstance connected with his father and his brothers which, had it not been told

me by so truthful a man as he was, I should have set down as one of those fables the old women tell over the

fire in winter; for he said his father had divided his property among his three sons and had addressed words of

advice to them sounder than any of Cato's. But I can say this much, that the choice he made of going to the

wars was attended with such success, that by his gallant conduct and courage, and without any help save his

own merit, he rose in a few years to be captain of infantry, and to see himself on the highroad and in

position to be given the command of a corps before long; but Fortune was against him, for where he might

have expected her favour he lost it, and with it his liberty, on that glorious day when so many recovered

theirs, at the battle of Lepanto. I lost mine at the Goletta, and after a variety of adventures we found ourselves

comrades at Constantinople. Thence he went to Algiers, where he met with one of the most extraordinary

Here the curate went on to relate briefly his brother's adventure with Zoraida; to all which the Judge gave

such an attentive hearing that he never before had been so much of a hearer. The curate, however, only went

so far as to describe how the Frenchmen plundered those who were in the boat, and the poverty and distress

in which his comrade and the fair Moor were left, of whom he said he had not been able to learn what became

of them, or whether they had reached Spain, or been carried to France by the Frenchmen.

The captain, standing a little to one side, was listening to all the curate said, and watching every movement of

his brother, who, as soon as he perceived the curate had made an end of his story, gave a deep sigh and said

with his eyes full of tears, "Oh, senor, if you only knew what news you have given me and how it comes

home to me, making me show how I feel it with these tears that spring from my eyes in spite of all my

worldly wisdom and selfrestraint! That brave captain that you speak of is my eldest brother, who, being of a

bolder and loftier mind than my other brother or myself, chose the honourable and worthy calling of arms,

which was one of the three careers our father proposed to us, as your comrade mentioned in that fable you

thought he was telling you. I followed that of letters, in which God and my own exertions have raised me to

the position in which you see me. My second brother is in Peru, so wealthy that with what he has sent to my

father and to me he has fully repaid the portion he took with him, and has even furnished my father's hands

with the means of gratifying his natural generosity, while I too have been enabled to pursue my studies in a

more becoming and creditable fashion, and so to attain my present standing. My father is still alive, though

dying with anxiety to hear of his eldest son, and he prays God unceasingly that death may not close his eyes

until he has looked upon those of his son; but with regard to him what surprises me is, that having so much

common sense as he had, he should have neglected to give any intelligence about himself, either in his

troubles and sufferings, or in his prosperity, for if his father or any of us had known of his condition he need

not have waited for that miracle of the reed to obtain his ransom; but what now disquiets me is the

uncertainty whether those Frenchmen may have restored him to liberty, or murdered him to hide the robbery.

All this will make me continue my journey, not with the satisfaction in which I began it, but in the deepest

melancholy and sadness. Oh dear brother! that I only knew where thou art now, and I would hasten to seek

thee out and deliver thee from thy sufferings, though it were to cost me suffering myself! Oh that I could

bring news to our old father that thou art alive, even wert thou the deepest dungeon of Barbary; for his wealth

and my brother's and mine would rescue thee thence! Oh beautiful and generous Zoraida, that I could repay

thy good goodness to a brother! That I could be present at the new birth of thy soul, and at thy bridal that

All this and more the Judge uttered with such deep emotion at the news he had received of his brother that all

who heard him shared in it, showing their sympathy with his sorrow. The curate, seeing, then, how well he

had succeeded in carrying out his purpose and the captain's wishes, had no desire to keep them unhappy any

longer, so he rose from the table and going into the room where Zoraida was he took her by the hand,

Luscinda, Dorothea, and the Judge's daughter following her. The captain was waiting to see what the curate

would do, when the latter, taking him with the other hand, advanced with both of them to where the Judge

and the other gentlemen were and said, "Let your tears cease to flow, Senor Judge, and the wish of your heart

be gratified as fully as you could desire, for you have before you your worthy brother and your good

sisterinlaw. He whom you see here is the Captain Viedma, and this is the fair Moor who has been so good

to him. The Frenchmen I told you of have reduced them to the state of poverty you see that you may show the

The captain ran to embrace his brother, who placed both hands on his breast so as to have a good look at him,

holding him a little way off but as soon as he had fully recognised him he clasped him in his arms so closely,

shedding such tears of heartfelt joy, that most of those present could not but join in them. The words the

brothers exchanged, the emotion they showed can scarcely be imagined, I fancy, much less put down in

writing. They told each other in a few words the events of their lives; they showed the true affection of

brothers in all its strength; then the judge embraced Zoraida, putting all he possessed at her disposal; then he

made his daughter embrace her, and the fair Christian and the lovely Moor drew fresh tears from every eye.

And there was Don Quixote observing all these strange proceedings attentively without uttering a word, and

attributing the whole to chimeras of knighterrantry. Then they agreed that the captain and Zoraida should

return with his brother to Seville, and send news to his father of his having been delivered and found, so as to

enable him to come and be present at the marriage and baptism of Zoraida, for it was impossible for the Judge

to put off his journey, as he was informed that in a month from that time the fleet was to sail from Seville for

New Spain, and to miss the passage would have been a great inconvenience to him. In short, everybody was

well pleased and glad at the captive's good fortune; and as now almost twothirds of the night were past, they

resolved to retire to rest for the remainder of it. Don Quixote offered to mount guard over the castle lest they

should be attacked by some giant or other malevolent scoundrel, covetous of the great treasure of beauty the

castle contained. Those who understood him returned him thanks for this service, and they gave the Judge an

account of his extraordinary humour, with which he was not a little amused. Sancho Panza alone was fuming

at the lateness of the hour for retiring to rest; and he of all was the one that made himself most comfortable,

as he stretched himself on the trappings of his ass, which, as will be told farther on, cost him so dear.

The ladies, then, having retired to their chamber, and the others having disposed themselves with as little

discomfort as they could, Don Quixote sallied out of the inn to act as sentinel of the castle as he had

promised. It happened, however, that a little before the approach of dawn a voice so musical and sweet

reached the ears of the ladies that it forced them all to listen attentively, but especially Dorothea, who had

been awake, and by whose side Dona Clara de Viedma, for so the Judge's daughter was called, lay sleeping.

No one could imagine who it was that sang so sweetly, and the voice was unaccompanied by any instrument.

At one moment it seemed to them as if the singer were in the courtyard, at another in the stable; and as they

were all attention, wondering, Cardenio came to the door and said, "Listen, whoever is not asleep, and you

"We are listening to it already, senor," said Dorothea; on which Cardenio went away; and Dorothea, giving

The singer had got so far when it struck Dorothea that it was not fair to let Clara miss hearing such a sweet

"Forgive me, child, for waking thee, but I do so that thou mayest have the pleasure of hearing the best voice

Clara awoke quite drowsy, and not understanding at the moment what Dorothea said, asked her what it was;

she repeated what she had said, and Clara became attentive at once; but she had hardly heard two lines, as the

singer continued, when a strange trembling seized her, as if she were suffering from a severe attack of

"Ah, dear lady of my soul and life! why did you wake me? The greatest kindness fortune could do me now

would be to close my eyes and ears so as neither to see or hear that unhappy musician."

"What art thou talking about, child?" said Dorothea. "Why, they say this singer is a muleteer!"

"Nay, he is the lord of many places," replied Clara, "and that one in my heart which he holds so firmly shall

Dorothea was amazed at the ardent language of the girl, for it seemed to be far beyond such experience of life

"You speak in such a way that I cannot understand you, Senora Clara; explain yourself more clearly, and tell

me what is this you are saying about hearts and places and this musician whose voice has so moved you? But

do not tell me anything now; I do not want to lose the pleasure I get from listening to the singer by giving my

attention to your transports, for I perceive he is beginning to sing a new strain and a new air."

"Let him, in Heaven's name," returned Clara; and not to hear him she stopped both ears with her hands, at

which Dorothea was again surprised; but turning her attention to the song she found that it ran in this fashion:

Here the voice ceased and Clara's sobs began afresh, all which excited Dorothea's curiosity to know what

could be the cause of singing so sweet and weeping so bitter, so she again asked her what it was she was

going to say before. On this Clara, afraid that Luscinda might overhear her, winding her arms tightly round

Dorothea put her mouth so close to her ear that she could speak without fear of being heard by anyone else,

"This singer, dear senora, is the son of a gentleman of Aragon, lord of two villages, who lives opposite my

father's house at Madrid; and though my father had curtains to the windows of his house in winter, and

latticework in summer, in some way I know not how this gentleman, who was pursuing his studies, saw

me, whether in church or elsewhere, I cannot tell, and, in fact, fell in love with me, and gave me to know it

from the windows of his house, with so many signs and tears that I was forced to believe him, and even to

love him, without knowing what it was he wanted of me. One of the signs he used to make me was to link

one hand in the other, to show me he wished to marry me; and though I should have been glad if that could

be, being alone and motherless I knew not whom to open my mind to, and so I left it as it was, showing him

no favour, except when my father, and his too, were from home, to raise the curtain or the lattice a little and

let him see me plainly, at which he would show such delight that he seemed as if he were going mad.

Meanwhile the time for my father's departure arrived, which he became aware of, but not from me, for I had

never been able to tell him of it. He fell sick, of grief I believe, and so the day we were going away I could

not see him to take farewell of him, were it only with the eyes. But after we had been two days on the road,

on entering the posada of a village a day's journey from this, I saw him at the inn door in the dress of a

muleteer, and so well disguised, that if I did not carry his image graven on my heart it would have been

impossible for me to recognise him. But I knew him, and I was surprised, and glad; he watched me,

unsuspected by my father, from whom he always hides himself when he crosses my path on the road, or in

the posadas where we halt; and, as I know what he is, and reflect that for love of me he makes this journey on

foot in all this hardship, I am ready to die of sorrow; and where he sets foot there I set my eyes. I know not

with what object he has come; or how he could have got away from his father, who loves him beyond

measure, having no other heir, and because he deserves it, as you will perceive when you see him. And

moreover, I can tell you, all that he sings is out of his own head; for I have heard them say he is a great

scholar and poet; and what is more, every time I see him or hear him sing I tremble all over, and am terrified

lest my father should recognise him and come to know of our loves. I have never spoken a word to him in my

life; and for all that I love him so that I could not live without him. This, dear senora, is all I have to tell you

about the musician whose voice has delighted you so much; and from it alone you might easily perceive he is

"Say no more, Dona Clara," said Dorothea at this, at the same time kissing her a thousand times over, "say no

more, I tell you, but wait till day comes; when I trust in God to arrange this affair of yours so that it may have

"Ah, senora," said Dona Clara, "what end can be hoped for when his father is of such lofty position, and so

wealthy, that he would think I was not fit to be even a servant to his son, much less wife? And as to marrying

without the knowledge of my father, I would not do it for all the world. I would not ask anything more than

that this youth should go back and leave me; perhaps with not seeing him, and the long distance we shall

have to travel, the pain I suffer now may become easier; though I daresay the remedy I propose will do me

very little good. I don't know how the devil this has come about, or how this love I have for him got in; I such

a young girl, and he such a mere boy; for I verily believe we are both of an age, and I am not sixteen yet; for I

Dorothea could not help laughing to hear how like a child Dona Clara spoke. "Let us go to sleep now,

senora," said she, "for the little of the night that I fancy is left to us: God will soon send us daylight, and we

With this they fell asleep, and deep silence reigned all through the inn. The only persons not asleep were the

landlady's daughter and her servant Maritornes, who, knowing the weak point of Don Quixote's humour, and

that he was outside the inn mounting guard in armour and on horseback, resolved, the pair of them, to play

some trick upon him, or at any rate to amuse themselves for a while by listening to his nonsense. As it so

happened there was not a window in the whole inn that looked outwards except a hole in the wall of a

strawloft through which they used to throw out the straw. At this hole the two demidamsels posted

themselves, and observed Don Quixote on his horse, leaning on his pike and from time to time sending forth

such deep and doleful sighs, that he seemed to pluck up his soul by the roots with each of them; and they

could hear him, too, saying in a soft, tender, loving tone, "Oh my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, perfection of all

beauty, summit and crown of discretion, treasure house of grace, depositary of virtue, and finally, ideal of all

that is good, honourable, and delectable in this world! What is thy grace doing now? Art thou, perchance,

mindful of thy enslaved knight who of his own free will hath exposed himself to so great perils, and all to

serve thee? Give me tidings of her, oh luminary of the three faces! Perhaps at this moment, envious of hers,

thou art regarding her, either as she paces to and fro some gallery of her sumptuous palaces, or leans over

some balcony, meditating how, whilst preserving her purity and greatness, she may mitigate the tortures this

wretched heart of mine endures for her sake, what glory should recompense my sufferings, what repose my

toil, and lastly what death my life, and what reward my services? And thou, oh sun, that art now doubtless

harnessing thy steeds in haste to rise betimes and come forth to see my lady; when thou seest her I entreat of

thee to salute her on my behalf: but have a care, when thou shalt see her and salute her, that thou kiss not her

face; for I shall be more jealous of thee than thou wert of that lightfooted ingrate that made thee sweat and

run so on the plains of Thessaly, or on the banks of the Peneus (for I do not exactly recollect where it was

Don Quixote had got so far in his pathetic speech when the landlady's daughter began to signal to him,

At these signals and voice Don Quixote turned his head and saw by the light of the moon, which then was in

its full splendour, that some one was calling to him from the hole in the wall, which seemed to him to be a

window, and what is more, with a gilt grating, as rich castles, such as he believed the inn to be, ought to have;

and it immediately suggested itself to his imagination that, as on the former occasion, the fair damsel, the

daughter of the lady of the castle, overcome by love for him, was once more endeavouring to win his

affections; and with this idea, not to show himself discourteous, or ungrateful, he turned Rocinante's head and

"I pity you, beauteous lady, that you should have directed your thoughts of love to a quarter from whence it is

impossible that such a return can be made to you as is due to your great merit and gentle birth, for which you

must not blame this unhappy knighterrant whom love renders incapable of submission to any other than her

whom, the first moment his eyes beheld her, he made absolute mistress of his soul. Forgive me, noble lady,

and retire to your apartment, and do not, by any further declaration of your passion, compel me to show

myself more ungrateful; and if, of the love you bear me, you should find that there is anything else in my

power wherein I can gratify you, provided it be not love itself, demand it of me; for I swear to you by that

sweet absent enemy of mine to grant it this instant, though it be that you require of me a lock of Medusa's

hair, which was all snakes, or even the very beams of the sun shut up in a vial."

"What then, discreet dame, is it that your mistress wants?" replied Don Quixote.

"Only one of your fair hands," said Maritornes, "to enable her to vent over it the great passion passion which

has brought her to this loophole, so much to the risk of her honour; for if the lord her father had heard her, the

"I should like to see that tried," said Don Quixote; "but he had better beware of that, if he does not want to

meet the most disastrous end that ever father in the world met for having laid hands on the tender limbs of a

Maritornes felt sure that Don Quixote would present the hand she had asked, and making up her mind what to

do, she got down from the hole and went into the stable, where she took the halter of Sancho Panza's ass, and

in all haste returned to the hole, just as Don Quixote had planted himself standing on Rocinante's saddle in

order to reach the grated window where he supposed the lovelorn damsel to be; and giving her his hand, he

said, "Lady, take this hand, or rather this scourge of the evildoers of the earth; take, I say, this hand which

no other hand of woman has ever touched, not even hers who has complete possession of my entire body. I

present it to you, not that you may kiss it, but that you may observe the contexture of the sinews, the close

network of the muscles, the breadth and capacity of the veins, whence you may infer what must be the

"That we shall see presently," said Maritornes, and making a running knot on the halter, she passed it over his

wrist and coming down from the hole tied the other end very firmly to the bolt of the door of the strawloft.

Don Quixote, feeling the roughness of the rope on his wrist, exclaimed, "Your grace seems to be grating

rather than caressing my hand; treat it not so harshly, for it is not to blame for the offence my resolution has

given you, nor is it just to wreak all your vengeance on so small a part; remember that one who loves so well

But there was nobody now to listen to these words of Don Quixote's, for as soon as Maritornes had tied him

she and the other made off, ready to die with laughing, leaving him fastened in such a way that it was

He was, as has been said, standing on Rocinante, with his arm passed through the hole and his wrist tied to

the bolt of the door, and in mighty fear and dread of being left hanging by the arm if Rocinante were to stir

one side or the other; so he did not dare to make the least movement, although from the patience and

imperturbable disposition of Rocinante, he had good reason to expect that he would stand without budging

for a whole century. Finding himself fast, then, and that the ladies had retired, he began to fancy that all this

was done by enchantment, as on the former occasion when in that same castle that enchanted Moor of a

carrier had belaboured him; and he cursed in his heart his own want of sense and judgment in venturing to

enter the castle again, after having come off so badly the first time; it being a settled point with

knightserrant that when they have tried an adventure, and have not succeeded in it, it is a sign that it is not

reserved for them but for others, and that therefore they need not try it again. Nevertheless he pulled his arm

to see if he could release himself, but it had been made so fast that all his efforts were in vain. It is true he

pulled it gently lest Rocinante should move, but try as he might to seat himself in the saddle, he had nothing

for it but to stand upright or pull his hand off. Then it was he wished for the sword of Amadis, against which

no enchantment whatever had any power; then he cursed his ill fortune; then he magnified the loss the world

would sustain by his absence while he remained there enchanted, for that he believed he was beyond all

doubt; then he once more took to thinking of his beloved Dulcinea del Toboso; then he called to his worthy

squire Sancho Panza, who, buried in sleep and stretched upon the packsaddle of his ass, was oblivious, at

that moment, of the mother that bore him; then he called upon the sages Lirgandeo and Alquife to come to his

aid; then he invoked his good friend Urganda to succour him; and then, at last, morning found him in such a

state of desperation and perplexity that he was bellowing like a bull, for he had no hope that day would bring

any relief to his suffering, which he believed would last for ever, inasmuch as he was enchanted; and of this

he was convinced by seeing that Rocinante never stirred, much or little, and he felt persuaded that he and his

horse were to remain in this state, without eating or drinking or sleeping, until the malign influence of the

stars was overpast, or until some other more sage enchanter should disenchant him.

But he was very much deceived in this conclusion, for daylight had hardly begun to appear when there came

up to the inn four men on horseback, well equipped and accoutred, with firelocks across their saddlebows.

They called out and knocked loudly at the gate of the inn, which was still shut; on seeing which, Don

Quixote, even there where he was, did not forget to act as sentinel, and said in a loud and imperious tone,

"Knights, or squires, or whatever ye be, ye have no right to knock at the gates of this castle; for it is plain

enough that they who are within are either asleep, or else are not in the habit of throwing open the fortress

until the sun's rays are spread over the whole surface of the earth. Withdraw to a distance, and wait till it is

broad daylight, and then we shall see whether it will be proper or not to open to you."

"What the devil fortress or castle is this," said one, "to make us stand on such ceremony? If you are the

innkeeper bid them open to us; we are travellers who only want to feed our horses and go on, for we are in

"I don't know what you look like," replied the other; "but I know that you are talking nonsense when you call

"A castle it is," returned Don Quixote, "nay, more, one of the best in this whole province, and it has within it

"It would be better if it were the other way," said the traveller, "the sceptre on the head and the crown in the

hand; but if so, may be there is within some company of players, with whom it is a common thing to have

those crowns and sceptres you speak of; for in such a small inn as this, and where such silence is kept, I do

not believe any people entitled to crowns and sceptres can have taken up their quarters."

"You know but little of the world," returned Don Quixote, "since you are ignorant of what commonly occurs

But the comrades of the spokesman, growing weary of the dialogue with Don Quixote, renewed their knocks

with great vehemence, so much so that the host, and not only he but everybody in the inn, awoke, and he got

up to ask who knocked. It happened at this moment that one of the horses of the four who were seeking

admittance went to smell Rocinante, who melancholy, dejected, and with drooping ears stood motionless,

supporting his sorely stretched master; and as he was, after all, flesh, though he looked as if he were made of

wood, he could not help giving way and in return smelling the one who had come to offer him attentions. But

he had hardly moved at all when Don Quixote lost his footing; and slipping off the saddle, he would have

come to the ground, but for being suspended by the arm, which caused him such agony that he believed either

his wrist would be cut through or his arm torn off; and he hung so near the ground that he could just touch it

with his feet, which was all the worse for him; for, finding how little was wanted to enable him to plant his

feet firmly, he struggled and stretched himself as much as he could to gain a footing; just like those

undergoing the torture of the strappado, when they are fixed at "touch and no touch," who aggravate their

own sufferings by their violent efforts to stretch themselves, deceived by the hope which makes them fancy

So loud, in fact, were the shouts of Don Quixote, that the landlord opening the gate of the inn in all haste,

came out in dismay, and ran to see who was uttering such cries, and those who were outside joined him.

Maritornes, who had been by this time roused up by the same outcry, suspecting what it was, ran to the loft

and, without anyone seeing her, untied the halter by which Don Quixote was suspended, and down he came

to the ground in the sight of the landlord and the travellers, who approaching asked him what was the matter

with him that he shouted so. He without replying a word took the rope off his wrist, and rising to his feet

leaped upon Rocinante, braced his buckler on his arm, put his lance in rest, and making a considerable circuit

"Whoever shall say that I have been enchanted with just cause, provided my lady the Princess Micomicona

grants me permission to do so, I give him the lie, challenge him and defy him to single combat."

The newly arrived travellers were amazed at the words of Don Quixote; but the landlord removed their

surprise by telling them who he was, and not to mind him as he was out of his senses. They then asked the

landlord if by any chance a youth of about fifteen years of age had come to that inn, one dressed like a

muleteer, and of such and such an appearance, describing that of Dona Clara's lover. The landlord replied that

there were so many people in the inn he had not noticed the person they were inquiring for; but one of them

observing the coach in which the Judge had come, said, "He is here no doubt, for this is the coach he is

following: let one of us stay at the gate, and the rest go in to look for him; or indeed it would be as well if one

of us went round the inn, lest he should escape over the wall of the yard." "So be it," said another; and while

two of them went in, one remained at the gate and the other made the circuit of the inn; observing all which,

the landlord was unable to conjecture for what reason they were taking all these precautions, though he

understood they were looking for the youth whose description they had given him.

It was by this time broad daylight; and for that reason, as well as in consequence of the noise Don Quixote

had made, everybody was awake and up, but particularly Dona Clara and Dorothea; for they had been able to

sleep but badly that night, the one from agitation at having her lover so near her, the other from curiosity to

see him. Don Quixote, when he saw that not one of the four travellers took any notice of him or replied to his

challenge, was furious and ready to die with indignation and wrath; and if he could have found in the

ordinances of chivalry that it was lawful for a knighterrant to undertake or engage in another enterprise,

when he had plighted his word and faith not to involve himself in any until he had made an end of the one to

which he was pledged, he would have attacked the whole of them, and would have made them return an

answer in spite of themselves. But considering that it would not become him, nor be right, to begin any new

emprise until he had established Micomicona in her kingdom, he was constrained to hold his peace and wait

quietly to see what would be the upshot of the proceedings of those same travellers; one of whom found the

youth they were seeking lying asleep by the side of a muleteer, without a thought of anyone coming in search

The man laid hold of him by the arm, saying, "It becomes you well indeed, Senor Don Luis, to be in the dress

you wear, and well the bed in which I find you agrees with the luxury in which your mother reared you."

The youth rubbed his sleepy eyes and stared for a while at him who held him, but presently recognised him as

one of his father's servants, at which he was so taken aback that for some time he could not find or utter a

word; while the servant went on to say, "There is nothing for it now, Senor Don Luis, but to submit quietly

and return home, unless it is your wish that my lord, your father, should take his departure for the other

world, for nothing else can be the consequence of the grief he is in at your absence."

"But how did my father know that I had gone this road and in this dress?" said Don Luis.

"It was a student to whom you confided your intentions," answered the servant, "that disclosed them, touched

with pity at the distress he saw your father suffer on missing you; he therefore despatched four of his servants

in quest of you, and here we all are at your service, better pleased than you can imagine that we shall return

"What can you please or heaven order," said the other, "except to agree to go back? Anything else is

All this conversation between the two was overheard by the muleteer at whose side Don Luis lay, and rising,

he went to report what had taken place to Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the others, who had by this time

dressed themselves; and told them how the man had addressed the youth as "Don," and what words had

passed, and how he wanted him to return to his father, which the youth was unwilling to do. With this, and

what they already knew of the rare voice that heaven had bestowed upon him, they all felt very anxious to

know more particularly who he was, and even to help him if it was attempted to employ force against him; so

they hastened to where he was still talking and arguing with his servant. Dorothea at this instant came out of

her room, followed by Dona Clara all in a tremor; and calling Cardenio aside, she told him in a few words the

story of the musician and Dona Clara, and he at the same time told her what had happened, how his father's

servants had come in search of him; but in telling her so, he did not speak low enough but that Dona Clara

heard what he said, at which she was so much agitated that had not Dorothea hastened to support her she

would have fallen to the ground. Cardenio then bade Dorothea return to her room, as he would endeavour to

make the whole matter right, and they did as he desired. All the four who had come in quest of Don Luis had

now come into the inn and surrounded him, urging him to return and console his father at once and without a

moment's delay. He replied that he could not do so on any account until he had concluded some business in

which his life, honour, and heart were at stake. The servants pressed him, saying that most certainly they

would not return without him, and that they would take him away whether he liked it or not.

"You shall not do that," replied Don Luis, "unless you take me dead; though however you take me, it will be

By this time most of those in the inn had been attracted by the dispute, but particularly Cardenio, Don

Fernando, his companions, the Judge, the curate, the barber, and Don Quixote; for he now considered there

was no necessity for mounting guard over the castle any longer. Cardenio being already acquainted with the

young man's story, asked the men who wanted to take him away, what object they had in seeking to carry off

"Our object," said one of the four, "is to save the life of his father, who is in danger of losing it through this

Upon this Don Luis exclaimed, "There is no need to make my affairs public here; I am free, and I will return

"Reason will compel your worship," said the man, "and if it has no power over you, it has power over us, to

"Let us hear what the whole affair is about," said the Judge at this; but the man, who knew him as a

neighbour of theirs, replied, "Do you not know this gentleman, Senor Judge? He is the son of your neighbour,

who has run away from his father's house in a dress so unbecoming his rank, as your worship may perceive."

The judge on this looked at him more carefully and recognised him, and embracing him said, "What folly is

this, Senor Don Luis, or what can have been the cause that could have induced you to come here in this way,

Tears came into the eyes of the young man, and he was unable to utter a word in reply to the Judge, who told

the four servants not to be uneasy, for all would be satisfactorily settled; and then taking Don Luis by the

But while he was questioning him they heard a loud outcry at the gate of the inn, the cause of which was that

two of the guests who had passed the night there, seeing everybody busy about finding out what it was the

four men wanted, had conceived the idea of going off without paying what they owed; but the landlord, who

minded his own affairs more than other people's, caught them going out of the gate and demanded his

reckoning, abusing them for their dishonesty with such language that he drove them to reply with their fists,

and so they began to lay on him in such a style that the poor man was forced to cry out, and call for help. The

landlady and her daughter could see no one more free to give aid than Don Quixote, and to him the daughter

said, "Sir knight, by the virtue God has given you, help my poor father, for two wicked men are beating him

To which Don Quixote very deliberately and phlegmatically replied, "Fair damsel, at the present moment

your request is inopportune, for I am debarred from involving myself in any adventure until I have brought to

a happy conclusion one to which my word has pledged me; but that which I can do for you is what I will now

mention: run and tell your father to stand his ground as well as he can in this battle, and on no account to

allow himself to be vanquished, while I go and request permission of the Princess Micomicona to enable me

to succour him in his distress; and if she grants it, rest assured I will relieve him from it."

"Sinner that I am," exclaimed Maritornes, who stood by; "before you have got your permission my master

"Give me leave, senora, to obtain the permission I speak of," returned Don Quixote; "and if I get it, it will

matter very little if he is in the other world; for I will rescue him thence in spite of all the same world can do;

or at any rate I will give you such a revenge over those who shall have sent him there that you will be more

than moderately satisfied;" and without saying anything more he went and knelt before Dorothea, requesting

her Highness in knightly and errant phrase to be pleased to grant him permission to aid and succour the

castellan of that castle, who now stood in grievous jeopardy. The princess granted it graciously, and he at

once, bracing his buckler on his arm and drawing his sword, hastened to the inngate, where the two guests

were still handling the landlord roughly; but as soon as he reached the spot he stopped short and stood still,

though Maritornes and the landlady asked him why he hesitated to help their master and husband.

"I hesitate," said Don Quixote, "because it is not lawful for me to draw sword against persons of squirely

condition; but call my squire Sancho to me; for this defence and vengeance are his affair and business."

Thus matters stood at the inngate, where there was a very lively exchange of fisticuffs and punches, to the

sore damage of the landlord and to the wrath of Maritornes, the landlady, and her daughter, who were furious

when they saw the pusillanimity of Don Quixote, and the hard treatment their master, husband and father was

undergoing. But let us leave him there; for he will surely find some one to help him, and if not, let him suffer

and hold his tongue who attempts more than his strength allows him to do; and let us go back fifty paces to

see what Don Luis said in reply to the Judge whom we left questioning him privately as to his reasons for

To which the youth, pressing his hand in a way that showed his heart was troubled by some great sorrow, and

"Senor, I have no more to tell you than that from the moment when, through heaven's will and our being near

neighbours, I first saw Dona Clara, your daughter and my lady, from that instant I made her the mistress of

my will, and if yours, my true lord and father, offers no impediment, this very day she shall become my wife.

For her I left my father's house, and for her I assumed this disguise, to follow her whithersoever she may go,

as the arrow seeks its mark or the sailor the polestar. She knows nothing more of my passion than what she

may have learned from having sometimes seen from a distance that my eyes were filled with tears. You know

already, senor, the wealth and noble birth of my parents, and that I am their sole heir; if this be a sufficient

inducement for you to venture to make me completely happy, accept me at once as your son; for if my father,

influenced by other objects of his own, should disapprove of this happiness I have sought for myself, time has

With this the lovesmitten youth was silent, while the Judge, after hearing him, was astonished, perplexed,

and surprised, as well at the manner and intelligence with which Don Luis had confessed the secret of his

heart, as at the position in which he found himself, not knowing what course to take in a matter so sudden and

unexpected. All the answer, therefore, he gave him was to bid him to make his mind easy for the present, and

arrange with his servants not to take him back that day, so that there might be time to consider what was best

for all parties. Don Luis kissed his hands by force, nay, bathed them with his tears, in a way that would have

touched a heart of marble, not to say that of the Judge, who, as a shrewd man, had already perceived how

advantageous the marriage would be to his daughter; though, were it possible, he would have preferred that it

should be brought about with the consent of the father of Don Luis, who he knew looked for a title for his

The guests had by this time made peace with the landlord, for, by persuasion and Don Quixote's fair words

more than by threats, they had paid him what he demanded, and the servants of Don Luis were waiting for the

end of the conversation with the Judge and their master's decision, when the devil, who never sleeps,

contrived that the barber, from whom Don Quixote had taken Mambrino's helmet, and Sancho Panza the

trappings of his ass in exchange for those of his own, should at this instant enter the inn; which said barber, as

he led his ass to the stable, observed Sancho Panza engaged in repairing something or other belonging to the

packsaddle; and the moment he saw it he knew it, and made bold to attack Sancho, exclaiming, "Ho, sir

thief, I have caught you! hand over my basin and my packsaddle, and all my trappings that you robbed me

Sancho, finding himself so unexpectedly assailed, and hearing the abuse poured upon him, seized the

packsaddle with one hand, and with the other gave the barber a cuff that bathed his teeth in blood. The

barber, however, was not so ready to relinquish the prize he had made in the packsaddle; on the contrary, he

raised such an outcry that everyone in the inn came running to know what the noise and quarrel meant. "Here,

in the name of the king and justice!" he cried, "this thief and highwayman wants to kill me for trying to

"You lie," said Sancho, "I am no highwayman; it was in fair war my master Don Quixote won these spoils."

Don Quixote was standing by at the time, highly pleased to see his squire's stoutness, both offensive and

defensive, and from that time forth he reckoned him a man of mettle, and in his heart resolved to dub him a

knight on the first opportunity that presented itself, feeling sure that the order of chivalry would be fittingly

In the course of the altercation, among other things the barber said, "Gentlemen, this packsaddle is mine as

surely as I owe God a death, and I know it as well as if I had given birth to it, and here is my ass in the stable

who will not let me lie; only try it, and if it does not fit him like a glove, call me a rascal; and what is more,

the same day I was robbed of this, they robbed me likewise of a new brass basin, never yet handselled, that

At this Don Quixote could not keep himself from answering; and interposing between the two, and separating

them, he placed the packsaddle on the ground, to lie there in sight until the truth was established, and said,

"Your worships may perceive clearly and plainly the error under which this worthy squire lies when he calls a

basin which was, is, and shall be the helmet of Mambrino which I won from him in air war, and made myself

master of by legitimate and lawful possession. With the packsaddle I do not concern myself; but I may tell

you on that head that my squire Sancho asked my permission to strip off the caparison of this vanquished

poltroon's steed, and with it adorn his own; I allowed him, and he took it; and as to its having been changed

from a caparison into a packsaddle, I can give no explanation except the usual one, that such

transformations will take place in adventures of chivalry. To confirm all which, run, Sancho my son, and

"Egad, master," said Sancho, "if we have no other proof of our case than what your worship puts forward,

Mambrino's helmet is just as much a basin as this good fellow's caparison is a packsaddle."

"Do as I bid thee," said Don Quixote; "it cannot be that everything in this castle goes by enchantment."

Sancho hastened to where the basin was, and brought it back with him, and when Don Quixote saw it, he took

"Your worships may see with what a face this squire can assert that this is a basin and not the helmet I told

you of; and I swear by the order of chivalry I profess, that this helmet is the identical one I took from him,

"There is no doubt of that," said Sancho, "for from the time my master won it until now he has only fought

one battle in it, when he let loose those unlucky men in chains; and if had not been for this basinhelmet he

would not have come off over well that time, for there was plenty of stonethrowing in that affair."

What do you think now, gentlemen," said the barber, "of what these gentles say, when they want to make out

"And whoever says the contrary," said Don Quixote, "I will let him know he lies if he is a knight, and if he is

Our own barber, who was present at all this, and understood Don Quixote's humour so thoroughly, took it

into his head to back up his delusion and carry on the joke for the general amusement; so addressing the other

"Senor barber, or whatever you are, you must know that I belong to your profession too, and have had a

licence to practise for more than twenty years, and I know the implements of the barber craft, every one of

them, perfectly well; and I was likewise a soldier for some time in the days of my youth, and I know also

what a helmet is, and a morion, and a headpiece with a visor, and other things pertaining to soldiering, I

meant to say to soldiers' arms; and I say saving better opinions and always with submission to sounder

judgments that this piece we have now before us, which this worthy gentleman has in his hands, not only is

no barber's basin, but is as far from being one as white is from black, and truth from falsehood; I say,

"Certainly not," said Don Quixote, "for half of it is wanting, that is to say the beaver."

"It is quite true," said the curate, who saw the object of his friend the barber; and Cardenio, Don Fernando

and his companions agreed with him, and even the Judge, if his thoughts had not been so full of Don Luis's

affair, would have helped to carry on the joke; but he was so taken up with the serious matters he had on his

"God bless me!" exclaimed their butt the barber at this; "is it possible that such an honourable company can

say that this is not a basin but a helmet? Why, this is a thing that would astonish a whole university, however

wise it might be! That will do; if this basin is a helmet, why, then the packsaddle must be a horse's

"To me it looks like a packsaddle," said Don Quixote; "but I have already said that with that question I do

"As to whether it be packsaddle or caparison," said the curate, "it is only for Senor Don Quixote to say; for

"By God, gentlemen," said Don Quixote, "so many strange things have happened to me in this castle on the

two occasions on which I have sojourned in it, that I will not venture to assert anything positively in reply to

any question touching anything it contains; for it is my belief that everything that goes on within it goes by

enchantment. The first time, an enchanted Moor that there is in it gave me sore trouble, nor did Sancho fare

well among certain followers of his; and last night I was kept hanging by this arm for nearly two hours,

without knowing how or why I came by such a mishap. So that now, for me to come forward to give an

opinion in such a puzzling matter, would be to risk a rash decision. As regards the assertion that this is a

basin and not a helmet I have already given an answer; but as to the question whether this is a packsaddle or

a caparison I will not venture to give a positive opinion, but will leave it to your worships' better judgment.

Perhaps as you are not dubbed knights like myself, the enchantments of this place have nothing to do with

you, and your faculties are unfettered, and you can see things in this castle as they really and truly are, and

"There can be no question," said Don Fernando on this, "but that Senor Don Quixote has spoken very wisely,

and that with us rests the decision of this matter; and that we may have surer ground to go on, I will take the

To those who were in the secret of Don Quixote's humour all this afforded great amusement; but to those who

knew nothing about it, it seemed the greatest nonsense in the world, in particular to the four servants of Don

Luis, as well as to Don Luis himself, and to three other travellers who had by chance come to the inn, and had

the appearance of officers of the Holy Brotherhood, as indeed they were; but the one who above all was at his

wits' end, was the barber basin, there before his very eyes, had been turned into Mambrino's helmet, and

whose packsaddle he had no doubt whatever was about to become a rich caparison for a horse. All laughed

to see Don Fernando going from one to another collecting the votes, and whispering to them to give him their

private opinion whether the treasure over which there had been so much fighting was a packsaddle or a

caparison; but after he had taken the votes of those who knew Don Quixote, he said aloud, "The fact is, my

good fellow, that I am tired collecting such a number of opinions, for I find that there is not one of whom I

ask what I desire to know, who does not tell me that it is absurd to say that this is the packsaddle of an ass,

and not the caparison of a horse, nay, of a thoroughbred horse; so you must submit, for, in spite of you and

your ass, this is a caparison and no packsaddle, and you have stated and proved your case very badly."

"May I never share heaven," said the poor barber, "if your worships are not all mistaken; and may my soul

appear before God as that appears to me a packsaddle and not a caparison; but, 'laws go,' I say no more;

The simple talk of the barber did not afford less amusement than the absurdities of Don Quixote, who now

"There is no more to be done now than for each to take what belongs to him, and to whom God has given it,

But said one of the four servants, "Unless, indeed, this is a deliberate joke, I cannot bring myself to believe

that men so intelligent as those present are, or seem to be, can venture to declare and assert that this is not a

basin, and that not a packsaddle; but as I perceive that they do assert and declare it, I can only come to the

conclusion that there is some mystery in this persistence in what is so opposed to the evidence of experience

and truth itself; for I swear by" and here he rapped out a round oath "all the people in the world will not

make me believe that this is not a barber's basin and that a jackass's packsaddle."

"It is all the same," said the servant; "that is not the point; but whether it is or is not a packsaddle, as your

On hearing this one of the newly arrived officers of the Brotherhood, who had been listening to the dispute

and controversy, unable to restrain his anger and impatience, exclaimed, "It is a packsaddle as sure as my

father is my father, and whoever has said or will say anything else must be drunk."

"You lie like a rascally clown," returned Don Quixote; and lifting his pike, which he had never let out of his

hand, he delivered such a blow at his head that, had not the officer dodged it, it would have stretched him at

full length. The pike was shivered in pieces against the ground, and the rest of the officers, seeing their

comrade assaulted, raised a shout, calling for help for the Holy Brotherhood. The landlord, who was of the

fraternity, ran at once to fetch his staff of office and his sword, and ranged himself on the side of his

comrades; the servants of Don Luis clustered round him, lest he should escape from them in the confusion;

the barber, seeing the house turned upside down, once more laid hold of his packsaddle and Sancho did the

same; Don Quixote drew his sword and charged the officers; Don Luis cried out to his servants to leave him

alone and go and help Don Quixote, and Cardenio and Don Fernando, who were supporting him; the curate

was shouting at the top of his voice, the landlady was screaming, her daughter was wailing, Maritornes was

weeping, Dorothea was aghast, Luscinda terrorstricken, and Dona Clara in a faint. The barber cudgelled

Sancho, and Sancho pommelled the barber; Don Luis gave one of his servants, who ventured to catch him by

the arm to keep him from escaping, a cuff that bathed his teeth in blood; the Judge took his part; Don

Fernando had got one of the officers down and was belabouring him heartily; the landlord raised his voice

again calling for help for the Holy Brotherhood; so that the whole inn was nothing but cries, shouts, shrieks,

confusion, terror, dismay, mishaps, swordcuts, fisticuffs, cudgellings, kicks, and bloodshed; and in the midst

of all this chaos, complication, and general entanglement, Don Quixote took it into his head that he had been

plunged into the thick of the discord of Agramante's camp; and, in a voice that shook the inn like thunder, he

"Hold all, let all sheathe their swords, let all be calm and attend to me as they value their lives!"

All paused at his mighty voice, and he went on to say, "Did I not tell you, sirs, that this castle was enchanted,

and that a legion or so of devils dwelt in it? In proof whereof I call upon you to behold with your own eyes

how the discord of Agramante's camp has come hither, and been transferred into the midst of us. See how

they fight, there for the sword, here for the horse, on that side for the eagle, on this for the helmet; we are all

fighting, and all at cross purposes. Come then, you, Senor Judge, and you, senor curate; let the one represent

King Agramante and the other King Sobrino, and make peace among us; for by God Almighty it is a sorry

business that so many persons of quality as we are should slay one another for such trifling cause." The

officers, who did not understand Don Quixote's mode of speaking, and found themselves roughly handled by

Don Fernando, Cardenio, and their companions, were not to be appeased; the barber was, however, for both

his beard and his packsaddle were the worse for the struggle; Sancho like a good servant obeyed the

slightest word of his master; while the four servants of Don Luis kept quiet when they saw how little they

gained by not being so. The landlord alone insisted upon it that they must punish the insolence of this

madman, who at every turn raised a disturbance in the inn; but at length the uproar was stilled for the present;

the packsaddle remained a caparison till the day of judgment, and the basin a helmet and the inn a castle in

All having been now pacified and made friends by the persuasion of the Judge and the curate, the servants of

Don Luis began again to urge him to return with them at once; and while he was discussing the matter with

them, the Judge took counsel with Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the curate as to what he ought to do in the

case, telling them how it stood, and what Don Luis had said to him. It was agreed at length that Don

Fernando should tell the servants of Don Luis who he was, and that it was his desire that Don Luis should

accompany him to Andalusia, where he would receive from the marquis his brother the welcome his quality

entitled him to; for, otherwise, it was easy to see from the determination of Don Luis that he would not return

to his father at present, though they tore him to pieces. On learning the rank of Don Fernando and the

resolution of Don Luis the four then settled it between themselves that three of them should return to tell his

father how matters stood, and that the other should remain to wait upon Don Luis, and not leave him until

they came back for him, or his father's orders were known. Thus by the authority of Agramante and the

wisdom of King Sobrino all this complication of disputes was arranged; but the enemy of concord and hater

of peace, feeling himself slighted and made a fool of, and seeing how little he had gained after having

involved them all in such an elaborate entanglement, resolved to try his hand once more by stirring up fresh

It came about in this wise: the officers were pacified on learning the rank of those with whom they had been

engaged, and withdrew from the contest, considering that whatever the result might be they were likely to get

the worst of the battle; but one of them, the one who had been thrashed and kicked by Don Fernando,

recollected that among some warrants he carried for the arrest of certain delinquents, he had one against Don

Quixote, whom the Holy Brotherhood had ordered to be arrested for setting the galley slaves free, as Sancho

had, with very good reason, apprehended. Suspecting how it was, then, he wished to satisfy himself as to

whether Don Quixote's features corresponded; and taking a parchment out of his bosom he lit upon what he

was in search of, and setting himself to read it deliberately, for he was not a quick reader, as he made out each

word he fixed his eyes on Don Quixote, and went on comparing the description in the warrant with his face,

and discovered that beyond all doubt he was the person described in it. As soon as he had satisfied himself,

folding up the parchment, he took the warrant in his left hand and with his right seized Don Quixote by the

collar so tightly that he did not allow him to breathe, and shouted aloud, "Help for the Holy Brotherhood! and

that you may see I demand it in earnest, read this warrant which says this highwayman is to be arrested."

The curate took the warrant and saw that what the officer said was true, and that it agreed with Don Quixote's

appearance, who, on his part, when he found himself roughly handled by this rascally clown, worked up to

the highest pitch of wrath, and all his joints cracking with rage, with both hands seized the officer by the

throat with all his might, so that had he not been helped by his comrades he would have yielded up his life ere

Don Quixote released his hold. The landlord, who had perforce to support his brother officers, ran at once to

aid them. The landlady, when she saw her husband engaged in a fresh quarrel, lifted up her voice afresh, and

its note was immediately caught up by Maritornes and her daughter, calling upon heaven and all present for

help; and Sancho, seeing what was going on, exclaimed, "By the Lord, it is quite true what my master says

about the enchantments of this castle, for it is impossible to live an hour in peace in it!"

Don Fernando parted the officer and Don Quixote, and to their mutual contentment made them relax the grip

by which they held, the one the coat collar, the other the throat of his adversary; for all this, however, the

officers did not cease to demand their prisoner and call on them to help, and deliver him over bound into their

power, as was required for the service of the King and of the Holy Brotherhood, on whose behalf they again

demanded aid and assistance to effect the capture of this robber and footpad of the highways.

Don Quixote smiled when he heard these words, and said very calmly, "Come now, base, illborn brood; call

ye it highway robbery to give freedom to those in bondage, to release the captives, to succour the miserable,

to raise up the fallen, to relieve the needy? Infamous beings, who by your vile grovelling intellects deserve

that heaven should not make known to you the virtue that lies in knighterrantry, or show you the sin and

ignorance in which ye lie when ye refuse to respect the shadow, not to say the presence, of any knighterrant!

Come now; band, not of officers, but of thieves; footpads with the licence of the Holy Brotherhood; tell me

who was the ignoramus who signed a warrant of arrest against such a knight as I am? Who was he that did

not know that knightserrant are independent of all jurisdictions, that their law is their sword, their charter

their prowess, and their edicts their will? Who, I say again, was the fool that knows not that there are no

letters patent of nobility that confer such privileges or exemptions as a knighterrant acquires the day he is

dubbed a knight, and devotes himself to the arduous calling of chivalry? What knighterrant ever paid

polltax, duty, queen's pinmoney, king's dues, toll or ferry? What tailor ever took payment of him for

making his clothes? What castellan that received him in his castle ever made him pay his shot? What king did

not seat him at his table? What damsel was not enamoured of him and did not yield herself up wholly to his

will and pleasure? And, lastly, what knighterrant has there been, is there, or will there ever be in the world,

not bold enough to give, singlehanded, four hundred cudgellings to four hundred officers of the Holy

While Don Quixote was talking in this strain, the curate was endeavouring to persuade the officers that he

was out of his senses, as they might perceive by his deeds and his words, and that they need not press the

matter any further, for even if they arrested him and carried him off, they would have to release him

byandby as a madman; to which the holder of the warrant replied that he had nothing to do with inquiring

into Don Quixote's madness, but only to execute his superior's orders, and that once taken they might let him

"For all that," said the curate, "you must not take him away this time, nor will he, it is my opinion, let himself

In short, the curate used such arguments, and Don Quixote did such mad things, that the officers would have

been more mad than he was if they had not perceived his want of wits, and so they thought it best to allow

themselves to be pacified, and even to act as peacemakers between the barber and Sancho Panza, who still

continued their altercation with much bitterness. In the end they, as officers of justice, settled the question by

arbitration in such a manner that both sides were, if not perfectly contented, at least to some extent satisfied;

for they changed the packsaddles, but not the girths or headstalls; and as to Mambrino's helmet, the curate,

under the rose and without Don Quixote's knowing it, paid eight reals for the basin, and the barber executed a

full receipt and engagement to make no further demand then or thenceforth for evermore, amen. These two

disputes, which were the most important and gravest, being settled, it only remained for the servants of Don

Luis to consent that three of them should return while one was left to accompany him whither Don Fernando

desired to take him; and good luck and better fortune, having already begun to solve difficulties and remove

obstructions in favour of the lovers and warriors of the inn, were pleased to persevere and bring everything to

a happy issue; for the servants agreed to do as Don Luis wished; which gave Dona Clara such happiness that

no one could have looked into her face just then without seeing the joy of her heart. Zoraida, though she did

not fully comprehend all she saw, was grave or gay without knowing why, as she watched and studied the

various countenances, but particularly her Spaniard's, whom she followed with her eyes and clung to with her

soul. The gift and compensation which the curate gave the barber had not escaped the landlord's notice, and

he demanded Don Quixote's reckoning, together with the amount of the damage to his wineskins, and the

loss of his wine, swearing that neither Rocinante nor Sancho's ass should leave the inn until he had been paid

to the very last farthing. The curate settled all amicably, and Don Fernando paid; though the Judge had also

very readily offered to pay the score; and all became so peaceful and quiet that the inn no longer reminded

one of the discord of Agramante's camp, as Don Quixote said, but of the peace and tranquillity of the days of

Octavianus: for all which it was the universal opinion that their thanks were due to the great zeal and

Finding himself now clear and quit of all quarrels, his squire's as well as his own, Don Quixote considered

that it would be advisable to continue the journey he had begun, and bring to a close that great adventure for

which he had been called and chosen; and with this high resolve he went and knelt before Dorothea, who,

however, would not allow him to utter a word until he had risen; so to obey her he rose, and said, "It is a

common proverb, fair lady, that 'diligence is the mother of good fortune,' and experience has often shown in

important affairs that the earnestness of the negotiator brings the doubtful case to a successful termination;

but in nothing does this truth show itself more plainly than in war, where quickness and activity forestall the

devices of the enemy, and win the victory before the foe has time to defend himself. All this I say, exalted

and esteemed lady, because it seems to me that for us to remain any longer in this castle now is useless, and

may be injurious to us in a way that we shall find out some day; for who knows but that your enemy the giant

may have learned by means of secret and diligent spies that I am going to destroy him, and if the opportunity

be given him he may seize it to fortify himself in some impregnable castle or stronghold, against which all

my efforts and the might of my indefatigable arm may avail but little? Therefore, lady, let us, as I say,

forestall his schemes by our activity, and let us depart at once in quest of fair fortune; for your highness is

only kept from enjoying it as fully as you could desire by my delay in encountering your adversary."

Don Quixote held his peace and said no more, calmly awaiting the reply of the beauteous princess, who, with

commanding dignity and in a style adapted to Don Quixote's own, replied to him in these words, "I give you

thanks, sir knight, for the eagerness you, like a good knight to whom it is a natural obligation to succour the

orphan and the needy, display to afford me aid in my sore trouble; and heaven grant that your wishes and

mine may be realised, so that you may see that there are women in this world capable of gratitude; as to my

departure, let it be forthwith, for I have no will but yours; dispose of me entirely in accordance with your

good pleasure; for she who has once entrusted to you the defence of her person, and placed in your hands the

recovery of her dominions, must not think of offering opposition to that which your wisdom may ordain."

"On, then, in God's name," said Don Quixote; "for, when a lady humbles herself to me, I will not lose the

opportunity of raising her up and placing her on the throne of her ancestors. Let us depart at once, for the

common saying that in delay there is danger, lends spurs to my eagerness to take the road; and as neither

heaven has created nor hell seen any that can daunt or intimidate me, saddle Rocinante, Sancho, and get ready

thy ass and the queen's palfrey, and let us take leave of the castellan and these gentlemen, and go hence this

Sancho, who was standing by all the time, said, shaking his head, "Ah! master, master, there is more mischief

"What mischief can there be in any village, or in all the cities of the world, you booby, that can hurt my

"If your worship is angry," replied Sancho, "I will hold my tongue and leave unsaid what as a good squire I

"Say what thou wilt," returned Don Quixote, "provided thy words be not meant to work upon my fears; for

thou, if thou fearest, art behaving like thyself; but I like myself, in not fearing."

"It is nothing of the sort, as I am a sinner before God," said Sancho, "but that I take it to be sure and certain

that this lady, who calls herself queen of the great kingdom of Micomicon, is no more so than my mother;

for, if she was what she says, she would not go rubbing noses with one that is here every instant and behind

Dorothea turned red at Sancho's words, for the truth was that her husband Don Fernando had now and then,

when the others were not looking, gathered from her lips some of the reward his love had earned, and Sancho

seeing this had considered that such freedom was more like a courtesan than a queen of a great kingdom; she,

however, being unable or not caring to answer him, allowed him to proceed, and he continued, "This I say,

senor, because, if after we have travelled roads and highways, and passed bad nights and worse days, one

who is now enjoying himself in this inn is to reap the fruit of our labours, there is no need for me to be in a

hurry to saddle Rocinante, put the pad on the ass, or get ready the palfrey; for it will be better for us to stay

Good God, what was the indignation of Don Quixote when he heard the audacious words of his squire! So

great was it, that in a voice inarticulate with rage, with a stammering tongue, and eyes that flashed living fire,

he exclaimed, "Rascally clown, boorish, insolent, and ignorant, illspoken, foulmouthed, impudent

backbiter and slanderer! Hast thou dared to utter such words in my presence and in that of these illustrious

ladies? Hast thou dared to harbour such gross and shameless thoughts in thy muddled imagination? Begone

from my presence, thou born monster, storehouse of lies, hoard of untruths, garner of knaveries, inventor of

scandals, publisher of absurdities, enemy of the respect due to royal personages! Begone, show thyself no

more before me under pain of my wrath;" and so saying he knitted his brows, puffed out his cheeks, gazed

around him, and stamped on the ground violently with his right foot, showing in every way the rage that was

pent up in his heart; and at his words and furious gestures Sancho was so scared and terrified that he would

have been glad if the earth had opened that instant and swallowed him, and his only thought was to turn

But the readywitted Dorothea, who by this time so well understood Don Quixote's humour, said, to mollify

his wrath, "Be not irritated at the absurdities your good squire has uttered, Sir Knight of the Rueful

Countenance, for perhaps he did not utter them without cause, and from his good sense and Christian

conscience it is not likely that he would bear false witness against anyone. We may therefore believe, without

any hesitation, that since, as you say, sir knight, everything in this castle goes and is brought about by means

of enchantment, Sancho, I say, may possibly have seen, through this diabolical medium, what he says he saw

"I swear by God Omnipotent," exclaimed Don Quixote at this, "your highness has hit the point; and that some

vile illusion must have come before this sinner of a Sancho, that made him see what it would have been

impossible to see by any other means than enchantments; for I know well enough, from the poor fellow's

goodness and harmlessness, that he is incapable of bearing false witness against anybody."

"True, no doubt," said Don Fernando, "for which reason, Senor Don Quixote, you ought to forgive him and

restore him to the bosom of your favour, sicut erat in principio, before illusions of this sort had taken away

Don Quixote said he was ready to pardon him, and the curate went for Sancho, who came in very humbly,

and falling on his knees begged for the hand of his master, who having presented it to him and allowed him to

kiss it, gave him his blessing and said, "Now, Sancho my son, thou wilt be convinced of the truth of what I

have many a time told thee, that everything in this castle is done by means of enchantment."

"So it is, I believe," said Sancho, "except the affair of the blanket, which came to pass in reality by ordinary

"Believe it not," said Don Quixote, "for had it been so, I would have avenged thee that instant, or even now;

but neither then nor now could I, nor have I seen anyone upon whom to avenge thy wrong."

They were all eager to know what the affair of the blanket was, and the landlord gave them a minute account

of Sancho's flights, at which they laughed not a little, and at which Sancho would have been no less out of

countenance had not his master once more assured him it was all enchantment. For all that his simplicity

never reached so high a pitch that he could persuade himself it was not the plain and simple truth, without any

deception whatever about it, that he had been blanketed by beings of flesh and blood, and not by visionary

The illustrious company had now been two days in the inn; and as it seemed to them time to depart, they

devised a plan so that, without giving Dorothea and Don Fernando the trouble of going back with Don

Quixote to his village under pretence of restoring Queen Micomicona, the curate and the barber might carry

him away with them as they proposed, and the curate be able to take his madness in hand at home; and in

pursuance of their plan they arranged with the owner of an oxcart who happened to be passing that way to

carry him after this fashion. They constructed a kind of cage with wooden bars, large enough to hold Don

Quixote comfortably; and then Don Fernando and his companions, the servants of Don Luis, and the officers

of the Brotherhood, together with the landlord, by the directions and advice of the curate, covered their faces

and disguised themselves, some in one way, some in another, so as to appear to Don Quixote quite different

from the persons he had seen in the castle. This done, in profound silence they entered the room where he

was asleep, taking his his rest after the past frays, and advancing to where he was sleeping tranquilly, not

dreaming of anything of the kind happening, they seized him firmly and bound him fast hand and foot, so

that, when he awoke startled, he was unable to move, and could only marvel and wonder at the strange

figures he saw before him; upon which he at once gave way to the idea which his crazed fancy invariably

conjured up before him, and took it into his head that all these shapes were phantoms of the enchanted castle,

and that he himself was unquestionably enchanted as he could neither move nor help himself; precisely what

the curate, the concoctor of the scheme, expected would happen. Of all that were there Sancho was the only

one who was at once in his senses and in his own proper character, and he, though he was within very little of

sharing his master's infirmity, did not fail to perceive who all these disguised figures were; but he did not dare

to open his lips until he saw what came of this assault and capture of his master; nor did the latter utter a

word, waiting to the upshot of his mishap; which was that bringing in the cage, they shut him up in it and

nailed the bars so firmly that they could not be easily burst open. They then took him on their shoulders, and

as they passed out of the room an awful voice as much so as the barber, not he of the packsaddle but the

other, was able to make it was heard to say, "O Knight of the Rueful Countenance, let not this captivity in

which thou art placed afflict thee, for this must needs be, for the more speedy accomplishment of the

adventure in which thy great heart has engaged thee; the which shall be accomplished when the raging

Manchegan lion and the white Tobosan dove shall be linked together, having first humbled their haughty

necks to the gentle yoke of matrimony. And from this marvellous union shall come forth to the light of the

world brave whelps that shall rival the ravening claws of their valiant father; and this shall come to pass ere

the pursuer of the flying nymph shall in his swift natural course have twice visited the starry signs. And thou,

O most noble and obedient squire that ever bore sword at side, beard on face, or nose to smell with, be not

dismayed or grieved to see the flower of knighterrantry carried away thus before thy very eyes; for soon, if

it so please the Framer of the universe, thou shalt see thyself exalted to such a height that thou shalt not know

thyself, and the promises which thy good master has made thee shall not prove false; and I assure thee, on the

authority of the sage Mentironiana, that thy wages shall be paid thee, as thou shalt see in due season. Follow

then the footsteps of the valiant enchanted knight, for it is expedient that thou shouldst go to the destination

assigned to both of you; and as it is not permitted to me to say more, God be with thee; for I return to that

place I wot of;" and as he brought the prophecy to a close he raised his voice to a high pitch, and then

lowered it to such a soft tone, that even those who knew it was all a joke were almost inclined to take what

Don Quixote was comforted by the prophecy he heard, for he at once comprehended its meaning perfectly,

and perceived it was promised to him that he should see himself united in holy and lawful matrimony with

his beloved Dulcinea del Toboso, from whose blessed womb should proceed the whelps, his sons, to the

eternal glory of La Mancha; and being thoroughly and firmly persuaded of this, he lifted up his voice, and

with a deep sigh exclaimed, "Oh thou, whoever thou art, who hast foretold me so much good, I implore of

thee that on my part thou entreat that sage enchanter who takes charge of my interests, that he leave me not to

perish in this captivity in which they are now carrying me away, ere I see fulfilled promises so joyful and

incomparable as those which have been now made me; for, let this but come to pass, and I shall glory in the

pains of my prison, find comfort in these chains wherewith they bind me, and regard this bed whereon they

stretch me, not as a hard battlefield, but as a soft and happy nuptial couch; and touching the consolation of

Sancho Panza, my squire, I rely upon his goodness and rectitude that he will not desert me in good or evil

fortune; for if, by his ill luck or mine, it may not happen to be in my power to give him the island I have

promised, or any equivalent for it, at least his wages shall not be lost; for in my will, which is already made, I

have declared the sum that shall be paid to him, measured, not by his many faithful services, but by the means

Sancho bowed his head very respectfully and kissed both his hands, for, being tied together, he could not kiss

one; and then the apparitions lifted the cage upon their shoulders and fixed it upon the oxcart.

When Don Quixote saw himself caged and hoisted on the cart in this way, he said, "Many grave histories of

knightserrant have I read; but never yet have I read, seen, or heard of their carrying off enchanted

knightserrant in this fashion, or at the slow pace that these lazy, sluggish animals promise; for they always

take them away through the air with marvellous swiftness, enveloped in a dark thick cloud, or on a chariot of

fire, or it may be on some hippogriff or other beast of the kind; but to carry me off like this on an oxcart! By

God, it puzzles me! But perhaps the chivalry and enchantments of our day take a different course from that of

those in days gone by; and it may be, too, that as I am a new knight in the world, and the first to revive the

already forgotten calling of knightadventurers, they may have newly invented other kinds of enchantments

and other modes of carrying off the enchanted. What thinkest thou of the matter, Sancho my son?"

"I don't know what to think," answered Sancho, "not being as well read as your worship in errant writings;

but for all that I venture to say and swear that these apparitions that are about us are not quite catholic."

"Catholic!" said Don Quixote. "Father of me! how can they be Catholic when they are all devils that have

taken fantastic shapes to come and do this, and bring me to this condition? And if thou wouldst prove it,

touch them, and feel them, and thou wilt find they have only bodies of air, and no consistency except in

"By God, master," returned Sancho, "I have touched them already; and that devil, that goes about there so

busily, has firm flesh, and another property very different from what I have heard say devils have, for by all

accounts they all smell of brimstone and other bad smells; but this one smells of amber half a league off."

Sancho was here speaking of Don Fernando, who, like a gentleman of his rank, was very likely perfumed as

"Marvel not at that, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote; "for let me tell thee devils are crafty; and even if

they do carry odours about with them, they themselves have no smell, because they are spirits; or, if they

have any smell, they cannot smell of anything sweet, but of something foul and fetid; and the reason is that as

they carry hell with them wherever they go, and can get no ease whatever from their torments, and as a sweet

smell is a thing that gives pleasure and enjoyment, it is impossible that they can smell sweet; if, then, this

devil thou speakest of seems to thee to smell of amber, either thou art deceiving thyself, or he wants to

Such was the conversation that passed between master and man; and Don Fernando and Cardenio,

apprehensive of Sancho's making a complete discovery of their scheme, towards which he had already gone

some way, resolved to hasten their departure, and calling the landlord aside, they directed him to saddle

Rocinante and put the packsaddle on Sancho's ass, which he did with great alacrity. In the meantime the

curate had made an arrangement with the officers that they should bear them company as far as his village, he

paying them so much a day. Cardenio hung the buckler on one side of the bow of Rocinante's saddle and the

basin on the other, and by signs commanded Sancho to mount his ass and take Rocinante's bridle, and at each

side of the cart he placed two officers with their muskets; but before the cart was put in motion, out came the

landlady and her daughter and Maritornes to bid Don Quixote farewell, pretending to weep with grief at his

"Weep not, good ladies, for all these mishaps are the lot of those who follow the profession I profess; and if

these reverses did not befall me I should not esteem myself a famous knighterrant; for such things never

happen to knights of little renown and fame, because nobody in the world thinks about them; to valiant

knights they do, for these are envied for their virtue and valour by many princes and other knights who

compass the destruction of the worthy by base means. Nevertheless, virtue is of herself so mighty, that, in

spite of all the magic that Zoroaster its first inventor knew, she will come victorious out of every trial, and

shed her light upon the earth as the sun does upon the heavens. Forgive me, fair ladies, if, through

inadvertence, I have in aught offended you; for intentionally and wittingly I have never done so to any; and

pray to God that he deliver me from this captivity to which some malevolent enchanter has consigned me;

and should I find myself released therefrom, the favours that ye have bestowed upon me in this castle shall be

held in memory by me, that I may acknowledge, recognise, and requite them as they deserve."

While this was passing between the ladies of the castle and Don Quixote, the curate and the barber bade

farewell to Don Fernando and his companions, to the captain, his brother, and the ladies, now all made happy,

and in particular to Dorothea and Luscinda. They all embraced one another, and promised to let each other

know how things went with them, and Don Fernando directed the curate where to write to him, to tell him

what became of Don Quixote, assuring him that there was nothing that could give him more pleasure than to

hear of it, and that he too, on his part, would send him word of everything he thought he would like to know,

about his marriage, Zoraida's baptism, Don Luis's affair, and Luscinda's return to her home. The curate

promised to comply with his request carefully, and they embraced once more, and renewed their promises.

The landlord approached the curate and handed him some papers, saying he had discovered them in the lining

of the valise in which the novel of "The Illadvised Curiosity" had been found, and that he might take them

all away with him as their owner had not since returned; for, as he could not read, he did not want them

himself. The curate thanked him, and opening them he saw at the beginning of the manuscript the words,

"Novel of Rinconete and Cortadillo," by which he perceived that it was a novel, and as that of "The

Illadvised Curiosity" had been good he concluded this would be so too, as they were both probably by the

same author; so he kept it, intending to read it when he had an opportunity. He then mounted and his friend

the barber did the same, both masked, so as not to be recognised by Don Quixote, and set out following in the

rear of the cart. The order of march was this: first went the cart with the owner leading it; at each side of it

marched the officers of the Brotherhood, as has been said, with their muskets; then followed Sancho Panza on

his ass, leading Rocinante by the bridle; and behind all came the curate and the barber on their mighty mules,

with faces covered, as aforesaid, and a grave and serious air, measuring their pace to suit the slow steps of the

oxen. Don Quixote was seated in the cage, with his hands tied and his feet stretched out, leaning against the

bars as silent and as patient as if he were a stone statue and not a man of flesh. Thus slowly and silently they

made, it might be, two leagues, until they reached a valley which the carter thought a convenient place for

resting and feeding his oxen, and he said so to the curate, but the barber was of opinion that they ought to

push on a little farther, as at the other side of a hill which appeared close by he knew there was a valley that

had more grass and much better than the one where they proposed to halt; and his advice was taken and they

Just at that moment the curate, looking back, saw coming on behind them six or seven mounted men, well

found and equipped, who soon overtook them, for they were travelling, not at the sluggish, deliberate pace of

oxen, but like men who rode canons' mules, and in haste to take their noontide rest as soon as possible at the

inn which was in sight not a league off. The quick travellers came up with the slow, and courteous salutations

were exchanged; and one of the new comers, who was, in fact, a canon of Toledo and master of the others

who accompanied him, observing the regular order of the procession, the cart, the officers, Sancho,

Rocinante, the curate and the barber, and above all Don Quixote caged and confined, could not help asking

what was the meaning of carrying the man in that fashion; though, from the badges of the officers, he already

concluded that he must be some desperate highwayman or other malefactor whose punishment fell within the

jurisdiction of the Holy Brotherhood. One of the officers to whom he had put the question, replied, "Let the

gentleman himself tell you the meaning of his going this way, senor, for we do not know."

Don Quixote overheard the conversation and said, "Haply, gentlemen, you are versed and learned in matters

of errant chivalry? Because if you are I will tell you my misfortunes; if not, there is no good in my giving

myself the trouble of relating them;" but here the curate and the barber, seeing that the travellers were

engaged in conversation with Don Quixote, came forward, in order to answer in such a way as to save their

The canon, replying to Don Quixote, said, "In truth, brother, I know more about books of chivalry than I do

about Villalpando's elements of logic; so if that be all, you may safely tell me what you please."

"In God's name, then, senor," replied Don Quixote; "if that be so, I would have you know that I am held

enchanted in this cage by the envy and fraud of wicked enchanters; for virtue is more persecuted by the

wicked than loved by the good. I am a knighterrant, and not one of those whose names Fame has never

thought of immortalising in her record, but of those who, in defiance and in spite of envy itself, and all the

magicians that Persia, or Brahmans that India, or Gymnosophists that Ethiopia ever produced, will place their

names in the temple of immortality, to serve as examples and patterns for ages to come, whereby

knightserrant may see the footsteps in which they must tread if they would attain the summit and crowning

"What Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha says," observed the curate, "is the truth; for he goes enchanted in

this cart, not from any fault or sins of his, but because of the malevolence of those to whom virtue is odious

and valour hateful. This, senor, is the Knight of the Rueful Countenance, if you have ever heard him named,

whose valiant achievements and mighty deeds shall be written on lasting brass and imperishable marble,

notwithstanding all the efforts of envy to obscure them and malice to hide them."

When the canon heard both the prisoner and the man who was at liberty talk in such a strain he was ready to

cross himself in his astonishment, and could not make out what had befallen him; and all his attendants were

At this point Sancho Panza, who had drawn near to hear the conversation, said, in order to make everything

plain, "Well, sirs, you may like or dislike what I am going to say, but the fact of the matter is, my master,

Don Quixote, is just as much enchanted as my mother. He is in his full senses, he eats and he drinks, and he

has his calls like other men and as he had yesterday, before they caged him. And if that's the case, what do

they mean by wanting me to believe that he is enchanted? For I have heard many a one say that enchanted

people neither eat, nor sleep, nor talk; and my master, if you don't stop him, will talk more than thirty

lawyers." Then turning to the curate he exclaimed, "Ah, senor curate, senor curate! do you think I don't know

you? Do you think I don't guess and see the drift of these new enchantments? Well then, I can tell you I know

you, for all your face is covered, and I can tell you I am up to you, however you may hide your tricks. After

all, where envy reigns virtue cannot live, and where there is niggardliness there can be no liberality. Ill betide

the devil! if it had not been for your worship my master would be married to the Princess Micomicona this

minute, and I should be a count at least; for no less was to be expected, as well from the goodness of my

master, him of the Rueful Countenance, as from the greatness of my services. But I see now how true it is

what they say in these parts, that the wheel of fortune turns faster than a millwheel, and that those who were

up yesterday are down today. I am sorry for my wife and children, for when they might fairly and

reasonably expect to see their father return to them a governor or viceroy of some island or kingdom, they

will see him come back a horseboy. I have said all this, senor curate, only to urge your paternity to lay to

your conscience your illtreatment of my master; and have a care that God does not call you to account in

another life for making a prisoner of him in this way, and charge against you all the succours and good deeds

"Trim those lamps there!" exclaimed the barber at this; "so you are of the same fraternity as your master, too,

Sancho? By God, I begin to see that you will have to keep him company in the cage, and be enchanted like

him for having caught some of his humour and chivalry. It was an evil hour when you let yourself be got with

child by his promises, and that island you long so much for found its way into your head."

"I am not with child by anyone," returned Sancho, "nor am I a man to let myself be got with child, if it was

by the King himself. Though I am poor I am an old Christian, and I owe nothing to nobody, and if I long for

an island, other people long for worse. Each of us is the son of his own works; and being a man I may come

to be pope, not to say governor of an island, especially as my master may win so many that he will not know

whom to give them to. Mind how you talk, master barber; for shaving is not everything, and there is some

difference between Peter and Peter. I say this because we all know one another, and it will not do to throw

false dice with me; and as to the enchantment of my master, God knows the truth; leave it as it is; it only

The barber did not care to answer Sancho lest by his plain speaking he should disclose what the curate and he

himself were trying so hard to conceal; and under the same apprehension the curate had asked the canon to

ride on a little in advance, so that he might tell him the mystery of this man in the cage, and other things that

would amuse him. The canon agreed, and going on ahead with his servants, listened with attention to the

account of the character, life, madness, and ways of Don Quixote, given him by the curate, who described to

him briefly the beginning and origin of his craze, and told him the whole story of his adventures up to his

being confined in the cage, together with the plan they had of taking him home to try if by any means they

could discover a cure for his madness. The canon and his servants were surprised anew when they heard Don

Quixote's strange story, and when it was finished he said, "To tell the truth, senor curate, I for my part

consider what they call books of chivalry to be mischievous to the State; and though, led by idle and false

taste, I have read the beginnings of almost all that have been printed, I never could manage to read any one of

them from beginning to end; for it seems to me they are all more or less the same thing; and one has nothing

more in it than another; this no more than that. And in my opinion this sort of writing and composition is of

the same species as the fables they call the Milesian, nonsensical tales that aim solely at giving amusement

and not instruction, exactly the opposite of the apologue fables which amuse and instruct at the same time.

And though it may be the chief object of such books to amuse, I do not know how they can succeed, when

they are so full of such monstrous nonsense. For the enjoyment the mind feels must come from the beauty

and harmony which it perceives or contemplates in the things that the eye or the imagination brings before it;

and nothing that has any ugliness or disproportion about it can give any pleasure. What beauty, then, or what

proportion of the parts to the whole, or of the whole to the parts, can there be in a book or fable where a lad of

sixteen cuts down a giant as tall as a tower and makes two halves of him as if he was an almond cake? And

when they want to give us a picture of a battle, after having told us that there are a million of combatants on

the side of the enemy, let the hero of the book be opposed to them, and we have perforce to believe, whether

we like it or not, that the said knight wins the victory by the single might of his strong arm. And then, what

shall we say of the facility with which a born queen or empress will give herself over into the arms of some

unknown wandering knight? What mind, that is not wholly barbarous and uncultured, can find pleasure in

reading of how a great tower full of knights sails away across the sea like a ship with a fair wind, and will be

tonight in Lombardy and tomorrow morning in the land of Prester John of the Indies, or some other that

Ptolemy never described nor Marco Polo saw? And if, in answer to this, I am told that the authors of books of

the kind write them as fiction, and therefore are not bound to regard niceties of truth, I would reply that

fiction is all the better the more it looks like truth, and gives the more pleasure the more probability and

possibility there is about it. Plots in fiction should be wedded to the understanding of the reader, and be

constructed in such a way that, reconciling impossibilities, smoothing over difficulties, keeping the mind on

the alert, they may surprise, interest, divert, and entertain, so that wonder and delight joined may keep pace

one with the other; all which he will fail to effect who shuns verisimilitude and truth to nature, wherein lies

the perfection of writing. I have never yet seen any book of chivalry that puts together a connected plot

complete in all its numbers, so that the middle agrees with the beginning, and the end with the beginning and

middle; on the contrary, they construct them with such a multitude of members that it seems as though they

meant to produce a chimera or monster rather than a wellproportioned figure. And besides all this they are

harsh in their style, incredible in their achievements, licentious in their amours, uncouth in their courtly

speeches, prolix in their battles, silly in their arguments, absurd in their travels, and, in short, wanting in

everything like intelligent art; for which reason they deserve to be banished from the Christian

The curate listened to him attentively and felt that he was a man of sound understanding, and that there was

good reason in what he said; so he told him that, being of the same opinion himself, and bearing a grudge to

books of chivalry, he had burned all Don Quixote's, which were many; and gave him an account of the

scrutiny he had made of them, and of those he had condemned to the flames and those he had spared, with

which the canon was not a little amused, adding that though he had said so much in condemnation of these

books, still he found one good thing in them, and that was the opportunity they afforded to a gifted intellect

for displaying itself; for they presented a wide and spacious field over which the pen might range freely,

describing shipwrecks, tempests, combats, battles, portraying a valiant captain with all the qualifications

requisite to make one, showing him sagacious in foreseeing the wiles of the enemy, eloquent in speech to

encourage or restrain his soldiers, ripe in counsel, rapid in resolve, as bold in biding his time as in pressing

the attack; now picturing some sad tragic incident, now some joyful and unexpected event; here a beauteous

lady, virtuous, wise, and modest; there a Christian knight, brave and gentle; here a lawless, barbarous

braggart; there a courteous prince, gallant and gracious; setting forth the devotion and loyalty of vassals, the

greatness and generosity of nobles. "Or again," said he, "the author may show himself to be an astronomer, or

a skilled cosmographer, or musician, or one versed in affairs of state, and sometimes he will have a chance of

coming forward as a magician if he likes. He can set forth the craftiness of Ulysses, the piety of AEneas, the

valour of Achilles, the misfortunes of Hector, the treachery of Sinon, the friendship of Euryalus, the

generosity of Alexander, the boldness of Caesar, the clemency and truth of Trajan, the fidelity of Zopyrus, the

wisdom of Cato, and in short all the faculties that serve to make an illustrious man perfect, now uniting them

in one individual, again distributing them among many; and if this be done with charm of style and ingenious

invention, aiming at the truth as much as possible, he will assuredly weave a web of bright and varied threads

that, when finished, will display such perfection and beauty that it will attain the worthiest object any writing

can seek, which, as I said before, is to give instruction and pleasure combined; for the unrestricted range of

these books enables the author to show his powers, epic, lyric, tragic, or comic, and all the moods the sweet

and winning arts of poesy and oratory are capable of; for the epic may be written in prose just as well as in

"It is as you say, senor canon," said the curate; "and for that reason those who have hitherto written books of

the sort deserve all the more censure for writing without paying any attention to good taste or the rules of art,

by which they might guide themselves and become as famous in prose as the two princes of Greek and Latin

"I myself, at any rate," said the canon, "was once tempted to write a book of chivalry in which all the points I

have mentioned were to be observed; and if I must own the truth I have more than a hundred sheets written;

and to try if it came up to my own opinion of it, I showed them to persons who were fond of this kind of

reading, to learned and intelligent men as well as to ignorant people who cared for nothing but the pleasure of

listening to nonsense, and from all I obtained flattering approval; nevertheless I proceeded no farther with it,

as well because it seemed to me an occupation inconsistent with my profession, as because I perceived that

the fools are more numerous than the wise; and, though it is better to be praised by the wise few than

applauded by the foolish many, I have no mind to submit myself to the stupid judgment of the silly public, to

"But what most of all made me hold my hand and even abandon all idea of finishing it was an argument I put

to myself taken from the plays that are acted nowadays, which was in this wise: if those that are now in

vogue, as well those that are pure invention as those founded on history, are, all or most of them, downright

nonsense and things that have neither head nor tail, and yet the public listens to them with delight, and

regards and cries them up as perfection when they are so far from it; and if the authors who write them, and

the players who act them, say that this is what they must be, for the public wants this and will have nothing

else; and that those that go by rule and work out a plot according to the laws of art will only find some

halfdozen intelligent people to understand them, while all the rest remain blind to the merit of their

composition; and that for themselves it is better to get bread from the many than praise from the few; then my

book will fare the same way, after I have burnt off my eyebrows in trying to observe the principles I have

spoken of, and I shall be 'the tailor of the corner.' And though I have sometimes endeavoured to convince

actors that they are mistaken in this notion they have adopted, and that they would attract more people, and

get more credit, by producing plays in accordance with the rules of art, than by absurd ones, they are so

thoroughly wedded to their own opinion that no argument or evidence can wean them from it.

"I remember saying one day to one of these obstinate fellows, 'Tell me, do you not recollect that a few years

ago, there were three tragedies acted in Spain, written by a famous poet of these kingdoms, which were such

that they filled all who heard them with admiration, delight, and interest, the ignorant as well as the wise, the

masses as well as the higher orders, and brought in more money to the performers, these three alone, than

"'No doubt,' replied the actor in question, 'you mean the "Isabella," the "Phyllis," and the "Alexandra."'

"'Those are the ones I mean,' said I; 'and see if they did not observe the principles of art, and if, by observing

them, they failed to show their superiority and please all the world; so that the fault does not lie with the

public that insists upon nonsense, but with those who don't know how to produce something else. "The

Ingratitude Revenged" was not nonsense, nor was there any in "The Numantia," nor any to be found in "The

Merchant Lover," nor yet in "The Friendly Fair Foe," nor in some others that have been written by certain

gifted poets, to their own fame and renown, and to the profit of those that brought them out;' some further

remarks I added to these, with which, I think, I left him rather dumbfoundered, but not so satisfied or

"You have touched upon a subject, senor canon," observed the curate here, "that has awakened an old enmity

I have against the plays in vogue at the present day, quite as strong as that which I bear to the books of

chivalry; for while the drama, according to Tully, should be the mirror of human life, the model of manners,

and the image of the truth, those which are presented nowadays are mirrors of nonsense, models of folly,

and images of lewdness. For what greater nonsense can there be in connection with what we are now

discussing than for an infant to appear in swaddling clothes in the first scene of the first act, and in the second

a grownup bearded man? Or what greater absurdity can there be than putting before us an old man as a

swashbuckler, a young man as a poltroon, a lackey using fine language, a page giving sage advice, a king

plying as a porter, a princess who is a kitchenmaid? And then what shall I say of their attention to the time

in which the action they represent may or can take place, save that I have seen a play where the first act began

in Europe, the second in Asia, the third finished in Africa, and no doubt, had it been in four acts, the fourth

would have ended in America, and so it would have been laid in all four quarters of the globe? And if truth to

life is the main thing the drama should keep in view, how is it possible for any average understanding to be

satisfied when the action is supposed to pass in the time of King Pepin or Charlemagne, and the principal

personage in it they represent to be the Emperor Heraclius who entered Jerusalem with the cross and won the

Holy Sepulchre, like Godfrey of Bouillon, there being years innumerable between the one and the other? or,

if the play is based on fiction and historical facts are introduced, or bits of what occurred to different people

and at different times mixed up with it, all, not only without any semblance of probability, but with obvious

errors that from every point of view are inexcusable? And the worst of it is, there are ignorant people who say

that this is perfection, and that anything beyond this is affected refinement. And then if we turn to sacred

dramas what miracles they invent in them! What apocryphal, illdevised incidents, attributing to one saint

the miracles of another! And even in secular plays they venture to introduce miracles without any reason or

object except that they think some such miracle, or transformation as they call it, will come in well to

astonish stupid people and draw them to the play. All this tends to the prejudice of the truth and the

corruption of history, nay more, to the reproach of the wits of Spain; for foreigners who scrupulously observe

the laws of the drama look upon us as barbarous and ignorant, when they see the absurdity and nonsense of

the plays we produce. Nor will it be a sufficient excuse to say that the chief object wellordered governments

have in view when they permit plays to be performed in public is to entertain the people with some harmless

amusement occasionally, and keep it from those evil humours which idleness is apt to engender; and that, as

this may be attained by any sort of play, good or bad, there is no need to lay down laws, or bind those who

write or act them to make them as they ought to be made, since, as I say, the object sought for may be secured

by any sort. To this I would reply that the same end would be, beyond all comparison, better attained by

means of good plays than by those that are not so; for after listening to an artistic and properly constructed

play, the hearer will come away enlivened by the jests, instructed by the serious parts, full of admiration at

the incidents, his wits sharpened by the arguments, warned by the tricks, all the wiser for the examples,

inflamed against vice, and in love with virtue; for in all these ways a good play will stimulate the mind of the

hearer be he ever so boorish or dull; and of all impossibilities the greatest is that a play endowed with all

these qualities will not entertain, satisfy, and please much more than one wanting in them, like the greater

number of those which are commonly acted nowadays. Nor are the poets who write them to be blamed for

this; for some there are among them who are perfectly well aware of their faults, and know what they ought

to do; but as plays have become a salable commodity, they say, and with truth, that the actors will not buy

them unless they are after this fashion; and so the poet tries to adapt himself to the requirements of the actor

who is to pay him for his work. And that this is the truth may be seen by the countless plays that a most

fertile wit of these kingdoms has written, with so much brilliancy, so much grace and gaiety, such polished

versification, such choice language, such profound reflections, and in a word, so rich in eloquence and

elevation of style, that he has filled the world with his fame; and yet, in consequence of his desire to suit the

taste of the actors, they have not all, as some of them have, come as near perfection as they ought. Others

write plays with such heedlessness that, after they have been acted, the actors have to fly and abscond, afraid

of being punished, as they often have been, for having acted something offensive to some king or other, or

insulting to some noble family. All which evils, and many more that I say nothing of, would be removed if

there were some intelligent and sensible person at the capital to examine all plays before they were acted, not

only those produced in the capital itself, but all that were intended to be acted in Spain; without whose

approval, seal, and signature, no local magistracy should allow any play to be acted. In that case actors would

take care to send their plays to the capital, and could act them in safety, and those who write them would be

more careful and take more pains with their work, standing in awe of having to submit it to the strict

examination of one who understood the matter; and so good plays would be produced and the objects they

aim at happily attained; as well the amusement of the people, as the credit of the wits of Spain, the interest

and safety of the actors, and the saving of trouble in inflicting punishment on them. And if the same or some

other person were authorised to examine the newly written books of chivalry, no doubt some would appear

with all the perfections you have described, enriching our language with the gracious and precious treasure of

eloquence, and driving the old books into obscurity before the light of the new ones that would come out for

the harmless entertainment, not merely of the idle but of the very busiest; for the bow cannot be always bent,

The canon and the curate had proceeded thus far with their conversation, when the barber, coming forward,

joined them, and said to the curate, "This is the spot, senor licentiate, that I said was a good one for fresh and

"And so it seems," returned the curate, and he told the canon what he proposed to do, on which he too made

up his mind to halt with them, attracted by the aspect of the fair valley that lay before their eyes; and to enjoy

it as well as the conversation of the curate, to whom he had begun to take a fancy, and also to learn more

particulars about the doings of Don Quixote, he desired some of his servants to go on to the inn, which was

not far distant, and fetch from it what eatables there might be for the whole party, as he meant to rest for the

afternoon where he was; to which one of his servants replied that the sumpter mule, which by this time ought

to have reached the inn, carried provisions enough to make it unnecessary to get anything from the inn except

"In that case," said the canon, "take all the beasts there, and bring the sumpter mule back."

While this was going on, Sancho, perceiving that he could speak to his master without having the curate and

the barber, of whom he had his suspicions, present all the time, approached the cage in which Don Quixote

was placed, and said, "Senor, to ease my conscience I want to tell you the state of the case as to your

enchantment, and that is that these two here, with their faces covered, are the curate of our village and the

barber; and I suspect they have hit upon this plan of carrying you off in this fashion, out of pure envy because

your worship surpasses them in doing famous deeds; and if this be the truth it follows that you are not

enchanted, but hoodwinked and made a fool of. And to prove this I want to ask you one thing; and if you

answer me as I believe you will answer, you will be able to lay your finger on the trick, and you will see that

"Ask what thou wilt, Sancho my son," returned Don Quixote, "for I will satisfy thee and answer all thou

requirest. As to what thou sayest, that these who accompany us yonder are the curate and the barber, our

neighbours and acquaintances, it is very possible that they may seem to he those same persons; but that they

are so in reality and in fact, believe it not on any account; what thou art to believe and think is that, if they

look like them, as thou sayest, it must be that those who have enchanted me have taken this shape and

likeness; for it is easy for enchanters to take any form they please, and they may have taken those of our

friends in order to make thee think as thou dost, and lead thee into a labyrinth of fancies from which thou wilt

find no escape though thou hadst the cord of Theseus; and they may also have done it to make me uncertain

in my mind, and unable to conjecture whence this evil comes to me; for if on the one hand thou dost tell me

that the barber and curate of our village are here in company with us, and on the other I find myself shut up in

a cage, and know in my heart that no power on earth that was not supernatural would have been able to shut

me in, what wouldst thou have me say or think, but that my enchantment is of a sort that transcends all I have

ever read of in all the histories that deal with knightserrant that have been enchanted? So thou mayest set

thy mind at rest as to the idea that they are what thou sayest, for they are as much so as I am a Turk. But

touching thy desire to ask me something, say on, and I will answer thee, though thou shouldst ask questions

"May Our Lady be good to me!" said Sancho, lifting up his voice; "and is it possible that your worship is so

thick of skull and so short of brains that you cannot see that what I say is the simple truth, and that malice has

more to do with your imprisonment and misfortune than enchantment? But as it is so, I will prove plainly to

you that you are not enchanted. Now tell me, so may God deliver you from this affliction, and so may you

"Leave off conjuring me," said Don Quixote, "and ask what thou wouldst know; I have already told thee I

"That is what I want," said Sancho; "and what I would know, and have you tell me, without adding or leaving

out anything, but telling the whole truth as one expects it to be told, and as it is told, by all who profess arms,

"I tell thee I will not lie in any particular," said Don Quixote; "finish thy question; for in truth thou weariest

"Well, I rely on the goodness and truth of my master," said Sancho; "and so, because it bears upon what we

are talking about, I would ask, speaking with all reverence, whether since your worship has been shut up and,

as you think, enchanted in this cage, you have felt any desire or inclination to go anywhere, as the saying is?"

"I do not understand 'going anywhere,'" said Don Quixote; "explain thyself more clearly, Sancho, if thou

"Is it possible," said Sancho, "that your worship does not understand 'going anywhere'? Why, the schoolboys

know that from the time they were babes. Well then, you must know I mean have you had any desire to do

"Ah! now I understand thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "yes, often, and even this minute; get me out of this

"Aha, I have caught you," said Sancho; "this is what in my heart and soul I was longing to know. Come now,

senor, can you deny what is commonly said around us, when a person is out of humour, 'I don't know what

ails soandso, that he neither eats, nor drinks, nor sleeps, nor gives a proper answer to any question; one

would think he was enchanted'? From which it is to be gathered that those who do not eat, or drink, or sleep,

or do any of the natural acts I am speaking of that such persons are enchanted; but not those that have the

desire your worship has, and drink when drink is given them, and eat when there is anything to eat, and

"What thou sayest is true, Sancho," replied Don Quixote; "but I have already told thee there are many sorts of

enchantments, and it may be that in the course of time they have been changed one for another, and that now

it may be the way with enchanted people to do all that I do, though they did not do so before; so it is vain to

argue or draw inferences against the usage of the time. I know and feel that I am enchanted, and that is

enough to ease my conscience; for it would weigh heavily on it if I thought that I was not enchanted, and that

in a ainthearted and cowardly way I allowed myself to lie in this cage, defrauding multitudes of the succour

I might afford to those in need and distress, who at this very moment may be in sore want of my aid and

"Still for all that," replied Sancho, "I say that, for your greater and fuller satisfaction, it would be well if your

worship were to try to get out of this prison (and I promise to do all in my power to help, and even to take

you out of it), and see if you could once more mount your good Rocinante, who seems to be enchanted too,

he is so melancholy and dejected; and then we might try our chance in looking for adventures again; and if

we have no luck there will be time enough to go back to the cage; in which, on the faith of a good and loyal

squire, I promise to shut myself up along with your worship, if so be you are so unfortunate, or I so stupid, as

"I am content to do as thou sayest, brother Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and when thou seest an opportunity

for effecting my release I will obey thee absolutely; but thou wilt see, Sancho, how mistaken thou art in thy

The knighterrant and the illerrant squire kept up their conversation till they reached the place where the

curate, the canon, and the barber, who had already dismounted, were waiting for them. The carter at once

unyoked the oxen and left them to roam at large about the pleasant green spot, the freshness of which seemed

to invite, not enchanted people like Don Quixote, but wideawake, sensible folk like his squire, who begged

the curate to allow his master to leave the cage for a little; for if they did not let him out, the prison might not

be as clean as the propriety of such a gentleman as his master required. The curate understood him, and said

he would very gladly comply with his request, only that he feared his master, finding himself at liberty,

would take to his old courses and make off where nobody could ever find him again.

"And I also," said the canon, "especially if he gives me his word as a knight not to leave us without our

Don Quixote, who was listening to all this, said, "I give it; moreover one who is enchanted as I am cannot

do as he likes with himself; for he who had enchanted him could prevent his moving from one place for three

ages, and if he attempted to escape would bring him back flying." And that being so, they might as well

release him, particularly as it would be to the advantage of all; for, if they did not let him out, he protested he

would be unable to avoid offending their nostrils unless they kept their distance.

The canon took his hand, tied together as they both were, and on his word and promise they unbound him,

and rejoiced beyond measure he was to find himself out of the cage. The first thing he did was to stretch

himself all over, and then he went to where Rocinante was standing and giving him a couple of slaps on the

haunches said, "I still trust in God and in his blessed mother, O flower and mirror of steeds, that we shall

soon see ourselves, both of us, as we wish to be, thou with thy master on thy back, and I mounted upon thee,

following the calling for which God sent me into the world." And so saying, accompanied by Sancho, he

withdrew to a retired spot, from which he came back much relieved and more eager than ever to put his

The canon gazed at him, wondering at the extraordinary nature of his madness, and that in all his remarks and

replies he should show such excellent sense, and only lose his stirrups, as has been already said, when the

subject of chivalry was broached. And so, moved by compassion, he said to him, as they all sat on the green

"Is it possible, gentle sir, that the nauseous and idle reading of books of chivalry can have had such an effect

on your worship as to upset your reason so that you fancy yourself enchanted, and the like, all as far from the

truth as falsehood itself is? How can there be any human understanding that can persuade itself there ever

was all that infinity of Amadises in the world, or all that multitude of famous knights, all those emperors of

Trebizond, all those Felixmartes of Hircania, all those palfreys, and damselserrant, and serpents, and

monsters, and giants, and marvellous adventures, and enchantments of every kind, and battles, and prodigious

encounters, splendid costumes, lovesick princesses, squires made counts, droll dwarfs, love letters, billings

and cooings, swashbuckler women, and, in a word, all that nonsense the books of chivalry contain? For

myself, I can only say that when I read them, so long as I do not stop to think that they are all lies and

frivolity, they give me a certain amount of pleasure; but when I come to consider what they are, I fling the

very best of them at the wall, and would fling it into the fire if there were one at hand, as richly deserving

such punishment as cheats and impostors out of the range of ordinary toleration, and as founders of new sects

and modes of life, and teachers that lead the ignorant public to believe and accept as truth all the folly they

contain. And such is their audacity, they even dare to unsettle the wits of gentlemen of birth and intelligence,

as is shown plainly by the way they have served your worship, when they have brought you to such a pass

that you have to be shut up in a cage and carried on an oxcart as one would carry a lion or a tiger from place

to place to make money by showing it. Come, Senor Don Quixote, have some compassion for yourself, return

to the bosom of common sense, and make use of the liberal share of it that heaven has been pleased to bestow

upon you, employing your abundant gifts of mind in some other reading that may serve to benefit your

conscience and add to your honour. And if, still led away by your natural bent, you desire to read books of

achievements and of chivalry, read the Book of Judges in the Holy Scriptures, for there you will find grand

reality, and deeds as true as they are heroic. Lusitania had a Viriatus, Rome a Caesar, Carthage a Hannibal,

Greece an Alexander, Castile a Count Fernan Gonzalez, Valencia a Cid, Andalusia a Gonzalo Fernandez,

Estremadura a Diego Garcia de Paredes, Jerez a Garci Perez de Vargas, Toledo a Garcilaso, Seville a Don

Manuel de Leon, to read of whose valiant deeds will entertain and instruct the loftiest minds and fill them

with delight and wonder. Here, Senor Don Quixote, will be reading worthy of your sound understanding;

from which you will rise learned in history, in love with virtue, strengthened in goodness, improved in

manners, brave without rashness, prudent without cowardice; and all to the honour of God, your own

advantage and the glory of La Mancha, whence, I am informed, your worship derives your birth."

Don Quixote listened with the greatest attention to the canon's words, and when he found he had finished,

"It appears to me, gentle sir, that your worship's discourse is intended to persuade me that there never were

any knightserrant in the world, and that all the books of chivalry are false, lying, mischievous and useless to

the State, and that I have done wrong in reading them, and worse in believing them, and still worse in

imitating them, when I undertook to follow the arduous calling of knighterrantry which they set forth; for

you deny that there ever were Amadises of Gaul or of Greece, or any other of the knights of whom the books

"It is all exactly as you state it," said the canon; to which Don Quixote returned, "You also went on to say that

books of this kind had done me much harm, inasmuch as they had upset my senses, and shut me up in a cage,

and that it would be better for me to reform and change my studies, and read other truer books which would

"Well then," returned Don Quixote, "to my mind it is you who are the one that is out of his wits and

enchanted, as you have ventured to utter such blasphemies against a thing so universally acknowledged and

accepted as true that whoever denies it, as you do, deserves the same punishment which you say you inflict

on the books that irritate you when you read them. For to try to persuade anybody that Amadis, and all the

other knightsadventurers with whom the books are filled, never existed, would be like trying to persuade

him that the sun does not yield light, or ice cold, or earth nourishment. What wit in the world can persuade

another that the story of the Princess Floripes and Guy of Burgundy is not true, or that of Fierabras and the

bridge of Mantible, which happened in the time of Charlemagne? For by all that is good it is as true as that it

is daylight now; and if it be a lie, it must be a lie too that there was a Hector, or Achilles, or Trojan war, or

Twelve Peers of France, or Arthur of England, who still lives changed into a raven, and is unceasingly looked

for in his kingdom. One might just as well try to make out that the history of Guarino Mezquino, or of the

quest of the Holy Grail, is false, or that the loves of Tristram and the Queen Yseult are apocryphal, as well as

those of Guinevere and Lancelot, when there are persons who can almost remember having seen the Dame

Quintanona, who was the best cupbearer in Great Britain. And so true is this, that I recollect a grandmother of

mine on the father's side, whenever she saw any dame in a venerable hood, used to say to me, 'Grandson, that

one is like Dame Quintanona,' from which I conclude that she must have known her, or at least had managed

to see some portrait of her. Then who can deny that the story of Pierres and the fair Magalona is true, when

even to this day may be seen in the king's armoury the pin with which the valiant Pierres guided the wooden

horse he rode through the air, and it is a trifle bigger than the pole of a cart? And alongside of the pin is

Babieca's saddle, and at Roncesvalles there is Roland's horn, as large as a large beam; whence we may infer

that there were Twelve Peers, and a Pierres, and a Cid, and other knights like them, of the sort people

commonly call adventurers. Or perhaps I shall be told, too, that there was no such knighterrant as the valiant

Lusitanian Juan de Merlo, who went to Burgundy and in the city of Arras fought with the famous lord of

Charny, Mosen Pierres by name, and afterwards in the city of Basle with Mosen Enrique de Remesten,

coming out of both encounters covered with fame and honour; or adventures and challenges achieved and

delivered, also in Burgundy, by the valiant Spaniards Pedro Barba and Gutierre Quixada (of whose family I

come in the direct male line), when they vanquished the sons of the Count of San Polo. I shall be told, too,

that Don Fernando de Guevara did not go in quest of adventures to Germany, where he engaged in combat

with Micer George, a knight of the house of the Duke of Austria. I shall be told that the jousts of Suero de

Quinones, him of the 'Paso,' and the emprise of Mosen Luis de Falces against the Castilian knight, Don

Gonzalo de Guzman, were mere mockeries; as well as many other achievements of Christian knights of these

and foreign realms, which are so authentic and true, that, I repeat, he who denies them must be totally

The canon was amazed to hear the medley of truth and fiction Don Quixote uttered, and to see how well

acquainted he was with everything relating or belonging to the achievements of his knighterrantry; so he

"I cannot deny, Senor Don Quixote, that there is some truth in what you say, especially as regards the Spanish

knightserrant; and I am willing to grant too that the Twelve Peers of France existed, but I am not disposed to

believe that they did all the things that the Archbishop Turpin relates of them. For the truth of the matter is

they were knights chosen by the kings of France, and called 'Peers' because they were all equal in worth, rank

and prowess (at least if they were not they ought to have been), and it was a kind of religious order like those

of Santiago and Calatrava in the present day, in which it is assumed that those who take it are valiant knights

of distinction and good birth; and just as we say now a Knight of St. John, or of Alcantara, they used to say

then a Knight of the Twelve Peers, because twelve equals were chosen for that military order. That there was

a Cid, as well as a Bernardo del Carpio, there can be no doubt; but that they did the deeds people say they

did, I hold to be very doubtful. In that other matter of the pin of Count Pierres that you speak of, and say is

near Babieca's saddle in the Armoury, I confess my sin; for I am either so stupid or so shortsighted, that,

though I have seen the saddle, I have never been able to see the pin, in spite of it being as big as your worship

"For all that it is there, without any manner of doubt," said Don Quixote; "and more by token they say it is

"All that may be," replied the canon; "but, by the orders I have received, I do not remember seeing it.

However, granting it is there, that is no reason why I am bound to believe the stories of all those Amadises

and of all that multitude of knights they tell us about, nor is it reasonable that a man like your worship, so

worthy, and with so many good qualities, and endowed with such a good understanding, should allow himself

to be persuaded that such wild crazy things as are written in those absurd books of chivalry are really true."

"A good joke, that!" returned Don Quixote. "Books that have been printed with the king's licence, and with

the approbation of those to whom they have been submitted, and read with universal delight, and extolled by

great and small, rich and poor, learned and ignorant, gentle and simple, in a word by people of every sort, of

whatever rank or condition they may be that these should be lies! And above all when they carry such an

appearance of truth with them; for they tell us the father, mother, country, kindred, age, place, and the

achievements, step by step, and day by day, performed by such a knight or knights! Hush, sir; utter not such

blasphemy; trust me I am advising you now to act as a sensible man should; only read them, and you will see

the pleasure you will derive from them. For, come, tell me, can there be anything more delightful than to see,

as it were, here now displayed before us a vast lake of bubbling pitch with a host of snakes and serpents and

lizards, and ferocious and terrible creatures of all sorts swimming about in it, while from the middle of the

lake there comes a plaintive voice saying: 'Knight, whosoever thou art who beholdest this dread lake, if thou

wouldst win the prize that lies hidden beneath these dusky waves, prove the valour of thy stout heart and cast

thyself into the midst of its dark burning waters, else thou shalt not be worthy to see the mighty wonders

contained in the seven castles of the seven Fays that lie beneath this black expanse;' and then the knight,

almost ere the awful voice has ceased, without stopping to consider, without pausing to reflect upon the

danger to which he is exposing himself, without even relieving himself of the weight of his massive armour,

commending himself to God and to his lady, plunges into the midst of the boiling lake, and when he little

looks for it, or knows what his fate is to be, he finds himself among flowery meadows, with which the

Elysian fields are not to be compared. The sky seems more transparent there, and the sun shines with a

strange brilliancy, and a delightful grove of green leafy trees presents itself to the eyes and charms the sight

with its verdure, while the ear is soothed by the sweet untutored melody of the countless birds of gay

plumage that flit to and fro among the interlacing branches. Here he sees a brook whose limpid waters, like

liquid crystal, ripple over fine sands and white pebbles that look like sifted gold and purest pearls. There he

perceives a cunningly wrought fountain of manycoloured jasper and polished marble; here another of rustic

fashion where the little musselshells and the spiral white and yellow mansions of the snail disposed in

studious disorder, mingled with fragments of glittering crystal and mock emeralds, make up a work of varied

aspect, where art, imitating nature, seems to have outdone it. Suddenly there is presented to his sight a strong

castle or gorgeous palace with walls of massy gold, turrets of diamond and gates of jacinth; in short, so

marvellous is its structure that though the materials of which it is built are nothing less than diamonds,

carbuncles, rubies, pearls, gold, and emeralds, the workmanship is still more rare. And after having seen all

this, what can be more charming than to see how a bevy of damsels comes forth from the gate of the castle in

gay and gorgeous attire, such that, were I to set myself now to depict it as the histories describe it to us, I

should never have done; and then how she who seems to be the first among them all takes the bold knight

who plunged into the boiling lake by the hand, and without addressing a word to him leads him into the rich

palace or castle, and strips him as naked as when his mother bore him, and bathes him in lukewarm water,

and anoints him all over with sweetsmelling unguents, and clothes him in a shirt of the softest sendal, all

scented and perfumed, while another damsel comes and throws over his shoulders a mantle which is said to

be worth at the very least a city, and even more? How charming it is, then, when they tell us how, after all

this, they lead him to another chamber where he finds the tables set out in such style that he is filled with

amazement and wonder; to see how they pour out water for his hands distilled from amber and sweetscented

flowers; how they seat him on an ivory chair; to see how the damsels wait on him all in profound silence;

how they bring him such a variety of dainties so temptingly prepared that the appetite is at a loss which to

select; to hear the music that resounds while he is at table, by whom or whence produced he knows not. And

then when the repast is over and the tables removed, for the knight to recline in the chair, picking his teeth

perhaps as usual, and a damsel, much lovelier than any of the others, to enter unexpectedly by the chamber

door, and herself by his side, and begin to tell him what the castle is, and how she is held enchanted there,

and other things that amaze the knight and astonish the readers who are perusing his history. But I will not

expatiate any further upon this, as it may be gathered from it that whatever part of whatever history of a

knighterrant one reads, it will fill the reader, whoever he be, with delight and wonder; and take my advice,

sir, and, as I said before, read these books and you will see how they will banish any melancholy you may

feel and raise your spirits should they be depressed. For myself I can say that since I have been a

knighterrant I have become valiant, polite, generous, wellbred, magnanimous, courteous, dauntless, gentle,

patient, and have learned to bear hardships, imprisonments, and enchantments; and though it be such a short

time since I have seen myself shut up in a cage like a madman, I hope by the might of my arm, if heaven aid

me and fortune thwart me not, to see myself king of some kingdom where I may be able to show the gratitude

and generosity that dwell in my heart; for by my faith, senor, the poor man is incapacitated from showing the

virtue of generosity to anyone, though he may possess it in the highest degree; and gratitude that consists of

disposition only is a dead thing, just as faith without works is dead. For this reason I should be glad were

fortune soon to offer me some opportunity of making myself an emperor, so as to show my heart in doing

good to my friends, particularly to this poor Sancho Panza, my squire, who is the best fellow in the world;

and I would gladly give him a county I have promised him this ever so long, only that I am afraid he has not

Sancho partly heard these last words of his master, and said to him, "Strive hard you, Senor Don Quixote, to

give me that county so often promised by you and so long looked for by me, for I promise you there will be

no want of capacity in me to govern it; and even if there is, I have heard say there are men in the world who

farm seigniories, paying so much a year, and they themselves taking charge of the government, while the

lord, with his legs stretched out, enjoys the revenue they pay him, without troubling himself about anything

else. That's what I'll do, and not stand haggling over trifles, but wash my hands at once of the whole business,

"That, brother Sancho," said the canon, "only holds good as far as the enjoyment of the revenue goes; but the

lord of the seigniory must attend to the administration of justice, and here capacity and sound judgment come

in, and above all a firm determination to find out the truth; for if this be wanting in the beginning, the middle

and the end will always go wrong; and God as commonly aids the honest intentions of the simple as he

"I don't understand those philosophies," returned Sancho Panza; "all I know is I would I had the county as

soon as I shall know how to govern it; for I have as much soul as another, and as much body as anyone, and I

shall be as much king of my realm as any other of his; and being so I should do as I liked, and doing as I

liked I should please myself, and pleasing myself I should be content, and when one is content he has nothing

more to desire, and when one has nothing more to desire there is an end of it; so let the county come, and God

"That is not bad philosophy thou art talking, Sancho," said the canon; "but for all that there is a good deal to

To which Don Quixote returned, "I know not what more there is to be said; I only guide myself by the

example set me by the great Amadis of Gaul, when he made his squire count of the Insula Firme; and so,

without any scruples of conscience, I can make a count of Sancho Panza, for he is one of the best squires that

The canon was astonished at the methodical nonsense (if nonsense be capable of method) that Don Quixote

uttered, at the way in which he had described the adventure of the knight of the lake, at the impression that

the deliberate lies of the books he read had made upon him, and lastly he marvelled at the simplicity of

Sancho, who desired so eagerly to obtain the county his master had promised him.

By this time the canon's servants, who had gone to the inn to fetch the sumpter mule, had returned, and

making a carpet and the green grass of the meadow serve as a table, they seated themselves in the shade of

some trees and made their repast there, that the carter might not be deprived of the advantage of the spot, as

has been already said. As they were eating they suddenly heard a loud noise and the sound of a bell that

seemed to come from among some brambles and thick bushes that were close by, and the same instant they

observed a beautiful goat, spotted all over black, white, and brown, spring out of the thicket with a goatherd

after it, calling to it and uttering the usual cries to make it stop or turn back to the fold. The fugitive goat,

scared and frightened, ran towards the company as if seeking their protection and then stood still, and the

goatherd coming up seized it by the horns and began to talk to it as if it were possessed of reason and

understanding: "Ah wanderer, wanderer, Spotty, Spotty; how have you gone limping all this time? What

wolves have frightened you, my daughter? Won't you tell me what is the matter, my beauty? But what else

can it be except that you are a she, and cannot keep quiet? A plague on your humours and the humours of

those you take after! Come back, come back, my darling; and if you will not be so happy, at any rate you will

be safe in the fold or with your companions; for if you who ought to keep and lead them, go wandering

The goatherd's talk amused all who heard it, but especially the canon, who said to him, "As you live, brother,

take it easy, and be not in such a hurry to drive this goat back to the fold; for, being a female, as you say, she

will follow her natural instinct in spite of all you can do to prevent it. Take this morsel and drink a sup, and

that will soothe your irritation, and in the meantime the goat will rest herself," and so saying, he handed him

The goatherd took it with thanks, and drank and calmed himself, and then said, "I should be sorry if your

worships were to take me for a simpleton for having spoken so seriously as I did to this animal; but the truth

is there is a certain mystery in the words I used. I am a clown, but not so much of one but that I know how to

"That I can well believe," said the curate, "for I know already by experience that the woods breed men of

"At all events, senor," returned the goatherd, "they shelter men of experience; and that you may see the truth

of this and grasp it, though I may seem to put myself forward without being asked, I will, if it will not tire

you, gentlemen, and you will give me your attention for a little, tell you a true story which will confirm this

To this Don Quixote replied, "Seeing that this affair has a certain colour of chivalry about it, I for my part,

brother, will hear you most gladly, and so will all these gentlemen, from the high intelligence they possess

and their love of curious novelties that interest, charm, and entertain the mind, as I feel quite sure your story

"I draw my stakes," said Sancho, "and will retreat with this pasty to the brook there, where I mean to victual

myself for three days; for I have heard my lord, Don Quixote, say that a knighterrant's squire should eat

until he can hold no more, whenever he has the chance, because it often happens them to get by accident into

a wood so thick that they cannot find a way out of it for six days; and if the man is not well filled or his

alforjas well stored, there he may stay, as very often he does, turned into a dried mummy."

"Thou art in the right of it, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "go where thou wilt and eat all thou canst, for I have

had enough, and only want to give my mind its refreshment, as I shall by listening to this good fellow's

"It is what we shall all do," said the canon; and then begged the goatherd to begin the promised tale.

The goatherd gave the goat which he held by the horns a couple of slaps on the back, saying, "Lie down here

beside me, Spotty, for we have time enough to return to our fold." The goat seemed to understand him, for as

her master seated himself, she stretched herself quietly beside him and looked up in his face to show him she

was all attention to what he was going to say, and then in these words he began his story.

Three leagues from this valley there is a village which, though small, is one of the richest in all this

neighbourhood, and in it there lived a farmer, a very worthy man, and so much respected that, although to be

so is the natural consequence of being rich, he was even more respected for his virtue than for the wealth he

had acquired. But what made him still more fortunate, as he said himself, was having a daughter of such

exceeding beauty, rare intelligence, gracefulness, and virtue, that everyone who knew her and beheld her

marvelled at the extraordinary gifts with which heaven and nature had endowed her. As a child she was

beautiful, she continued to grow in beauty, and at the age of sixteen she was most lovely. The fame of her

beauty began to spread abroad through all the villages around but why do I say the villages around, merely,

when it spread to distant cities, and even made its way into the halls of royalty and reached the ears of people

of every class, who came from all sides to see her as if to see something rare and curious, or some

Her father watched over her and she watched over herself; for there are no locks, or guards, or bolts that can

protect a young girl better than her own modesty. The wealth of the father and the beauty of the daughter led

many neighbours as well as strangers to seek her for a wife; but he, as one might well be who had the

disposal of so rich a jewel, was perplexed and unable to make up his mind to which of her countless suitors

he should entrust her. I was one among the many who felt a desire so natural, and, as her father knew who I

was, and I was of the same town, of pure blood, in the bloom of life, and very rich in possessions, I had great

hopes of success. There was another of the same place and qualifications who also sought her, and this made

her father's choice hang in the balance, for he felt that on either of us his daughter would be well bestowed; so

to escape from this state of perplexity he resolved to refer the matter to Leandra (for that is the name of the

rich damsel who has reduced me to misery), reflecting that as we were both equal it would be best to leave it

to his dear daughter to choose according to her inclination a course that is worthy of imitation by all fathers

who wish to settle their children in life. I do not mean that they ought to leave them to make a choice of what

is contemptible and bad, but that they should place before them what is good and then allow them to make a

good choice as they please. I do not know which Leandra chose; I only know her father put us both off with

the tender age of his daughter and vague words that neither bound him nor dismissed us. My rival is called

Anselmo and I myself Eugenio that you may know the names of the personages that figure in this tragedy,

the end of which is still in suspense, though it is plain to see it must be disastrous.

About this time there arrived in our town one Vicente de la Roca, the son of a poor peasant of the same town,

the said Vicente having returned from service as a soldier in Italy and divers other parts. A captain who

chanced to pass that way with his company had carried him off from our village when he was a boy of about

twelve years, and now twelve years later the young man came back in a soldier's uniform, arrayed in a

thousand colours, and all over glass trinkets and fine steel chains. Today he would appear in one gay dress,

tomorrow in another; but all flimsy and gaudy, of little substance and less worth. The peasant folk, who are

naturally malicious, and when they have nothing to do can be malice itself, remarked all this, and took note of

his finery and jewellery, piece by piece, and discovered that he had three suits of different colours, with

garters and stockings to match; but he made so many arrangements and combinations out of them, that if they

had not counted them, anyone would have sworn that he had made a display of more than ten suits of clothes

and twenty plumes. Do not look upon all this that I am telling you about the clothes as uncalled for or spun

out, for they have a great deal to do with the story. He used to seat himself on a bench under the great poplar

in our plaza, and there he would keep us all hanging openmouthed on the stories he told us of his exploits.

There was no country on the face of the globe he had not seen, nor battle he had not been engaged in; he had

killed more Moors than there are in Morocco and Tunis, and fought more single combats, according to his

own account, than Garcilaso, Diego Garcia de Paredes and a thousand others he named, and out of all he had

come victorious without losing a drop of blood. On the other hand he showed marks of wounds, which,

though they could not be made out, he said were gunshot wounds received in divers encounters and actions.

Lastly, with monstrous impudence he used to say "you" to his equals and even those who knew what he was,

and declare that his arm was his father and his deeds his pedigree, and that being a soldier he was as good as

the king himself. And to add to these swaggering ways he was a trifle of a musician, and played the guitar

with such a flourish that some said he made it speak; nor did his accomplishments end here, for he was

something of a poet too, and on every trifle that happened in the town he made a ballad a league long.

This soldier, then, that I have described, this Vicente de la Roca, this bravo, gallant, musician, poet, was often

seen and watched by Leandra from a window of her house which looked out on the plaza. The glitter of his

showy attire took her fancy, his ballads bewitched her (for he gave away twenty copies of every one he

made), the tales of his exploits which he told about himself came to her ears; and in short, as the devil no

doubt had arranged it, she fell in love with him before the presumption of making love to her had suggested

itself to him; and as in loveaffairs none are more easily brought to an issue than those which have the

inclination of the lady for an ally, Leandra and Vicente came to an understanding without any difficulty; and

before any of her numerous suitors had any suspicion of her design, she had already carried it into effect,

having left the house of her dearly beloved father (for mother she had none), and disappeared from the village

with the soldier, who came more triumphantly out of this enterprise than out of any of the large number he

laid claim to. All the village and all who heard of it were amazed at the affair; I was aghast, Anselmo

thunderstruck, her father full of grief, her relations indignant, the authorities all in a ferment, the officers of

the Brotherhood in arms. They scoured the roads, they searched the woods and all quarters, and at the end of

three days they found the flighty Leandra in a mountain cave, stript to her shift, and robbed of all the money

and precious jewels she had carried away from home with her. They brought her back to her unhappy father,

and questioned her as to her misfortune, and she confessed without pressure that Vicente de la Roca had

deceived her, and under promise of marrying her had induced her to leave her father's house, as he meant to

take her to the richest and most delightful city in the whole world, which was Naples; and that she,

illadvised and deluded, had believed him, and robbed her father, and handed over all to him the night she

disappeared; and that he had carried her away to a rugged mountain and shut her up in the eave where they

had found her. She said, moreover, that the soldier, without robbing her of her honour, had taken from her

everything she had, and made off, leaving her in the cave, a thing that still further surprised everybody. It was

not easy for us to credit the young man's continence, but she asserted it with such earnestness that it helped to

console her distressed father, who thought nothing of what had been taken since the jewel that once lost can

never be recovered had been left to his daughter. The same day that Leandra made her appearance her father

removed her from our sight and took her away to shut her up in a convent in a town near this, in the hope that

time may wear away some of the disgrace she has incurred. Leandra's youth furnished an excuse for her fault,

at least with those to whom it was of no consequence whether she was good or bad; but those who knew her

shrewdness and intelligence did not attribute her misdemeanour to ignorance but to wantonness and the

natural disposition of women, which is for the most part flighty and illregulated.

Leandra withdrawn from sight, Anselmo's eyes grew blind, or at any rate found nothing to look at that gave

them any pleasure, and mine were in darkness without a ray of light to direct them to anything enjoyable

while Leandra was away. Our melancholy grew greater, our patience grew less; we cursed the soldier's finery

and railed at the carelessness of Leandra's father. At last Anselmo and I agreed to leave the village and come

to this valley; and, he feeding a great flock of sheep of his own, and I a large herd of goats of mine, we pass

our life among the trees, giving vent to our sorrows, together singing the fair Leandra's praises, or upbraiding

her, or else sighing alone, and to heaven pouring forth our complaints in solitude. Following our example,

many more of Leandra's lovers have come to these rude mountains and adopted our mode of life, and they are

so numerous that one would fancy the place had been turned into the pastoral Arcadia, so full is it of

shepherds and sheepfolds; nor is there a spot in it where the name of the fair Leandra is not heard. Here one

curses her and calls her capricious, fickle, and immodest, there another condemns her as frail and frivolous;

this pardons and absolves her, that spurns and reviles her; one extols her beauty, another assails her character,

and in short all abuse her, and all adore her, and to such a pitch has this general infatuation gone that there are

some who complain of her scorn without ever having exchanged a word with her, and even some that bewail

and mourn the raging fever of jealousy, for which she never gave anyone cause, for, as I have already said,

her misconduct was known before her passion. There is no nook among the rocks, no brookside, no shade

beneath the trees that is not haunted by some shepherd telling his woes to the breezes; wherever there is an

echo it repeats the name of Leandra; the mountains ring with "Leandra," "Leandra" murmur the brooks, and

Leandra keeps us all bewildered and bewitched, hoping without hope and fearing without knowing what we

fear. Of all this silly set the one that shows the least and also the most sense is my rival Anselmo, for having

so many other things to complain of, he only complains of separation, and to the accompaniment of a rebeck,

which he plays admirably, he sings his complaints in verses that show his ingenuity. I follow another, easier,

and to my mind wiser course, and that is to rail at the frivolity of women, at their inconstancy, their double

dealing, their broken promises, their unkept pledges, and in short the want of reflection they show in fixing

their affections and inclinations. This, sirs, was the reason of words and expressions I made use of to this goat

when I came up just now; for as she is a female I have a contempt for her, though she is the best in all my

fold. This is the story I promised to tell you, and if I have been tedious in telling it, I will not be slow to serve

you; my hut is close by, and I have fresh milk and dainty cheese there, as well as a variety of toothsome fruit,

The goatherd's tale gave great satisfaction to all the hearers, and the canon especially enjoyed it, for he had

remarked with particular attention the manner in which it had been told, which was as unlike the manner of a

clownish goatherd as it was like that of a polished city wit; and he observed that the curate had been quite

right in saying that the woods bred men of learning. They all offered their services to Eugenio but he who

showed himself most liberal in this way was Don Quixote, who said to him, "Most assuredly, brother

goatherd, if I found myself in a position to attempt any adventure, I would, this very instant, set out on your

behalf, and would rescue Leandra from that convent (where no doubt she is kept against her will), in spite of

the abbess and all who might try to prevent me, and would place her in your hands to deal with her according

to your will and pleasure, observing, however, the laws of chivalry which lay down that no violence of any

kind is to be offered to any damsel. But I trust in God our Lord that the might of one malignant enchanter

may not prove so great but that the power of another better disposed may prove superior to it, and then I

promise you my support and assistance, as I am bound to do by my profession, which is none other than to

The goatherd eyed him, and noticing Don Quixote's sorry appearance and looks, he was filled with wonder,

and asked the barber, who was next him, "Senor, who is this man who makes such a figure and talks in such a

"Who should it be," said the barber, "but the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, the undoer of injustice, the

righter of wrongs, the protector of damsels, the terror of giants, and the winner of battles?"

"That," said the goatherd, "sounds like what one reads in the books of the knightserrant, who did all that you

say this man does; though it is my belief that either you are joking, or else this gentleman has empty lodgings

"You are a great scoundrel," said Don Quixote, "and it is you who are empty and a fool. I am fuller than ever

was the whoreson bitch that bore you;" and passing from words to deeds, he caught up a loaf that was near

him and sent it full in the goatherd's face, with such force that he flattened his nose; but the goatherd, who did

not understand jokes, and found himself roughly handled in such good earnest, paying no respect to carpet,

tablecloth, or diners, sprang upon Don Quixote, and seizing him by the throat with both hands would no

doubt have throttled him, had not Sancho Panza that instant come to the rescue, and grasping him by the

shoulders flung him down on the table, smashing plates, breaking glasses, and upsetting and scattering

everything on it. Don Quixote, finding himself free, strove to get on top of the goatherd, who, with his face

covered with blood, and soundly kicked by Sancho, was on all fours feeling about for one of the tableknives

to take a bloody revenge with. The canon and the curate, however, prevented him, but the barber so contrived

it that he got Don Quixote under him, and rained down upon him such a shower of fisticuffs that the poor

knight's face streamed with blood as freely as his own. The canon and the curate were bursting with laughter,

the officers were capering with delight, and both the one and the other hissed them on as they do dogs that are

worrying one another in a fight. Sancho alone was frantic, for he could not free himself from the grasp of one

At last, while they were all, with the exception of the two bruisers who were mauling each other, in high glee

and enjoyment, they heard a trumpet sound a note so doleful that it made them all look in the direction

whence the sound seemed to come. But the one that was most excited by hearing it was Don Quixote, who

though sorely against his will he was under the goatherd, and something more than pretty well pummelled,

said to him, "Brother devil (for it is impossible but that thou must be one since thou hast had might and

strength enough to overcome mine), I ask thee to agree to a truce for but one hour for the solemn note of

yonder trumpet that falls on our ears seems to me to summon me to some new adventure." The goatherd, who

was by this time tired of pummelling and being pummelled, released him at once, and Don Quixote rising to

his feet and turning his eyes to the quarter where the sound had been heard, suddenly saw coming down the

The fact was that the clouds had that year withheld their moisture from the earth, and in all the villages of the

district they were organising processions, rogations, and penances, imploring God to open the hands of his

mercy and send the rain; and to this end the people of a village that was hard by were going in procession to a

holy hermitage there was on one side of that valley. Don Quixote when he saw the strange garb of the

penitents, without reflecting how often he had seen it before, took it into his head that this was a case of

adventure, and that it fell to him alone as a knighterrant to engage in it; and he was all the more confirmed

in this notion, by the idea that an image draped in black they had with them was some illustrious lady that

these villains and discourteous thieves were carrying off by force. As soon as this occurred to him he ran with

all speed to Rocinante who was grazing at large, and taking the bridle and the buckler from the saddlebow,

he had him bridled in an instant, and calling to Sancho for his sword he mounted Rocinante, braced his

buckler on his arm, and in a loud voice exclaimed to those who stood by, "Now, noble company, ye shall see

how important it is that there should be knights in the world professing the of knighterrantry; now, I say, ye

shall see, by the deliverance of that worthy lady who is borne captive there, whether knightserrant deserve

to be held in estimation," and so saying he brought his legs to bear on Rocinante for he had no spurs and at

a full canter (for in all this veracious history we never read of Rocinante fairly galloping) set off to encounter

the penitents, though the curate, the canon, and the barber ran to prevent him. But it was out of their power,

nor did he even stop for the shouts of Sancho calling after him, "Where are you going, Senor Don Quixote?

What devils have possessed you to set you on against our Catholic faith? Plague take me! mind, that is a

procession of penitents, and the lady they are carrying on that stand there is the blessed image of the

immaculate Virgin. Take care what you are doing, senor, for this time it may be safely said you don't know

what you are about." Sancho laboured in vain, for his master was so bent on coming to quarters with these

sheeted figures and releasing the lady in black that he did not hear a word; and even had he heard, he would

not have turned back if the king had ordered him. He came up with the procession and reined in Rocinante,

who was already anxious enough to slacken speed a little, and in a hoarse, excited voice he exclaimed, "You

who hide your faces, perhaps because you are not good subjects, pay attention and listen to what I am about

to say to you." The first to halt were those who were carrying the image, and one of the four ecclesiastics who

were chanting the Litany, struck by the strange figure of Don Quixote, the leanness of Rocinante, and the

other ludicrous peculiarities he observed, said in reply to him, "Brother, if you have anything to say to us say

it quickly, for these brethren are whipping themselves, and we cannot stop, nor is it reasonable we should

stop to hear anything, unless indeed it is short enough to be said in two words."

"I will say it in one," replied Don Quixote, "and it is this; that at once, this very instant, ye release that fair

lady whose tears and sad aspect show plainly that ye are carrying her off against her will, and that ye have

committed some scandalous outrage against her; and I, who was born into the world to redress all such like

wrongs, will not permit you to advance another step until you have restored to her the liberty she pines for

From these words all the hearers concluded that he must be a madman, and began to laugh heartily, and their

laughter acted like gunpowder on Don Quixote's fury, for drawing his sword without another word he made a

rush at the stand. One of those who supported it, leaving the burden to his comrades, advanced to meet him,

flourishing a forked stick that he had for propping up the stand when resting, and with this he caught a

mighty cut Don Quixote made at him that severed it in two; but with the portion that remained in his hand he

dealt such a thwack on the shoulder of Don Quixote's sword arm (which the buckler could not protect against

Sancho Panza, who was coming on close behind puffing and blowing, seeing him fall, cried out to his

assailant not to strike him again, for he was poor enchanted knight, who had never harmed anyone all the

days of his life; but what checked the clown was, not Sancho's shouting, but seeing that Don Quixote did not

stir hand or foot; and so, fancying he had killed him, he hastily hitched up his tunic under his girdle and took

By this time all Don Quixote's companions had come up to where he lay; but the processionists seeing them

come running, and with them the officers of the Brotherhood with their crossbows, apprehended mischief,

and clustering round the image, raised their hoods, and grasped their scourges, as the priests did their tapers,

and awaited the attack, resolved to defend themselves and even to take the offensive against their assailants if

they could. Fortune, however, arranged the matter better than they expected, for all Sancho did was to fling

himself on his master's body, raising over him the most doleful and laughable lamentation that ever was

heard, for he believed he was dead. The curate was known to another curate who walked in the procession,

and their recognition of one another set at rest the apprehensions of both parties; the first then told the other

in two words who Don Quixote was, and he and the whole troop of penitents went to see if the poor

gentleman was dead, and heard Sancho Panza saying, with tears in his eyes, "Oh flower of chivalry, that with

one blow of a stick hast ended the course of thy wellspent life! Oh pride of thy race, honour and glory of all

La Mancha, nay, of all the world, that for want of thee will be full of evildoers, no longer in fear of

punishment for their misdeeds! Oh thou, generous above all the Alexanders, since for only eight months of

service thou hast given me the best island the sea girds or surrounds! Humble with the proud, haughty with

the humble, encounterer of dangers, endurer of outrages, enamoured without reason, imitator of the good,

scourge of the wicked, enemy of the mean, in short, knighterrant, which is all that can be said!"

At the cries and moans of Sancho, Don Quixote came to himself, and the first word he said was, "He who

lives separated from you, sweetest Dulcinea, has greater miseries to endure than these. Aid me, friend

Sancho, to mount the enchanted cart, for I am not in a condition to press the saddle of Rocinante, as this

"That I will do with all my heart, senor," said Sancho; "and let us return to our village with these gentlemen,

who seek your good, and there we will prepare for making another sally, which may turn out more profitable

"Thou art right, Sancho," returned Don Quixote; "It will be wise to let the malign influence of the stars which

The canon, the curate, and the barber told him he would act very wisely in doing as he said; and so, highly

amused at Sancho Panza's simplicities, they placed Don Quixote in the cart as before. The procession once

more formed itself in order and proceeded on its road; the goatherd took his leave of the party; the officers of

the Brotherhood declined to go any farther, and the curate paid them what was due to them; the canon begged

the curate to let him know how Don Quixote did, whether he was cured of his madness or still suffered from

it, and then begged leave to continue his journey; in short, they all separated and went their ways, leaving to

themselves the curate and the barber, Don Quixote, Sancho Panza, and the good Rocinante, who regarded

everything with as great resignation as his master. The carter yoked his oxen and made Don Quixote

comfortable on a truss of hay, and at his usual deliberate pace took the road the curate directed, and at the end

of six days they reached Don Quixote's village, and entered it about the middle of the day, which it so

happened was a Sunday, and the people were all in the plaza, through which Don Quixote's cart passed. They

all flocked to see what was in the cart, and when they recognised their townsman they were filled with

amazement, and a boy ran off to bring the news to his housekeeper and his niece that their master and uncle

had come back all lean and yellow and stretched on a truss of hay on an oxcart. It was piteous to hear the

cries the two good ladies raised, how they beat their breasts and poured out fresh maledictions on those

accursed books of chivalry; all which was renewed when they saw Don Quixote coming in at the gate.

At the news of Don Quixote's arrival Sancho Panza's wife came running, for she by this time knew that her

husband had gone away with him as his squire, and on seeing Sancho, the first thing she asked him was if the

"Thanks be to God," said she, "for being so good to me; but now tell me, my friend, what have you made by

your squirings? What gown have you brought me back? What shoes for your children?"

"I bring nothing of that sort, wife," said Sancho; "though I bring other things of more consequence and

"I am very glad of that," returned his wife; "show me these things of more value and consequence, my friend;

for I want to see them to cheer my heart that has been so sad and heavy all these ages that you have been

"I will show them to you at home, wife," said Sancho; "be content for the present; for if it please God that we

should again go on our travels in search of adventures, you will soon see me a count, or governor of an

island, and that not one of those everyday ones, but the best that is to be had."

"Heaven grant it, husband," said she, "for indeed we have need of it. But tell me, what's this about islands, for

"Honey is not for the mouth of the ass," returned Sancho; "all in good time thou shalt see, wife nay, thou

"What are you talking about, Sancho, with your ladyships, islands, and vassals?" returned Teresa Panza for

so Sancho's wife was called, though they were not relations, for in La Mancha it is customary for wives to

"Don't be in such a hurry to know all this, Teresa," said Sancho; "it is enough that I am telling you the truth,

so shut your mouth. But I may tell you this much by the way, that there is nothing in the world more

delightful than to be a person of consideration, squire to a knighterrant, and a seeker of adventures. To be

sure most of those one finds do not end as pleasantly as one could wish, for out of a hundred, ninetynine

will turn out cross and contrary. I know it by experience, for out of some I came blanketed, and out of others

belaboured. Still, for all that, it is a fine thing to be on the lookout for what may happen, crossing

mountains, searching woods, climbing rocks, visiting castles, putting up at inns, all at free quarters, and devil

While this conversation passed between Sancho Panza and his wife, Don Quixote's housekeeper and niece

took him in and undressed him and laid him in his old bed. He eyed them askance, and could not make out

where he was. The curate charged his niece to be very careful to make her uncle comfortable and to keep a

watch over him lest he should make his escape from them again, telling her what they had been obliged to do

to bring him home. On this the pair once more lifted up their voices and renewed their maledictions upon the

books of chivalry, and implored heaven to plunge the authors of such lies and nonsense into the midst of the

bottomless pit. They were, in short, kept in anxiety and dread lest their uncle and master should give them the

slip the moment he found himself somewhat better, and as they feared so it fell out.

But the author of this history, though he has devoted research and industry to the discovery of the deeds

achieved by Don Quixote in his third sally, has been unable to obtain any information respecting them, at any

rate derived from authentic documents; tradition has merely preserved in the memory of La Mancha the fact

that Don Quixote, the third time he sallied forth from his home, betook himself to Saragossa, where he was

present at some famous jousts which came off in that city, and that he had adventures there worthy of his

valour and high intelligence. Of his end and death he could learn no particulars, nor would he have

ascertained it or known of it, if good fortune had not produced an old physician for him who had in his

possession a leaden box, which, according to his account, had been discovered among the crumbling

foundations of an ancient hermitage that was being rebuilt; in which box were found certain parchment

manuscripts in Gothic character, but in Castilian verse, containing many of his achievements, and setting

forth the beauty of Dulcinea, the form of Rocinante, the fidelity of Sancho Panza, and the burial of Don

Quixote himself, together with sundry epitaphs and eulogies on his life and character; but all that could be

read and deciphered were those which the trustworthy author of this new and unparalleled history here

presents. And the said author asks of those that shall read it nothing in return for the vast toil which it has cost

him in examining and searching the Manchegan archives in order to bring it to light, save that they give him

the same credit that people of sense give to the books of chivalry that pervade the world and are so popular;

for with this he will consider himself amply paid and fully satisfied, and will be encouraged to seek out and

produce other histories, if not as truthful, at least equal in invention and not less entertaining. The first words

These were all the verses that could be deciphered; the rest, the writing being wormeaten, were handed over

to one of the Academicians to make out their meaning conjecturally. We have been informed that at the cost

of many sleepless nights and much toil he has succeeded, and that he means to publish them in hopes of Don

These days past, when sending Your Excellency my plays, that had appeared in print before being shown on

the stage, I said, if I remember well, that Don Quixote was putting on his spurs to go and render homage to

Your Excellency. Now I say that "with his spurs, he is on his way." Should he reach destination methinks I

shall have rendered some service to Your Excellency, as from many parts I am urged to send him off, so as to

dispel the loathing and disgust caused by another Don Quixote who, under the name of Second Part, has run

masquerading through the whole world. And he who has shown the greatest longing for him has been the

great Emperor of China, who wrote me a letter in Chinese a month ago and sent it by a special courier. He

asked me, or to be truthful, he begged me to send him Don Quixote, for he intended to found a college where

the Spanish tongue would be taught, and it was his wish that the book to be read should be the History of Don

Quixote. He also added that I should go and be the rector of this college. I asked the bearer if His Majesty had

afforded a sum in aid of my travel expenses. He answered, "No, not even in thought."

"Then, brother," I replied, "you can return to your China, post haste or at whatever haste you are bound to go,

as I am not fit for so long a travel and, besides being ill, I am very much without money, while Emperor for

Emperor and Monarch for Monarch, I have at Naples the great Count of Lemos, who, without so many petty

titles of colleges and rectorships, sustains me, protects me and does me more favour than I can wish for."

Thus I gave him his leave and I beg mine from you, offering Your Excellency the "Trabajos de Persiles y

Sigismunda," a book I shall finish within four months, Deo volente, and which will be either the worst or the

best that has been composed in our language, I mean of those intended for entertainment; at which I repent of

having called it the worst, for, in the opinion of friends, it is bound to attain the summit of possible quality.

May Your Excellency return in such health that is wished you; Persiles will be ready to kiss your hand and I

From Madrid, this last day of October of the year one thousand six hundred and fifteen.

Gof bless me, gentle (or it may be plebeian) reader, how eagerly must thou be looking forward to this

preface, expecting 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 humbler 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

cannot help taking amiss is that he charges me with being old and onehanded, 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, honourable 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 honour and ambition of

merited praise; and moreover it is to be observed that it is not with grey hairs that one writes, but with the

understanding, 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 kinds there are, I only know

that which is holy, noble, and highminded; 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 account of

him on whose behalf it seems he spoke, he is entirely mistaken; for I worship the genius of that person, and

admire his works and his unceasing and strenuous industry. After all, 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

I suspect thou wilt say that I am taking a very humble line, and keeping myself too much within the bounds

of my moderation, 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 and 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

head 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

And if this story does not suit him, you may, dear reader, tell him this one, which is likewise of a madman

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, that one of the dogs he discharged his load upon was a capmaker'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 measuringyard 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 vanished, 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. Maybe 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, too, 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 wellknown 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 if there be no printingpresses in the world, or if they print

more books against me than there are letters in the verses of Mingo Revulgo! These two princes, unsought by

any adulation 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 honour, but not the vicious; poverty may cast a cloud

over nobility, but cannot hide it altogether; and as virtue of itself sheds a certain 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 craftsman 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 "Galatea."

Cide Hamete Benengeli, in the Second Part of this history, and third sally of Don Quixote, says that the

curate and the barber remained nearly a month without seeing him, lest they should recall or bring back to his

recollection what had taken place. They did not, however, omit to visit his niece and housekeeper, and charge

them to be careful to treat him with attention, and give him comforting things to eat, and such as were good

for the heart and the brain, whence, it was plain to see, all his misfortune proceeded. The niece and

housekeeper replied that they did so, and meant to do so with all possible care and assiduity, for they could

perceive that their master was now and then beginning to show signs of being in his right mind. This gave

great satisfaction to the curate and the barber, for they concluded they had taken the right course in carrying

him off enchanted on the oxcart, as has been described in the First Part of this great as well as accurate

history, in the last chapter thereof. So they resolved to pay him a visit and test the improvement in his

condition, although they thought it almost impossible that there could be any; and they agreed not to touch

upon any point connected with knighterrantry so as not to run the risk of reopening wounds which were still

They came to see him consequently, and found him sitting up in bed in a green baize waistcoat and a red

Toledo cap, and so withered and dried up that he looked as if he had been turned into a mummy. They were

very cordially received by him; they asked him after his health, and he talked to them about himself very

naturally and in very wellchosen language. In the course of their conversation they fell to discussing what

they call Statecraft and systems of government, correcting this abuse and condemning that, reforming one

practice and abolishing another, each of the three setting up for a new legislator, a modern Lycurgus, or a

brandnew 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 what they had put in; and on all the subjects they dealt

with, Don Quixote spoke with such good sense that the pair of examiners were fully convinced that he was

The niece and housekeeper were present at the conversation and could not find words enough to express their

thanks to God at seeing their master so clear in his mind; the curate, however, changing his original plan,

which was to avoid touching upon matters of chivalry, resolved to test Don Quixote's recovery thoroughly,

and see whether it were genuine or not; and so, from one subject to another, he came at last to talk of the

news that had come from the capital, and, among other things, he said it was considered certain that the 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 was in apprehension of this, which almost every year calls us to arms,

and that his Majesty had made provision for the security of the coasts of Naples and Sicily and the island of

To this Don Quixote replied, "His Majesty has acted like a prudent warrior in providing for the safety of his

realms in time, so that the enemy may not find him unprepared; but if my advice were taken I would

recommend him to adopt a measure which at present, no doubt, his Majesty is very far from thinking of."

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

But the barber, who had the same suspicion as the curate, asked Don Quixote what would be his advice as to

the measures that he said ought to be adopted; for perhaps it might prove to be one that would have to be

added to the list of the many impertinent suggestions that people were in the habit of offering to princes.

"Mine, master shaver," said Don Quixote, "will not be impertinent, but, on the contrary, pertinent."

"I don't mean that," said the barber, "but that experience has shown that all or most of the expedients which

are proposed to his Majesty are either impossible, or absurd, or injurious to the King and to the kingdom."

"Mine, however," replied Don Quixote, "is neither impossible nor absurd, but the easiest, the most

reasonable, the readiest and most expeditious that could suggest itself to any projector's mind."

"I don't choose to tell it here, now," said Don Quixote, "and have it reach the ears of the lords of the council

tomorrow morning, and some other carry off the thanks and rewards of my trouble."

"For my part," said the barber, "I give my word here and before God that I will not repeat what your worship

says, to King, Rook or earthly man an oath I learned from the ballad of the curate, who, in the prelude, told

the king of the thief who had robbed him of the hundred gold crowns and his pacing mule."

"I am not versed in stories," said Don Quixote; "but I know the oath is a good one, because I know the barber

"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

"Ods body!" said Don Quixote at this, "what more has his Majesty to do but to command, by public

proclamation, all the knightserrant 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

knighterrant to demolish an army of two hundred thousand men, as if they all had but one throat or were

made of sugar paste? Nay, tell me, how many histories are there filled with these marvels? If only (in an evil

hour for me: I don't speak for anyone else) the famous Don Belianis were alive now, or any one of the

innumerable progeny of Amadis of Gaul! If any these were alive today, and were to come face to face with

the Turk, by my faith, I would not give much for the Turk's chance. But God will have regard for his people,

and will provide some one, who, if not so valiant as the knightserrant of yore, at least will not be inferior to

"Alas!" exclaimed the niece at this, "may I die if my master does not want to turn knighterrant again;" to

which Don Quixote replied, "A knighterrant 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

"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 was the opinion of most

people that he would have been mad all the same. This graduate, after some years of confinement, took it into

his head that he was sane and in his full senses, and under this impression wrote to the Archbishop, entreating

him earnestly, and in very correct language, to have him released from the misery in which he was living; for

by God's mercy he had now recovered his lost reason, though his relations, in order to enjoy his property,

kept him there, and, in spite of the truth, would make him out to be mad until his dying day. The Archbishop,

moved by repeated sensible, wellwritten letters, directed one of his chaplains to make inquiry 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 nonsense that in quantity and quality counterbalanced

all the sensible things he had said before, as might be easily tested by talking to him. The chaplain resolved to

try the experiment, and obtaining access to the madman conversed with him for an hour or more, during the

whole of which time he never uttered a word that was incoherent or absurd, but, on the contrary, spoke so

rationally that the chaplain was compelled to believe him to be sane. Among other things, he said the

governor was against him, not to lose the presents his relations made him for reporting him still mad but with

lucid intervals; and that the worst foe he had in his misfortune was his large property; for in order to enjoy it

his enemies disparaged and threw doubts upon the mercy our Lord had shown him in turning him from a

brute beast into a man. In short, he spoke in such a way that he cast suspicion on the governor, and made his

relations appear covetous and heartless, and himself so rational that the chaplain determined to take him away

with him that the Archbishop might see him, and ascertain for himself the truth of the matter. Yielding to this

conviction, the worthy chaplain begged the governor to have the clothes in which the licentiate had entered

the house given to him. The governor again bade him beware of what he was doing, as the licentiate was

beyond a doubt still mad; but all his cautions and warnings were unavailing to dissuade the chaplain from

taking him away. The governor, seeing that it was the order of the Archbishop, obeyed, and they dressed the

licentiate in his own clothes, which were new and decent. He, as soon as he saw himself clothed like one in

his senses, and divested of the appearance of a madman, entreated the chaplain to permit him in charity to go

and take leave of his comrades the madmen. The chaplain said he would go with him to see what madmen

there were in the house; so they went upstairs, and with them some of those who were present. Approaching a

cage in which there was a furious madman, though just at that moment calm and quiet, the licentiate said to

him, 'Brother, think if you have any commands for me, for I am going home, as God has been pleased, in his

infinite goodness and mercy, without any merit of mine, to restore me my reason. I am now cured and in my

senses, for with God's power nothing is impossible. Have strong hope and trust in him, for as he has restored

me to my original condition, so likewise he will restore you if you trust in him. I will take care to send you

some good things to eat; and be sure you eat them; for I would have you know I am convinced, as one who

has gone through it, that all this madness of ours comes of having the stomach empty and the brains full of

wind. Take courage! take courage! for despondency in misfortune breaks down health and brings on death.'

"To all these words of the licentiate another madman in a cage opposite that of the furious one was listening;

and raising himself up from an old mat on which he lay stark naked, he asked in a loud voice who it was that

was going away cured and in his senses. The licentiate answered, 'It is I, brother, who am going; I have now

no need to remain here any longer, for which I return infinite thanks to Heaven that has had so great mercy

"'Mind what you are saying, licentiate; don't let the devil deceive you,' replied the madman. 'Keep quiet, stay

"'I know I am cured,' returned the licentiate, 'and that I shall not have to go stations again.'

"'You cured!' said the madman; 'well, we shall see; God be with you; but I swear to you by Jupiter, whose

majesty I represent on earth, that for this crime alone, which Seville is committing today in releasing you

from this house, and treating you as if you were in your senses, I shall have to inflict such a punishment on it

as will be remembered for ages and ages, amen. Dost thou not know, thou miserable little licentiate, that I can

do it, being, as I say, Jupiter the Thunderer, who hold in my hands the fiery bolts with which I am able and

am wont to threaten and lay waste the world? But in one way only will I punish this ignorant town, and that is

by not raining upon it, nor on any part of its district or territory, for three whole years, to be reckoned from

the day and moment when this threat is pronounced. Thou free, thou cured, thou in thy senses! and I mad, I

"Those present stood listening to the words and exclamations of the madman; but our licentiate, turning to the

chaplain and seizing him by the hands, said to him, 'Be not uneasy, senor; attach no importance to what this

madman has said; for if he is Jupiter and will not send rain, I, who am Neptune, the father and god of the

"The governor and the bystanders laughed, and at their laughter the chaplain was half ashamed, and he

replied, 'For all that, Senor Neptune, 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

"So that's the story, master barber," said Don Quixote, "which came in so pat to the purpose that you could

not help telling it? Master shaver, master shaver! how blind is he who cannot see through a sieve. Is it

possible that you do not know that comparisons of wit with wit, valour with valour, beauty with beauty, birth

with birth, are always odious and unwelcome? I, master barber, am not Neptune, the god of the waters, nor do

I try to make anyone take me for an astute man, for I am not one. My only endeavour is to convince the world

of the mistake it makes in not reviving in itself the happy time when the order of knighterrantry was in the

field. But our depraved age does not deserve to enjoy such a blessing as those ages enjoyed when

knightserrant took upon their shoulders the defence of kingdoms, the protection of damsels, the succour of

orphans and minors, the chastisement of the proud, and the recompense of the humble. With the knights of

these days, for the most part, it is the damask, brocade, and rich stuffs they wear, that rustle as they go, not

the chain mail of their armour; no knight nowadays 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 knightserrant used to do; no one now, issuing from

the wood, penetrates yonder mountains, and then treads the barren, lonely shore of the sea mostly a

tempestuous and stormy one and finding on the beach a little bark without oars, sail, mast, or tackling of any

kind, in the intrepidity of his heart flings himself into it and commits himself to the wrathful billows of the

deep sea, that one moment lift him up to heaven and the next plunge him into the depths; and opposing his

breast to the irresistible gale, finds himself, when he least expects it, three thousand leagues and more away

from the place where he embarked; and leaping ashore in a remote and unknown land has adventures that

deserve to be written, not on parchment, but on brass. But now sloth triumphs over energy, indolence over

exertion, vice over virtue, arrogance over courage, and theory over practice in arms, which flourished and

shone only in the golden ages and in knightserrant. For tell me, who was more virtuous and more valiant

than the famous Amadis of Gaul? Who more discreet than Palmerin of England? Who more gracious and

easy than Tirante el Blanco? Who more courtly than Lisuarte of Greece? Who more slashed or slashing than

Don Belianis? Who more intrepid than Perion of Gaul? Who more ready to face danger than Felixmarte of

Hircania? Who more sincere than Esplandian? Who more impetuous than Don Cirongilio of Thrace? Who

more bold than Rodamonte? Who more prudent than King Sobrino? Who more daring than Reinaldos? Who

more invincible than Roland? and who more gallant and courteous than Ruggiero, from whom the dukes of

Ferrara of the present day are descended, according to Turpin in his 'Cosmography.' All these knights, and

many more that I could name, senor curate, were knightserrant, the light and glory of chivalry. These, or

such as these, I would have to carry out my plan, and in that case his Majesty would find himself well served

and would save great expense, and the Turk would be left tearing his beard. And so I will stay where I am, as

the chaplain does not take me away; and if Jupiter, as the barber has told us, will not send rain, here am I, and

I will rain when I please. I say this that Master Basin may know that I understand him."

"Indeed, Senor Don Quixote," said the barber, "I did not mean it in that way, and, so help me God, my

"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,

"The senor curate has leave for more than that," returned Don Quixote, "so he may declare his doubt, for it is

"Well then, with that permission," said the curate, "I say my doubt is that, all I can do, I cannot persuade

myself that the whole pack of knightserrant you, Senor Don Quixote, have mentioned, were really and truly

persons of flesh and blood, that ever lived in the world; on the contrary, I suspect it to be all fiction, fable,

and falsehood, and dreams told by men awakened from sleep, or rather still half asleep."

"That is another mistake," replied Don Quixote, "into which many have fallen who do not believe that there

ever were such knights in the world, and I have often, with divers people and on divers occasions, tried to

expose this almost universal error to the light of truth. Sometimes I have not been successful in my purpose,

sometimes I have, supporting it upon the shoulders of the truth; which truth is so clear that I can almost say I

have with my own eyes seen Amadis of Gaul, who was a man of lofty stature, fair complexion, with a

handsome though black beard, of a countenance between gentle and stern in expression, sparing of words,

slow to anger, and quick to put it away from him; and as I have depicted Amadis, so I could, I think, portray

and describe all the knightserrant that are in all the histories in the world; for by the perception I have that

they were what their histories describe, and by the deeds they did and the dispositions they displayed, it is

possible, with the aid of sound philosophy, to deduce their features, complexion, and stature."

"How big, in your worship's opinion, may the giant Morgante have been, Senor Don Quixote?" asked the

"With regard to giants," replied Don Quixote, "opinions differ as to whether there ever were any or not in the

world; but the Holy Scripture, which cannot err by a jot from the truth, shows us that there were, when it

gives us the history of that big Philistine, Goliath, who was seven cubits and a half in height, which is a huge

size. Likewise, in the island of Sicily, there have been found legbones and armbones 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 cannot speak with certainty as to the size of Morgante, though I suspect he cannot

have been very tall; and I am inclined to be of this opinion because I find in the history in which his deeds are

particularly mentioned, that he frequently slept under a roof and as he found houses to contain him, it is clear

"That is true," said the curate, and yielding to the enjoyment of hearing such nonsense, he asked him what

was his notion of the features of Reinaldos of Montalban, and Don Roland and the rest of the Twelve Peers of

"As for Reinaldos," replied Don Quixote, "I venture to say that he was broadfaced, of ruddy complexion,

with roguish and somewhat prominent eyes, excessively punctilious and touchy, and given to the society of

thieves and scapegraces. With regard to Roland, or Rotolando, or Orlando (for the histories call him by all

these names), I am of opinion, and hold, that he was of middle height, broadshouldered, rather bowlegged,

swarthycomplexioned, redbearded, with a hairy body and a severe expression of countenance, a man of

"If Roland was not a more graceful person than your worship has described," said the curate, "it is no wonder

that the fair Lady Angelica rejected him and left him for the gaiety, liveliness, and grace of that

buddingbearded little Moor to whom she surrendered herself; and she showed her sense in falling in love

"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 valour and wisdom, and took up with a smoothfaced sprig of a page, without fortune or

fame, except such reputation for gratitude as the affection he bore his friend got for him. The great poet who

sang her beauty, the famous Ariosto, not caring to sing her adventures after her contemptible surrender

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 plain; for since then a famous Andalusian poet has lamented and sung her tears, and another

"Tell me, Senor Don Quixote," said the barber here, "among all those who praised her, has there been no poet

"I can well believe," replied Don Quixote, "that if Sacripante or Roland had been poets they would have

given the damsel a trimming; for it is naturally the way with poets who have been scorned and rejected by

their ladies, whether fictitious or not, in short by those whom they select as the ladies of their thoughts, to

avenge themselves in satires and libels a vengeance, to be sure, unworthy of generous hearts; but up to the

present I have not heard of any defamatory verse against the Lady Angelica, who turned the world upside

"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.

The history relates that the outcry Don Quixote, the curate, and the barber heard came from the niece and the

housekeeper exclaiming to Sancho, who was striving to force his way in to see Don Quixote while they held

the door against him, "What does the vagabond want in this house? Be off to your own, brother, for it is you,

and no one else, that delude my master, and lead him astray, and take him tramping about the country."

To which Sancho replied, "Devil's own housekeeper! it is I who am deluded, and led astray, and taken

tramping about the country, and not thy master! He has carried me all over the world, and you are mightily

mistaken. He enticed me away from home by a trick, promising me an island, which I am still waiting for."

"May evil islands choke thee, thou detestable Sancho," said the niece; "What are islands? Is it something to

"It is not something to eat," replied Sancho, "but something to govern and rule, and better than four cities or

"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 seedpatch, and give over looking for islands or shylands."

The curate and the barber listened with great amusement to the words of the three; but Don Quixote, uneasy

lest Sancho should blab and blurt out a whole heap of mischievous stupidities, and touch upon points that

might not be altogether to his credit, called to him and made the other two hold their tongues and let him

come in. Sancho entered, and the curate and the barber took their leave of Don Quixote, of whose recovery

they despaired when they saw how wedded he was to his crazy ideas, and how saturated with the nonsense of

his unlucky chivalry; and said the curate to the barber, "You will see, gossip, that when we are least thinking

"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

"God help them," said the curate; "and let us be on the lookout to see what comes of all these absurdities of

the knight and squire, for it seems as if they had both been cast in the same mould, and the madness of the

"That is true," said the barber, "and I should like very much to know what the pair are talking about at this

"I promise you," said the curate, "the niece or the housekeeper will tell us byandby, for they are not the

Meanwhile Don Quixote shut himself up in his room with Sancho, and when they were alone he said to him,

"It grieves me greatly, Sancho, that thou shouldst have said, and sayest, that I took thee out of thy cottage,

when thou knowest I did not remain in my house. We sallied forth together, we took the road together, we

wandered abroad together; we have had the same fortune and the same luck; if they blanketed thee once, they

"That was only reasonable," replied Sancho, "for, by what your worship says, misfortunes belong more

"Thou art mistaken, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "according to the maxim quando caput dolet,

"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

"It should be so," said Sancho; "but when I was blanketed as a member, my head was on the other side of the

wall, looking on while I was flying through the air, and did not feel any pain whatever; and if the members

are obliged to feel the suffering of the head, it should be obliged to feel their sufferings."

"Dost thou mean to say now, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that I did not feel when they were blanketing thee?

If thou dost, thou must not say so or think so, for I felt more pain then in spirit than thou didst in body. But let

us put that aside for the present, for we shall have opportunities enough for considering and settling the point;

tell me, Sancho my friend, what do they say about me in the village here? What do the common people think

of me? What do the hidalgos? What do the caballeros? What do they say of my valour; of my achievements;

of my courtesy? How do they treat the task I have undertaken in reviving and restoring to the world the now

forgotten order of chivalry? In short, Sancho, I would have thee tell me all that has come to thine ears on this

subject; and thou art to tell me, without adding anything to the good or taking away anything from the bad;

for it is the duty of loyal vassals to tell the truth to their lords just as it is and in its proper shape, not allowing

flattery to add to it or any idle deference to lessen it. And I would have thee know, Sancho, that if the naked

truth, undisguised by flattery, came to the ears of princes, times would be different, and other ages would be

reckoned iron ages more than ours, which I hold to be the golden of these latter days. Profit by this advice,

Sancho, and report to me clearly and faithfully the truth of what thou knowest touching what I have

"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

"I will not be vexed at all," returned Don Quixote; "thou mayest speak freely, Sancho, and without any

"Well then," said he, "first of all, I have to tell you that the common people consider your worship a mighty

great madman, and me no less a fool. The hidalgos say that, not keeping within the bounds of your quality of

gentleman, you have assumed the 'Don,' and made a knight of yourself at a jump, with four vinestocks and a

couple of acres of land, and never a shirt to your back. The caballeros say they do not want to have hidalgos

setting up in opposition to them, particularly squire hidalgos who polish their own shoes and darn their black

"That," said Don Quixote, "does not apply to me, for I always go well dressed and never patched; ragged I

"As to your worship's valour, courtesy, accomplishments, and task, there is a variety of opinions. Some say,

'mad but droll;' others, 'valiant but unlucky;' others, 'courteous but meddling,' and then they go into such a

number of things that they don't leave a whole bone either in your worship or in myself."

"Recollect, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that wherever virtue exists in an eminent degree it is persecuted.

Few or none of the famous men that have lived escaped being calumniated by malice. Julius Caesar, the

boldest, wisest, and bravest of captains, was charged with being ambitious, and not particularly cleanly in his

dress, or pure in his morals. Of Alexander, whose deeds won him the name of Great, they say that he was

somewhat of a drunkard. Of Hercules, him of the many labours, 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, O Sancho, amongst all these calumnies against good men, mine may

"There's the tail to be skinned yet," said Sancho; "all so far is cakes and fancy bread; but if your worship

wants to know all about the calumnies they bring against you, I will fetch you one this instant who can tell

you the whole of them without missing an atom; for last night the son of Bartholomew Carrasco, who has

been studying at Salamanca, came home after having been made a bachelor, and when I went to welcome

him, he told me that your worship's history is already abroad in books, with the title of THE INGENIOUS

GENTLEMAN DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA; and he says they mention me in it by my own name of

Sancho Panza, and the lady Dulcinea del Toboso too, and divers things that happened to us when we were

alone; so that I crossed myself in my wonder how the historian who wrote them down could have known

"I promise thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "the author of our history will be some sage enchanter; for to

"What!" said Sancho, "a sage and an enchanter! Why, the bachelor Samson Carrasco (that is the name of him

"May be so," replied Sancho; "for I have heard say that the Moors are mostly great lovers of berengenas."

"Thou must have mistaken the surname of this 'Cide' which means in Arabic 'Lord' Sancho," observed Don

"Very likely," replied Sancho, "but if your worship wishes me to fetch the bachelor I will go for him in a

"Thou wilt do me a great pleasure, my friend," said Don Quixote, "for what thou hast told me has amazed me,

and I shall not eat a morsel that will agree with me until I have heard all about it."

"Then I am off for him," said Sancho; and leaving his master he went in quest of the bachelor, with whom he

returned in a short time, and, all three together, they had a very droll colloquy.

Don Quixote remained very deep in thought, waiting for the bachelor Carrasco, from whom he was to hear

how he himself had been put into a book as Sancho said; and he could not persuade himself that any such

history could be in existence, for the blood of the enemies he had slain was not yet dry on the blade of his

sword, and now they wanted to make out that his mighty achievements were going about in print. For all that,

he fancied some sage, either a friend or an enemy, might, by the aid of magic, have given them to the press; if

a friend, in order to magnify and exalt them above the most famous ever achieved by any knighterrant; 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 knighterrant, be grandiloquent, lofty,

imposing, grand and true. With this he comforted himself somewhat, though it made him uncomfortable to

think that the author was a Moor, judging by the title of "Cide;" and that no truth was to be looked for from

Moors, as they are all impostors, cheats, and schemers. He was afraid he might have dealt with his love

affairs in some indecorous fashion, that might tend to the discredit and prejudice of the purity of his lady

Dulcinea del Toboso; he would have had him set forth the fidelity and respect he had always observed

towards her, spurning queens, empresses, and damsels of all sorts, and keeping in check the impetuosity of

his natural impulses. Absorbed and wrapped up in these and divers other cogitations, he was found by Sancho

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 sharpwitted, somewhere about fourandtwenty years of age, with a round

face, a 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 saying,

"Let me kiss your mightiness's hand, Senor 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 knightserrant

that have ever been, or will be, all the world over. A blessing on Cide Hamete Benengeli, who has written the

history of your great deeds, and a double blessing on that connoisseur who took the trouble of having it

translated out of the Arabic into our Castilian vulgar tongue for the universal entertainment of the people!"

Don Quixote made him rise, and said, "So, then, it is true that there is a history of me, and that it was a Moor

"So true is it, senor," said Samson, "that my belief is there are more than twelve thousand volumes of the said

history in print this very day. Only ask Portugal, Barcelona, and Valencia, where they have been printed, and

moreover there is a report that it is being printed at Antwerp, and I am persuaded there will not be a country

"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

knightserrant; for the Moor in his own language, and the Christian in his, have taken care to set before us

your gallantry, your high courage in encountering dangers, your fortitude in adversity, your patience under

misfortunes as well as wounds, the purity and continence of the platonic loves of your worship and my lady

"I never heard my lady Dulcinea called Dona," observed Sancho here; "nothing more than the lady Dulcinea

"Certainly not," said Don Quixote; "but tell me, senor bachelor, what deeds of mine are they that are made

"On that point," replied the bachelor, "opinions differ, as tastes do; some swear by the adventure of the

windmills that your worship took to be Briareuses and giants; others by that of the fulling mills; one cries up

the description of the two armies that afterwards took the appearance of two droves of sheep; another that of

the dead body on its way to be buried at Segovia; a third says the liberation of the galley slaves is the best of

all, and a fourth that nothing comes up to the affair with the Benedictine giants, and the battle with the valiant

"Tell me, senor bachelor," said Sancho at this point, "does the adventure with the Yanguesans come in, when

"The sage has left nothing in the inkbottle," replied Samson; "he tells all and sets down everything, even to

"I cut no capers in the blanket," returned Sancho; "in the air I did, and more of them than I liked."

"There is no human history in the world, I suppose," said Don Quixote, "that has not its ups and downs, but

more than others such as deal with chivalry, for they can never be entirely made up of prosperous

"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 Senor Don Quixote in

"At the same time they might fairly have passed them over in silence," observed Don Quixote; "for there is

no need of recording events which do not change or affect the truth of a history, if they tend to bring the hero

of it into contempt. AEneas was not in truth and earnest so pious as Virgil represents him, nor Ulysses so

"That is true," said Samson; "but it is one thing to write as a poet, another to write as a historian; the poet may

describe or sing things, not as they were, but as they ought to have been; but the historian has to write them

down, not as they ought to have been, but as they were, without adding anything to the truth or taking

"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 worship's shoulders without doing the

same for my whole body; but I have no right to wonder at that, for, as my master himself says, the members

"You are a sly dog, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "i' faith, you have no want of memory when you choose to

"If I were to try to forget the thwacks they gave me," said Sancho, "my weals would not let me, for they are

"Hush, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and don't interrupt the bachelor, whom I entreat to go on and tell all that

"And about me," said Sancho, "for they say, too, that I am one of the principal presonages in it."

"What! Another wordcatcher!" said Sancho; "if that's to be the way we shall not make an end in a lifetime."

"May God shorten mine, Sancho," returned the bachelor, "if you are not the second person in the history, and

there are even some who would rather hear you talk than the cleverest in the whole book; though there are

some, too, who say you showed yourself overcredulous in believing there was any possibility in the

"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

"By God, master," said Sancho, "the island that I cannot govern with the years I have, I'll not be able to

govern with the years of Methuselah; the difficulty is that the said island keeps its distance somewhere, I

"Leave it to God, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for all will be and perhaps better than you think; no leaf on the

"That is true," said Samson; "and if it be God's will, there will not be any want of a thousand islands, much

"I have seen governors in these parts," said Sancho, "that are not to be compared to my shoesole; and for all

"Those are not governors of islands," observed Samson, "but of other governments of an easier kind: those

"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 anything about me that was at all unbecoming an old

"Miracles or no miracles," said Sancho, "let everyone mind how he speaks or writes about people, and not set

"One of the faults they find with this history," said the bachelor, "is that its author inserted in it a novel called

'The Illadvised Curiosity;' not that it is bad or illtold, but that it is out of place and has nothing to do with

"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 was no sage, but some ignorant chatterer, who, in

a haphazard and heedless way, set about writing it, let it turn out as it might, just as Orbaneja, the painter of

Ubeda, used to do, who, when they asked him what he was painting, answered, 'What it may turn out.'

Sometimes he would paint a cock in such a fashion, and so unlike, that he had to write alongside of it in

Gothic letters, 'This is a cock; and so it will be with my history, which will require a commentary to make it

"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 it; in a word, it is so

thumbed, and read, and got by heart by people of all sorts, that the instant they see any lean hack, they say,

'There goes Rocinante.' And those that are most given to reading it are the pages, for there is not a lord's

antechamber where there is not a 'Don Quixote' to be found; one takes it up if another lays it down; this one

pounces upon it, and that begs for it. In short, the said history is the most delightful and least injurious

entertainment that has been hitherto seen, for there is not to be found in the whole of it even the semblance of

"To write in any other way," said Don Quixote, "would not be to write truth, but falsehood, and historians

who have recourse to falsehood ought to be burned, like those who coin false money; and I know not what

could have led the author to have recourse to novels and irrelevant stories, when he had so much to write

about in mine; no doubt he must have gone by the proverb 'with straw or with hay, for by merely setting forth

my thoughts, my sighs, my tears, my lofty purposes, my enterprises, he might have made a volume as large,

or larger than all the works of El Tostado would make up. In fact, the conclusion I arrive at, senor 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 humour, and write in a strain of graceful pleasantry, is the gift of great geniuses. The

cleverest character in comedy is the clown, for he who would make people take him for a fool, must not be

one. History is in a measure a sacred thing, for it should be true, and where the truth is, there God is; but

notwithstanding this, there are some who write and fling books broadcast on the world as if they were

"No doubt of that," replied Don Quixote; "but it often happens that those who have acquired and attained a

welldeserved reputation by their writings, lose it entirely, or damage it in some degree, when they give them

"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 scrutinised. Men famous for their

genius, great poets, illustrious historians, are always, or most commonly, envied by those who take a

particular delight and pleasure in criticising the writings of others, without having produced any of their

"That is no wonder," said Don Quixote; "for there are many divines who are no good for the pulpit, but

"All that is true, Senor Don Quixote," said Carrasco; "but I wish such faultfinders were more lenient and

less exacting, and did not pay so much attention to the spots on the bright sun of the work they grumble at;

for if aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus, they should remember how long he remained awake to shed the

light of his work with as little shade as possible; and perhaps it may be that what they find fault with may be

moles, that sometimes heighten the beauty of the face that bears them; and so I say very great is the risk to

which he who prints a book exposes himself, for of all impossibilities the greatest is to write one that will

"Quite the contrary," said the bachelor; "for, as stultorum infinitum est numerus, innumerable are those who

have relished the said history; but some have brought a charge against the author's memory, inasmuch as he

forgot to say who the thief was who stole Sancho's Dapple; for it is not stated there, but only to be inferred

from what is set down, that he was stolen, and a little farther on we see Sancho mounted on the same ass,

without any reappearance of it. They say, too, that he forgot to state what Sancho did with those hundred

crowns that he found in the valise in the Sierra Morena, as he never alludes to them again, and there are many

who would be glad to know what he did with them, or what he spent them on, for it is one of the serious

"Senor Samson, I am not in a humour 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 stuff it will put

me on the thorn of Santa Lucia. I have it at home, and my old woman is waiting for me; after dinner I'll come

back, and will answer you and all the world every question you may choose to ask, as well about the loss of

the ass as about the spending of the hundred crowns;" and without another word or waiting for a reply he

Don Quixote begged and entreated the bachelor to stay and do penance with him. The bachelor accepted the

invitation and remained, a couple of young pigeons were added to the ordinary fare, at dinner they talked

chivalry, Carrasco fell in with his host's humour, the banquet came to an end, they took their afternoon sleep,

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 would 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 Brotherhood 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 leaning on his lance, and I seated on my Dapple,

battered and weary with the late frays we fell asleep as if it had been on four feather mattresses; 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 packsaddle in such a way that he left me mounted on it, and took away

"That is an easy matter," said Don Quixote, "and it is no new occurrence, for the same thing happened to

Sacripante at the siege of Albracca; the famous thief, Brunello, by the same contrivance, took his horse from

"Day came," continued Sancho, "and the moment I stirred the stakes gave way and I fell to the ground with a

mighty come down; I looked about for the ass, but could not see him; the tears rushed to my eyes and I raised

such a lamentation that, if the 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 how many, travelling with her ladyship the Princess Micomicona, I

saw my ass, and mounted upon him, in the dress of a gipsy, was that Gines de Pasamonte, the great rogue and

"That is not where the mistake is," replied Samson; "it is, that before the ass has turned up, the author speaks

"I don't know what to say to that," said Sancho, "unless that the historian made a mistake, or perhaps it might

"No doubt that's it," said Samson; "but what became of the hundred crowns? Did they vanish?"

To which Sancho answered, "I spent them for my own good, and my wife's, and my children's, and it is they

that have made my wife bear so patiently all my wanderings on highways and byways, in the service of my

master, Don Quixote; 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 lookout for me; and if anyone wants to know anything more about me, here I am,

ready to answer the king himself in person; and it is no affair of anyone's whether I took or did not take,

whether I spent or did not spend; for 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 crowns 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

"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."

"Is there anything else to correct in the history, senor bachelor?" asked Don Quixote.

"No doubt there is," replied he; "but not anything that will be of the same importance as those I have

"He does promise one," replied Samson; "but he says he has not found it, nor does he know who has got it;

and we cannot 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 Quixotades, let

Don Quixote charge and Sancho chatter, and no matter what it may turn out, we shall be satisfied with that.'"

"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

Whereat Sancho observed, "The author looks for money and profit, does he? It will he 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 adventures

and accidents of all sorts, as would make up not only one second part, but a hundred. The good man fancies,

no doubt, that we are fast asleep in the straw here, but let him hold up 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 now afield,

redressing outrages and righting wrongs, as is the use and custom of good knightserrant."

Sancho had hardly uttered these words when the neighing of Rocinante 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 which he ought to

commence his expedition, and the bachelor replied that in his opinion he ought 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 which he might win renown above all the knights of Aragon, which would 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 in encountering dangers, because his life did not belong to him, but to all those

"There's where it is, what I abominate, Senor Samson," said Sancho here; "my master will attack a hundred

armed men as a greedy boy would half a dozen melons. Body of the world, senor 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 valour 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

knighterrant; 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

favour; and if he does not give it to me, I was born like everyone else, and a man must not live in dependence

on anyone 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 that 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 to refuse it;

for they say, too, 'when they offer thee a heifer, run with a halter; and 'when good luck comes to thee, take it

"Brother Sancho," said Carrasco, "you have spoken like a professor; but, for all that, put your trust in God

and in Senor Don 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 pulse and I

find myself sound enough to rule kingdoms and govern islands; and I have before now told my master as

"Take care, Sancho," said Samson; "honours change manners, and perhaps when you find yourself a governor

"That may hold good of those that are born in the ditches," said Sancho, "not of those who have the fat of an

old Christian four fingers deep on their souls, as I have. Nay, only look at my disposition, is that likely to

"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 favour 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 bachelor 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 letters 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

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 and Master Nicholas, and from his niece

and the housekeeper, lest they should prevent the execution of his praiseworthy and valiant purpose. Carrasco

promised all, and then took his leave, charging Don Quixote to inform him of his good or evil fortunes

whenever he had an opportunity; and thus they bade each other farewell, and Sancho went away to make the

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 untranslated, and

Sancho came home in such glee and spirits that his wife noticed his happiness a bowshot off, so much so that

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

"I don't understand you, husband," said she, "and I don't know what you mean by saying you would be glad,

if it were God's will, not to be well pleased; for, fool as I am, I don't know how one can find pleasure in not

"Hark ye, Teresa," replied Sancho, "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 adventures; 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 find

another hundred crowns like those 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, dryshod and at home, without taking

me out into the byways and crossroads and he could 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 sorrow 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 knighterrant you talk in such a roundabout

"It is enough that God understands me, wife," replied Sancho; "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; double his feed, and see to the packsaddle 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 howlings; and even all this would be lavender, if we had not to

"I know well enough, husband," said Teresa, "that squireserrant don't eat their bread for nothing, and so I

will be always praying to our Lord to deliver you speedily from 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

"Nay, then, husband," said Teresa; "let the hen live, though it be with her pip, live, and let the devil take all

the governments in the world; you came out of your mother's womb without a government, you have lived

until now without a government, 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 all the

same, and are reckoned in the number of the people. The best sauce in the world is hunger, and as the poor

are never without that, they always eat with a relish. But mind, Sancho, if by good luck you should find

yourself with some government, don't forget me and your children. Remember that Sanchico is now full

fifteen, and it is right he should go to school, if his uncle the abbot has a mind to have him trained for the

Church. Consider, too, that your daughter MariSancha 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 government; and, after all, a daughter looks

"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 MariSancha 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 highheeled shoes, out of her grey flannel petticoat into hoops and silk gowns, out of the

plain 'Marica' and 'thou,' into 'Dona Soandso' 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 he 'my lady,' and never mind what

"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 neigbbour's son, and take him into your house.' A fine thing it would

be, indeed, to marry our Maria to some great count or grand gentleman, who, when the humour took him,

would abuse her and call her clownbred 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 marrying her to my care; there is Lope Tocho, Juan Tocho'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 under our eyes, and be all one family, parents and children,

grandchildren and sonsinlaw, 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

"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 grandchildren 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 luck when it comes to him, has no right to complain if it gives him the goby; and now that it is

knocking at our door, it will not do to shut it out; let us go with the favouring breeze that blows upon us."

It is this sort of talk, and what Sancho says lower down, that made the translator of the history say he

"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 MariSancha to whom I like; and you yourself will

find yourself called 'Dona 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 Sanchica 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 Donas; Cascajo was my father's name, and as I am your wife, I am

called Teresa Panza, though by right I ought to he called Teresa Cascajo; but 'kings go where laws like,' and I

am content with this name without having the 'Don' put on top of it to make it so heavy that I cannot carry it;

and I don't want to make people talk about me when they see me go dressed like a countess or governor's

wife; for they will say at once, 'See what airs the slut gives herself! Only yesterday she was always spinning

flax, and used to go to mass with the tail of her petticoat over her head instead of a mantle, and there she goes

today in a hooped gown with her broaches and airs, as if we didn't know her!' If God keeps me in my seven

senses, or five, or whatever number I have, I am not going to bring myself 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 he busy at something is a virtuous damsel's holiday; 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, I'm sure, who fixed the 'Don' to him, what neither his father nor grandfather ever

"I declare thou hast a devil of some sort in thy body!" said Sancho. "God help thee, what a lot of things thou

hast strung together, one after the other, without head or tail! What have Cascajo, and the broaches 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 roaming the world, as the Infanta Dona Urraca wanted to do, you would be right in

not giving way to my will; but if in an instant, 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 a 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

"Do you know why, husband?" replied Teresa; "because 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 fix 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

"Look here, Teresa," said Sancho, "and listen to what I am now going to say to you; maybe you never heard it

in all your life; and I do not give my own notions, for what I am about to say are the opinions of his reverence

the preacher, who 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

These observations which Sancho makes here are the other ones on account of which the translator says he

regards this chapter as apocryphal, inasmuch as they are beyond Sancho's capacity.

"Whence it arises," he continued, "that when we see any person well dressed and making a figure with rich

garments and retinue of servants, it seems to lead and impel us perforce to respect 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 us; 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, be 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 everyone will respect what he is, except indeed the envious, from

"I do not understand you, husband," replied Teresa; "do as you like, and don't break my head with any more

"Don't set yourself to wrangle with me, husband," said Teresa; "I speak as God pleases, and don't deal in

outoftheway phrases; and I say if you are bent upon having a government, take your son Sancho with

you, and teach him from this time on how to hold a government; for sons ought to inherit and learn the trades

"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'll dress him up for you as fine as you please."

"The day that I see her a countess," replied Teresa, "it will 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 dogs;" and with this she began to weep in 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

While Sancho Panza and his wife, Teresa Cascajo, held the above irrelevant conversation, Don Quixote's

niece and housekeeper were not idle, for by a thousand signs they began to perceive that their uncle and

master meant to give them the slip the third time, and once more betake himself to his, for them, illerrant

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 him, the housekeeper said to him, "In truth, master, if you do not keep still and stay quiet 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

To which Don Quixote replied, "What answer God will give to your complaints, housekeeper, I know not,

nor what his Majesty will answer either; I only know 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

Whereupon the housekeeper said, "Tell us, senor, 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

"Then might not your worship," said she, "be one of those that, without stirring a step, serve their king and

"Recollect, my friend," said Don Quixote, "all knights cannot be courtiers, nor can all courtiers be

knightserrant, nor need they be. There must be all sorts in the world; and though we may be all knights,

there is a great difference between one and another; for the courtiers, without quitting their chambers, 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 knightserrant, measure the whole earth with

our own feet, exposed to the sun, to the cold, to the air, to the inclemencies 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 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

knighterrant, 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 millwheel, and glowing brighter than a glass furnace, must not on any

account be dismayed by them. On the contrary, he must 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 armour the shells of a

certain fish, that they say are harder than diamonds, and in place of swords wield trenchant blades of

Damascus steel, or clubs studded with spikes also of steel, such as I have more than once seen. All this I say,

housekeeper, 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 knightserrant; for, as we read in their histories, there have been some among them

"Ah, senor," here exclaimed the niece, "remember that all this you are saying about knightserrant is fable

and fiction; and their histories, if indeed they were not burned, would deserve, each of them, to have a

sambenito put on it, or some mark by which it might be known as infamous and a corrupter of good

"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 hast uttered that all the world should

ring with. What! can it be that a young hussy that hardly knows how to handle a dozen lacebobbins dares to

wag her tongue and criticise the histories of knightserrant? What would Senor Amadis say if he heard of

such a thing? He, however, no doubt would forgive thee, for he was the most humbleminded 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 courteous or mannerly; some are

illconditioned scoundrels; nor is it everyone 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 themselves 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 distinguish these two kinds of gentlemen, so much alike in name and so

"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 put

straight what is crooked when you yourself are bent by age, and, above all, a caballero when you are not one;

"There is a great deal of truth in what you say, niece," returned Don Quixote, "and I could tell you somewhat

about birth that would astonish you; but, not to mix up things human and divine, I refrain. Look you, my

dears, all the lineages in the world (attend to what I am saying) can be reduced to four sorts, which are these:

those that had humble beginnings, and went on spreading and extending themselves until they attained

surpassing greatness; those that had great beginnings and maintained them, and still maintain and uphold the

greatness of their origin; those, again, that from a great beginning have ended in a point like a pyramid,

having reduced and lessened their original greatness till it has come to nought, 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 midcourse, and so will have an

end without a name, like an ordinary plebeian line. Of the first, those that had an humble origin and rose to

the greatness they still preserve, the Ottoman house may serve as an example, which from an humble and

lowly shepherd, its founder, has reached the height at which we now see it. For examples of the second sort

of lineage, that began with greatness and maintains it still without adding to it, there are the many princes

who have inherited the dignity, and maintain themselves in their inheritance, without increasing or

diminishing 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 all the Pharaohs and Ptolemies of Egypt, the Caesars of Rome,

and the whole herd (if I may 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 come to nothing,

they themselves as well as their founders, for it would be impossible now to find one of their descendants,

and, even should we find one, it would be in some lowly and humble 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 illustrious

that show themselves so by the virtue, wealth, and generosity 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 miserly beggar; for the possessor of wealth is not made happy by possessing it, but

by spending it, and not by spending as he pleases, but by knowing how to spend it well. The poor gentleman

has no way of showing that he is a gentleman but by virtue, by being affable, wellbred, courteous,

gentlemannered, and kindly, not haughty, arrogant, or censorious, but above all by being charitable; for by

two maravedis given with a cheerful heart to the poor, he will show himself as generous as he who distributes

alms with bellringing, and no one that perceives him to be endowed with the virtues I have named, even

though he know him not, will fail to recognise and set him down as one of good blood; and it would be

strange were it not so; praise has ever been the reward of virtue, and those who are virtuous cannot fail to

receive commendation. There are two roads, my daughters, by which men may reach wealth and honours;

one is that of letters, the other that of arms. I have more of arms than of letters in my composition, and,

judging by my inclination to arms, was born under the influence 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 world, and it will be labour

in vain for you to urge me to resist what heaven wills, fate ordains, reason requires, and, above all, my own

inclination favours; for knowing as I do the countless toils that are the accompaniments of knighterrantry, I

know, too, the infinite blessings that are attained 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

It is by rugged paths like these they go That scale the heights of immortality, Unreached by those that falter

"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 chivalrous thoughts did not engage all my faculties,

there would be nothing that I could not do, nor any sort of knickknack that would not come from my hands,

At this moment there came a knocking at the door, and when they asked who was there, Sancho Panza made

answer 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 him 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

The instant the housekeeper saw Sancho Panza shut himself in with her master, she guessed what they were

about; and suspecting 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 wellspoken man, and a new 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 house, and, perspiring and flurried, she fell at

Carrasco, seeing how distressed and overcome she was, said to her, "What is this, mistress housekeeper?

"Nothing, Senor 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 burst?"

"He is only breaking out at the door of his madness," she replied; "I mean, dear senor bachelor, that he is

going to break out again (and this will 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 slung across

the back of an ass, and belaboured all over; and the second time he came in an oxcart, 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 his 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,

"That I can well believe," replied the bachelor, "for they are so good and so fat, and so wellbred, 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 nothing the matter, except what it is feared Don Quixote may do?"

"Well then," returned the bachelor, "don't be uneasy, but go home in peace; get me ready something hot for

breakfast, and while you are on the way say the prayer of Santa Apollonia, that is if you know it; for I will

"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 bachelor of Salamanca, and one can't be more of a bachelor than that," replied Carrasco; and with this

the housekeeper retired, and the bachelor went to look for the curate, and arrange with him what will be told

While Don Quixote and Sancho were shut up together, they had a discussion which the history records with

great precision and scrupulous exactness. Sancho said to his master, "Senor, I have educed my wife to let me

"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 mean by them; and if you don't understand 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

"I don't understand thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote at once; "for I know not what 'I am so focile' means."

"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 say thou art so docile, tractable, and gentle that thou

"I would bet," said Sancho, "that 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'll give thee's;' and I say a

"And so say I," said Don Quixote; "continue, Sancho my friend; go on; you talk pearls today."

"The fact is," continued Sancho, "that, as your worship knows better than I do, we are all of us liable to death,

and today we are, and tomorrow 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 report say, and as they tell us from the pulpits every day."

"All that is very true," said Don Quixote; "but I cannot 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 he paid me out of your estate; 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 egg, and many littles make a much,

and so long as one gains something there is nothing lost. To he sure, if it should happen (what I neither

believe nor expect) that your worship were to give me that island you 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

"Sancho, my friend," replied Don Quixote, "sometimes proportion may be as good as promotion."

"I see," said Sancho; "I'll bet I ought to have said proportion, and not promotion; but it is no matter, as your

"And so well understood," 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 knightserrant 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 cannot remember reading of any knighterrant 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 equivalent to it, or at the least they

were left with a title and lordship. If with these hopes and additional inducements you, 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

knighterrantry, 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, bene quidem; if not, we remain friends;

for if the pigeonhouse 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 way,

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 with me, and run the same chance that I run, God be

with you and make a saint of you; for I shall find plenty of squires more obedient and painstaking, and not so

When Sancho heard his master's firm, resolute language, a cloud came over the sky with him and the wings

of his heart drooped, 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 dumbfoundered and moody, Samson Carrasco came in with the housekeeper and

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, "O flower of knighterrantry! O shining light of arms! O honour and mirror of the Spanish nation!

may God Almighty in his infinite power grant that any person or persons, who 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 may just as well give over

saying the prayer of Santa Apollonia, for I know it is the positive determination 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 persuade this knight not to keep the might 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 honour of virgins, 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

knighterrantry. On, then, my lord Don Quixote, beautiful and brave, let your worship and highness set out

today rather than tomorrow; and if anything be needed for the execution of your purpose, here am I ready

in person and purse to supply the want; and were it requisite to attend your magnificence as squire, I should

At this, Don Quixote, turning to Sancho, said, "Did I not tell thee, Sancho, there would be squires enough and

to spare for me? See now who 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 in body, discreet, patient under

heat or cold, hunger or thirst, with all the qualifications requisite to make a knighterrant's squire! But heaven

forbid that, to gratify my own inclination, 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 honour to it, bring honour at the same time on the grey 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 continued, "'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 favour;

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 suffering, 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 knightserrant 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 provoked," 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 world 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 that 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

The curses which both 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 departure of their master and 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 advice 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 anyone except the

bachelor, who thought fit to accompany them half a league out of the village, they set out for El Toboso, Don

Quixote on his good Rocinante 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 village, and the other two took the road for the great city of El

"Blessed be Allah the allpowerful!" says Hamete Benengeli on beginning this eighth chapter; "blessed be

Allah!" he repeats three times; and he says he utters these thanksgivings at seeing that he has now got Don

Quixote and Sancho fairly afield, and that the readers of his delightful history may reckon that the

achievements and humours of Don Quixote and his squire 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 plains of Montiel; nor is it much that he asks

Don Quixote and Sancho were left alone, and the moment Samson took his departure, Rocinante 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 stumbled 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

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 blessing and generous permission of the peerless Dulcinea, with which permission

I expect and feel assured that I shall conclude and bring to a happy termination every perilous adventure; for

nothing in life makes knightserrant more valorous than finding themselves favoured by their ladies."

"So I believe," replied Sancho; "but I think it will be difficult for your worship to speak with her or see her, at

any rate where you will be able to receive her blessing; unless, indeed, she throws it over the wall 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

"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

"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 will give light to my reason and strength to my heart, so that I shall be

"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 beams at all; it must have been, that as her grace was sifting that wheat I told you

"What! 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 employment of persons of distinction, who are constituted and reserved for other

avocations and pursuits that show their rank a bowshot off? Thou hast forgotten, O 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

which 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 so I fear that in that history of my 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 with the sequence of a true history. O envy, root of all countless evils, and

cankerworm of the virtues! All the vices, Sancho, bring some kind of pleasure with them; but envy brings

"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 honour 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; but

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 Roman Catholic Church holds

and believes, and that I am a mortal enemy of the Jews, the historians ought to have mercy on me and treat

me well in their writings. But 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 over the world, I don't

"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 courtesan ladies, did not insert 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 poet, asked

him what he had seen in her that he did not include her in the number of the others, 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 shepherd who set fire to the famous temple of Diana, by repute one of the

seven wonders of the 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 mouth 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 famous temple of the Rotunda, called in ancient times the temple 'of all the

gods,' but nowadays, 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 mighty works and

magnificence 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 by 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 explained

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 skylight, so as to leave behind me

in the world a name that would last for ever.' '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 acquiring fame is a very

powerful motive. What, thinkest thou, was it that flung Horatius in full armour down from the bridge into the

depths of the Tiber? What burned the hand and arm of Mutius? What impelled Curtius to plunge into the deep

burning gulf that opened in the midst of Rome? What, in opposition to all the omens that declared against

him, made Julius Caesar cross the Rubicon? And to come to more modern examples, what scuttled the ships,

and left stranded and cut off the gallant Spaniards under the command of the most courteous Cortes in the

New World? 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 knightserrant look more to that future glory that is everlasting in the ethereal regions of

heaven than to the vanity of the fame that is to be acquired in this present transitory 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, O 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 demeanour

and equanimity, gluttony and sloth by the spareness of our diet and the length of our vigils, lust and lewdness

by the loyalty we preserve 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

"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

"Tell me, senor," Sancho went on to say, "those Julys or Augusts, and all those venturous knights that you

"The heathens," replied Don Quixote, "are, no doubt, in hell; the Christians, if they were good Christians, are

"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,

windingsheets, tresses of hair, legs and eyes in wax? Or 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 size, which they now call in

Rome Saint Peter's needle. The emperor Hadrian had for a tomb a castle as large as a goodsized village,

which they called the Moles Adriani, and is now the castle of St. Angelo in Rome. The queen Artemisia

buried her husband Mausolus in a tomb which was reckoned one of the seven wonders of the world; but none

of these tombs, or of the many others of the heathens, were ornamented with windingsheets 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

"The 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 who 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 devout folk on their knees adoring their relics be a better fame in this life and in

the other than that which all the heathen emperors and knightserrant that have ever been in the world have

"Then this fame, these favours, 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, windingsheets, crutches, pictures, eyes and legs, by means of which they increase devotion and add

to their own 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 favourite 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 we are striving after; for you know, senor, yesterday or the day before yesterday (for it is so lately one

may say so) they canonised and beatified two little barefoot friars, and it is now reckoned the greatest good

luck to kiss or touch the iron chains with which they girt and tortured their bodies, and they are held in

greater veneration, so it is said, than the sword of Roland in the armoury of our lord the King, whom God

preserve. So that, senor, it is better to be an humble little friar of no matter what order, than a valiant

knighterrant; with God a couple of dozen of penance lashings are of more avail than two thousand

"All that is true," returned Don Quixote, "but we cannot all be friars, and many are the ways by which God

takes his own to heaven; chivalry is a religion, there are sainted knights in glory."

"Yes," said Sancho, "but I have heard say that there are more friars in heaven than knightserrant."

"That," said Don Quixote, "is because those in religious orders are more numerous than knights."

With these, and other discussions of the same sort, they passed that night and the following day, without

anything worth mention happening to them, whereat Don Quixote was not a little dejected; but at length the

next day, at daybreak, they descried the great city of El Toboso, at the sight of which 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 uneasy, 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 when the moment they had agreed upon arrived, they made their entrance

into the city, where something happened them that may fairly be called something.

'Twas at the very midnight hour more or less when Don Quixote and Sancho quitted the wood and entered

El Toboso. The town was in deep silence, for all the inhabitants were asleep, and stretched on the broad of

their backs, as the saying is. The night was darkish, though Sancho would have been glad had it been quite

dark, so as to find in the darkness an excuse for his blundering. 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 the night; all which the enamoured knight took to be of evil omen; nevertheless he said to Sancho,

"Sancho, my son, lead on to the palace of Dulcinea, it may be that we 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

"Most likely she had then withdrawn into some small apartment of her palace," said Don Quixote, "to amuse

"Senor," said Sancho, "if your worship 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 gallants who come and knock and go in at any hour, however late it

"Let us first of all find out the palace for certain," replied Don Quixote, "and then I will tell thee, Sancho,

what we had best do; but look, Sancho, for either I see badly, or that dark mass that one sees from here should

"Then let your worship lead the way," said Sancho, "perhaps it may be so; though I see it with my eyes and

touch it with my hands, I'll believe it as much as I believe it is daylight now."

Don Quixote took the lead, and having gone a matter of two hundred 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 light upon our graves; it is no good sign to find oneself

wandering in a graveyard at this time of night; and that, after my telling your worship, if I don't mistake, that

"The curse of God on thee for a blockhead!" said Don Quixote; "where hast thou ever heard of castles and

"Senor," replied Sancho, "every country has a way of its own; perhaps here in El Toboso it is the way to build

palaces and grand buildings in alleys; so I entreat your worship to let me search about among these streets or

alleys before me, and perhaps, in some corner or other, I may stumble on this palace and I wish I saw the

"Speak respectfully of what belongs to my lady, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "let us keep the feast in peace,

"I'll hold my tongue," said Sancho, "but how am I to take it patiently when your worship wants me, with only

once seeing the house of our mistress, to know always, and find it in the middle of the night, when your

"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 Dulcinea or crossed the threshold of her

palace, and that I am enamoured solely by hearsay and by the great reputation she bears for beauty and

"I hear it now," returned Sancho; "and I may tell you that if you have not seen her, no more have I."

"That cannot be," said Don Quixote, "for, at any rate, thou saidst, on bringing back the answer to the letter I

"Don't mind that, senor," 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 who 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, when the contrary is the case, as thou well knowest."

While the two were engaged in this conversation, they perceived some one with a pair of mules approaching

the spot where they stood, and from the noise the plough made, as it dragged along the ground, they guessed

him to be some labourer who had got up before daybreak to go to his work, and so it proved to be. He came

"May I die, Sancho," said Don Quixote, when he heard him, "if any good will come to us tonight! Dost thou

"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 labourer 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 Dona Dulcinea del Toboso?"

"Senor," replied the lad, "I am a stranger, and I have been only a few days in the 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

them will be 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

"Well, then, she I am inquiring 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

Sancho, seeing his master downcast and somewhat dissatisfied, said to him, "Senor, daylight will be here

before long, and it will not do for us to let the sun find us in the street; it will be better for us to quit the city,

and for your worship to hide in some forest in the neighbourhood, and I will come back in the daytime, and I

won't leave a nook or corner of the whole village that I won't search for the house, castle, or palace, 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 worship is waiting for her to arrange some plan for you to see her without

"Sancho," said Don Quixote, "thou hast delivered a thousand sentences condensed in the compass of a few

words; I thank thee for the advice thou hast given me, and take it most gladly. Come, my son, let us go look

for some place where I may hide, while thou dost return, as thou sayest, to seek, and speak with my lady,

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 which embassy things befell him which

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 he believed, because here Don Quixote's madness

reaches the confines of the greatest that can be conceived, and even goes a couple of bowshots beyond the

greatest. But 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 as soon as Don Quixote had

ensconced himself in the forest, oak grove, or wood near El Toboso, he bade Sancho return 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

blessing upon him, so that he might thereby hope for a happy issue in all his encounters and difficult

enterprises. Sancho undertook to execute the task according to the instructions, and to bring back an answer

"Go, my son," said Don Quixote, "and be not dazed when 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 colour while thou art giving her my message; if

she is agitated and disturbed at hearing my name; if she cannot 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 tenderness; 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 report

them to me as they were, I will gather what she hides 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 better fortune than mine attend thee, and bring thee a

"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; remember what they say, that a stout heart

breaks bad luck, and that where there are no fletches 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 castles

tonight, now that it is daylight I count upon finding them when I least expect it, and once found, leave it to

"Verily, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "thou dost always bring in thy proverbs happily, whatever we deal with;

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 seen 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 of going to tamper with their princesses and trouble their ladies, were to come

and cudgel your ribs, and not leave a whole bone in you? 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 hottempered as they are honest, and won't put up

with liberties from anybody. By the Lord, if they get scent of you, it will be worse for you, I promise you. Be

off, you scoundrel! Let the bolt fall. Why should I go looking for three feet on a cat, to please another man;

and what is more, when looking for Dulcinea will be looking for Marica in Ravena, 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 remedy for everything except death, under whose yoke we have all to pass,

whether we like it or not, when life's finished. I 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 me what company thou keepest,

and I'll tell thee what thou art,' or in that other, 'Not 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, 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

believe it, I'll swear it; and if he should swear, I'll swear again; and if he persists I'll persist still more, so as,

come what may, to have my quoit always over the peg. Maybe, by holding out in this 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

With this reflection Sancho made his mind easy, counting the business as good as settled, and stayed there till

the afternoon 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 up 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 sheasses, the usual mount with village girls; but as it is of no great

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

"Your worship," replied Sancho, "had better mark it with ruddle, like the inscriptions on the walls of class

"So good," replied Sancho, "that your worship bas 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

"What could I get by deceiving your worship," returned Sancho, "especially when it will so soon be shown

whether I tell the truth or not? Come, senor, 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; and moreover, they come mounted on three piebald

"There is not much difference between cackneys and hackneys," said Sancho; "but no matter what they come

on, there they are, the finest ladies one could wish for, especially my lady the princess Dulcinea, who

"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

"I'll take the foals," said Sancho; "for it is not quite certain that the spoils of the first adventure will be good

By this time they had cleared the wood, 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

"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!" said 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, I could tear

"Well, I can only say, Sancho, my friend," said Don Quixote, "that it is as plain they are jackasses or

jennyasses as that I am Don Quixote, and thou Sancho Panza: at any rate, they seem to me to be so."

"Hush, senor," 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 with these words he advanced to receive the three

village lasses, and dismounting 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 favour and goodwill your captive knight who

stands there turned into marble stone, and quite stupefied and benumbed at finding himself in your

magnificent presence. I am Sancho Panza, his squire, and he the vagabond knight Don Quixote of La

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 wellfavoured one, for she was platterfaced and snubnosed, 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 stopped, breaking silence, said angrily and testily, "Get out of the

To which Sancho returned, "Oh, princess and universal lady of El Toboso, is not your magnanimous heart

softened by seeing the pillar and prop of knighterrantry on his knees before your sublimated presence?"

On hearing this, one of the others exclaimed, "Woa then! why, I'm rubbing thee down, sheass of my

fatherinlaw! 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 be better for you."

"Get up, Sancho," said Don Quixote at this; "I see that fortune, 'with evil done to me unsated still,' has taken

possession of all the roads by which 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 persecutes 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 them loathsome in thy sight, refuse not to look upon me with tenderness and love;

seeing in this submission that I make on my knees to thy transformed beauty the humility with which my soul

"Heyday! My grandfather!" cried the girl, "much I care for your lovemaking! Get out of the way and let us

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. The sheass, however, 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 up, and Sancho to fix and girth the packsaddle, which also had slipped

under the ass's belly. The packsaddle 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 dropped into

the saddle more lightly than a falcon, and sat astride like a man, whereat Sancho said, "Rogue!" 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 without 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 now, Sancho? 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. Observe 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

illfavoured 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 distinction, that is to say, the sweet fragrance that comes of being 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 sheass), she gave me a whiff of raw garlic that made my

"O scum of the earth!" cried Sancho at this, "O miserable, spiteful enchanters! O that I could see you all

strung by the gills, like sardines on a twig! Ye know a great deal, ye can do a great deal, and ye do a great

deal more. 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 might 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 moustache, with seven

"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 ace; but hairs of the length thou hast mentioned are very long for moles."

"I believe it, my friend," returned Don Quixote; "for nature bestowed nothing on Dulcinea that was not

perfect and wellfinished; and so, if she had a hundred moles like the one thou hast described, in her they

would not be moles, but moons and shining stars. But tell me, Sancho, that which seemed to me to be a

"It was neither," replied Sancho, "but a jineta saddle, with a field covering worth half a kingdom, so rich is

"And that I could not see all this, Sancho!" said Don Quixote; "once more I say, and will say a thousand

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 between them, they remounted

their beasts, and followed the road to Saragossa, which 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

Dejected beyond measure did Don Quixote pursue his journey, 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 absorbed him, that without

being aware of it he let go Rocinante's bridle, and he, perceiving the liberty that was granted him, stopped at

Sancho recalled him from his reverie. "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 Rocinante's reins; cheer up, rouse yourself and show that gallant spirit that knightserrant ought to

have. What the devil is this? What weakness is this? Are we here or in France? The devil fly away with all

the Dulcineas in the world; for the wellbeing of a single knighterrant is of more consequence than all the

"Hush, Sancho," said Don Quixote in a weak and faint voice, "hush 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

"So say I," returned Sancho; "his heart 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 seabream than of a

lady, and I am persuaded that Dulcinea's must be 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,

"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, senor, 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 asking 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 enchantment does not go so far as to deprive conquered and

presented giants and knights of the power of recognising Dulcinea; we will try by experiment with one or two

of the first I vanquish and send to her, whether they see her or not, by commanding them to return and give

"I declare, I think what your worship has proposed is excellent," 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, the 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;

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 imagined. 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 wings, 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 armour, except that he had no morion or helmet, but only a hat decked with plumes of

divers colours; and along with these there were others with a variety of costumes and faces. All this,

unexpectedly 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 adventure 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

To which 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 morning, 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 knighterrant," replied Don Quixote, "when 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 remember, 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

While they were talking, fate so willed it that one of the company in a mummers' dress with a great number

of bells, and armed with three blown oxbladders at the end of a stick, joined them, and this merryandrew

approaching Don Quixote, 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 off Dapple, and ran in all haste to help 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 Quixote, the 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 witnessed Dapple's career and his master's fall, and did

not know which 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 down 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 Rocinante, he said to him, "Senor, the devil has carried off my Dapple."

"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

"You need not take the trouble, senor," said Sancho; "keep cool, for as I now 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 Rocinante, the devil made off on foot to the town, and the ass came back to his

"For all that," said Don Quixote, "it will be well to visit the discourtesy of that devil upon some of those in

"Don't think of it, your worship," returned Sancho; "take my advice and never meddle with actors, for they

are a favoured class; I myself have known an actor taken up for two murders, and yet come off scotfree;

remember that, as they are merry folk who give pleasure, everyone favours 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

"Still, for all that," said Don Quixote, "the player devil must not go off boasting, even if the whole human

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 how to treat asses and animals that serve the squires of knightserrant

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 behind; and all armed themselves

with stones and formed in line, prepared to receive Don Quixote 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 Rocinante 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 attack this wellordered 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 armour in the world, except to stow oneself away under a

brass bell; and besides, one should remember that it is rashness, and not valour, for a single man to attack 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 knighterrant."

"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 cannot and must not draw sword, as I have many a time before told thee,

against anyone 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 anyone, senor," 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

goodwill 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, good Sancho, sensible Sancho, 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 cannot 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 flying squadron

returned to their cart and pursued their journey, and thus the dread adventure of the cart of Death ended

happily, thanks to the advice Sancho gave his master; who had, the following day, a fresh adventure, of no

The night succeeding the day of the encounter with Death, Don Quixote 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 supper Sancho said to his master, "Senor, 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

"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

"The sceptres and crowns of those playactor emperors," said Sancho, "were never yet pure gold, but only

"That is true," said Don Quixote, "for it would not be right that the accessories of the drama should be real,

instead of being mere fictions and semblances, like the drama itself; towards which, Sancho and, as a

necessary consequence, towards those who represent and produce it I would that thou wert favourably

disposed, for they are all instruments of great good to the State, placing before us at every step a mirror in

which we may see vividly displayed what goes on in human life; nor is there any similitude that shows us

more faithfully what we are and ought to be than the play and the players. Come, tell me, hast thou not seen a

play acted in which kings, emperors, pontiffs, knights, ladies, and divers other personages were introduced?

One plays the villain, another the knave, this one the merchant, that the soldier, one the sharpwitted fool,

another the foolish lover; and when the play is over, and they have put off the dresses they wore in it, all the

"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,

"A fine comparison!" said Sancho; "though not so new but that I have heard it many and many a time, as well

as that other one of the game of chess; how, so long as the game lasts, each piece has its own particular

office, and when the game is finished they are all mixed, jumbled up and shaken together, and stowed away

"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 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 breeding that your worship has made in my parched

Don Quixote laughed at Sancho's affected phraseology, and perceived that what he said about his

improvement was true, for now and then he spoke in a way that surprised him; though always, or mostly,

when Sancho tried to talk fine and attempted polite language, he wound up by toppling over from the summit

of his simplicity into the abyss of his ignorance; and where he showed his culture and his memory to the

greatest advantage was in dragging in proverbs, no matter whether they had any bearing or not upon the

subject in hand, as may have been seen already and will be noticed in the course of this history.

In conversation of this kind they passed a good part of the night, but Sancho felt a desire to let down the

curtains of his eyes, as he used to say when he wanted to go to sleep; and stripping Dapple he left him at

liberty to graze his fill. He did not remove Rocinante's saddle, as his master's express orders were, that so

long as they were in the field or not sleeping under a roof Rocinante was not to be stripped the ancient usage

established and observed by knightserrant being to take off the bridle and hang it on the saddlebow, 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 another when they were together and how, when they were tired or full, Rocinante would

lay his neck across Dapple's, stretching half a yard or more on the other side, and the pair would stand thus,

gazing thoughtfully on the ground, for three days, or at least so long as they were left alone, or hunger did not

drive them to go and look for food. I may add that they say the author left it on record that he likened their

friendship to that of Nisus and Euryalus, and Pylades and Orestes; and if that be so, it may be perceived, to

the admiration of mankind, how firm the friendship must have been between these two peaceful animals,

shaming men, who preserve friendships with one another so badly. This was why it was said

And let no one fancy that the author was at all astray when he compared the friendship of these animals to

that of men; for men have received many lessons from beasts, and learned many important things, as, for

example, the clyster from the stork, vomit and gratitude from the dog, watchfulness from the crane, foresight

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 lovesick thoughts

need of." As he said this he stretched himself upon the ground, and as he flung himself down, the armour in

which he was clad rattled, whereby Don Quixote perceived that he must be a knighterrant; and going over to

Sancho, who was asleep, he shook him by the arm and with no small difficulty brought him back to his

senses, and said in a low voice to him, "Brother Sancho, we have got an adventure."

"God send us a good one," said Sancho; "and where may her ladyship the adventure be?"

"Where, Sancho?" replied Don Quixote; "turn thine eyes and look, and thou wilt see stretched there a

knighterrant, who, it strikes me, is not over and above happy, for I saw him fling himself off his horse and

throw himself on the ground with a certain air of dejection, and his armour rattled as he fell."

"I do not mean to say," returned Don Quixote, "that it is a complete adventure, but that it is the beginning of

one, for it is in this way adventures begin. But listen, for it seems he is tuning a lute or guitar, and from the

way he is spitting and clearing his chest he must be getting ready to sing something."

"Faith, you are right," said Sancho, "and no doubt he is some enamoured knight."

"There is no knighterrant 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

Sancho was about to reply to his master, but the Knight of the Grove's voice, which was neither very bad nor

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

With an "Ah me!" that seemed to be drawn 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, "O fairest and

most ungrateful woman on earth! What! can it be, most serene Casildea de Vandalia, that thou wilt suffer this

thy captive knight to waste away and perish in ceaseless wanderings and rude and arduous toils? It is not

enough that I have compelled all the knights of Navarre, all the Leonese, all the Tartesians, all the Castilians,

and finally all the knights of La Mancha, to confess thee the most beautiful in the world?"

"Not so," said Don Quixote at this, "for I am of La Mancha, and I have never confessed anything of the sort,

nor could I nor should I confess a thing so much to the prejudice of my lady's beauty; thou seest how this

knight is raving, Sancho. But let us listen, perhaps he will tell us more about himself."

"That he will," returned Sancho, "for he seems in a mood to bewail himself for a month at a stretch."

But this was not the case, for the Knight of the Grove, hearing voices near him, instead of continuing his

lamentation, stood up and exclaimed in a distinct but courteous tone, "Who goes there? What are you? Do

"Then come to me," said he of the Grove, "and rest assured that it is to woe itself and affliction itself you

Don Quixote, finding himself answered in such a soft and courteous manner, went over to him, and so did

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 knighterrantry, 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 knightserrant, keep you company." To which Don

made answer, "A knight I am of the profession you mention, and though sorrows, misfortunes, and calamities

have made my heart their abode, the compassion I feel for the misfortunes of others has not been thereby

banished from it. From what you have just now sung I gather that yours spring from love, I mean from the

In the meantime, they had seated themselves together on the hard ground peaceably and sociably, just as if, as

"By mischance I am," replied Don Quixote; "though the ills arising from wellbestowed affections should be

"That is true," returned he of the Grove, "if scorn did not unsettle our reason and understanding, for if it be

"Certainly not," said Sancho, who stood close by, "for my lady is as a lamb, and softer than a roll of butter."

"I never yet saw a squire," said he of the Grove, "who ventured to speak when his master was speaking; at

least, there is mine, who is as big as his father, and it cannot be proved that he has ever opened his lips when I

"By my faith then," said Sancho, "I have spoken, and am fit to speak, in the presence of one as much, or

The squire of the Grove took Sancho by the arm, saying to him, "Let us two go where we can talk in squire

style as much as we please, and leave these gentlemen our masters to fight it out over the story of their loves;

and, depend upon it, daybreak will find them at it without having made an end of it."

"So be it by all means," said Sancho; "and I will tell your worship who I am, that you may see whether I am

With this the two squires withdrew to one side, and between them there passed a conversation as droll as that

The knights and the squires made two parties, these telling the story of their lives, the others the story of their

loves; but the history relates first of all the conversation of the servants, and afterwards takes up that of the

masters; and it says that, withdrawing a little from the others, he of the Grove said to Sancho, "A hard life it

is we lead and live, senor, we that are squires to knightserrant; verily, we eat our bread in the sweat of our

"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 knighterrantry? 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

"All that," said he of the Grove, "may be endured and put up with when we have hopes of reward; for, unless

the knighterrant he serves is excessively unlucky, after a few turns the squire will at least find himself

"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

"Your master," said Sancho, "no doubt is a knight in the Church line, and can bestow rewards of that sort on

his good squire; but mine is only a layman; though I remember some clever, but, to my mind, designing

people, strove to persuade him to try and become an archbishop. He, however, would not be anything but an

emperor; but I was trembling all the time lest he should take a fancy to go into the Church, not finding myself

fit to hold office in it; for I may tell you, though I seem a man, I am no better than a beast for the Church."

"Well, then, you are wrong there," said he of the Grove; "for those island governments are not all satisfactory;

some are awkward, some are poor, some are dull, and, in short, the highest and choicest brings with it a heavy

burden of cares and troubles which the unhappy wight to whose lot it has fallen bears upon his shoulders. Far

better would it be for us who have adopted this accursed service to go back to our own houses, and there

employ ourselves in pleasanter occupations in hunting or fishing, for instance; for what squire in the world

is there so poor as not to have a hack and a couple of greyhounds and a fishingrod to amuse himself with in

"I am not in want of any of those things," said Sancho; "to be sure I have no hack, but I have an ass that is

worth my master's horse twice over; God send me a bad Easter, and that the next one I am to see, if I would

swap, even if I got four bushels of barley to boot. You will laugh at the value I put on my Dapple for dapple

is the colour of my beast. As to greyhounds, I can't want for them, for there are enough and to spare in my

town; and, moreover, there is more pleasure in sport when it is at other people's expense."

"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 bring up my children; for I

"I have two," said Sancho, "that might be presented before the Pope himself, especially a girl whom I am

"And how old is this lady that is being bred up for a countess?" 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

"Those are gifts to fit her to be not only a countess but a nymph of the greenwood," said he of the Grove;

To which Sancho made answer, somewhat sulkily, "She's no strumpet, nor was her mother, nor will either of

them be, please God, while I live; speak more civilly; for one bred up among knightserrant, who are

"O how little you know about compliments, sir squire," returned he of the Grove. "What! don't you know that

when a horseman delivers a good lance thrust at the bull in the plaza, or when anyone does anything very

well, the people are wont to say, 'Ha, whoreson rip! how well he has done it!' and that what seems to be abuse

in the expression is high praise? Disown sons and daughters, senor, who don't do what deserves that

"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 pray God to deliver me from mortal sin, or, what

comes to the same thing, to deliver me from this perilous calling of squire into which I have fallen a second

time, decayed and beguiled by a purse with a hundred ducats that I found one day in the heart of the Sierra

Morena; and the devil is always putting a bag full of doubloons before my eyes, here, there, everywhere, until

I fancy at every stop I am putting my hand on it, and hugging it, and carrying it home with me, and making

investments, and getting interest, and living like a prince; and so long as I think of this I make light of all the

hardships I endure with this simpleton of a master of mine, who, I well know, is more of a madman than a

"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 is," said of the Grove, "with one Casildea de Vandalia, the rawest and best roasted lady the whole world

could produce; but that rawness is not the only foot he limps on, for he has greater schemes rumbling in his

"There's no road so smooth but it has some hole or hindrance in it," said Sancho; "in other houses they cook

beans, but in mine it's by the potful; madness will have more followers and hangerson than sound sense; but

if there be any truth in the common saying, that to have companions in trouble gives some relief, I may take

"Crazy but valiant," replied 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 anyone, only good to all, nor has he any malice whatever in

him; a child might persuade him that it is night at noonday; and for this simplicity I love him 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, "if the blind lead the blind, both are in danger of falling

into the pit. It is better for us to beat a quiet retreat and get back to our own quarters; for those who seek

Sancho kept spitting from time to time, and his spittle seemed somewhat ropy and dry, observing which the

compassionate 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 saddlebow 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 my 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 bolted mouthfuls like the knots on a tether, and

said he, "You are a proper trusty squire, one of the right sort, sumptuous and grand, as this banquet shows,

which, if it has not come here by magic art, at any rate has the look of it; not like me, unlucky beggar, that

have nothing more in my alforjas than a scrap of cheese, so hard that one might brain a giant with it, and, to

keep it company, a few dozen carobs and as many more filberts and walnuts; thanks to the austerity of my

master, and the idea he has and the rule he follows, that knightserrant must not live or sustain themselves on

"By my faith, brother," said he of the Grove, "my stomach is not made for thistles, or wild pears, or roots of

the woods; let our masters do as they like, with their chivalry notions and laws, and eat what those enjoin; I

carry my progbasket and this bota hanging to the saddlebow, whatever they may say; and it is such an

object of worship with me, and I love it so, that there is hardly a moment but I am kissing and embracing it

over and over again;" and so saying he thrust it into Sancho's hands, who raising it aloft pointed to his mouth,

gazed at the stars for a quarter of an hour; and when he had done drinking let his head fall on one side, and

"There, you see," said he of the Grove, hearing Sancho's exclamation, "how you have called this wine

"Well," said Sancho, "I own it, and I grant it is no dishonour to call anyone whoreson when it is to be

understood as praise. But tell me, senor, by what you love best, is this Ciudad Real wine?"

"O rare winetaster!" said he of the Grove; "nowhere else indeed does it come from, and it has some years'

"Leave me alone for that," said Sancho; "never fear but I'll hit upon the place it came from somehow. What

would you say, sir squire, to my having such a great natural instinct in judging wines that you have only to let

me smell one and I can tell positively its country, its kind, its flavour 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 winetasters that have been known in La Mancha for many a long year, and to

prove it I'll tell you now a thing that happened them. They gave the two of them some wine out of a cask, to

try, asking their opinion as to the condition, quality, goodness or badness of the wine. One of them tried it

with the tip of his tongue, the other did no more than bring it to his nose. The first said the wine had a flavour

of iron, the second said it had a stronger flavour of cordovan. The owner said the cask was clean, and that

nothing had been added to the wine from which it could have got a flavour of either iron or leather.

Nevertheless, these two great winetasters held to what they had said. Time went by, the wine was sold, and

when they came to clean out the cask, they found in it a small key hanging to a thong of cordovan; see now if

one who comes of the same stock has not a right to give his opinion in such like cases."

"Therefore, I say," said he of the Grove, "let us give up going in quest of adventures, and as we have loaves

let us not go looking for cakes, but return to our cribs, for God will find us there if it be his will."

"Until my master reaches Saragossa," said Sancho, "I'll remain in his service; after that we'll see."

The end of it was that the two squires talked so much and drank so much that sleep had to tie their tongues

and moderate their thirst, for to quench it was impossible; and so the pair of them fell asleep clinging to the

now nearly empty bota and with halfchewed morsels in their mouths; and there we will leave them for the

present, to relate what passed between the Knight of the Grove and him of the Rueful Countenance.

Among the things that passed between Don Quixote and the Knight of the Wood, the history tells us he of the

Grove said to Don Quixote, "In fine, sir knight, I would have you know that my destiny, or, more properly

speaking, my choice led me to fall in love with the peerless Casildea de Vandalia. I call her peerless because

she has no peer, whether it be in bodily stature or in the supremacy of rank and beauty. This same Casildea,

then, that I speak of, requited my honourable 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 labours have gone on increasing link

by link until they are past counting, nor do I know what will be the last one that is to be the beginning of the

accomplishment of my chaste desires. On one occasion she bade me go and challenge the famous giantess of

Seville, La 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 changeable woman in the world. I came, I saw, I conquered, and I made her

stay quiet and behave herself, for nothing but north winds blew for more than a week. Another time I was

ordered to lift those ancient stones, the mighty bulls of Guisando, an enterprise that might more fitly be

entrusted to porters than to knights. Again, she bade me fling myself into the cavern of Cabra an

unparalleled and awful peril and bring her a minute account of all that is concealed in those gloomy depths.

I stopped the motion of the Giralda, I lifted the bulls of Guisando, I flung myself into the cavern and brought

to light the secrets of its abyss; and my hopes are as dead as dead can be, and her scorn and her commands as

lively as ever. To be brief, last of all she has commanded me to go through all the provinces of Spain and

compel all the knightserrant wandering therein to confess that she surpasses all women alive today in

beauty, and that I am the most valiant and the most deeply enamoured knight on earth; in support of which

claim I have already travelled over the greater part of Spain, and have there vanquished several knights who

have dared to contradict me; but what I most plume and pride myself upon is having vanquished in single

combat that so famous knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, and made him confess that my Casildea is more

beautiful than his Dulcinea; and in this one victory I hold myself to have conquered all the knights in the

world; for this Don Quixote that I speak of has vanquished them all, and I having vanquished him, his glory,

The more the vanquished hath of fair renown, The greater glory gilds the victor's crown.

Thus the innumerable achievements of the said Don Quixote are now set down to my account and have

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 well as

he could, in order to force him to confess the lie with his own lips; so he said to him quietly, "As to what you

say, sir knight, about having vanquished most of the knights of Spain, or even of the whole world, I say

nothing; but that you have vanquished Don Quixote of La Mancha I consider doubtful; it may have been

"How! 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, with hair

turning grey, an aquiline nose rather hooked, and large black drooping moustaches; he does battle under the

name of 'The Countenance,' and he has for squire a peasant called Sancho Panza; he presses the loins and

rules the reins of a famous steed called Rocinante; and lastly, he has for the mistress of his will a certain

Dulcinea del Toboso, once upon a time called Aldonza Lorenzo, just as I call mine Casildea de Vandalia

because her name is Casilda and she is of Andalusia. If all these tokens are not enough to vindicate the truth

of what I say, here is my sword, that will compel incredulity itself to give credence to it."

"Calm yourself, sir knight," said Don Quixote, "and give ear to what I am about to say to you. you.I would

have you know that this Don Quixote you speak of is the greatest friend I have in the world; so much so that I

may say I regard him in the same light as my own person; and from the precise and clear indications you have

given I cannot but think that he must be the very one you have vanquished. On the other hand, I see with my

eyes and feel with my hands that it is impossible it can have been the same; unless indeed it be that, as he has

many enemies who are enchanters, and one in particular who is always persecuting him, some one of these

may have taken his shape in order to allow himself to be vanquished, so as to defraud him of the fame that his

exalted achievements as a knight have earned and acquired for him throughout the known world. And in

confirmation of this, I must tell you, too, that it is but ten hours since these said enchanters his enemies

transformed the shape and person of the fair Dulcinea del Toboso into a foul and mean village lass, and in the

same way they must have transformed Don Quixote; and if all this does not suffice to convince you of the

truth of what I say, here is Don Quixote himself, who will maintain it by arms, on foot or on horseback or in

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 payer; he who has succeeded in

vanquishing you once when transformed, Sir Don Quixote, may fairly hope to subdue you in your own proper

shape; but as it is not becoming for knights to perform their feats of arms in the dark, like highwaymen and

bullies, let us wait till daylight, that the sun may behold our deeds; and the conditions of our combat shall be

that the vanquished shall be at the victor's disposal, to do all that he may enjoin, provided the injunction be

"I am more than satisfied with these conditions and terms," replied Don Quixote; and so saying, they betook

themselves to where their squires lay, and found them snoring, and in the same posture they were in when

sleep fell upon them. They roused them up, and bade them get the horses ready, as at sunrise they were to

engage in a bloody and arduous single combat; at which intelligence Sancho was aghast and thunderstruck,

trembling for the safety of his master because of the mighty deeds he had heard the squire of the Grove

ascribe to his; but without a word the two squires went in quest of their cattle; for by this time the three

On the way, he of the Grove said to Sancho, "You must know, brother, that it is the custom with the fighting

men of Andalusia, when they are godfathers in any quarrel, not to stand idle with folded arms while their

godsons fight; I say so to remind you that while our masters are fighting, we, too, have to fight, and knock

"That custom, sir squire," replied Sancho, "may hold good among those bullies and fighting men you talk of,

but certainly not among the squires of knightserrant; at least, I have never heard my master speak of any

custom of the sort, and he knows all the laws of knighterrantry 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 be laid on peacefully minded squires like myself; for I am sure it cannot 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

"If that's the way, so be it with all my heart," said Sancho, "for that sort of battle will serve to knock the dust

"That will not do," said the other, "for we must put into the bags, to keep the wind from blowing them away,

half a dozen nice smooth pebbles, all of the same weight; and in this way we shall be able to baste one

"Body of my father!" said Sancho, "see what marten and sable, and pads of carded cotton he is putting into

the bags, that our heads may not be broken and our bones beaten to jelly! But even if they are filled with toss

silk, I can tell you, 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

"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 discourteous or so ungrateful as to have any quarrel, be

it ever so small, with one I have eaten and drunk with; besides, who the devil could bring himself to fight in

"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

"To match that plan," said Sancho, "I have another that is not a whit behind it; I will take a cudgel, and before

your worship comes near enough to waken my anger I will send yours so sound to sleep with whacks, that it

won't waken unless it be in the other world, where it is known that I am not a man to let my face be handled

by anyone; let each look out for the arrow though the surer way would be to let everyone's anger sleep, for

nobody knows the heart of anyone, and a man may come for wool and go back shorn; God gave his blessing

to peace and his curse to quarrels; if a hunted cat, surrounded and hard pressed, turns into a lion, God knows

what I, who am a man, may turn into; and so from this time forth I warn you, sir squire, that all the harm and

"Very good," said he of the Grove; "God will send the dawn and we shall be all right."

And now gayplumaged birds of all sorts began to warble in the trees, and with their varied and gladsome

notes seemed to welcome and salute the fresh morn that was beginning to show the beauty of her

countenance at the gates and balconies of the east, shaking from her locks a profusion of liquid pearls; in

which dulcet moisture bathed, the plants, too, seemed to shed and shower down a pearly spray, the willows

distilled sweet manna, the fountains laughed, the brooks babbled, the woods rejoiced, and the meadows

arrayed themselves in all their glory at her coming. But hardly had the light of day made it possible to see and

distinguish things, when the first object that presented itself to the eyes of Sancho Panza was the squire of the

Grove's nose, which was so big that it almost overshadowed his whole body. It is, in fact, stated, that it was of

enormous size, hooked in the middle, covered with warts, and of a mulberry colour like an eggplant; it hung

down two fingers' length below his mouth, and the size, the colour, the warts, and the bend of it, made his

face so hideous, that Sancho, as he looked at him, began to tremble hand and foot like a child in convulsions,

and he vowed in his heart to let himself be given two hundred buffets, sooner than be provoked to fight that

monster. Don Quixote examined his adversary, and found that he already had his helmet on and visor

lowered, so that he could not see his face; he observed, however, that he was a sturdily built man, but not

very tall in stature. Over his armour he wore a surcoat or cassock of what seemed to be the finest cloth of

gold, all bespangled with glittering mirrors like little moons, which gave him an extremely gallant and

splendid appearance; above his helmet fluttered a great quantity of plumes, green, yellow, and white, and his

lance, which was leaning against a tree, was very long and stout, and had a steel point more than a palm in

Don Quixote observed all, and took note of all, and from what he saw and observed he concluded that the

said knight must be a man of great strength, but he did not for all that give way to fear, like Sancho Panza; on

the contrary, with a composed and dauntless air, he said to the Knight of the Mirrors, "If, sir knight, your

great eagerness to fight has not banished your courtesy, by it I would entreat you to raise your visor a little, in

order that I may see if the comeliness of your countenance corresponds with that of your equipment."

"Whether you come victorious or vanquished out of this emprise, sir knight," replied he of the Mirrors, "you

will have more than enough time and leisure to see me; and if now I do not comply with your request, it is

because it seems to me I should do a serious wrong to the fair Casildea de Vandalia in wasting time while I

stopped to raise my visor before compelling you to confess what you are already aware I maintain."

"Well then," said Don Quixote, "while we are mounting you can at least tell me if I am that Don Quixote

"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

"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

With this, cutting short the colloquy, they mounted, and Don Quixote wheeled Rocinante round in order to

take a proper distance to charge back upon his adversary, and he of the Mirrors did the same; but Don

Quixote had not moved away twenty paces when he heard himself called by the other, and, each returning

halfway, he of the Mirrors said to him, "Remember, sir knight, that the terms of our combat are, that the

"I am aware of it already," said Don Quixote; "provided what is commanded and imposed upon the

At this moment the extraordinary nose of the squire presented itself to Don Quixote's view, and he was no

less amazed than Sancho at the sight; insomuch that he set him down as a monster of some kind, or a human

being of some new species or unearthly breed. Sancho, seeing his master retiring to run his course, did not

like to be left alone with the nosy man, fearing that with one flap of that nose on his own the battle would be

all over for him and he would be left stretched on the ground, either by the blow or with fright; so he ran after

his master, holding on to Rocinante's stirrupleather, and when it seemed to him 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

"It seems to me rather, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that thou wouldst mount a scaffold in order to see the

"To tell the truth," returned Sancho, "the monstrous nose of that squire has filled me with fear and terror, and

"It is," said Don Quixote, "such a one that were I not what I am it would terrify me too; so, come, I will help

While Don Quixote waited for Sancho to mount into the cork tree he of the Mirrors took as much ground as

he considered requisite, and, supposing Don Quixote to have done the same, without waiting for any sound of

trumpet or other signal to direct them, he wheeled his horse, which was not more agile or betterlooking than

Rocinante, and at his top speed, which was an easy trot, he proceeded to charge his enemy; seeing him,

however, engaged in putting Sancho up, he drew rein, and halted in mid career, for which his horse was very

grateful, as he was already unable to go. Don Quixote, fancying that his foe was coming down upon him

flying, drove his spurs vigorously into Rocinante's lean flanks and made him scud along in such style that the

history tells us that on this occasion only was he known to make something like running, for on all others it

was a simple trot with him; and with this unparalleled fury he bore down where he of the Mirrors stood

digging his spurs into his horse up to buttons, without being able to make him stir a finger's length from the

spot where he had come to a standstill in his course. At this lucky moment and crisis, Don Quixote came

upon his adversary, in trouble with his horse, and embarrassed with his lance, which he either could not

manage, or had no time to lay in rest. Don Quixote, however, paid no attention to these difficulties, and in

perfect safety to himself and without any risk encountered him of the Mirrors with such force that he brought

him to the ground in spite of himself over the haunches of his horse, and with so heavy a fall that he lay to all

appearance dead, not stirring hand or foot. The instant Sancho saw him fall he slid down from the cork tree,

and made all haste to where his master was, who, dismounting from Rocinante, went and stood over him of

the Mirrors, and unlacing his helmet to see if he was dead, and to give him air if he should happen to be alive,

he saw who can say what he saw, without filling all who hear it with astonishment, wonder, and awe? He

saw, the history says, the very countenance, the very face, the very look, the very physiognomy, the very

effigy, the very image of the bachelor Samson Carrasco! As soon as he saw it he called out in a loud voice,

"Make haste here, Sancho, and behold what thou art to see but not to believe; quick, my son, and learn what

Sancho came up, and when he saw the countenance of the bachelor Carrasco, he fell to crossing himself a

thousand times, and blessing himself as many more. All this time the prostrate knight showed no signs of life,

and Sancho said to Don Quixote, "It is my opinion, senor, that in any case your worship should take and

thrust your sword into the mouth of this one here that looks like the bachelor Samson Carrasco; perhaps in

"Thy advice is not bad," said Don Quixote, "for of enemies the fewer the better;" and he was drawing his

sword to carry into effect Sancho's counsel and suggestion, when the squire of the Mirrors came up, now

without the nose which had made him so hideous, and cried out in a loud voice, "Mind what you are about,

Senor Don Quixote; that is your friend, the bachelor Samson Carrasco, you have at your feet, and I am his

"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 pasteboard of the make already described; and Sancho, examining him more and more closely,

exclaimed aloud in a voice of amazement, "Holy Mary be good to me! Isn't it Tom Cecial, my neighbour and

"Why, to be sure I am!" returned the now unnosed squire; "Tom Cecial I am, gossip and friend Sancho Panza;

and I'll tell you presently the means and tricks and falsehoods by which I have been brought here; but in the

meantime, beg and entreat of your master not to touch, maltreat, wound, or slay the Knight of the Mirrors

whom he has at his feet; because, beyond all dispute, it is the rash and illadvised bachelor Samson Carrasco,

At this moment he of the Mirrors came to himself, and Don Quixote perceiving it, held the naked point of his

sword over his face, and said to him, "You are a dead man, knight, unless you confess that the peerless

Dulcinea del Toboso excels your Casildea de Vandalia in beauty; and in addition to this you must promise, if

you should survive this encounter and fall, to go to the city of El Toboso and present yourself before her on

my behalf, that she deal with you according to her good pleasure; and if she leaves you free to do yours, you

are in like manner to return and seek me out (for the trail of my mighty deeds will serve you as a guide to

lead you to where I may be), and tell me what may have passed between you and her conditions which, in

accordance with what we stipulated before our combat, do not transgress the just limits of knighterrantry."

"I confess," said the fallen knight, "that the dirty tattered shoe of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso is better than

the illcombed though clean beard of Casildea; and I promise to go and to return from her presence to yours,

"You must also confess and believe," added Don Quixote, "that the knight you vanquished was not and could

not be Don Quixote of La Mancha, but some one else in his likeness, just as I confess and believe that you,

though you seem to be the bachelor Samson Carrasco, are not so, but some other resembling him, whom my

enemies have here put before me in his shape, in order that I may restrain and moderate the vehemence of my

"I confess, hold, and think everything to be as you believe, hold, and think it," the crippled knight; "let me

rise, I entreat you; if, indeed, the shock of my fall will allow me, 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 he said; but the impression made on Sancho's mind by what his master said about the

enchanters having changed the face of the Knight of the Mirrors into that of the bachelor Samson Carrasco,

would not permit him to believe what he saw with his eyes. In fine, both master and man remained under the

delusion; and, down in the mouth, and out of luck, he of the Mirrors and his squire parted from Don Quixote

and Sancho, he meaning to go look for some village where he could plaster and strap his ribs. Don Quixote

and Sancho resumed their journey to Saragossa, and on it the history leaves them in order that it may tell who

Don Quixote went off satisfied, elated, and vainglorious in the highest degree at having won a victory over

such a valiant knight as he fancied him of the Mirrors to be, and one from whose knightly word he expected

to learn whether the enchantment of his lady still continued; inasmuch as the said vanquished knight was

bound, under the penalty of ceasing to be one, to return and render him an account of what took place

between him and her. But Don Quixote was of one mind, he of the Mirrors of another, for he just then had no

thought of anything but finding some village where he could plaster himself, as has been said already. The

history goes on to say, then, that when the bachelor Samson Carrasco recommended Don Quixote to resume

his knighterrantry which he had laid aside, it was in consequence of having been previously in conclave

with the curate and the barber on the means to be adopted to induce Don Quixote to stay at home in peace

and quiet without worrying himself with his illstarred adventures; 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 knighterrant,

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 Quixote would unhesitatingly obey, rather than contravene or fail to observe the laws of

chivalry; and during the period of his seclusion he might perhaps forget his folly, or there might be an

opportunity of discovering some ready remedy for his madness. Carrasco undertook the task, and Tom

Cecial, a gossip and neighbour of Sancho Panza's, a lively, featherheaded 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 conviction that the bachelor was not the bachelor, senor bachelor would have been incapacitated for

ever 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, we 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 which is the madder,

To which Samson replied, "The difference between the two sorts of madmen is, that he who is so will he nil

he, will be one always, while he who is so of his own accord can leave off 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

"That's your affair," returned Samson, "but to suppose that I am going home until I have given Don Quixote a

thrashing is absurd; and it is not any wish that he may recover his senses that will make me hunt him out

now, but a wish 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

bonesetter, 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

Don Quixote pursued his journey in the high spirits, satisfaction, and selfcomplacency already described,

fancying himself the most valorous knighterrant of the age in the world because of his late victory. All the

adventures that could befall him from that time forth he regarded as already done and brought to a happy

issue; he made light of enchantments and enchanters; he thought no more of the countless drubbings that had

been administered to him in the course of his knighterrantry, 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, he would not envy the highest fortune that the most fortunate

He was going along entirely absorbed in these fancies, when Sancho said to him, "Isn't it odd, senor, that I

have still before my eyes that monstrous enormous nose of my gossip, Tom Cecial?"

"And dost thou, then, believe, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that the Knight of the Mirrors was the bachelor

"I don't know what to say to that," replied Sancho; "all I know is that the tokens he gave me about my own

house, wife and children, nobody else but himself could have given me; and the face, once the nose was off,

was the very face of Tom Cecial, as I have seen it many a time in my town and next door to my own house;

"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 knighterrant, in arms offensive and defensive,

to fight with me? Have I ever been by any chance his enemy? Have I ever given him any occasion to owe me

a grudge? Am I his rival, or does he profess arms, that he should envy the fame I have acquired in them?"

"Well, but what are we to say, 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 me, who,

foreseeing that I was to be victorious in the conflict, arranged that the vanquished knight should display the

countenance of my friend the bachelor, in order that the friendship I bear him should interpose to stay the

edge of my sword and might of my arm, and temper the just wrath of my heart; so that he who sought to take

my life by fraud and falsehood should save his own. And to prove it, thou knowest already, Sancho, by

experience which cannot lie or deceive, how easy it is for enchanters to change one countenance into another,

turning fair into foul, and foul into fair; for it is not two days since thou sawest with thine own eyes the

beauty and elegance of the peerless Dulcinea in all its perfection and natural harmony, while I saw her in the

repulsive and mean form of a coarse country wench, with cataracts in her eyes and a foul smell in her mouth;

and when the perverse enchanter ventured to effect so wicked a transformation, it is no wonder if he effected

that of Samson Carrasco and thy gossip in order to snatch the glory of victory out of my grasp. For all that,

however, I console myself, because, after all, in whatever shape he may have been, I have victorious over my

"God knows what's the truth of it all," said Sancho; and knowing as he did that the transformation of

Dulcinea had been a device and imposition of his own, his master's illusions were not satisfactory to him; but

he did not like to reply lest he should say something that might disclose his trickery.

As they were engaged in this conversation they were overtaken by a man who was following the same road

behind them, mounted on a very handsome fleabitten mare, and dressed in a gaban of fine green cloth, with

tawny velvet facings, and a montera of the same velvet. The trappings of the mare were of the field and jineta

fashion, and of mulberry colour and green. He carried a Moorish cutlass hanging from a broad green and gold

baldric; the buskins were of the same make as the baldric; the spurs were not gilt, but lacquered green, and so

brightly polished that, matching as they did the rest of his apparel, they looked better than if they had been of

When the traveller came up with them he saluted them courteously, and spurring his mare was passing them

without stopping, but Don Quixote called out to him, "Gallant sir, if so be your worship is going our road,

and has no occasion for speed, it would be a pleasure to me if we were to join company."

"In truth," replied he on the mare, "I would not pass you so hastily but for fear that horse might turn restive in

"You may safely hold in your mare, senor," said Sancho in reply to this, "for our horse is the most virtuous

and wellbehaved horse in the world; he never does anything wrong on such occasions, and the only time he

misbehaved, my master and I suffered for it sevenfold; I say again your worship may pull up if you like; for if

she was offered to him between two plates the horse would not hanker after her."

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 packsaddle; and if the man in green examined Don Quixote

closely, still more closely did Don Quixote examine the man in green, who struck him as being a man of

intelligence. In appearance he was about fifty years of age, with but few grey hairs, an aquiline cast of

features, and an expression between grave and gay; and his dress and accoutrements showed him to be a man

of good condition. What he in green thought of Don Quixote of La Mancha was that a man of that sort and

shape he had never yet seen; he marvelled at the length of his hair, his lofty stature, the lankness and

sallowness of his countenance, his armour, his bearing and his gravity a figure and picture such as had not

Don Quixote saw very plainly the attention with which the traveller was regarding him, and read his curiosity

in his astonishment; and courteous as he was and ready to please everybody, before the other could ask him

any question he anticipated him by saying, "The appearance I present to your worship being so strange and so

out of the common, I should not be surprised if it filled you with wonder; but you will cease to wonder when

I tell you, as I do, that I am one of those knights who, as people say, go seeking adventures. I have left my

home, I have mortgaged my estate, I have given up my comforts, and committed myself to the arms of

Fortune, to bear me whithersoever she may please. My desire was to bring to life again knighterrantry, now

dead, and for some time past, stumbling here, falling there, now coming down headlong, now raising myself

up again, I have carried out a great portion of my design, succouring widows, protecting maidens, and giving

aid to wives, orphans, and minors, the proper and natural duty of knightserrant; and, therefore, because of

my many valiant and Christian achievements, I have been already found worthy to make my way in print to

wellnigh all, or most, of the nations of the earth. Thirty thousand volumes of my history have been printed,

and it is on the highroad to be printed thirty thousand thousands of times, if heaven does not put a stop to it.

In short, to sum up all in a few words, or in a single one, I may tell you I am Don Quixote of La Mancha,

otherwise called 'The Knight of the Rueful Countenance;' for though selfpraise 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 sir,

neither this horse, nor this lance, nor this shield, nor this squire, nor all these arms put together, nor the

sallowness of my countenance, nor my gaunt leanness, will henceforth astonish you, now that you know who

With these words Don Quixote held his peace, and, from the time he took to answer, the man in green seemed

to be at a loss for a reply; after a long pause, however, he said to him, "You were right when you saw

curiosity in my amazement, sir knight; but you have not succeeded in removing the astonishment I feel at

seeing you; for although you say, senor, 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 knightserrant in the world in these days, and histories of real chivalry printed? I cannot realise the

fact that there can be anyone on earth nowadays who aids widows, or protects maidens, or defends wives,

or succours orphans; nor should I believe it had I not seen it in your worship with my own eyes. Blessed be

heaven! for by means of this history of your noble and genuine chivalrous deeds, which you say has been

printed, the countless stories of fictitious knightserrant with which the world is filled, so much to the injury

of morality and the prejudice and discredit of good histories, will have been driven into oblivion."

"There is a good deal to be said on that point," said Don Quixote, "as to whether the histories of the

"Why, is there anyone who doubts that those histories are false?" said the man in green.

"I doubt it," said Don Quixote, "but never mind that just now; if our journey lasts long enough, I trust in God

I shall show your worship that you do wrong in going with the stream of those who regard it as a matter of

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 gentleman by birth,

native of the village where, please God, we are going to dine today; I am more than fairly well off, and my

name is Don Diego de Miranda. I pass my life with my wife, children, and friends; my pursuits are hunting

and fishing, but I keep neither hawks nor greyhounds, nothing but a tame 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 Spain.

Sometimes I dine with my neighbours and friends, and often invite them; my entertainments are neat and well

served without stint of anything. I have no taste for tattle, nor do I allow tattling in my presence; I pry not into

my neighbours' lives, nor have I lynxeyes for what others do. I hear mass every day; I share my substance

with the poor, making no display of good works, lest I let hypocrisy and vainglory, those enemies that subtly

take possession of the most watchful heart, find an entrance into mine. I strive to make peace between those

whom I know to be at variance; I am the devoted servant of Our Lady, and my trust is ever in the infinite

Sancho listened with the greatest attention to the account of the gentleman's life and occupation; and thinking

it a good and a holy life, and that he who led it ought to 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

Seeing this the gentleman asked him, "What are you about, brother? What are these kisses for?"

"Let me kiss," said Sancho, "for I think your worship is the first saint in the saddle I ever saw all the days of

"I am no saint," replied the gentleman, "but a great sinner; but you are, brother, for you must be a good

Sancho went back and regained his packsaddle, having extracted a laugh from his master's profound

melancholy, and excited fresh amazement in Don Diego. Don Quixote then asked him how many children he

had, and observed that one of the things wherein the ancient philosophers, who were without the true

knowledge of God, placed the summum bonum was in the gifts of nature, in those of fortune, in having many

"I, Senor 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 honour to his family, as we live in days when our kings liberally reward

learning that is virtuous and worthy; for learning without virtue is a pearl on a dunghill. He spends the whole

day in settling whether Homer expressed himself correctly or not in such and such a line of the Iliad, whether

Martial was indecent or not in such and such an epigram, whether such and such lines of Virgil are to be

understood in this way or in that; in short, all his talk is of the works of these poets, and those of Horace,

Perseus, Juvenal, and Tibullus; for of the moderns in our own language he makes no great account; but with

all his seeming indifference to Spanish poetry, just now his thoughts are absorbed in making a gloss on four

lines that have been sent him from Salamanca, which I suspect are for some poetical tournament."

To all this Don Quixote said in reply, "Children, 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 that

science I do not think wise, though it may be no harm to persuade them; and when there is no need to study

for the sake of pane lucrando, and it is the student's good fortune that heaven has given him parents who

provide him with it, it would be my advice to them to let him pursue whatever science they may see him most

inclined to; and though that of poetry is less useful than pleasurable, it is not one of those that bring discredit

upon the possessor. Poetry, gentle sir, is, as I take it, like a tender young maiden of supreme beauty, to array,

bedeck, and adorn whom is the task of several other maidens, who are all the rest of the sciences; and she

must avail herself of the help of all, and all derive their 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 marketplaces, 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 possesses her must keep her within bounds, not permitting

her to break out in ribald satires or soulless sonnets. She must on no account be offered for sale, unless,

indeed, it be in heroic poems, moving tragedies, or sprightly and ingenious comedies. She must not be

touched by the buffoons, nor by the ignorant vulgar, incapable of comprehending or appreciating her hidden

treasures. And do not suppose, senor, that I apply the term vulgar here merely to plebeians and the lower

orders; for everyone who is ignorant, be he lord or prince, may and should be included among the vulgar. He,

then, who shall embrace and cultivate poetry under the conditions I have named, shall become famous, and

his name honoured throughout all the civilised nations of the earth. And with regard to what you say, senor,

of your son having no great opinion of Spanish poetry, I am inclined to think that he is not quite right there,

and for this reason: the great poet Homer did not write in Latin, because he was a Greek, nor did Virgil write

in Greek, because he was a Latin; in short, all the ancient poets wrote in the language they imbibed with their

mother's milk, and never went in quest of foreign ones to express their sublime conceptions; and that being

so, the usage should in justice extend to all nations, and the German poet should not be undervalued because

he writes in his own language, nor the Castilian, nor even the Biscayan, for writing in his. But your son,

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 vigour to their

natural inspiration; and yet even in this he may be wrong; for, according to a true belief, a poet is born one;

that is to say, the poet by nature comes forth a poet from his mother's womb; and following the bent that

heaven has bestowed upon him, without the aid of study or art, he produces things that show how truly he

spoke who said, 'Est Deus in nobis,' At the same time, I say that the poet by nature who calls in art to his aid

will be a far better poet, and will surpass him who tries to be one relying upon his knowledge of art alone.

The reason is, that art does not surpass nature, but only brings it to perfection; and thus, nature combined with

art, and art with nature, will produce a perfect poet. To bring my argument to a close, I would say then, gentle

sir, let your son go on as his star leads him, for being so studious as he seems to be, and having already

successfully surmounted the first step of the sciences, which is that of the languages, with their help he will

by his own exertions reach the summit of polite literature, which so well becomes an independent gentleman,

and adorns, honours, 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 honour of others, chide and correct him, and tear them

up; but if he compose discourses in which he rebukes vice in general, in the style of Horace, and with

elegance like his, commend him; for it is legitimate for a poet to write against envy and lash the envious in

his verse, and the other vices too, provided he does not single out individuals; there are, however, poets who,

for the sake of saying something spiteful, would run the risk of being banished to the coast of Pontus. 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 honour, 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 honoured and adorned with such a crown are not to be assailed by anyone."

He of the green gaban was filled with astonishment at Don Quixote's argument, so much so that he began to

abandon the notion he had taken up about his being crazy. But in the middle of the discourse, it being not

very much to his taste, Sancho had turned aside out of the road to beg a little milk from some shepherds, who

were milking their ewes hard by; and just as the gentleman, highly pleased, was about to renew the

conversation, Don Quixote, raising his head, perceived a cart covered with royal flags coming along the road

they were travelling; and persuaded that this must be some new adventure, he called aloud to Sancho to come

and bring him his helmet. Sancho, hearing himself called, quitted the shepherds, and, prodding Dapple

vigorously, came up to his master, to whom there fell a terrific and desperate adventure.

The history tells that when Don Quixote called out to Sancho to bring him his helmet, Sancho was buying

some curds the shepherds agreed to sell him, and flurried by the great haste his master was in did not know

what to do with them or what to carry them in; so, not to lose them, for he had already paid for them, he

thought it best to throw them into his master's helmet, and acting on this bright idea he went to see what his

"Give me that helmet, my friend, for either I know little of adventures, or what I observe yonder is one that

He of the green gaban, on hearing this, looked in all directions, but could perceive nothing, except a cart

coming towards them with two or three small flags, which led him to conclude it must be carrying treasure of

the King's, and he said so to Don Quixote. He, however, would not believe him, being always persuaded and

convinced that all that happened to him must be adventures and still more adventures; so he replied to the

gentleman, "He who is prepared has his battle half fought; nothing is lost by my preparing myself, for I know

by experience that I have enemies, visible and invisible, and I know not when, or where, or at what moment,

or in what shapes they will attack me;" and turning to Sancho he called for his helmet; and Sancho, as he had

no time to take out the curds, had to give it just as it was. Don Quixote took it, and without perceiving what

was in it thrust it down in hot haste upon his head; but as the curds were pressed and squeezed the whey

began to run all over his face and beard, whereat he was so startled that he cried out to Sancho:

"Sancho, what's this? I think my head is softening, or my brains are melting, or I am sweating from head to

foot! If I am sweating it is not indeed from fear. I am convinced beyond a doubt that the adventure which is

about to befall me is a terrible one. Give me something to wipe myself with, if thou hast it, for this profuse

Sancho held his tongue, and gave him a cloth, and gave thanks to God at the same time that his master had

not found out what was the matter. Don Quixote then wiped himself, and took off his helmet to see what it

was that made his head feel so cool, and seeing all that white mash inside his helmet he put it to his nose, and

"By the life of my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, but it is curds thou hast put here, thou treacherous, impudent,

To which, with great composure and pretended innocence, Sancho replied, "If they are curds let me have

them, your worship, and I'll eat them; but let the devil eat them, for it must have been he who put them there.

I dare to dirty your helmet! You have guessed the offender finely! Faith, sir, by the light God gives me, it

seems I must have enchanters too, that persecute me as a creature and limb of your worship, and they must

have put that nastiness there in order to provoke your patience to anger, and make you baste my ribs as you

are wont to do. Well, this time, indeed, they have missed their aim, for I trust to my master's good sense to

see that I have got no curds or milk, or anything of the sort; and that if I had it is in my stomach I would put it

"May he 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, and grasping his lance, he cried,

"Now, come who will, here am I, ready to try conclusions with Satan himself in person!"

By this time the cart with the flags had come up, unattended by anyone except the carter on a mule, and a

man sitting in front. Don Quixote planted himself before it and said, "Whither are you going, brothers? What

To this the carter replied, "The cart is mine; what is in it is a pair of wild caged lions, which the governor of

Oran is sending to court as a present to his Majesty; and the flags are our lord the King's, to show that what is

"So large," replied the man who sat at the door of the cart, "that larger, or as large, have never crossed from

Africa to Spain; I am the keeper, and I have brought over others, but never any like these. They are male and

female; the male is in that first cage and the female in the one behind, and they are hungry now, for they have

eaten nothing today, so let your worship stand aside, for we must make haste to the place where we are to

Hereupon, smiling slightly, Don Quixote exclaimed, "Lionwhelps 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 Mancha is, in spite and in the teeth of the

"So, so," said the gentleman to himself at this; "our worthy knight has shown of what sort he is; the curds, no

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'll tear us all to pieces here."

"Is your master then so mad," asked the gentleman, "that you believe and are afraid he will engage such fierce

"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, knightserrant should attempt adventures which encourage the

hope of a successful issue, not those which entirely withhold it; for valour that trenches upon temerity

savours rather of madness than of courage; moreover, these lions do not come to oppose you, nor do they

dream of such a thing; they are going as presents to his Majesty, and it will not be right to stop them or delay

"Gentle sir," replied Don Quixote, "you go and mind your tame partridge and your bold ferret, and leave

everyone to manage his own business; this is mine, and I know whether these gentlemen the lions come to me

or not;" and then turning to the keeper he exclaimed, "By all that's good, sir scoundrel, if you don't open the

The carter, seeing the determination of this apparition in armour, 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 ruined for life, for all I possess is this cart and mules."

"O man of little faith," replied Don Quixote, "get down and unyoke; you will soon see that you are exerting

The carter got down and with all speed unyoked the mules, and the keeper called out at the top of his voice, "I

call all here to witness that against my will and under compulsion I open the cages and let the lions loose, and

that I warn this gentleman that he will be accountable for all the harm and mischief which these beasts may

do, and for my salary and dues as well. You, gentlemen, place yourselves in safety before I open, for I know

Once more the gentleman strove to persuade Don Quixote not to do such a mad thing, as it was tempting God

to engage in such a piece of folly. To this, Don Quixote replied that he knew what he was 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

Hearing this, Sancho with tears in his eyes entreated him to give up an enterprise compared with which the

one of the windmills, and the awful one of the fulling mills, and, in fact, all the feats he had attempted in the

whole course of his life, were cakes and fancy bread. "Look ye, senor," said Sancho, "there's no enchantment

here, nor anything of the sort, for between the bars and chinks of the cage I have seen the paw of a real lion,

and judging by that I reckon the lion such a paw could belong to must be bigger than a mountain."

"Fear at any rate," replied Don Quixote, "will make him look bigger to thee than half the world. Retire,

Sancho, and leave me; and if I die here thou knowest our old compact; thou wilt repair to Dulcinea I say no

more." To these he added some further words that banished all hope of his giving up his insane project. He of

the green gaban would have offered resistance, but he found himself illmatched as to arms, and did not think

it prudent to come to blows with a madman, for such Don Quixote now showed himself to be in every

respect; and the latter, renewing his commands to the keeper and repeating his threats, gave warning to the

gentleman to spur his mare, Sancho his Dapple, and the carter his mules, all striving to get away from the cart

as far as they could before the lions broke loose. Sancho was weeping over his master's death, for this time he

firmly believed it was in store for him from the claws of the lions; and he cursed his fate and called it an

unlucky hour when he thought of taking service with him again; but with all his tears and lamentations he did

not forget to thrash Dapple so as to put a good space between himself and the cart. The keeper, seeing that the

fugitives were now some distance off, once more entreated and warned him as before; but he replied that he

heard him, and that he need not trouble himself with any further warnings or entreaties, as they would be

During the delay that occurred while the keeper was opening the first cage, Don Quixote was considering

whether it would not be well to do battle on foot, instead of on horseback, and finally resolved to fight on

foot, fearing that Rocinante might take fright at the sight of the lions; he therefore sprang off his horse, flung

his lance aside, braced his buckler on his arm, and drawing his sword, advanced slowly with marvellous

intrepidity and resolute courage, to plant himself in front of the cart, commending himself with all his heart to

It is to be observed, that on coming to this passage, the author of this veracious history breaks out into

exclamations. "O doughty Don Quixote! highmettled past extolling! Mirror, wherein all the heroes of the

world may see themselves! Second modern Don Manuel de Leon, once the glory and honour of Spanish

knighthood! In what words shall I describe this dread exploit, by what language shall I make it credible to

ages to come, what eulogies are there unmeet for thee, though they be hyperboles piled on hyperboles! On

foot, alone, undaunted, highsouled, with but a simple sword, and that no trenchant blade of the Perrillo

brand, a shield, but no bright polished steel one, there stoodst thou, biding and awaiting the two fiercest lions

that Africa's forests ever bred! Thy own deeds be thy praise, valiant Manchegan, and here I leave them as

Here the author's outburst came to an end, and he proceeded to take up the thread of his story, saying that the

keeper, seeing that Don Quixote had taken up his position, and that it was impossible for him to avoid letting

out the male without incurring the enmity of the fiery and daring knight, flung open the doors of the first

cage, containing, as has been said, the lion, which was now seen to be of enormous size, and grim and

hideous mien. The first thing he did was to turn round in the cage in which he lay, and protrude his claws, and

stretch himself thoroughly; he next opened his mouth, and yawned very leisurely, and with near two palms'

length of tongue that he had thrust forth, he licked the dust out of his eyes and washed his face; having done

this, he put his head out of the cage and looked all round with eyes like glowing coals, a spectacle and

demeanour to strike terror into temerity itself. Don Quixote merely observed him steadily, longing for him to

leap from the cart and come to close quarters with him, when he hoped to hew him in pieces.

So far did his unparalleled madness go; but the noble lion, more courteous than arrogant, not troubling

himself about silly bravado, after having looked all round, as has been said, turned about and presented his

hindquarters to Don Quixote, and very coolly and tranquilly lay down again in the cage. Seeing this, Don

Quixote ordered the keeper to take a stick to him and provoke him to make him come out.

"That I won't," said the keeper; "for if I anger him, the first he'll tear in pieces will be myself. Be satisfied, sir

knight, with what you have done, which leaves nothing more to be said on the score of courage, and do not

seek to tempt fortune a second time. The lion has the door open; he is free to come out or not to come out; but

as he has not come out so far, he will not come out today. Your worship's great courage has been fully

manifested already; no brave champion, so it strikes me, is bound to do more than challenge his enemy and

wait for him on the field; if his adversary does not come, on him lies the disgrace, and he who waits for him

"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; enchantments 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

The keeper obeyed, and Don Quixote, fixing on the point of his lance the cloth he had wiped his face with

after the deluge of curds, proceeded to recall the others, who still continued to fly, looking back at every step,

all in a body, the gentleman bringing up the rear. Sancho, however, happening to observe the signal of the

white cloth, exclaimed, "May I die, if my master has not overcome the wild beasts, for he is calling to us."

They all stopped, and perceived that it was Don Quixote who was making signals, and shaking off their fears

to some extent, they approached slowly until they were near enough to hear distinctly Don Quixote's voice

calling to them. They returned at length to the cart, and as they came up, Don Quixote said to the carter, "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 valour 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

"What dost thou think of this, Sancho?" said Don Quixote. "Are there any enchantments that can prevail

against true valour? The enchanters may be able to rob me of good fortune, but of fortitude and courage they

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

"Then," said Don Quixote, "if his Majesty should happen to ask who performed it, you must say THE

KNIGHT OF THE LIONS; for it is my desire that into this the name I have hitherto borne of Knight of the

Rueful Countenance be from this time forward changed, altered, transformed, and turned; and in this I follow

the ancient usage of knightserrant, who changed their names when they pleased, or when it suited their

The cart went its way, and Don Quixote, Sancho, and he of the green gaban went theirs. All this time, Don

Diego de Miranda had not spoken a word, being entirely taken up with observing and noting all that Don

Quixote did and said, and the opinion he formed was that he was a man of brains gone mad, and a madman

on the verge of rationality. The first part of his history had not yet reached him, for, had he read it, the

amazement with which his words and deeds filled him would have vanished, as he would then have

understood the nature of his madness; but knowing nothing of it, he took him to be rational one moment, and

crazy the next, for what he said was sensible, elegant, and well expressed, and what he did, absurd, rash, and

foolish; and said he to himself, "What could be madder than putting on a helmet full of curds, and then

persuading oneself that enchanters are softening one's skull; or what could be greater rashness and folly than

Don Quixote roused him from these reflections and this soliloquy by saying, "No doubt, Senor Don Diego de

Miranda, 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 anything else. But for all that, I would have you take notice that I am neither so mad

nor so foolish as I must have seemed to you. A gallant knight 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 plaza; a knight shows to

advantage arrayed in glittering armour, pacing the lists before the ladies in some joyous tournament, and all

those knights show to advantage that entertain, divert, and, if we may say so, honour the courts of their

princes by warlike exercises, or what resemble them; but to greater advantage than all these does a

knighterrant show when he traverses deserts, solitudes, crossroads, forests, and mountains, in quest of

perilous adventures, bent on bringing them to a happy and successful issue, all to win a glorious and lasting

renown. To greater advantage, I maintain, does the knighterrant show bringing aid to some widow in some

lonely waste, than the court knight dallying with some city damsel. All knights have their own special parts to

play; let the courtier devote himself to the ladies, let him add lustre to his sovereign's court by his liveries, let

him entertain poor gentlemen with the sumptuous fare of his table, let him arrange joustings, marshal

tournaments, and prove himself noble, generous, and magnificent, and above all a good Christian, and so

doing he will fulfil the duties that are especially his; but let the knighterrant explore the corners of the earth

and penetrate the most intricate labyrinths, at each step let him attempt impossibilities, on desolate heaths let

him endure the burning rays of the midsummer sun, and the bitter inclemency of the winter winds and frosts;

let no lions daunt him, no monsters terrify him, no dragons make him quail; for to seek 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

knighterrantry, cannot 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 attacked, although I knew it to be the height of

rashness; for I know well what valour 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 valour; and believe me, Senor 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

"I protest, Senor Don Quixote," said Don Diego, "everything you have said and done is proved correct by the

test of reason itself; and I believe, if the laws and ordinances of knighterrantry should be lost, they might be

found in your worship's breast as in their own proper depository and munimenthouse; but let us make haste,

and reach my village, where 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 favour and honour, Senor Don Diego," replied Don Quixote; and pressing

forward at a better pace than before, at about two in the afternoon they reached the village and house of Don

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 storeroom, and at the entrance the cellar, with plenty of winejars standing

round, which, coming from El Toboso, brought back to his memory his enchanted and transformed Dulcinea;

and with 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 'twas heaven's goodwill.

O 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 extraordinary figure he presented; he, however,

dismounting from Rocinante, 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

The lady, whose name was Dona Christina, received him with every sign of goodwill and great courtesy,

and Don Quixote placed himself at her service with an abundance of wellchosen and polished phrases.

Almost the same civilities were exchanged between him and the student, who listening to Don Quixote, took

Here the author describes minutely everything belonging to Don Diego's mansion, putting before us in his

picture the whole contents of a rich gentlemanfarmer'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 with the main

purpose of the story, the strong point of which is truth rather than dull digressions.

They led Don Quixote into a room, and Sancho removed his armour, leaving him in loose Walloon breeches

and chamoisleather doublet, all stained with the rust of his armour; his collar was a falling one of scholastic

cut, without starch or lace, his buskins buffcoloured, and his shoes polished. He wore his good sword, which

hung in a baldric of seawolf'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 grey cloth. But first of all, with five or six buckets of

water (for as regard the number of buckets there is some dispute), he washed his head and face, and still the

water remained wheycoloured, thanks to Sancho's greediness and purchase of those unlucky curds that

turned his master so white. Thus arrayed, and with an easy, sprightly, 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 Christina was anxious to show that she knew how and was able to

While Don Quixote was taking off his armour, 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 knighterrant have completely puzzled my

"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 greatest madman in the world, and heard him make observations so sensible that they efface and undo

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

With this Don Lorenzo went away 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, Senor Don Diego de

Miranda, has told me of the rare abilities and subtle intellect you possess, and, above all, that you are a great

"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

"I do not dislike that modesty," said Don Quixote; "for there is no poet who is not conceited and does not

"There is no rule without an exception," said Don Lorenzo; "there may be some who are poets and yet do not

"Very few," said Don Quixote; "but tell me, what 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 for a poetical tournament, contrive to carry off the

second prize; for the first always goes by favour or personal standing, the second by simple justice; and so the

third comes to be the second, and the first, reckoning in this way, 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 go on." So he said to

him, "Your worship has apparently attended the schools; what sciences have you studied?"

"That of knighterrantry," said Don Quixote, "which is as good as that of poetry, and even a finger or two

"I do not know what science that is," said Don Lorenzo, "and until now I have never heard of it."

"It is a science," said Don Quixote, "that comprehends in itself all or most of the sciences in the world, for he

who professes it must be a jurist, and must know the rules of justice, distributive and equitable, so as to give

to each one what belongs 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 knighterrant must not go looking for some one to cure him at every step. He must be

an astronomer, 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

theological, 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 knighterrant made up; judge then, Senor Don Lorenzo, whether it be a

contemptible science which the knight who studies and professes it has to learn, and whether it may not

"What I mean to say," said Don Lorenzo, "is, that I doubt whether there are now, or ever were, any

"Many a time," replied Don Quixote, "have I said what I now say once more, that the majority of the world

are of opinion that there never were any knightserrant in it; and as it is my opinion that, unless heaven by

some miracle brings home 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 knightserrant 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 point; "but, for all that, he is a

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 full of streaks, full of

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 Quixote most was the marvellous silence that

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

"A discerning friend of mine," said Don Quixote, "was of opinion that no one ought to waste labour in

glossing verses; and the reason he gave was that the gloss can never come up to the text, and that often or

most frequently it wanders away from 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 speak of other restrictions and limitations that

"Verily, Senor Don Quixote," said Don Lorenzo, "I wish I could catch your worship tripping at a stretch, but

"I will explain myself another time," said Don Lorenzo; "for the present pray attend to the glossed verses and

Could 'was' become an 'is' for me, Then would I ask no more than this; Or could, for me, the time that is

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. O Fortune, long I've sued to thee; The gifts thou gavest me restore, For,

No other prize I seek to gain, No triumph, glory, or success, Only the longlost happiness, The memory

whereof is pain. One taste, methinks, of bygone bliss The heartconsuming fire might stay; And, so it come

I ask what cannot be, alas! That time should ever be, and then Come back to us, and be again, No power 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

Perplexed, uncertain, to remain 'Twixt hope and fear, is death, not life; 'Twere better, sure, to end the strife,

And dying, seek release from pain. And yet, thought were the best for me. Anon the thought aside I fling,

When Don Lorenzo had finished reciting his gloss, Don Quixote stood up, and in a loud voice, almost a

shout, exclaimed 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, 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 longmeasure verses, senor, if you will be so good, for I want thoroughly to feel the pulse of

Is there any need to say that Don Lorenzo enjoyed hearing himself praised by Don Quixote, albeit he looked

upon him as a madman? power of flattery, how farreaching art thou, and how wide are the bounds of thy

pleasant jurisdiction! Don Lorenzo gave a proof of it, for he complied with Don Quixote's request and

entreaty, and repeated to him this sonnet on the fable or story of Pyramus and Thisbe.

The lovely maid, she pierces now the wall; Heartpierced by her young Pyramus doth lie; And Love spreads

wing 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 'twere 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

"Blessed be God," said Don Quixote when he had heard Don Lorenzo's sonnet, "that among the hosts there

are of irritable poets I have found one consummate one, which, senor, the art of this sonnet proves to me that

For four days was Don Quixote most sumptuously entertained 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 knightserrant to give themselves up for long to idleness and

luxury, he was anxious to fulfill the duties of his calling in seeking adventures, of which he was informed

there was an abundance in that neighbourhood, 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 country, and at the same

time to investigate and explore the origin and true source of the seven lakes commonly called the lakes of

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; which, indeed, his personal

The day of his departure came at length, as welcome to Don Quixote as 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 shortcommons of his illstocked alforjas; these, however, he

filled and packed with what he considered needful. 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 knighterrantry, wide

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 praiseworthy 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 illfavoured, 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 adventures, 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

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 pairs ofribbed stockings; the other carried nothing but a pair of new fencingfoils 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 different from ordinary men, could be. Don Quixote saluted them, and after

ascertaining that their road was the same as his, made them an offer 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 knighterrant

seeking adventures in all parts of the world. He informed them that his own name was Don Quixote of La

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

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 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 celebrated in a meadow adjoining the town of the bride, who is called, par excellence,

Quiteria the fair, as the bridegroom is called Camacho the rich. She is eighteen, and he twentytwo, and they

are fairly matched, though some knowing ones, who 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 nowadays, for wealth

can solder a great many flaws. At any rate, Camacho is freehanded, 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 provided dancers too, not only sword but also belldancers, for in his

own town there are those who ring the changes and jingle the bells to perfection; of shoedancers 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 suspect 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 word the longforgotten

loves of Pyramus and Thisbe; for Basilio loved Quiteria 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 Quiteria made up his mind 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 firstrate wrestler, and a

great ballplayer; he runs like a deer, and leaps better than a goat, bowls over the ninepins 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

"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

"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, some one she

has seen passing in the street and fancies gallant and dashing, though he may be a drunken bully; for love and

fancy easily blind the eyes of the judgment, 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 favour 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 haltingplace 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 inseparable 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 untying. I could say a great

deal more on this subject, were I not prevented by the anxiety I feel to know if the senor licentiate has

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 Quiteria was to be married to Camacho the

rich, he has never been seen to smile, or heard to utter 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 tomorrow the fair Quiteria says

"God will guide it better," said Sancho, "for God who gives the wound gives the salve; nobody knows what

will happen; there are a good many hours between this and tomorrow, 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 who can't stir the next day. And tell me, is there anyone who can boast of having driven a

nail into the wheel of fortune? No, faith; and between a woman's 'yes' and 'no' I wouldn't venture 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'll

give him a bag of good luck; for love, I have heard say, looks through spectacles that make copper seem gold,

"What art thou driving at, Sancho? curses on thee!" said Don Quixote; "for when thou takest to stringing

proverbs and sayings together, no one can understand thee but Judas himself, and I wish he had thee. Tell me,

"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 prevaricator of honest language, God confound thee!"

"Don't find fault with me, your worship," returned Sancho, "for you know I have not been bred up 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 force a Sayagoman to speak like a Toledan; maybe there are Toledans who do not hit it

"That is true," said the licentiate, "for those who have been bred up in the Tanneries and the Zocodover

cannot talk like those who are almost all day pacing 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 Majalahonda; 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 studied canon law at Salamanca, and I rather pique myself on expressing my meaning in clear, plain,

"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

"It is no idea on my part, but an established truth," replied Corchuelo; "and if you wish me to prove it to you

by experiment, 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 not 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 God, I place my trust that the man is yet

to be born who will make me turn my back, and that there is not one in the world I will not compel to give

"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 planted your foot the first time; I mean that you

"We shall soon see," replied Corchuelo, and getting off his ass briskly, he drew out furiously one of the

"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 bearing and step, advanced

towards Corchuelo, who came on against him, darting fire 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 Corchuelo 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 if it

were a relic, though not as devoutly as relics are and ought to he kissed. The end of it was that the licentiate

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 cuttlefish, knocked off his hat twice, and so completely 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 threequarters of a league, which testimony will serve, and has served, to show and establish with all

Corchuelo sat down wearied, and Sancho approaching him said, "By my faith, senor bachelor, if your

worship takes my advice, you will never challenge anyone to fence again, only to wrestle and throw the bar,

for you have the youth and strength for that; but as for these fencers as they call them, I have heard say they

"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

During the remainder of the journey the licentiate held forth to them on the excellences of the sword, with

such conclusive arguments, and such figures and mathematical proofs, that all were convinced of the value of

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 perceived that the trees of a leafy

arcade that had been constructed at the entrance of the town were filled with lights unaffected 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, wandering 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

gaiety were frisking and gambolling 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 performed 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 well as the bachelor pressed him;

he excused himself, however, on the grounds, amply sufficient in his opinion, that it was the custom of

knightserrant to sleep in the fields and woods in preference to towns, even were it under gilded ceilings; and

so turned aside a little out of the road, very much against Sancho's will, as the good quarters he had enjoyed

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 Sancho, who was still snoring; seeing which Don Quixote ere he roused him thus addressed him:

"Happy thou, above all the dwellers on the face of the earth, that, without envying or being envied, sleepest

with tranquil mind, and that neither enchanters persecute nor enchantments affright. Sleep, I say, and will say

a hundred times, without any jealous thoughts of thy mistress to make thee keep ceaseless vigils, or any cares

as to how thou art to pay the debts thou owest, or find tomorrow'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 the 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

To all this Sancho 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 comes, if I don't mistake, from the quarter of

that arcade a steam and a smell a great deal more like fried rashers than galingale or thyme; a wedding 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

"Let him do what he likes," returned Sancho; "be he not poor, he would marry Quiteria. To make a grand

match for himself, and he without a farthing; is there nothing else? Faith, senor, it's my opinion the 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

barthrowing and swordplay. 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 turned into money, let 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 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

"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 neighbour or your worship's authority; and so far, it seems to me, I have not broken the

"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 marriage will take place in the cool of the morning, and not in the heat of the

Sancho did as his master bade him, and putting the saddle on Rocinante and the packsaddle 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

middlingsized mountain of faggots, and six stewpots that stood round the blaze had not been made in the

ordinary mould of common pots, for they were six half winejars, each fit to hold the contents of a

slaughterhouse; they swallowed up whole sheep and hid them away 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 branches 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 threshingfloors. There was a wall made of cheeses

arranged like open brickwork, and two cauldrons 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

cauldron of prepared honey that stood close by. Of cooks and cookmaids there were over fifty, all clean,

brisk, and blithe. In the capacious belly of the ox were a dozen soft little suckingpigs, which, sewn up there,

served to give it tenderness and flavour. The spices of different kinds did not seem to have been bought by

the pound but by the quarter, and all lay open to view in a great chest. In short, all the preparations made for

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 fryingpans, if, indeed, such imposing cauldrons

may be called fryingpans; and unable to control himself or bear it any longer, he approached one of the busy

cooks and civilly but hungrily begged permission to soak a scrap of bread in one of the pots; to which the

cook made answer, "Brother, this is not a day on which hunger 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."

"Wait a bit," said the cook; "sinner that I am! how particular and bashful you 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 skimmings until dinnertime comes."

"Well then," said the cook, "take spoon and all; for Camacho'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, mounted 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! he as rich as

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 enter the arcade at different points, and

among them one of sworddancers composed of some fourandtwenty lads of gallant and highspirited

mien, clad in the finest and whitest of linen, and with handkerchiefs embroidered in various colours with fine

silk; and one of those on the mares asked an active youth who led them 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 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 sunbeams, and over them

they wore garlands of jessamine, roses, amaranth, and honeysuckle. At their head were a venerable 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

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 silk of divers colours. The nymphs that followed

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 the second

"Largess," the third "Treasure," and the fourth "Peaceful Possession." In front of them all came a wooden

castle drawn by four wild men, all clad in ivy and hemp stained green, and looking so natural that they nearly

terrified Sancho. On the front of the castle and on each of the four sides of its frame it bore the inscription

"Castle of Caution." Four skillful 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

I am the mighty God whose sway Is potent over land 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

Having concluded the stanza he discharged an arrow at the 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 mightier 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, For I am Interest,

Interest retired, and Poetry came forward, and when she had gone through her figures like the others, fixing

With many a fanciful conceit, Fair Lady, winsome Poesy 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

Poetry withdrew, and on the side of Interest Liberality advanced, and after having gone through her figures,

To give, while shunning each extreme, The sparing hand, the overfree, Therein consists, so wise men deem,

The virtue Liberality. But thee, fair lady, to enrich, Myself a prodigal I'll prove, A vice not wholly shameful,

In the same manner all the characters of the two bands advanced 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 off again with graceful, unconstrained gaiety; and whenever Love passed in front of the

castle he shot his arrows up at it, while Interest broke gilded pellets against it. At length, after they had

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

accompaniment 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 up, to the great enjoyment of the beholders.

Don Quixote asked one of the nymphs who it was that had composed and arranged it. She replied that it was

a beneficiary 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 Quixote, "and one of that

"I don't know of what sort I am," returned Sancho, "but I know very well I'll never get such elegant

skimmings off Basilio'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 gaiety and appetite, saying, "A fig for the accomplishments

of Basilio! As much as thou hast so much art thou worth, and as much as thou art worth so much hast thou.

As a grandmother of mine used to say, there are only two families 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 covered with gold looks better than a horse with a packsaddle. So once more I say I

stick to Camacho, the bountiful skimmings 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'll 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

"At the rate we are going," said Sancho, "I'll be chewing clay before your worship dies; and then, maybe, I'll

be so dumb that I'll 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 thou 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

"In good faith, senor," 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 reaping and cutting down, as well the dry grass as the green;

she never seems to chew, but bolts and swallows all that is put 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

"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 equal to thy mother wit, thou mightst take a pulpit in hand, and go about the world preaching

fine sermons." "He preaches well who lives well," said Sancho, "and I know no more theology than that."

"Nor needst thou," said Don Quixote, "but I cannot conceive 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 Sancho, "and don't set yourself up to judge of other men's

fears or braveries, for I am as good a fearer of God as my neighbours; 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.

While Don Quixote and Sancho were engaged in the discussion set forth 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 accompanied 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 fine court lady; egad, as well as I can make out, the patena

she wears rich coral, and her green Cuenca stuff is thirtypile velvet; and then the white linen trimming by

my oath, but it's satin! Look at her hands jet rings on them! May I never have luck if they're not gold rings,

and real gold, and set with pearls as white as a curdled 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 fairer all the days of my

life. See how bravely she bears herself and her shape! Wouldn't you say she was like a walking palm tree

loaded with 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 fit 'to pass over the banks of Flanders.'"

Don Quixote laughed at Sancho's boorish eulogies and thought that, saving his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he

had never seen a more beautiful woman. The fair Quiteria appeared somewhat 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 round, 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 crowned (as

was presently seen) with a crown of gloomy cypress, and in his hand he held a long staff. As he approached

he was recognised by everyone 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 planting himself in front of the bridal pair, drove his staff, which had a steel spike

at the end, into the ground, and, with a pale face and eyes fixed on Quiteria, he thus addressed her in a hoarse,

"Well dost thou know, ungrateful Quiteria, that according to the holy law we acknowledge, so long as live

thou canst take no husband; nor art thou ignorant either that, in my hopes that time and my own exertions

would improve my fortunes, I have never failed to observe the respect due to thy honour; but thou, casting

behind thee all thou owest to my true love, wouldst surrender what is mine to another whose wealth serves to

bring him not only good fortune 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 may interfere with it, and remove myself from 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

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 he 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

His friends at once ran to his aid, filled with grief at his misery and sad fate, and Don Quixote, dismounting

from Rocinante, 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 this 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

Hearing this the priest bade him think of the welfare of his soul rather than of the cravings of the body, and in

all earnestness 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

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 honour to receive the lady Quiteria as the widow of the brave Basilio as if he received her direct

"In this case," said he, "it will be only to say 'yes,' and no consequences can follow the utterance of the word,

Camacho 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 fulfillment of his wishes for a moment. At

once all assailed Quiteria and pressed her, some with prayers, 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 unable or unwilling to utter a word, nor would she have given any reply had not the priest

bade her decide quickly what she meant to do, as Basilio now had his soul at his teeth, and there was no time

On this the fair Quiteria, to all appearance distressed, grieved, and repentant, advanced without a word to

where Basilio lay, his eyes already turned in his head, his breathing short and painful, murmuring 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 will 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, O thou fatal star to me, is that the hand thou

demandest of me and wouldst give me, be not given out of complaisance 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 recourse to

While uttering these words he showed such weakness that the bystanders expected each return of faintness

would take his life with it. Then Quiteria, overcome with modesty and shame, holding in her right hand the

hand of Basilio, said, "No force would bend my will; as freely, therefore, as it is possible 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

"Yes, I give it," said Basilio, "not agitated or distracted, but with unclouded reason that heaven is pleased to

"And I give myself to be thy wife," said Quiteria, "whether thou livest many years, or they carry thee from

"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

Basilio and Quiteria having thus joined hands, the priest, deeply moved and with tears in his eyes,

pronounced the blessing upon them, and implored heaven to grant an easy passage to the soul of the newly

wedded man, who, the instant he received the blessing, started nimbly to his feet and with 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 miracle, a miracle!" But Basilio replied, "No miracle,

no miracle; only a trick, a trick!" The priest, perplexed 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 afterwards 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, hearing them say that the marriage, being fraudulent, would not be valid, she said that she

confirmed it afresh, whence they all concluded that the affair had been planned by agreement and

understanding between the pair, whereat Camacho and his supporters were so mortified that they proceeded

to revenge themselves 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 Quixote taking the lead on

horseback, with his lance over his arm and 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 winejars from which he

had taken his delectable skimmings, considering that, as a holy place, that spot would be respected.

"Hold, sirs, hold!" cried Don Quixote 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

dishonour of the loved object. Quiteria belonged to Basilio and Basilio to Quiteria by the just and beneficent

disposal of heaven. Camacho is rich, and can purchase his pleasure when, where, and as it pleases him.

Basilio has but this ewelamb, and no one, however powerful he may be, shall take her from him; these two

whom God hath joined man cannot 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 counsels 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 tranquillised, 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 it, and they withdrew to Basilio's village; for the poor, if they are

persons of virtue and good sense, have those who follow, honour, 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 one. Sancho alone had a cloud on his soul, for he found himself debarred from waiting for

Camacho's splendid feast and festival, which lasted until night; and thus dragged away, he moodily followed

his master, who accompanied Basilio's party, and left behind him the fleshpots 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 hungry, without dismounting from Dapple he followed in the footsteps of Rocinante.

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

same level with his courage, rating him as a Cid in arms, and a Cicero in eloquence. 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

"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 hunger and constant want; for love is all gaiety, enjoyment, and happiness, especially

when the lover is in the possession of the object of his love, and poverty and want are the declared enemies of

all these; which he said to urge Senor Basilio to abandon the practice of those accomplishments he was

skilled in, for though they brought him fame, they brought him no money, and apply himself to the

acquisition of wealth by legitimate industry, which will never fail those who are prudent and persevering. The

poor man who is a man of honour (if indeed a poor man can be a man of honour) has a jewel when he has a

fair wife, and if she is taken from him, his honour is taken from him and slain. The fair woman who is a

woman of honour, 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. "Remember, O 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 own wife,

and in this way he would live happy. I myself am not married, nor, so far, has it ever entered my thoughts to

be so; nevertheless I would venture to give advice to anyone 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 recommend 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 he seen that she is so, and open looseness and freedom do much more damage to a

woman's honour than secret depravity. If you take a good woman into your house it will he 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 impossible, but I look

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 marketplaces to his heart's content. Devil take you for a knighterrant,

what a lot of things you know! I used to think in my heart that the only thing he knew was what belonged to

Sancho muttered this somewhat aloud, and his master overheard him, and asked, "What art thou muttering

"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; perhaps I'd say now, 'The ox that's loose licks

"She is not very bad," replied Sancho; "but she is not very good; at least she is not as good as I could wish."

"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 when 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 Quixote 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 wonderful 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 much 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 him 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 packsaddle covered with a particoloured carpet or sackcloth; Sancho saddled

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

On the way Don Quixote asked the cousin of what sort and character his pursuits, avocations, and studies

were, to which he replied that he was by profession a humanist, and that his pursuits and studies were 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 colours, mottoes, and ciphers,

from which gentlemen of the court might pick and choose any they fancied for festivals and revels, without

having to go abegging for them from anyone, or puzzling their brains, as the saying is, to have them

appropriate to their objects and purposes; "for," said he, "I 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 the Piojo, of the Cano Dorado, and of the Priora; and all with

their allegories, metaphors, and changes, so that they are amusing, interesting, 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 importance which Polydore omitted to mention. He forgot to tell us who was 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 fiveandtwenty authors in proof of it, so you may perceive I have

laboured 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, senor and God give you

luck in printing 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."

"So it must," replied the cousin; "for there is no doubt but Adam had a head and hair; and being the first man

"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

"Look here, senor," said Sancho, "don't give yourself any trouble about it, for I have just this minute hit upon

what I asked you. The first tumbler in the world, you must know, was Lucifer, when they cast or pitched him

"You are right, friend," said the cousin; and said Don Quixote, "Sancho, that question and answer are not

"Hold your peace, senor," said Sancho; "faith, if I take to asking questions and answering, I'll go on from this

till tomorrow morning. Nay! to ask foolish things and answer nonsense I needn't go looking for help from

"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

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 Quixote 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 wildfig bushes and

brambles and briars, so thick and matted that they completely close it up and cover it over.

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 yourself where you'll be

like a bottle put to cool in a well; it's no affair or business of your worship's to become the explorer of this,

"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, Senor 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

"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 armour but only over the doublet) Don

Quixote observed, "It was careless of us not to have provided ourselves with a small cattlebell to be tied on

the rope close to me, the sound of which would show that I was still descending and alive; but as that is out of

the question now, in God's hand be it to guide me;" and forthwith he fell on his knees and in a low voice

offered up 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, "O mistress of my actions and movements,

illustrious and peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, if so be the prayers and supplications of this fortunate lover can

reach thy ears, by thy incomparable beauty I entreat thee to listen to them, for they but ask thee not to refuse

me thy favour and protection now that I stand in such need of them. I am about to precipitate, to sink, to

plunge myself into the abyss that is here before me, only to let the world know that while thou dost favour me

there is no impossibility 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 demolish and cut away the brambles 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 himself in such a place. He got up, however, and as

there came no more crows, or nightbirds 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; and as he entered

it Sancho sent his blessing after him, making a thousand crosses over him and saying, "God, and the Pena de

Francia, and the Trinity of Gaeta guide thee, flower and cream of knightserrant. There thou goest, thou

daredevil of the earth, heart of steel, arm of brass; once more, God guide thee and send thee back safe,

sound, and unhurt to the light of this world thou art leaving to bury thyself in the darkness thou art seeking

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

hundred fathoms of rope. They were inclined to pull Don 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 Don Quixote was remaining below;

and persuaded that it was so, Sancho wept bitterly, and hauled 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, "Welcome back, senor, 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 perceived

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 he said, "God forgive you,

friends; ye have taken me away from the sweetest and most delightful existence and spectacle 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 illfated Montesinos! O sorewounded

Durandarte! O unhappy Belerma! O tearful Guadiana, and ye O hapless daughters of Ruidera who show in

The cousin and Sancho Panza listened with deep attention to the words of Don Quixote, who uttered them as

though with immense pain he drew them up from his very bowels. They begged of him to explain himself,

"Hell do you call it?" said Don Quixote; "call it by no such name, for it does not deserve it, as ye shall soon

He then begged them to give him something to eat, as he was very hungry. They spread the cousin's sackcloth

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 sackcloth was removed, Don

Quixote of La Mancha said, "Let no one rise, and attend to me, my sons, both of you."

It was about four in the afternoon when 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

"A matter of some twelve or fourteen times a man's height down in this pit, on the righthand 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, communicating 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 without any certainty or knowledge of where I was going, so I

resolved to enter it and rest myself for a while. I called out, telling you not to let out more rope until I bade

you, but you cannot 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 perplexity, suddenly and without

provocation 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, delightful meadow that nature could 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, feeling, 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 opened wide therein, I saw coming forth and advancing towards me a venerable old man,

clad in a long gown of mulberrycoloured 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 snowwhite beard

fell below his girdle. He carried no arms whatever, nothing but a rosary of beads bigger than fairsized

filberts, each tenth bead being like a moderate ostrich egg; his bearing, his gait, his dignity and imposing

presence held me spellbound and wondering. He approached me, and the first thing he did was to embrace

me closely, and then he said to me, 'For a long time now, O valiant knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, we

who are here enchanted in these solitudes have been hoping to see thee, that thou mayest 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 achievement 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 he 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 Durandarte from his breast with a little dagger, and

carried it to the lady Belerma, as his friend when at the point of death had commanded him. He said in reply

that they spoke the truth in every respect except as to the dagger, for it was not a dagger, nor little, but a

"That poniard must have been made by Ramon de Hoces the Sevillian," said Sancho.

"I do not know," said Don Quixote; "it could not have been by that poniard maker, however, because Ramon

de Hoces was a man of yesterday, and the affair of Roncesvalles, where this mishap 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

"That is true," said the cousin; "continue, Senor Don Quixote, for I am listening to you with the greatest

"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 tomb in amazement, said to me, 'This is my

friend Durandarte, flower and mirror 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 enchanter 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

marvel 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 with 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 valour than he

who has a small one. Then, as this is the case, and as the knight did really die, how comes it that he now

O cousin Montesinos! 'T was my last request of thee, When my soul hath left the body, And that lying dead I

be, With thy poniard or thy dagger Cut the heart from out my breast, And bear it to Belerma. This was my

On hearing which, the venerable Montesinos fell on his knees before the unhappy knight, and with tearful

eyes exclaimed, 'Long since, Senor 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, I wiped it with a lace handkerchief, and I took the road to France 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, O cousin of my soul, at the first village I came to after

leaving Roncesvalles, I sprinkled a little salt upon your heart to keep it sweet, and bring it, if not fresh, at

least pickled, into the presence of the lady Belerma, whom, together with you, myself, Guadiana your squire,

the duenna Ruidera and her seven daughters and two nieces, and many more of your friends and

acquaintances, 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 many 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 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 finding he was leaving you, that he plunged into the bowels of the earth;

however, as he cannot 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, O 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 whom the sage Merlin has prophesied 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

knighterrantry, long since forgotten, and by whose intervention and aid it may be we shall be disenchanted;

"'And if that may not be,' said the wretched Durandarte in a low and feeble voice, 'if that may not be, then,

my cousin, I say "patience and shuffle;"' and turning over on his side, he relapsed into his former silence

"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. Behind, 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 flat, her mouth was large but with ruddy lips, and her teeth, of which

at times she allowed a glimpse, were seen to be sparse and illset, 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

Durandarte 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 illfavoured or not so beautiful as fame reported her, it was because of the bad

nights and worse days that she passed in that enchantment, as I could 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 the world, come up to her for beauty, grace, and

"'Hold hard!' said I at this, 'tell your story as you ought, Senor Don Montesinos, for you know very well that

all comparisons are odious, and there is no occasion to compare one person with another; 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 was 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 youare her knight, to make me bite my tongue out

before I compared her to anything save heaven itself.' After this apology which the great Montesinos made

me, my heart recovered itself from the shock I had received in hearing my lady compared with Belerma."

"Still I wonder," said Sancho, "that your worship did not get upon the old fellow and bruise every bone of

"Nay, Sancho, my friend," said Don Quixote, "it would not have been right in me to do that, for we are all

bound to pay respect to the aged, even though they be not knights, but especially to 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

"I cannot 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

"That cannot be," returned Don Quixote, "because 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

"My master must be right," replied Sancho; "for as everything that has happened to him is by enchantment,

"I never touched a morsel," answered Don Quixote, "nor did I feel hunger, or think of it."

"They neither eat," said Don Quixote; "nor are they subject to the greater excrements, though it is thought

"Certainly not," replied Don Quixote; "at least, during those three days I was with them not one of them

"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 with enchanted people that are always fasting and watching; what

wonder is it, then, that you neither eat nor sleep while you are with them? But forgive me, senor, 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

"What!" said the cousin, "has Senor Don Quixote, then, been lying? Why, even if he wished it he has not had

"I believe," replied Sancho, "that this Merlin, or those enchanters who enchanted the whole crew your

worship says you saw and discoursed with down there, stuffed your imagination or your mind with all this

"All that might be, Sancho," replied Don Quixote; "but it is not so, for everything that 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 marvellous things Montesinos showed me (of which at leisure and at the proper time I will

give thee an account in the course of our journey, for they would not be all in place here), he showed me

three country girls who went skipping 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 appearance in those meadows; but I was not to be surprised at that,

because there were a great many other ladies there of times past and present, enchanted in various strange

shapes, and among them he had recognised Queen Guinevere and her dame Quintanona, she who poured out

When Sancho Panza 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 Dulcinea, in which he himself had been the

enchanter and concocter 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 mine, went down to the other world, and an unlucky moment when you

met with Senor Montesinos, who has sent you back to us like this. You were well enough here above in your

full senses, such as God had given you, delivering maxims and giving advice at every turn, and not as you are

"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

recognise the lady our mistress; and if you spoke to her, what did you say, and what did she answer?"

"I recognised her," said Don Quixote, "by her wearing the same garments she wore when thou didst point 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 crossbow bolt could not have overtaken her. I wished to follow her, and

would have done so had not Montesinos recommended me not to take the trouble as it would be useless,

particularly as the time was drawing 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 speaking to me, one of the two companions of the hapless Dulcinea approached

me on one without my having seen her coming, and with tears in her eyes said to me, in a low, agitated voice,

'My lady Dulcinea del Toboso kisses your worship's hands, and entreats you to do her the favour 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, Senor Don Quixote, that

which is called need is to be met with everywhere, and penetrates all quarters and reaches everyone, and does

not spare even the enchanted; and as the lady Dulcinea del Toboso sends to beg those six reals, and the

pledge is to all appearance a good one, there is nothing for it but to give them 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, Sancho, gavest me the other day to bestow in alms

upon the poor I 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

cannot be, and ought not be, in health while deprived of the happiness of seeing her and enjoying her discreet

conversation, and that I implore her as earnestly as I can, to allow herself to be seen and addressed by this her

captive servant and forlorn knight. Tell her, too, that when she least expects it she will hear it announced that

I have made an oath and vow 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 tablecloth, and other trifling matters which he added, until he had avenged him; and I will make

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 and more, you owe my lady,' the

damsel's answer to me, and taking the four reals, instead of making me a curtsey she cut a caper, springing

"O blessed God!" exclaimed Sancho aloud at this, "is it possible that such things can be in the world, and that

enchanters and enchantments can have such power in it as to have changed my master's right senses into a

craze so full of absurdity! O senor, senor, for God's sake, consider yourself, have a care for your honour, and

"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."

He who translated this great history from the original written by its first author, Cide Hamete Benengeli, says

that on coming to the chapter giving the adventures of the cave of Montesinos he found written on the margin

"I cannot convince or persuade myself that everything that is written in the preceding chapter could have

precisely happened 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 detailed, and that he could not in so short a space have fabricated 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 adventures he had read of in his histories." And then

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

observed, "I, Senor Don 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, which I consider great good fortune; the second, that I have learned what the cave of

Montesinos contains, together with the transformations of Guadiana and of the lakes of Ruidera; which will

be of use 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 expression he could not have learned while he was enchanted, but

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 writing, the 'Supplement to Polydore Vergil on

the Invention of Antiquities;' 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

authority as Senor Durandarte. And the fourth thing is, that I have ascertained the source of the river

"You are right," said Don Quixote; "but I should like to know, if by God's favour they grant you a licence to

"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 unworthy 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 labour 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; but let this stand over for some more convenient time, and let us

"Not far from this," said the cousin, "there is a hermitage, where 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 charitable 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

"Few hermits are without them," said Don Quixote; "for those we see nowadays are not like the hermits of

the Egyptian deserts who were clad in palmleaves, 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 penances of those of the present day

do not come up to the asceticism 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 who pretends to be good does less harm

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 stopping. Don Quixote called to him, "Stay, good fellow; you seem to be making more haste than

"I cannot stop, senor," answered the man; "for the arms you see I carry here are to be used tomorrow, 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

tonight at the inn that is beyond the hermitage, and if you be going the same road you will find me there,

and I will tell you 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 anxiety 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 before nightfall. On the road the cousin proposed 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 subhermit they found in

the hermitage told them. They called for some of the best. She replied that her master had none, but that if

"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 places,

and had his shirt out; his stockings were of silk, and his shoes squaretoed as they wear them at court. His

age might have been eighteen or nineteen; he was of a merry countenance, and to all appearance of an active

habit, and he went along singing seguidillas to beguile the wearisomeness 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

I'm off to the wars For the want 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; whither bound, may

To which the youth replied, "The heat and my poverty are the reason of my travelling so airily, and it is to the

"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 which I shall enlist, and there will 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."

"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 advantage 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

placehunters and adventurers, whose keep and wages were so miserable and scanty that half went in paying

for the starching of one's collars; it would be a miracle indeed if a page volunteer ever got anything like a

"And tell me, for heaven's sake," asked Don Quixote, "is it possible, my friend, that all the time you served

"They gave me two," replied the page; "but just as when one quits a religious community before making

profession, they strip him of the dress of the order and give him back his own clothes, so did my masters

return me mine; for as soon as the business on which they came to court was finished, they went home and

"What spilorceria! as an Italian would say," said Don Quixote; "but for all that, consider yourself happy in

having left court with as worthy an object as you have, for there is nothing on earth more honourable or

profitable than serving, first of all God, and then one's king and natural lord, particularly in the profession of

arms, by which, if not more wealth, at least more honour is to be won than by letters, as I have said many a

time; for though letters may have founded more great houses than arms, still those founded by arms have I

know not what superiority over those founded by letters, and a certain splendour belonging to them that

distinguishes them above all. And bear in mind what I 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 may befall

you; for the worst of all is death, and if it be a good death, the best of all is to die. They asked Julius Caesar,

the valiant Roman emperor, what was the best death. He answered, that which is unexpected, which comes

suddenly and unforeseen; and though he answered like a pagan, and one without the knowledge of the true

God, yet, as far as sparing our feelings is concerned, he was right; for suppose you are killed in the first

engagement or skirmish, whether by a cannon ball or blown up by mine, what matters it? It is only dying, and

all is over; and according to Terence, a soldier shows better dead in battle, than alive and safe in flight; and

the good soldier wins fame in proportion as he is obedient to his captains and those in command over him.

And remember, 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 honourable calling, though you may be covered with wounds and crippled and

lame, it will not come upon you without honour, and that such as poverty cannot lessen; especially now that

provisions are being made for supporting and relieving old and disabled soldiers; for it is not right to deal

with them after the fashion of those who set free and get rid of their black slaves when they are old and

useless, and, turning them out of their houses under the pretence of making them free, make them slaves to

hunger, from which they cannot expect to be released except by death. But for the present I won't say more

than get ye up behind me on my horse as far as the inn, and sup with me there, and tomorrow you shall

pursue your journey, and God give you as good speed as your intentions deserve."

The page did not accept the invitation to mount, though he 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 man who can say things so many

and so good as he has said just now, can say that he saw the impossible absurdities he reports about the cave

And now, just as night was falling, they reached the inn, and it was not without satisfaction that Sancho

perceived his master took it for a real inn, and not for a castle as usual. The instant they entered Don Quixote

asked the landlord after the man with the lances and halberds, and was told that he was in the stable seeing to

his mule; which was what Sancho and the cousin proceeded to do for their beasts, giving the best manger and

Don Quixote's bread would not bake, as the common saying is, until he had heard and learned the curious

things promised by the man who carried the arms. He went to seek him where the innkeeper said be was and

having found him, bade him say now at any rate what he had to say in answer to the question he had asked

him on the road. "The tale of my wonders must be taken more leisurely and not standing," said the man; "let

me finish foddering my beast, good sir; and then I'll tell you things that will astonish you."

"Don't wait for that," said Don Quixote; "I'll 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 his (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 news, 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 finder; 'I saw him this

morning without packsaddle 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 off into the thickest part of the forest. If you have a mind that we two should go back and look for him,

let me put up this sheass at my house and I'll be back at once.' 'You will be doing me a great kindness,' said

the owner of the ass, 'and I'll 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 off on foot, arm in arm, for the forest, and coming to the place where they hoped to find the ass

they could not find him, nor was he to be seen anywhere about, search as they might. Seeing, then, that there

was no sign of him, the regidor who had seen him said to the other, 'Look here, gossip; a plan has occurred to

me, by which, beyond a doubt, we shall manage 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 perfection, 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'll not give in to

anybody, not even to the asses themselves.' 'We'll soon see,' said the second regidor, 'for my plan is that you

should go 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 cannot be but that the ass will hear us, and answer us if he 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 separating as agreed, it so fell out that they brayed almost at the same moment, and each,

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 is 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 made 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 accomplishment.' 'Well then,' said the owner, 'I'll set a higher value on myself for the future, and consider

that I know something, as I have an excellence of some sort; for though 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 this we have now in hand, cannot 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 illstarred

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 said, 'I was wondering he did not answer, for if he wasn't dead he'd have brayed when

he heard us, or he'd have been no ass; but for the sake of having heard you bray to such perfection, 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 disconsolate and hoarse to their village, where they told their friends, neighbours, 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 neighbourhood; 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 anyone 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 the 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

scoffed 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. Tomorrow or the day after, I believe, the men of my town, that is, of the braying

town, are going to take the field 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

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, "Senor host, have you room? Here's the divining ape and the show of

"Ods body!" said the landlord, "why, it's Master Pedro! We're in for a grand night!" 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," continued 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 room for Master Pedro," said the landlord; "bring in the ape and the show; there's company in the inn

tonight that will pay to see that and the cleverness of the ape." "So be it by all means," said the man with the

patch; "I'll lower the price, and he well satisfied if I only pay my expenses; and now I'll go back and hurry on

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; which the landlord replied, "This is a famous puppetshowman, who for some time

past has been going about this Mancha de Aragon, exhibiting a show of the release of Melisendra by the

famous Don Gaiferos, one of the best and bestrepresented 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 master'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 in the world; talks more than six, drinks more

Master Pedro now came back, and in a cart followed the show and the ape a big one, without a tail and with

buttocks as bare as felt, but not viciouslooking. As soon as Don Quixote saw him, he asked him, "Can you

tell me, sir fortuneteller, 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; but he answered for the ape and said, "Senor, this animal does not

give any answer or information touching things that are to come; of things past he knows something, and

"Gad," said Sancho, "I would not give a farthing to be told what's past with me, for who knows that better

than I do myself? And to pay for being told what I know would be mighty foolish. But as you know things

present, here are my two reals, and tell me, most excellent sir ape, what is my wife Teresa Panza doing now,

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 spring the ape perched himself upon it, and putting his mouth to his master's 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 Master 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, O illustrious reviver of knighterrantry, so long consigned to oblivion! O never yet duly extolled

knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha, courage of the fainthearted, prop of the tottering, arm of the fallen, staff

Don Quixote was thunderstruck, Sancho astounded, the cousin staggered, the page astonished, the man from

the braying town agape, the landlord in perplexity, and, in short, everyone amazed at the words of the

puppetshowman, who went on to say, "And thou, worthy Sancho Panza, the best squire and squire to the

best knight in the world! Be of good cheer, for thy good wife Teresa is well, and she is at this moment

hackling a pound of flax; and more by token she has at her left hand a jug with a broken spout that holds a

"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

"Now I declare," said Don Quixote, "he who reads much and travels much sees and knows a great deal. I say

so because what amount of persuasion could have persuaded me that there are apes in the world 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 compassionate heart, always disposed to do good to all and harm to none."

"If I had money," said the page, "I would ask senor ape what will happen me in the peregrination I am

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 future; but if he did, not having money would be of no consequence,

for to oblige Senor Don Quixote, here present, I would give up all the profits in the world. And now, because

I have promised it, and to afford 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,

Don Quixote was not very well satisfied with the divinations of the ape, as he did not think it proper that an

ape 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 anyone, he said to him, "Look

here, Sancho, I have been seriously thinking over this ape's extraordinary gift, and have come to the

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 Sancho, "it must be a very dirty packet no doubt; but what good

"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 knowledge extends no further; for the future he

knows only 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; and I am astonished they have not denounced him to the Holy Office, and

put him to the 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 up, those figures they call

judiciary, 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 up a knave of cards from the ground, bringing to nought 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 lapdog would be in pup and would breed, and how many and of what colour the

little pups would be. To which senor astrologer, after having set up his figure, made answer that the bitch

would be in pup, and would drop three pups, one green, another bright red, and the third particoloured,

provided she conceived between eleven and twelve either of the day or night, and on a Monday or Saturday;

but as things turned out, two days after this the bitch died of a surfeit, and senor planetruler had the credit all

over the place of being a most profound astrologer, as most of these planetrulers have."

"Still," said Sancho, "I would be glad if your worship would make Master Pedro ask his ape whether what

happened your worship in the cave of Montesinos is true; for, begging your worship's pardon, I, for my part,

"That may be," replied Don Quixote; "however, I will do what you suggest; though I have my own scruples

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, and begged him to ask his ape at once to

tell him whether certain things which had happened to him in the cave of Montesinos 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 placed it in front of Don Quixote and Sancho, said: "See here, senor ape, this

gentleman 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 ape mounted on his left shoulder and

seemed to whisper in his ear, and Master Pedro said at once, "The ape says that the things you saw or that

happened to you in that cave are, part of them false, part true; and that he only knows this and no more as

regards this question; 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 will not return to him till Friday, as he has said."

"Did I not say, senor," said Sancho, "that I could not bring myself to believe that all your worship said about

"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. But enough of that for

the present; let us go and see 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,

Senor Don Quixote, it is one of the bestworthseeing things in the world this day; but operibus credite et

non verbis, and now let's get to work, for it is growing late, and we have a great deal to do and to say and

Don Quixote and Sancho obeyed him and went to where the show was already put up and uncovered, set all

around with lighted wax tapers which made it look splendid and bright. 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 arranged 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.

All were silent, Tyrians and Trojans; I mean all who were watching the show were hanging on the lips of the

interpreter 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 Spanish ballads that are in

everybody's mouth, and in the mouth of the boys about the streets. Its subject is the release by Senor Don

Gaiferos of his wife Melisendra, when a captive in Spain at the hands of the Moors in the city of Sansuena,

for so they called then what is now called Saragossa; and there you may see how Don Gaiferos is playing at

And that personage who appears there with a crown on his head and a sceptre in his hand is the Emperor

Charlemagne, the supposed father of Melisendra, who, angered to see his soninlaw'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

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 armour, 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 valour 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, approaches 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 Sansuena, who, having seen the Moor's insolence, at once orders him

(though his kinsman and a great favourite of his) 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 run into curves and

slants, for to establish a fact clearly there is need of a great 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 harmonies, 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 recognising him; and she addresses her husband, supposing him to be some traveller, and holds with

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 Melisendra shows us she has recognised 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 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. Go in peace, O peerless pair

of true lovers! May you reach your longedfor fatherland in safety, and may fortune interpose no impediment

to your prosperous journey; may 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

The interpreter made no answer, but went on to say, "There was no want of idle eyes, that see everything, to

see Melisendra 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

"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 trumpet somewhat like our clarion; to ring

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 round 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 pouch, no matter if I show as many inaccuracies as there are

"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 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

Don Quixote, however, seeing such a swarm of Moors and hearing such a din, thought it would be right to aid

the fugitives, 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! illborn rabble,

follow him not nor pursue him, or ye will 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 show, and with unexampled rapidity

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 almondpaste. 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 continuous rain 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, 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 accomplished, Don Quixote became a little calmer, said, "I

wish I had here before me now all those who do not or will not believe how useful knightserrant 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 inflicted some

outrage upon them. So, then, long live knighterrantry 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

Yesterday was I lord of Spain Today I've not a turret left That I may call mine own.

Not half an hour, nay, barely a minute ago, I saw myself lord of kings and emperors, with my stables filled

with countless horses, and my trunks and bags with gay dresses unnumbered; and now I find myself ruined

and laid low, destitute and a beggar, 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 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

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 catholic 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

"Only let Senor 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 cannot be saved who keeps what is

"That is true," said Don Quixote; "but at present I am not aware that I have got anything of yours, Master

"What!" returned Master Pedro; "and these relics lying here on the bare hard ground what scattered and

shattered them but the invincible strength of that mighty arm? And whose were the bodies they belonged to

"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 Charlemagne Charlemagne. That was why my anger was

roused; and to be faithful to my calling as a knighterrant I sought to give aid and protection to those who

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 willing 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 worship and me of what these

The landlord and Sancho consented, and then Master Pedro picked up from the ground King Marsilio of

Saragossa with his head off, and said, "Here you see how 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

"Well then, for this cleavage from top to bottom," continued Master Pedro, taking up the split Emperor

"Let him have the whole five and a quarter," said Don 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

"For this figure," said Master Pedro, "that is without a nose, and wants an eye, and is the fair Melisendra, I

"The very devil must be in it," said Don Quixote, "if Melisendra 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 needn'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 us all

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'll 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 forty reals and threequarters; and over and

above this sum, which Sancho at once disbursed, Master Pedro asked for two reals for his trouble in catching

"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 anyone who could tell me positively, that the lady Dona

Melisandra 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 suspect, however, that affection and hunger will drive him to come looking for me tonight; but

In short, the puppetshow storm passed off, and all supped 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 adventures. The landlord, who did not know Don Quixote, was as much astonished at his mad

freaks as at his 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

Cide Hamete, 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 Cide Hamete'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 was telling the truth, as much as if he

swore as a Catholic Christian, in all he chose to write about 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 for which he afterwards got

poor thanks and worse payment from that evilminded, illconditioned set. This Gines de Pasamonte Don

Ginesillo de Parapilla, Don Quixote called him it was that stole Dapple from Sancho 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 looking for him 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 puppetshowman;

for this, as well as juggling, he knew how to practise to perfection. From some released Christians returning

from Barbary, it so happened, 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 find, as to what particular things had happened there, and to whom; and bearing them

well in mind, the first thing be 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 accomplishments 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 living there, even if they did not ask him a question, not caring to pay for it, he would

make the sign to the ape and then 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 crossquestioned 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

there; 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 in the preceeding 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 neighbourhood, 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 adventure worth

committing to writing until on the third day, as he was ascending a hill, he heard a great noise of drums,

trumpets, and musketshots. At first he imagined some regiment of soldiers was passing that way, 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, crossbows, 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 colours and distinguish the devices they bore,

especially one on a standard or ensign of white satin, on which there was painted in a very lifelike 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

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 be observed that the man who

had told them about the matter was wrong in saying that the two who brayed were regidors, for according to

the lines of the standard they were alcaldes. To which Sancho replied, "Senor, there's nothing to stick at in

that, for maybe the regidors who brayed then came to he 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

Don Quixote proceeded to join them, not a little to Sancho's uneasiness, for he never relished mixing himself

up in expeditions of that sort. The members of the troop received him into the midst of them, taking him to he

some one who was on their side. Don Quixote, putting up his visor, advanced with an easy bearing and

demeanour to the standard with the ass, and all the chief men of the army gathered round him to look at him,

staring at him with the usual amazement that everybody felt on seeing him for the first time. Don Quixote,

seeing them examining 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 interrupt 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

With this permission Don Quixote went on to say, "I, sirs, am a knighterrant 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 business

in my mind, I find that, according to the laws of combat, you are mistaken in holding yourselves insulted; for

a private individual cannot insult an entire community; unless it be by defying it collectively as a traitor,

because he cannot tell who in particular is guilty of the treason for which he defies it. Of this we have an

example in Don Diego Ordonez de Lara, who defied the whole town of Zamora, because he did not know that

Vellido Dolfos alone had committed the treachery of slaying his king; and therefore he defied them all, and

the vengeance and the reply concerned all; though, to be sure, Senor Don Diego went rather too far, indeed

very much beyond the limits 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 with everyone 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

mouth 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 trombones of their swords in every

petty quarrel! No, no; God forbid! There are four things for which sensible men and wellordered 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 honour, 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 (which may be included in the second), 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 he amused by rather

than offended, looks as though he who did so was altogether 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 could

not and cannot lie, said, as our lawgiver, 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

"The devil take me," said Sancho to himself at this, "but this master of mine is a tologian; or, if not, faith, he's

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, saying, "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 everything 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 yourselves 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 anyone 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 farthings for it; and that you may see I am telling the truth, wait a bit and

listen, for this art, like swimming, once learnt is never forgotten;" and then, taking hold of his nose, he began

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, attacked 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 unnumbered levelled at him, he wheeled Rocinante 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 sufficiently in his wits to guide the

beast, but Dapple followed the footsteps of Rocinante, from whom he could 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. The men of the troop stood their ground till night, and as the enemy did

not come out to battle, they returned to their town exulting; and had they been aware of the ancient custom of

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 before 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 distance as he thought made him safe. Sancho, lying across his

ass, followed him, as has been said, and at length came up, having by this time recovered his senses, and on

joining him let himself drop off Dapple at Rocinante's feet, sore, bruised, and belaboured. 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 braying, 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

"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'll keep from braying, but not from saying that knightserrant 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 valour

which is not based upon a foundation of prudence is called rashness, and the exploits of the rash man 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

Sancho was by this time mounted with the help of Don Quixote, who then himself mounted Rocinante, and at

a leisurely pace 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 replied that, from the end of his backbone up to the nape of his neck, he was

"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 that are sore are situated, and had

"By God," said Sancho, "your worship has relieved me 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 with your worship; for if this time you have allowed me to be drubbed, the next

time, or a hundred times more, we'll have the blanketings of the other day over again, and all the other pranks

which, if they have fallen on my shoulders now, will be thrown in my teeth byandby. 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 comes 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 knighterrantry or at any rate the first who chose to be squire to such fools as all the

knightserrant 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

"I would lay a good wager with you, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that now that you are talking on without

anyone 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 he a

pleasure to me; and if you are so anxious to go home to your wife and children, God forbid that I should

prevent you; you have money of mine; see how long it is since 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 Tom Carrasco, the father of the bachelor 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 knighterrant's squire has harder times of it than he who works 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 wasn'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 drinking water either from the brooks or

"I own, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that all thou sayest is true; how much, thinkest thou, ought I to give thee

"I 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 labour go; but to make up to me for your worship's pledge and promise to

me 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 twentyfive 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

"O 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 promised it to me to this present hour we are

"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 began to laugh heartily, and said he, "Why, I have

not been wandering, 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 goodfornothing

squire I'll be glad to be left a pauper without a rap. But tell me, thou perverter of the squirely rules of

knighterrantry, where hast thou ever seen or read that any knighterrant's squire made terms with his lord,

'you must give me so much a month for serving you'? Plunge, scoundrel, rogue, monster for such I take thee

to be plunge, I say, into the mare magnum 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

further thou shalt not make in my company. O bread thanklessly received! O promises illbestowed! O 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

intention of making thee lord of the best island in the world? Well, 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 this 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'll look on it as rightly

placed, and I'll 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, it's more from infirmity than malice; but he who sins and

"I should have been surprised, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "if thou hadst not introduced some bit of a

proverb into thy speech. Well, well, I forgive thee, provided 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 thyself to look forward

to the fulfillment of my promises, which, 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 neverfailing meditations; but, for all

that, they had some winks of sleep, and with the appearance of daylight they pursued their journey in quest of

the banks of the famous Ebro, where that befell them which will be told in the following chapter.

By stages as already described or left undescribed, 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 Quixote as he contemplated and gazed

upon the 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 was true, part false, he clung more to their truth than to their falsehood, the very reverse of

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 Rocinante 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 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 person 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 cannot 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 provide a bark for him to get into, and in less than the twinkling of an eye they carry

him where they will and where 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 Rocinante together, and

then in God's hand be it to guide us; for I would not hold back from embarking, though barefooted friars were

"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 absurdities at every turn, there's nothing for it but to obey and bow the head, bearing in mind the

proverb, 'Do as thy master bids thee, and sit down to table with him;' but for all that, for the sake of easing my

conscience, I warn your worship that it is my opinion this bark is no enchanted one, but belongs to some of

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 longinquous 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

"What?" said Don Quixote, "cross ourselves and weigh anchor; I mean, embark and cut the moorings by

which the bark is held;" 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 taking 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

butterpaste? 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 Riphaean 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 or shall shortly cross the

"And when we come to that line 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 computed by Ptolemy, the greatest cosmographer known, we shall have travelled onehalf when we come

"By God," said Sancho, "your worship gives me a nice authority for what you say, putrid Dolly something

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 everybody 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'll 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 Rocinante 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

"Try the test I told thee of, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and don't mind any other, for thou knowest nothing

about 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 behind and are now leaving behind. But again I tell thee, feel and

Sancho felt, and passing his hand gently and carefully down to the hollow 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

"Ay, and aughts," replied Sancho; and shaking his fingers he washed his whole hand in the river along which

the boat was quietly gliding in midstream, not moved by any occult intelligence or invisible enchanter, but

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, "Seest thou there, my friend? there stands the castle or fortress, where there

is, no doubt, some knight in durance, or illused queen, or infanta, or princess, in whose aid I am brought

"What the devil city, fortress, or castle is your worship talking about, senor?" said Sancho; "don't you see that

"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 experience proved in the

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 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, where are you going to? Are you mad? Do you want to drown yourselves, or

"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 come 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, "Illconditioned

and worsecounselled 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 saying he drew his sword and began making passes in the air at the

millers, who, hearing but not understanding all this nonsense, 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 imminent 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 and throwing Don Quixote and Sancho

into the water; and lucky it was for Don Quixote that he could swim like a goose, though the weight of his

armour 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 millwheels had knocked to pieces, now came up, and

seeing 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 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, the person or

"What persons or what castle art thou talking of, madman? Art thou for carrying off the people who come to

"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 frustrates what the other attempts; one provided the bark for me, and the other upset me;

God help us, this world is all machinations and schemes at cross purposes 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

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

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 observations and

questions Don Quixote addressed to them; and coming to the conclusion that they were madmen, they left

them and betook themselves, the millers to their mills, and the fishermen to their huts. Don Quixote and

Sancho returned to their beasts, and to their life of beasts, and so ended the adventure of the enchanted bark.

They reached their beasts in low spirits and bad humour 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 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 securing; 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 explanations or taking any

farewell of him. Fortune, however, ordered matters after a fashion very much the opposite of what he

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 palfrey

or hackney caparisoned with green trappings and a silvermounted sidesaddle. The lady was also in green,

and so richly and splendidly dressed that splendour itself seemed personified 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 party, which was the fact; so he said to Sancho, "Run Sancho, my son, and say to that lady on the

palfrey with the hawk that I, the Knight of the Lions, kiss the hands of her exalted beauty, and if her

excellence 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

"You've got a likely one here to thrust any in!" said Sancho; "leave me alone for that! Why, this is not the

"Except that thou didst carry to the lady Dulcinea," said Don Quixote, "I know not that thou hast carried any

"That is true," replied Sancho; "but pledges don't distress a good payer, 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

"That I believe, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "go and good luck to thee, 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

standing, and dismounting knelt before her and said, "Fair lady, that knight that you see there, the Knight of

the Lions by 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 Rueful Countenance, sends by me to say

may it please your highness to give him 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 honour, and he will receive a

"You have indeed, 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 heard a great deal here, should remain on his knees; rise, my friend, and bid your master

welcome 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 highbred 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 Gentleman, Don Quixote of La Mancha,'

"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

"I am rejoiced at all this," said the duchess; "go, brother Panza, and tell your master that he is welcome to my

Sancho returned to his master mightily 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 beauty, her graceful gaiety, and her courtesy.

Don Quixote drew himself up briskly in his saddle, fixed himself in his stirrups, settled his visor, gave

Rocinante the spur, and with an easy bearing advanced to kiss the hands of the duchess, who, having sent to

summon the duke 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, meaning to fall in with his

humour and agree with everything he said, and, so long as he stayed with them, to treat him as a

knighterrant, with all the ceremonies usual in the books of chivalry they had read, for they themselves were

Don Quixote now came up with his visor raised, and as he seemed about to dismount Sancho made haste to

go and hold his stirrup for him; but in getting down off Dapple he was so unlucky as to hitch his foot in one

of the ropes of the packsaddle in such a way that he was unable to free it, and was left hanging by 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

Rocinante's saddle after him, which was no doubt badly girthed, and saddle and he both came to the ground;

not without discomfiture to him and abundant 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 by no means permit; on the contrary, dismounting from

his horse, he went and embraced Don Quixote, saying, "I am grieved, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance,

that your first experience on my ground should have been such an unfortunate one as we have seen; but the

"That which has happened me in meeting you, mighty prince," replied Don Quixote, "cannot be unfortunate,

even if my fall had not stopped short of the depths of the bottomless pit, for the glory of having seen you

would have lifted me up and delivered me from it. My squire, God's curse upon him, is better at unloosing his

tongue in talking impertinence than in tightening the girths of a saddle to keep it steady; but however I may

be, allen or raised up, on foot or on horseback, I shall always be at your service and that of my lady the

duchess, your worthy consort, worthy queen of beauty and paramount princess of courtesy."

"Gently, Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha," said the duke; "where my lady Dona Dulcinea del Toboso is, it

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 Dulcinea del Toboso."

Don Quixote turned to the duchess and said, "Your highness may conceive that never had knighterrant 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

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."

"So much the better," said the duke, "for many droll things cannot be said in few words; but not to lose time

"Of the Lions, your highness must say," said Sancho, "for there is no Rueful Countenance nor any such

"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

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 required no pressing, but pushed himself in between them and the duke, who thought it rare good

fortune to receive such a knighterrant and such a homely squire in their castle.

Supreme was the satisfaction that Sancho felt at seeing himself, as it seemed, an established favourite 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 instructed all his servants how they were to treat Don Quixote; and

so the instant he came up to the castle gates with the duchess, two lackeys or equerries, clad in what they call

morning gowns of fine crimson satin reaching to their feet, hastened out, 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 determination carried the day, and she refused to get down or dismount

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 menservants and

womenservants of the household, crying, "Welcome, flower and cream of knighterrantry!" while all or

most of them flung pellets filled with 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 knighterrant in reality and not merely in fancy, now that he saw himself treated in the same way as

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, "Senora Gonzalez, or however your grace may be

"I am called Dona 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 favour to go out to the castle gate, where

you will find a grey 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,

"Well then, in troth," returned Sancho, "I have heard my master, who is the very treasurefinder 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 Senor Lancelot's hack."

"If you are a jester, brother," said the duenna, "keep your drolleries for some place where they'll pass muster

"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

"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 garlicstuffed 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

"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

"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 kindhearted person than the

Don Quixote, who was listening, said to him, "Is this proper conversation for the place, Sancho?"

"Senor," 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 I 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 brocade; six damsels relieved him of

his armour and waited on him like pages, all of them prepared and instructed by the duke and duchess 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 knighterrant. When his armour was removed, there stood Don Quixote in his tightfitting

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 merriment (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 stripped that they might put a shirt on him, but he would not on any account,

saying that modesty became knightserrant just as much as valour. However, he said they might give the

shirt to Sancho; and shutting himself in with him in a room where there was a sumptuous bed, he undressed

and put on the shirt; and then, finding himself alone with Sancho, he said to him, "Tell me, thou newfledged

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.

Remember, sinner that thou art, the master is the more esteemed the more respectable and wellbred 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 shortsighted 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

stumblingblocks; for he who falls into the way of being a chatterbox 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, we shall come

Sancho promised him with much earnestness to keep his mouth shut, and to bite off his tongue before he

uttered a word that was not altogether to the 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,

placed 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 file, the same number on each side, all with

the appliances for washing the hands, which they presented to him with profuse obeisances and ceremonies.

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 much 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 greatness 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

A vast number 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

The ecclesiastic took his seat opposite to him, and the duke and duchess those at the sides. All this time

Sancho stood by, gaping with amazement at the honour he saw 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 will tell you

The moment Sancho said this Don Quixote trembled, making 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 that won't be pat to the purpose; I haven't forgotten the advice your worship gave me just

"I have no recollection of anything, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "say what thou wilt, 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

"Lie as much as thou wilt for all I care, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for I am not going to stop thee, but

"I have so considered and reconsidered," said Sancho, "that the bellringer's in a safe berth; as will be seen

"It would be well," said Don Quixote, "if your highnesses would order them to turn out this idiot, for he will

"By the life of the duke, Sancho shall not be taken away from me for a moment," said the duchess; "I am very

"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 Alamos of Medina del Campo, and married to

Dona Mencia de Quinones, the daughter of Don Alonso de Maranon, Knight of the Order of Santiago, that

was drowned at the Herradura him there was 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. Isn't all this true, master mine? As you live, say so, that these gentlefolk may not

"So far," said the ecclesiastic, "I take you to be more a chatterer than a liar; but I don't know what I shall take

"Thou citest so many witnesses and proofs, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that I have no choice but to say thou

must be telling the truth; go on, and cut the story short, for thou art taking the way not to make an end for two

"He is not to cut it short," said the duchess; "on the contrary, 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

"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 bowshot from my house to his, invited a poor but respectable labourer"

"Get on, brother," said the churchman; "at the rate you are going you will not stop with your story short of the

"I'll stop less than halfway, please God," said Sancho; "and so I say this labourer, 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 son," said the churchman, "make haste back from Tembleque, and finish your story without

"Well then, it so happened," said Sancho, "that as the pair of them were going to sit down to table and I

Great was the enjoyment the duke and duchess derived from the irritation the worthy churchman showed at

the longwinded, halting way Sancho had of telling his story, while Don Quixote was chafing with rage and

"So, as I was saying," continued Sancho, "as the pair of them were going to sit down to table, as I said, the

labourer insisted upon the gentleman's taking the head of the table, and the gentleman insisted upon the

labourer's taking it, as his orders should be obeyed in his house; but the labourer, 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 lout, for wherever I

sit will he the head to you; and that's the story, and, troth, I think it hasn't been brought in amiss here."

Don Quixote turned all colours, which, on his sunburnt face, mottled it till it looked like jasper. The duke and

duchess suppressed their laughter so as not altogether to mortify Don Quixote, for they saw through Sancho's

impertinence; and to change the conversation, and keep Sancho from uttering 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

To which Don Quixote replied, "Senora, my misfortunes, though they had a beginning, will never have an

end. I have vanquished giants and I have sent her caitiffs and miscreants; but where are they to find her if she

is enchanted and turned into the most illfavoured peasant wench that can be imagined?"

"I don't know," said Sancho Panza; "to me she seems the fairest creature in the world; at any rate, in

nimbleness and jumping she won't give in to a tumbler; by my faith, senora duchess, she leaps from the

"What, seen her!" said Sancho; "why, who the devil was it but myself that first thought of the enchantment

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 convinced that his

suspicion was correct, addressing the duke, he said very angrily to him, "Senor, your excellence will have to

give account to God for what this good man does. This Don Quixote, or Don Simpleton, or whatever his

name is, cannot, I imagine, be such a blockhead as your excellence would have him, holding 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 knighterrant, and vanquish giants and capture

miscreants? 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 laughingstock of yourself to all who know you and all who don't. Where, in heaven's name,

have you discovered that there are or ever were knightserrant? Where are there giants in Spain or miscreants

in La Mancha, 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 perceived he had done

speaking, regardless of the presence of the duke and duchess, he sprang to his feet with angry looks and an

Don 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 place I am in, the presence in which I stand, and the respect I have 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 everyone knows, that a gownsman's weapon

is the same as a woman's, the tongue, I will with mine engage in equal combat with your worship, from

whom one might have expected good advice instead of foul abuse. Pious, wellmeant reproof requires a

different demeanour 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 with rudeness; and

it is not seemly to call the sinner roundly blockhead and booby, without knowing anything of the sin that is

reproved. Come, tell me, for which of the stupidities you have observed in me do you condemn and abuse

me, and bid me go home and look after my house and wife and children, 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 having ever seen more of the world than may lie within twenty or thirty leagues round), to fit one to

lay down the law rashly for chivalry, and pass judgment on knightserrant? Is it, haply, an idle occupation, or

is the time illspent 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, and

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 knighterrantry, and in pursuit of that calling I

despise wealth, but not honour. I have redressed injuries, righted wrongs, punished insolences, vanquished

giants, and crushed monsters; I am in love, for no other reason than that it is incumbent on knightserrant to

be so; but though I am, I am no carnalminded 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, O most excellent duke and

"Good, by God!" cried Sancho; "say no more in your own defence, master mine, for there's nothing more in

the world to be said, thought, or insisted on; and besides, when this gentleman denies, as he has, that there are

or ever have been any knightserrant in the world, is it any wonder if he knows nothing of what he has been

"Perhaps, brother," said the ecclesiastic, "you are that Sancho Panza that is mentioned, to whom your master

"Yes, I am," said Sancho, "and what's more, I am one who deserves it as much as anyone; I am one of the

sort 'Attach thyself to the good, and thou wilt be one of them,' and of those, 'Not with whom thou art bred,

but 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 I have been for months going about with him, and please God I shall be just

such another; long life to him and long life to me, for neither will he be in any want of empires to rule, or I of

"No, Sancho my friend, certainly not," said the duke, "for in the name of Senor Don Quixote I confer upon

"Go down on thy knees, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and kiss the feet of his excellence for the favour he has

Sancho obeyed, and on seeing this the ecclesiastic stood up from table completely out of temper, exclaiming,

"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 mad, when people who are in their senses sanction their madness! I leave your excellence

with them, for so long as they are in the house, I will remain in my own, and spare myself the trouble of

reproving what I cannot remedy;" and without uttering 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

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 all, for, as women can give no offence, no more can ecclesiastics, as you very well

"That is true," said Don Quixote, "and the reason is, that he who is not liable to offence cannot give offence

to anyone. Women, children, and ecclesiastics, as they cannot defend themselves, though they may receive

offence cannot be insulted, because between the offence and the insult there is, as your excellence very well

knows, this difference: the insult comes from one who is capable of offering it, and does so, and maintains it;

the offence may come from any quarter without carrying insult. To take an example: a man is standing

unsuspectingly in the street and ten others come up 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 waiting an instant, and the other pursues him but does not overtake him; he who received the blow

received an offence, but not an insult, because an insult must be maintained. If he who struck him, though he

did so sneakingly and treacherously, 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 treacherously,

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

women 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 connected with religion; for these three sorts of persons are without arms

offensive or defensive, 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 cannot 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 maintaining that there are not and never have been any

knightserrant in the world; had Amadis or any of his countless descendants heard him say as much, I am

"I will take my oath of that," said Sancho; "they would have given him a slash that would have slit him down

from top to toe like a pomegranate or a ripe melon; they were likely fellows to put up 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 wouldn't have spoken for the next three years; ay, let him tackle them, and

The duchess, as she listened to Sancho, 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

Don Quixote finally grew calm, and dinner came to an end, and as the cloth was removed four damsels came

in, one of them with 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, wondering at such a ceremony, said never a word,

supposing 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 snowflakes, for the soap lather was no less white, not only over the beard, but all over the

face, and over the eyes of the submissive 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 came 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 Senor Don Quixote waited. She did so, and Don Quixote

was left the strangest 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 soap, it was a great wonder, and only by great discretion, that they

were able to restrain their laughter. 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

At length the damsel with the jug returned and they made an end of washing Don Quixote, and the one who

carried the towels very deliberately wiped him and dried him; and all four together making him a profound

obeisance and curtsey, 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, "Come and wash me, and take care that there is water enough."

The girl, sharpwitted and prompt, came and placed the basin for the duke as she had done for Don Quixote,

and they soon had him well soaped 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 punished them for their impudence, which they adroitly atoned for by soaping him as

Sancho observed the ceremony of the washing very attentively, 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 besides I'd take it as a still greater kindness."

"I was saying, senora," 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 good 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,

"Don't be uneasy, friend Sancho," said the duchess; "I will take care that my damsels wash you, and even put

"I'll be content with the beard," said Sancho, "at any rate for the present; and as for the future, God has

"Attend to worthy Sancho's request, seneschal," said the duchess, "and do exactly what he wishes."

The seneschal replied that Senor Sancho should be obeyed in everything; and with that he went 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 bearing on the calling of arms and knighterrantry.

The duchess begged Don Quixote, as he seemed to have a retentive memory, 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 must 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 highness's eyes, it would spare my tongue the pain of telling what can

hardly be thought of, for in it your excellence would see her portrayed in full. But why should I attempt to

depict and describe in detail, and feature by feature, the beauty of the peerless Dulcinea, the burden being one

worthy of other shoulders than mine, an enterprise wherein the pencils of Parrhasius, Timantes, and Apelles,

and the graver of Lysippus ought to be employed, to paint it in pictures and carve it in marble and bronze, and

"What does Demosthenian mean, Senor Don Quixote?" said the duchess; "it is a word I never heard in all my

"Demosthenian eloquence," said Don Quixote, "means the eloquence of Demosthenes, as Ciceronian means

"True," said the duke; "you must have lost your wits to ask such a question. Nevertheless, Senor 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

"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 ready to weep over it than to

describe it. For your highnesses must know that, going a few days back to kiss her hands and receive her

benediction, approbation, and permission for this third sally, I found her altogether a different being from the

one I sought; I found her enchanted 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 jumping

"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 gaiety that charmed it, of the modesty that shed a

"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 persecuted 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 deprive a

knighterrant 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 knighterrant without a

lady is like a tree without leaves, a building without a foundation, or a shadow without the body that causes

"There is no denying it," said the duchess; "but still, if we are to believe the history of Don Quixote that has

come out here lately with general applause, 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 he 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 pushed to extreme lengths. I have not begotten nor given birth to my lady, though I 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 haughtiness, tender and yet modest, gracious from courtesy and

courteous from good breeding, and lastly, of exalted lineage, because beauty shines forth and excels with a

"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 that 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, Alastrajareas, Madasimas, or others

"To that I may 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

woman is capable of performing greater miracles; and virtually, though not formally, she has in herself higher

"I protest, Senor 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 everyone in my house

believes, even my lord the duke if needs be, that there is a Dulcinea in El Toboso, and that she is living

today, 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 cannot

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

To this Don Quixote made answer, "Senora, your highness must know that everything or almost everything

that happens me transcends the ordinary limits of what happens to other knightserrant; whether it he that it

is directed by the inscrutable will of destiny, or by the malice of some jealous enchanter. Now it is an

established fact that all or most famous knightserrant have some special gift, one that of being proof against

enchantment, another that of being made of such invulnerable flesh that he cannot 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 whatever; and so, when Bernardo del Carpio slew him at Roncesvalles, 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

seasonably the death which Hercules inflicted on Antaeus, the fierce giant that they say was the son of Terra.

I would infer from what I have mentioned that perhaps I 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 enchantment, 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 cannot exert their vile craft against my person, revenge themselves 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, however, that that wheat was not red wheat, nor

wheat 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, illfavoured farmwench, and by no means a wellspoken one, she who is propriety

itself. And so, as I am not and, so far as one can judge, cannot be enchanted, 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 anybody

should mind what Sancho said about Dulcinea'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 wellborn, 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 peerless

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 squires that ever served knighterrant;

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 mischievous 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 would 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 bestowed 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 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 gerfalcons. 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 knightgovernors who,

being no lawyers, pronounce sentences with the aid of an assessor. My advice to him will be to take no bribe

and surrender no right, and I have some other little matters in reserve, that shall be produced in due season for

The duke, duchess, and Don Quixote had reached this point in their conversation, when they heard voices and

a great hubbub in the palace, and Sancho burst abruptly into the room all glowing with anger, with a

strainingcloth by way of a bib, and followed by several servants, or, more properly speaking, kitchenboys

and other underlings, one of whom carried a small trough full of water, that from its colour and impurity was

plainly dishwater. The one with the trough pursued him and followed him everywhere he went, endeavouring

with the utmost persistence to thrust it under his chin, while another kitchenboy seemed anxious to wash his

"What is all this, brothers?" asked the duchess. "What is it? What do you want to do to this good man? Do

To which the barber kitchenboy replied, "The gentleman will not let himself be washed as is customary, and

"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 penance. I have a clean

beard, and I don't require to be refreshed in that fashion, and whoever comes to wash me or touch a hair of

my head, I mean to say my beard, with all due respect be it said, I'll 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

The duchess was ready to die with laughter when she saw Sancho's rage and heard 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 hangerson

of the kitchen all round him; so making a low bow to the duke and duchess, as if to ask their permission to

speak, he addressed the rout in a dignified tone: "Holloa, gentlemen! you let that youth alone, 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 thinnecked jars to him; take my advice and leave him alone, for neither he nor

Sancho took the word out of his mouth and went on, "Nay, let them come and try their jokes on the country

bumpkin, for it's about as likely I'll 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

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 dishclouts, 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

illconditioned and illbred, and spiteful as you are, you cannot help showing the grudge you have against

The impudent servitors, and even the seneschal who came with them, took the duchess to be speaking in

earnest, so they removed the strainingcloth from Sancho's neck, and with something 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

favours may be looked for; this which your grace has done me today cannot be requited with less than

wishing I was dubbed a knighterrant, to devote myself all the days of my life to the service of so exalted a

lady. I am a labouring man, my name is Sancho Panza, I am married, I have children, and I am serving as a

squire; if in any one of these ways I can serve your highness, I will not he longer in obeying than your grace

"It is easy to see, Sancho," replied the duchess, "that you have learned to he polite in the school of politeness

itself; I mean to say it is easy to see that you have been nursed in the bosom of Senor Don Quixote, who is, of

course, the cream of good breeding and flower of ceremony or cirimony, as you would say yourself. Fair be

the fortunes of such a master and such a servant, the one the cynosure of knighterrantry, the other the star of

squirely fidelity! Rise, Sancho, my friend; I will repay your courtesy by taking care that my lord the duke

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 with all his might not to

sleep even one that day, and that he would come in obedience to her command, and with that he went off.

The duke gave fresh orders with respect to treating Don Quixote as a knighterrant, without departing even in

smallest particular from the style in which, as the stories tell us, they used to treat the knights of old.

The history records that Sancho did not sleep that afternoon, but in order to keep his word came, before he

had well done dinner, to visit the duchess, who, 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, waiting in profound silence to hear what he

"Now that we are alone, and that there is nobody here to overhear us, I should be glad if the senor governor

would relieve me of certain 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

invent the answer and all that about finding her sifting wheat, the whole story being a deception and

falsehood, and so much to the prejudice of the peerless Dulcinea's good name, a thing that is not at all

At these words, Sancho, without uttering one in reply, got up from his chair, and with noiseless steps, 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 run 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

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, notwithstanding, 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,

senora duchess, if you give the said Sancho an island to govern; for how will he who does not know how to

"By God, senora," said Sancho, "but that doubt comes timely; but your grace may say it out, and speak

plainly, 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've eaten his bread, I'm fond of him, I'm grateful, he gave me his asscolts, and above all I'm

faithful; so it's quite impossible for anything to separate 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 grey,' and 'a hard case enough his, who

hasn'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 he filled 'with straw or hay,' as the saying is, and 'the little birds of the field have God for

their purveyor 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 underground the prince travels by as narrow a path as

the journeyman,' and 'the Pope's body does 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 ladyship 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 ploughs, and the yokes, Wamba the husbandman

was taken to be made King of Spain, and from among brocades, and pleasures, and riches, Roderick was

"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

And according to that the gentleman has good reason to say he would rather be a labouring man than a king,

The duchess 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 made 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 envy and malice of the world. Let Sancho he of good cheer; for when he least expects it

he will find himself seated on the throne of his island and seat of dignity, and will take possession of his

government that he may discard it for another of threebordered brocade. The charge I give him is to be

careful how he governs his vassals, bearing in mind that they are all loyal and wellborn."

"As to governing them well," said Sancho, "there's no need of charging me to do that, for I'm kindhearted 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

wideawake if need be, and I don't let clouds come before my eyes, for I know where the shoe pinches me; I

say so, because with me the good will have support and protection, 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'll take kindly to the work and know more about it than the field labour I have been

"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. But to return to the subject we were discussing 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

recognise her it must be because she was enchanted, was all a device of one of the enchanters that persecute

Don Quixote. For in truth and earnest, I 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 we never saw. Senor Sancho Panza must know that we too have enchanters here that are well

disposed 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

"All that's very possible," said Sancho Panza; "and now I'm willing to believe what my master says about

what he saw in the cave of Montesinos, where he says he saw the lady Dulcinea 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 be 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 think my master is so mad that by my weak and

feeble persuasion he could be made to believe a thing so out of all reason. But, senora, your excellence must

not therefore think me illdisposed, for a dolt like me is not bound to see into the thoughts and plots of those

vile enchanters. I invented all that to escape my master's scolding, and not with any intention of hurting 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

Sancho upon 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 Sancho saw on the way from El Toboso, it is, no doubt, Dulcinea, and

"So I say," said Sancho, "and if my lady Dulcinea is enchanted, so much the worse for her, and I'm 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 consequences. But they must go nagging at me

at 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 people 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 character, and, as I have heard my master say, 'a good name is better than great

riches;' let them only stick me into this government and they'll see wonders, for one who has been a good

"All worthy Sancho's observations," said the duchess, "are Catonian sentences, or at any rate out of the very

heart of Michael Verino himself, who florentibus occidit annis. In fact, to speak in his own style, 'under a bad

"Indeed, senora," said Sancho, "I never yet drank out of wickedness; from thirst I have very likely, for I have

nothing of the hypocrite in me; I drink when I'm inclined, or, if I'm not inclined, when they offer it to me, so

as not to look either straitlaced or illbred; for when a friend drinks one's health what heart can be so hard

as not to return it? But if I put on my shoes I don't dirty them; besides, squires to knightserrant mostly drink

water, for they are always wandering among woods, forests and meadows, mountains and crags, without a

"So I believe," said the duchess; "and now let Sancho go and take his sleep, and we will talk byandby 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 let good care be taken of his Dapple, for he

"My ass," said Sancho, "which, not to mention him by that name, I'm accustomed to call Dapple; 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 Rodriguez the duenna; "for if he had been a gentleman and

"That will do," said the duchess; "no more of this; hush, Dona Rodriguez, and let Senor Panza rest easy and

leave the treatment of Dapple in my charge, for as he is a treasure of Sancho's, I'll put him on the apple of my

"It will be enough for him to he in the stable," said Sancho, "for neither he nor I are worthy 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

"Take him to your government, Sancho," said the duchess, "and there you will be able to make as much of

"Don't think, senora duchess, that you have said anything absurd," said Sancho; "I have seen more than two

Sancho's words made the duchess laugh again and gave her fresh amusement, and dismissing him to sleep she

went away to tell the duke the conversation she had had with him, and between them they plotted and

arranged to play a joke upon Don Quixote that was to be a rare one and entirely in knighterrantry style, and

in that same style they practised several upon him, so much in keeping and so clever that they form the best

Great was 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 adventures, they took as their basis of action what Don Quixote had already told them about

the cave of Montesinos, in order to play him a famous one. But what the duches marvelled at above all was

that Sancho's simplicity could be so great as to make him believe as absolute truth that Dulcinea had been

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 afterwards they took him out to

They presented Don Quixote with a hunting suit, and Sancho with another of the finest green cloth; but Don

Quixote declined to put his on, saying that he must soon return to the hard pursuit of arms, and could not

carry wardrobes or stores with him. Sancho, however, took what they gave him, meaning to sell it the first

The appointed day having arrived, Don Quixote armed himself, 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 huntsmen. The duchess came out splendidly attired, and Don Quixote, in pure courtesy and

politeness, held the rein of her palfrey, though the duke wanted not to allow him; and at last they reached a

wood that lay between two high mountains, where, after occupying various posts, ambushes, and paths, and

distributing the party in different positions, the hunt began with great noise, shouting, and hallooing, so that,

between the baying of the hounds and the blowing of the horns, they could not hear one another. The duchess

dismounted, and with a sharp boarspear in her hand posted herself where she knew the wild boars were in

the habit of passing. The duke and Don Quixote likewise dismounted and placed themselves one at 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 shield on his arm, and drawing his sword, advanced to meet him; the duke with

boarspear did the same; but the duchess would have gone in front of them all had not the duke prevented

her. Sancho alone, deserting Dapple at the sight of the mighty beast, 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, however, halfway up in his struggle to

reach the top, the bough, such was his illluck and hard fate, gave way, and caught in his fall by a broken

limb of the oak, he hung suspended in the air unable to reach the ground. Finding himself 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 wild 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 was he, saw him hanging from the oak head downwards, with Dapple, who did

not forsake him in his distress, close beside him; and Cide Hamete observes that he seldom saw Sancho

Panza without seeing Dapple, or Dapple without seeing Sancho Panza; such was their attachment and loyalty

one to the other. Don Quixote went over and unhooked Sancho, who, as soon as he found himself on the

ground, looked at the rent in his huntingcoat and was grieved to the heart, for he thought he had got a

Meanwhile they had slung the mighty boar across the back of a mule, and having covered it with sprigs of

rosemary and branches of myrtle, they bore it away as the spoils of victory to some large fieldtents which

had been pitched in the middle of the wood, where they found the tables laid and dinner served, in such grand

and sumptuous style that it was easy to see the rank and magnificence of those who had provided it. Sancho,

as he showed the rents in his torn suit to the duchess, observed, "If we had been hunting hares, or after small

birds, my coat would have been safe from being in the plight it's in; I don't know what pleasure one can find

in lying in wait for an animal that may take your life with his tusk if he gets at you. I recollect having heard

"That," said Don Quixote, "was a Gothic king, who, going ahunting, was devoured by a bear."

"Just so," said Sancho; "and I would not have kings and princes expose themselves to such dangers for the

sake of a pleasure which, to my mind, ought not to be one, as it consists in killing an animal that has done no

"Quite the contrary, Sancho; you are wrong there," said the duke; "for hunting is more suitable and requisite

for kings and princes than for anybody else. The chase is the emblem of war; it has stratagems, wiles, and

crafty devices for overcoming 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 limbs of him who engages in it are

made supple, and, in a word, it is a pursuit which may be followed without injury to anyone and with

enjoyment to many; and the best of it is, it is not for everybody, as fieldsports of other sorts are, except

hawking, which also is only for kings and great lords. Reconsider your opinion therefore, Sancho, and when

"Nay," said Sancho, "the good governor should have a broken leg and keep at home;" it would be a nice thing

if, after people had been at the trouble of coming to look for him on business, the governor were to be away

in the forest enjoying himself; the government would go on badly in that fashion. By my faith, senor, hunting

and amusements are more fit for idlers than for governors; what I intend to amuse myself with is playing all

fours at Eastertime, and bowls on Sundays and holidays; for these huntings don't suit my condition or agree

"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 payer,' 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'll govern better than a gerfalcon. Nay, let them

"The curse of God and all his saints upon thee, thou accursed Sancho!" exclaimed Don Quixote; "when will

the day come as I have often said to thee when I shall hear thee make one single coherent, rational remark

without proverbs? Pray, your highnesses, leave this fool alone, for he will grind your souls between, not to

say two, but two thousand proverbs, dragged in as much in season, and as much to the purpose as may God

"Sancho Panza's proverbs," 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 introduced."

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 hidingplaces, and then night closed in, not, however, 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 began 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 heard, as if several troops

of cavalry were passing through the wood. The blaze of the fire 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 and 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 astounded, 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 postillion, in the guise of a demon, passed

in front of them, blowing, in lieu of a bugle, a huge 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

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 triumphal 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

"By God and upon my conscience," said the devil, "I never observed it, for my mind is occupied with so

"This demon must be an honest fellow and a good Christian," said Sancho; "for if he wasn't he wouldn'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 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 anyone.

They all felt fresh wonder, but particularly Sancho and Don Quixote; Sancho to see how, in defiance of the

truth, they would have it that Dulcinea was enchanted; Don Quixote because he could not feel sure whether

what had happened to him in the cave of Montesinos was true or not; and as he was deep in these cogitations

"Why not?" replied he; "here will I wait, fearless and firm, though all hell should come to attack me."

"Well then, if I see another devil or hear another horn like the last, I'll wait here as much as in Flanders," said

Night now closed in more completely, and many lights began to flit through the wood, just as those fiery

exhalations from the earth, that look like shootingstars to our eyes, flit through the heavens; a frightful

noise, too, was heard, like that made by the solid wheels the oxcarts 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 resounded 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 terrific that Don Quixote had need to summon 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 came to himself by the time that one of the carts with the creaking wheels

reached the spot. It was drawn by four plodding 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 sage Lirgandeo," 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 occupant 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 enchanter 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 very glad, taking it to be a good sign; and said he to the duchess, from whom he did not stir a step, or for

"Nor where there are lights and it is bright," said the duchess; to which Sancho replied, "Fire gives light, and

it's bright where there are bonfires, as we see by those that are all round us and perhaps may burn us; but

"That remains to be seen," said Don Quixote, who was listening to all that passed; and he was right, as is

They saw advancing towards them, to the sound of this pleasing music, what they call a triumphal car, drawn

by six grey mules 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

multitude of silvertissue veils with an embroidery of countless gold spangles glittering all over them, that

made her appear, if not richly, at least brilliantly, 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 distinguished, while the

numerous lights made it possible to judge of her beauty and of her years, which 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, disclosed

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 trepidation. Having risen to its feet, this living death,

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 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.

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 sorrowladen plaint of her, the fair, The peerless Dulcinea del Toboso. I knew of

her enchantment and her fate, From highborn dame to peasant wench transformed And touched with pity,

first I turned the leaves Of countless volumes of my devilish craft, And then, in this grim grisly skeleton

Myself encasing, hither have I come To show where lies the fitting remedy To give relief in such a piteous

The adamantine steel! O 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 praise 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 that they 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'll just as soon give myself three stabs with a dagger as three,

not to say three thousand, lashes. The devil take such a way of disenchanting! I don't see what my backside

has got to do with enchantments. By God, if Senor Merlin has not found out some other way of disenchanting

"But I'll 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 thousand 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;

On hearing this Merlin said, "That will not do, for the lashes worthy 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 whipping, to let them be given by

"Not a hand, my own or anybody else's, weighty or weighable, 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 eyes? My master,

indeed, that's a part of her for,he's always calling her 'my life' and 'my soul,' and his stay and prop may and

ought to whip himself for her and take all the trouble required for her disenchantment. But for me to whip

As soon as Sancho had done speaking the nymph in silver that was at the side of Merlin's ghost stood up, and

removing the thin veil from her face disclosed one that seemed to all something more than exceedingly

beautiful; and with a masculine freedom from embarrassment and in a voice not very like a lady's, addressing

Sancho directly, said, "Thou wretched squire, soul of a pitcher, heart of a cork tree, with bowels of flint and

pebbles; if, thou impudent thief, they bade thee throw thyself down from some lofty tower; if, enemy of

mankind, they asked thee to swallow a dozen of toads, two of lizards, and three of adders; if they wanted thee

to slay thy wife and children with a sharp murderous scimitar, it would be no wonder for thee to show thyself

stubborn and squeamish. But to make a piece of work about three thousand three hundred lashes, what every

poor little charityboy gets every month it is enough to amaze, astonish, astound the compassionate bowels

of all who hear it, nay, all who come to hear it in the course of time. Turn, O miserable, hardhearted animal,

turn, I say, those timorous owl's eyes upon these of mine that are compared to radiant stars, and thou wilt see

them weeping trickling streams and rills, and tracing furrows, tracks, and paths over the fair fields of my

cheeks. Let it move thee, crafty, illconditioned monster, to see my blooming youth still in its teens, for I

am not yet twenty wasting and withering away beneath the husk of a rude peasant wench; and if I do not

appear in that shape now, it is a special favour Senor Merlin 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, rouse up thy lusty vigour 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

Don Quixote on hearing this felt his throat, and turning to the duke he said, "By God, senor, Dulcinea says

"I say, senora," returned Sancho, "what I said before; as for the lashes, abernuncio!"

"Let me alone, your highness," said Sancho. "I'm not in a humour 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 what

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 favours. She comes to ask 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 enchanted or not? Does she bring with her a basket of fair linen, shirts,

kerchiefs, socks not that 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'll give

thee's."' Then there's my master, who ought to stroke me down and pet me to make me turn wool and carded

cotton; he says if he gets hold of me he'll tie me naked to a tree and double the tale of lashes on me. These

tenderhearted 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 cherries.' Let them learn, plague take them, the right way to ask, and beg,

and behave themselves; for all times are not alike, nor are people always in good humour. I'm now ready to

burst with grief at seeing my green coat torn, and they come to ask me to whip myself of my own free will, I

"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 afflicted damsels or to the prayers of wise, magisterial, ancient

enchanters and sages. In short, Sancho, either you must be whipped by yourself, or they must whip you, or

"Senor," said Sancho, "won't two days' grace be given me in which to consider what is best for me?"

"No, certainly not," said Merlin; "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 wench, or else in her

present form shall be carried to the Elysian fields, where she will remain waiting until the number of stripes is

"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 please him for his benevolent disposition and lofty

chivalry. Consent to this whipping, my son; to the devil with the devil, and leave fear to milksops, for 'a stout

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 Senor

Montesinos, charging him to wait for him here, as he was coming to arrange how the lady Dona 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, 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'll bring him 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 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

"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'll try and get out of debt as quickly as I can, that the world may 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

condition, too, that I am not to be bound to draw blood with the scourge, and that if any of the lashes happen

to he flyflappers they are to count. Item, that, in case I should make any mistake 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

"There will be no need to let you know of any over," said Merlin, "because, when you reach the full number,

the lady Dulcinea will at once, and that very instant, be disenchanted, 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 anyone 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 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 expressed the greatest satisfaction, the car began to move on,

and as it passed the fair Dulcinea bowed to the duke and duchess and made a low curtsey 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 grey 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 no reality that could afford them more amusement.

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 Dulcinea;

and now, with the assistance of his master and mistress, he got up another of the drollest and strangest

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.

"That," said the duchess, "is more like giving oneself slaps than lashes; I am sure the sage Merlin will not be

satisfied with such tenderness; worthy Sancho must make a scourge with claws, or a cato'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

To which Sancho replied, "If your ladyship will give me a proper scourge or cord, I'll 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

"So be it by all means," said the duchess; "tomorrow I'll 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

"That I didn't," said Sancho; "for I can neither read nor write, though I can sign my name."

"Let us see it," said the duchess, "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:

If I was well whipped I went mounted like a gentleman; if I have got a good government it is at the cost of a

good whipping. Thou wilt not understand this just now, my Teresa; byandby 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 allfours. Thou art a governor's wife; take care that nobody speaks 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 I 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 Dulcinea del Toboso, her that

is called Aldonza Lorenzo 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 anyone;

for, make thy affairs public, and some will say they are white and others will say they are black. I shall leave

this in a few days for my government, to which I am going with a mighty great 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 behind though they took me away to be Grand Turk. My lady the duchess kisses thy hands

a thousand times; do thou make a return with two 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 bellringer 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

tasted it I will eat my hands off after 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 wilt be rich

and in luck. God give it to thee as he can, and keep me to serve thee. From this castle, the 20th of July, 1614.

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 himself, when he knows (and he cannot 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 he very covetous; and

I would not have him a moneyseeker, for 'covetousness bursts the bag,' and the covetous governor does

"I don't mean it that way, senora," said Sancho; "and if you think the letter doesn'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."

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 themselves for a while with Sancho's rich conversation, the melancholy 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 came a

personage of gigantic stature enveloped rather than clad in a gown 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 which hung a huge scimitar 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 well have struck with astonishment, as

they did, all who beheld him without knowing who he was. With this measured 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 prodigious scarecrow 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 White 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 familiar 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 permission 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 Trifaldi, whom the

enchanters have caused to be called the Distressed Duenna. Bid her enter, O stupendous 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

women 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 Quixote, the duke said, "After all,

renowned knight, the mists of malice and ignorance are unable to hide or obscure the light of valour and

virtue. I say so, because your excellence has been barely six days in this castle, and already the unhappy 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

illwill and bitter spite against knightserrant, 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 extreme 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. Relief in distress, help in need, protection for damsels, consolation for

widows, are to be found in no sort of persons better than in knightserrant; 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

honourable a calling as endured to good purpose. 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."

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 senora 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 goldfinch, say that where

duennas were mixed up nothing 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 Threeskirts or Threetails! for in my

"Hush, friend Sancho," said Don Quixote; "since this lady duenna comes in quest of me from such a distant

land she cannot 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

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 who 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

"These squires," returned Dona Rodriguez, "are always our enemies; and as they are the haunting spirits of

the antechambers and watch us at every step, whenever they are not saying their prayers (and that's often

enough) they spend their time in tattling about us, digging up our bones and burying 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 fighting her own battle and that of the rest of the duennas, so as to crush the calumny

of that vile apothecary, 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 humours of a

They would have carried on this duenna dispute further had they not heard the notes of the fife and drums

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, senor?" 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 bestbred 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

"Sancho is right," said the duke; "we'll see what the countess is like, and by that measure the courtesy that is

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.

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 Trifaldi, 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 chickpea; 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 concluded 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 dominions; this countess,

however, in honour 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

transparent ones like Trifaldin's, but so close that they allowed nothing to be seen through them. As soon as

the band of duennas was fully in sight, the duke, the duchess, and Don Quixote stood up, as well as all who

were watching the slowmoving procession. The twelve duennas halted and formed a lane, along which the

Distressed One advanced, Trifaldin still holding her hand. On seeing this the duke, the duchess, and Don

Quixote went some twelve paces forward to meet her. She then, kneeling on the ground, said in a voice

hoarse and rough, rather than fine 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 the less I find them."

"He would be wanting in wits, senora 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 likewise 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

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,

"The Panza is here," said Sancho, before anyone could reply, "and Don Quixotissimus too; and so, most

distressedest Duenissima, you may say what you willissimus, for we are all readissimus to do you any

On this Don Quixote rose, and addressing the Distressed Duenna, said, "If your sorrows, afflicted lady, can

indulge in any hope of relief from the valour or might of any knighterrant, here are mine, which, feeble and

limited though they be, shall be entirely devoted to your service. I am Don Quixote 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, senora, 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 sympathise 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, O unconquered knight, as before, what they are, the foundations and pillars of knighterrantry; these

feet I desire to kiss, for upon their steps hangs and depends the sole remedy for my misfortune, O 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, "O thou, most loyal squire that ever served knighterrant in this present age or ages past, whose

goodness is more extensive than the beard of Trifaldin my companion here of present, well mayest thou boast

thyself that, in serving the great Don Quixote, thou art serving, 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

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 moustached when it comes to quit this life,

that's the point; about beards here below I care little or nothing; but without all these 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

The duke and duchess, as it was they who had made the experiment of this adventure, were ready to burst

with laughter at all this, and between themselves they commended the clever acting of the Trifaldi, who,

returning to her seat, said, "Queen Dona 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 kingdom; which Princess Antonomasia was reared and brought up under my care and direction,

I being the oldest and 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 was as intelligent as she was fair, and she was fairer

than all the world; and is so still, unless the envious fates and hardhearted 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 enamoured, and among

them a private gentleman, who was at the court, 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 highnesses, 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 birdcages 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. But all his

gallantry, wit, and gaiety, all his graces and accomplishments, 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 goodwill 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 word, he

gained an influence over my mind, and overcame 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

From that sweet enemy of mine My bleeding heart hath had its wound; And to increase the pain I'm bound To

The lines seemed pearls to me and his voice sweet as syrup; and afterwards, I may say ever since then,

looking at the misfortune into which I have fallen, I have thought that poets, as Plato advised, ought to he

banished from all wellordered States; at least the amatory ones, for they write verses, not like those of 'The

Marquis of Mantua,' that delight and draw tears from the women and children, but sharppointed conceits

that pierce the heart like soft thorns, and like the lightning strike it, leaving the raiment uninjured. Another

Come Death, so subtly veiled that I Thy coming know not, how or when, Lest it should give me life again To

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 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 which their writings are full of. And then when

they promise the Phoenix of Arabia, the 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 fulfilling. But where am I wandering to? Woe is me,

unfortunate 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 gobetween, 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 husband;

for, sinner though I was, would not have allowed him to approach the edge of her shoesole 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, which 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 perceived that a certain expansion of waist in

Antonomasia must before long disclose it, the dread of which made us all there take counsel together, and it

was agreed that before the mischief came to light, Don Clavijo should demand Antonomasia as his wife

before the Vicar, in virtue of an agreement to marry him made by the princess, and drafted by my wit in such

binding terms that the might of Samson could not have broken it. The necessary steps were taken; the Vicar

saw the agreement, and took the lady's confession; she confessed everything in full, and he ordered her into

"Are there alguacils of the court in Kandy, too," said Sancho at this, "and poets, and seguidillas? I swear I

think the world is the same all over! But make haste, Senora Trifaldi; for it is late, and I am dying to know

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 princess held to her story, without changing or varying her previous

declaration, the Vicar gave his decision in favour of Don Clavijo, and she was delivered over to him as his

lawful wife; which the Queen Dona Maguncia, the Princess Antonomasia's mother, so took to heart, that

"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 Maguncia 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

gentleman as has been just now described to us indeed, indeed, though 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

"Thou art right, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for with a knighterrant, if he has but two fingers' breadth of

good fortune, it is on the cards to become the mightiest lord on earth. But let senora the Distressed One

proceed; for I suspect she 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, quis talia fando temperet a lachrymis?

over the queen's grave there appeared, mounted upon a wooden horse, the giant Malambruno, Maguncia'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 Antonomasia, 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 former shape until the valiant Manchegan

comes to do battle with me in single combat; for the Fates reserve this unexampled adventure for his mighty

valour alone.' This done, he drew from its sheath a huge broad scimitar, and seizing me by the hair he made

as though he meant to cut my throat and shear my head clean off. I was terrorstricken, my voice stuck in my

throat, and I was in the deepest distress; nevertheless 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 upon the enormity of our offence, and denounced 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 for ever; and the very 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

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 Sancho were

overwhelmed with amazement, and the bystanders lost in astonishment, while the Trifaldi went on to say:

"Thus did that malevolent villain Malambruno punish us, 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 scimitar

instead of obscuring the light of our countenances with these woolcombings 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), where, I ask, can a duenna with a beard to 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 washes and cosmetics, she can hardly get anybody to love her, what will she do when she shows a

countenace turned into a thicket? Oh duennas, companions mine! it was an unlucky moment when we were

born and an illstarred hour when our fathers begot us!" And as she said this she showed signs of being about

Verily and truly all those who find pleasure in histories like this ought show their gratitude to Cide Hamete,

its original author, for the scrupulous care he has taken to set before us all its minute particulars, 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. O renowned author! O happy Don

Quixote! O famous famous droll Sancho! All and each, may ye live countless ages for the delight and

The history goes on to say that when Sancho saw the Distressed One faint he exclaimed: "I swear by the faith

of an honest man and the shades of all my ancestors the Panzas, that never I did see or hear of, nor has my

master related or conceived in his mind, such an adventure as this. A thousand devils not to curse thee take

thee, Malambruno, for an enchanter and a giant! Couldst thou find no other sort of punishment for these

sinners but bearding them? Would it not have been better it would have been better for them to have taken

off half their noses from the middle upwards, even though they'd have snuffled when they spoke, than to have

put beards on them? I'll 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 stickingplasters by way of an economical remedy, for by applying them to

our faces and plucking them off with a jerk we 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, would never let

them in, for most of them have a flavour of agents that have ceased to be principals; and if we are not relieved

"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 my ears in the midst of my swoon, and has been the means of reviving me and bringing back my

senses; and so once more I implore you, illustrious errant, indomitable sir, to let your gracious promises be

"There shall be no delay on my part," said Don Quixote. "Bethink you, senora, of what I must do, for my

"The fact is," replied the Distressed One, "it is five thousand leagues, a couple more or less, from this to the

kingdom of Kandy, if you go by land; but if you go through the air and in a straight line, it is three thousand

two hundred and twentyseven. 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 than a posthorse;

for he will be that same wooden horse on which the valiant Pierres carried off the fair Magalona; which 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 that you would fancy the very devils were carrying him. This horse, according to ancient tradition,

was made by Merlin. He lent him to Pierres, who was a friend of his, and who made long journeys with him,

and, as has been said, carried off the fair Magalona, bearing her through the air on its haunches and making

all who beheld them from the earth gape with astonishment; and he never lent him save to those whom he

loved or those who paid him well; and since the great Pierres we know of no one having mounted him until

now. From him Malambruno stole him by his magic art, and he has him now in his possession, and makes

use of him in his journeys which he constantly makes through different parts of the world; he is here today,

tomorrow 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 smoothly and easily does he go,

"For going smoothly and easily," said Sancho at this, "give me my Dapple, though he can't go through the air;

They all laughed, and the Distressed One continued: "And this same horse, if so be that Malambruno 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."

"Two," said the Distressed One, "one in the saddle, and the other on the croup; and generally these two are

"I'd like to know, Senora Distressed One," said Sancho, "what 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 Reinaldos of Montalvan, nor Frontino like Ruggiero's, nor Bootes or Peritoa, as they say

the horses of the sun were called, nor is he called Orelia, like the horse on which the unfortunate Rodrigo, the

last king of the Goths, rode to the battle where he lost his life and his kingdom."

"I'll bet," said Sancho, "that as they have given him none of these famous names of wellknown horses, no

more have they given him the name of my master's Rocinante, which for being apt surpasses all that have

"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 his 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 bridle or halter is he managed?"

"I have said already," said the Trifaldi, "that it is with a peg, 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 wellregulated

"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

packsaddle 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 bruising 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 disenchantment of my lady Dulcinea."

"Yes, you can, my friend," replied the Trifaldi; "and so much, that without you, so I understand, we shall be

"In the king's name!" exclaimed Sancho, "what have squires got to do with the adventures of their masters?

Are they to have the fame of such as they go through, and we the labour? Body o' me! if the historians would

only say, 'Such and such a knight finished such and such an adventure, but with the help of so and so, his

squire, without which it would have been impossible for him to accomplish it;' but they write curtly, "Don

Paralipomenon of the Three Stars accomplished 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'll stay here in the company of my lady the

duchess; and maybe 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 moments, to give myself a spell of whipping without so much as a hair to

"For all that you must go if it be necessary, my good Sancho," 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;

"In the king's name, once more!" said Sancho; "If this charitable work were to be done for the sake of

damsels in confinement or charitygirls, 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

"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 Rodriguez; "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 us into the world, he knows why he did, and on his mercy I rely, and not on anybody's

"Well, Senora Rodriguez, Senora Trifaldi, and present company," 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 Clavileno 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 for ever."

"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 valour upon your heart, that it may

be the shield and safeguard 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 we are, we duennas! Though we may be

descended in the direct male line from Hector of Troy himself, our mistresses never fail to address us as 'you'

if they think it makes queens of them. O giant Malambruno, though thou art an enchanter, thou art true to thy

promises. Send us now the peerless Clavileno, that our misfortune may be brought to an end; for if the hot

The Trifaldi said this in such a pathetic way that she drew tears from the eyes of all and even Sancho's filled

up; and he resolved in his heart to accompany his master to the uttermost ends of the earth, if so be the

And now night came, and with it the appointed time for the arrival of the famous horse Clavileno, the

nonappearance of which 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 combat. But lo! suddenly there came into the

garden four wildmen 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 wildmen said, "Let the knight who has heart for it mount this

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 wildman, "take his seat on the croup, and let him trust the

valiant Malambruno; 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

With these words, leaving Clavileno behind them, they retired with easy dignity the way they came. As soon

as the Distressed One saw the horse, almost in tears she exclaimed to Don Quixote, "Valiant knight, the

promise of Malambruno has proved trustworthy; the horse has come, our beards are growing, and by every

hair in them all of us implore thee to shave and shear us, as it is only mounting him with thy squire and

"That I will, Senora Countess Trifaldi," said Don Quixote, "most gladly and with right goodwill, without

stopping to take a cushion or put on my spurs, so as not to lose time, such is my desire to see you and all

"That I won't," said Sancho, "with goodwill or badwill, 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 squire 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 takes huff, we'll he 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

"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 Quixote, and bring this memorable 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 travelling 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 goodwill will remain the same; doubt not the truth of this, Senor

"Say no more, senor," 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

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 enchantments with great circumspection,

"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 two to thee in private;" and

drawing Sancho aside among the trees of the garden and seizing both his hands he said, "Thou seest, brother

Sancho, the long journey we have before us, and God knows when we shall return, or what leisure or

opportunities this business will allow us; I wish thee therefore to retire now to thy chamber, as though thou

wert going to fetch something required for the road, and in a trice give thyself if it be only five hundred

lashes on account of the three thousand three hundred to which thou art bound; it will be all to the good, and

"By God," said Sancho, "but your worship must be out of your senses! This is like the common saying, 'You

see me with child, and you want me a virgin.' Just as I'm about to go sitting on a bare board, your worship

would have me score my backside! Indeed, your worship is not reasonable. Let us be off to shave these

duennas; and on our return I promise on my word to make such haste to wipe off all that's due as will satisfy

"Well, I will comfort myself with that promise, my good Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "and I believe thou

"I'm not voracious," said Sancho, "only peckish; but even if I was a little, still I'd keep my word."

With this they went back to mount Clavileno, 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 cannot 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 able to dim the glory of having undertaken this exploit."

"Let us be off, senor," said Sancho, "for I have taken the beards and tears of these ladies deeply to heart, and I

shan't eat a bit to relish it until I have seen them restored to their former smoothness. Mount, your worship,

and blindfold yourself, 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 handkerchief 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 he as well to see, first of all, what Clavileno has in his stomach."

"There is no occasion," said the Distressed One; "I will 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

Don Quixote thought that to say anything further with regard to his safety would be putting his courage in an

unfavourable light; and so, without more words, he mounted Clavileno, and tried the peg, which turned

easily; and as he had no stirrups and his legs hung down, he looked like nothing so much as a figure in some

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 possible 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

observed that Clavileno would not bear any kind of harness or trappings, and that his best plan would be to sit

Sancho did so, and, bidding them farewell, allowed his eyes to he bandaged, but 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

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

now press? Cover thine eyes, cover thine eyes, abject animal, and let not thy fear escape thy lips, at least in

"Blindfold me," said Sancho; "as you won't let me commend myself or be 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 himself settled to his satisfaction, felt for the peg, and

the instant he placed his fingers on it, all the duennas and all who stood by lifted up their voices exclaiming,

"God guide thee, valiant knight! God be with thee, intrepid squire! Now, now ye go cleaving the air more

swiftly than an arrow! Now ye begin to amaze and astonish all who are gazing at you from the earth! Take

care not to wobble about, valiant Sancho! Mind thou fall not, for thy fall will be worse than that rash youth's

As Sancho heard the voices, clinging tightly to his master and winding his arms round him, he said, "Senor,

how do they make out we are going up so high, if their voices reach us here and they seem to be speaking

"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 me; and really I know not what thou hast to be uneasy or frightened at, for I can

safely swear I never mounted a smoothergoing 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

"That's true," said Sancho, "for such a strong wind comes against me on this side, that it seems as if people

were blowing 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

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 fire, 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,

"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; who in twelve hours reached Rome

and dismounted at Torre di Nona, which is a street of the city, and saw the whole sack and storming and the

death of Bourbon, and was back in Madrid 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 giddiness. So that, Sancho, it

will not do for us to uncover ourselves, 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 however high it may soar; and though it seems to us not

half an hour since we left the garden, believe me we must have travelled a great distance."

"I don't know how that may be," said Sancho; "all I know is that if the Senora Magallanes or Magalona was

The duke, the duchess, and all in the garden were listening to the conversation of the two heroes, and were

beyond measure amused by it; and now, desirous of putting a finishing touch to this rare and wellcontrived

adventure, they applied a light to Clavileno's tail with some tow, and the horse, being full of squibs and

crackers, immediately blew up with a prodigious 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

garden, and those that remained lay stretched on the ground as if in a swoon. Don Quixote and Sancho got up

rather shaken, and, looking about them, were filled with amazement at finding themselves in the same garden

from which 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 hanging from it by two cords of green silk a smooth 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 Clavijo and Queen Antonomasia in their original form; and when the squirely flagellation shall have

been completed, 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 Merlin, archenchanter of enchanters."

As soon as Don Quixote had read the inscription on the parchment he perceived clearly that it referred to the

disenchantment 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, he

advanced towards the duke and duchess, who had not yet come to themselves, and taking the duke by the

hand he said, "Be of good cheer, worthy sir, be of good 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 halfshut eyes, and then ran to embrace Don

Quixote withopen 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 without the beard, and if she was as fair as

her elegant person promised; but they told him that, the instant Clavileno descended flaming through the air

and came to the ground, the whole band of duennas with the Trifaldi vanished, and that they were already

The duchess asked Sancho how he had fared on that long journey, to which Sancho replied, "I felt, senora,

that we were flying through the region of fire, as my master told me, and I 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 anyone

seeing me I 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

To this the duchess said, "Sancho, my friend, mind what you are saying; it seems you could not have seen the

earth, but only the men walking on it; for if the earth looked to you like a grain of mustard seed, and each

"That is true," said Sancho, "but for all that I got a glimpse of a bit of one side of it, and saw it all."

"Take care, Sancho," said the duchess, "with a bit of one side one does not see the whole of what one looks

"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 believe that,

uncovering myself nearly to the eyebrows, 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, senora, it is mighty great! And it so happened

we came by where the seven goats are, and by God and upon my soul, as in my youth 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 Clavileno and amused myself with the goats which

are like violets, like flowers for nigh threequarters of an hour; and Clavileno never stirred or moved from

"And while the good Sancho was amusing himself with the goats," said the duke, "how did Senor Don

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 he 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 goats Sancho speaks of are without being burned; and as we

"I am neither lying nor dreaming," said Sancho; "only ask me the tokens of those same goats, and you'll see

"Two of them," said Sancho, "are green, two bloodred, two blue, and one a mixture of all colours."

"An odd sort of goat, that," said the duke; "in this earthly region of ours we have no such colours; I mean

"That's very plain," said Sancho; "of course there must be a difference between the goats of heaven and the

"No, senor," 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 the heavens giving an account of everything that went on there, without having ever stirred from the

garden. Such, in short, was the end of the adventure of the Distressed 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

The duke and duchess were so well pleased with the successful and droll result of the adventure of the

Distressed One, that they resolved to carry on the joke, seeing what a fit subject they had to deal with for

making it all pass for reality. So having laid their plans and given instructions to their servants and vassals

how to behave to Sancho in his government of the promised island, the next day, that following Clavileno's

flight, the duke told Sancho to prepare and get ready to go and be governor, for his islanders were already

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 mustard 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

"Recollect, Sancho," said the duke, "I cannot give a bit of heaven, no not so much as the breadth of my nail,

to anyone; rewards and favours 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'll try and be such a governor, that in spite of scoundrels

I'll go to heaven; and it's not from any craving to quit my own humble condition or better myself, but from

"If you once make trial of it, Sancho," said the duke, "you'll eat your fingers off after the government, so

sweet a thing is it to command and be obeyed. Depend upon it when your master comes to be emperor (as he

will beyond a doubt 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."

"Senor," said Sancho, "it is my belief it's a good thing to be 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 governor as your sagacity promises; and that is all I have to say; and now remember tomorrow is the day

you must set out for the government of the island, and this evening they will provide you with the proper

"Let them dress me as they like," said Sancho; "however I'm dressed I'll 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 much as arms."

"Of letters I know but little," said Sancho, "for I don't even know the A B C; but it is enough for me to have

the Christus in my memory to be a good governor. As for arms, I'll handle those they give me till I drop, and

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 him 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 services, find myself still waiting for advancement, while thou, before the time, and

contrary to all reasonable expectation, seest thyself blessed in the fulfillment of thy desires. Some will bribe,

beg, solicit, rise early, entreat, persist, without attaining 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 knighterrantry 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, Sancho, that thou attribute not the favour 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 knighterrantry 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 polestar

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 nothing else but a mighty gulf of troubles.

"First of all, my son, thou must fear God, for in the fear of him is wisdom, and being wise thou canst not err

"Secondly, thou must keep 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

"That's the truth," said Sancho; "but that was when I was a boy; 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 all who are governors

"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 he accompanied by a gentle suavity, which wisely managed will save them

"Glory in thy humble birth, Sancho, and he not ashamed of saying thou art peasantborn; for when it is seen

thou art not ashamed no one will set himself to put thee to the blush; and pride thyself rather upon being one

of lowly virtue than a lofty sinner. Countless are they who, born of mean 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 have princely and lordly ones, for blood is an inheritance, but virtue an

acquisition, and virtue has in itself alone a worth that blood does not possess.

"This being so, if perchance anyone 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 welcome him, entertain him, and make much of him;

for in so doing thou wilt be approved of heaven (which is not pleased that any should despise what it hath

"If thou carriest thy wife with thee (and it is not well for those that administer governments to be long without

their wives), teach and instruct her, and strive to smooth down her natural roughness; for all that may be

"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 fishingrod, or for the hood of thy

'won't have it;' for verily, I tell thee, for all the judge's wife receives, the husband will be held accountable at

the general calling to account; where he will have repay in death fourfold, items that in life he regarded as

"Never go by arbitrary law, which is so much favoured by ignorant men who plume themselves on

"Let the tears of the poor man find with thee more compassion, but not more justice, than the pleadings of the

"Strive to lay bare the truth, as well amid the promises and presents of the rich man, as amid the sobs and

"When equity may and should be brought into play, press not the utmost rigour 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

"If it should happen thee to give judgment in the cause of one who is thine enemy, turn thy thoughts away

"Let not thine own passion blind thee in another man's cause; for the errors thou wilt thus commit will be

most frequently irremediable; or if not, only to be remedied at the expense of thy good name and even of thy

"If any handsome woman come to seek justice of thee, turn away thine eyes from her tears and thine ears

from her lamentations, and consider deliberately the merits of her demand, if thou wouldst not have thy

"Abuse not by word him whom thou hast to punish in deed, for the pain of punishment is enough for the

"Bear in mind that the culprit who comes under thy jurisdiction is but a miserable man subject to all the

propensities of our depraved nature, and so far as may be in thy power show thyself lenient and forbearing;

for though the attributes of God are all equal, to our eyes that of mercy is brighter and loftier than that of

"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 greatgrandchildren will close

"What I have thus far addressed to thee are instructions for the adornment of thy mind; listen now to those

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? But, as has been frequently observed in the course of this great

history, he only talked nonsense when he touched on chivalry, and in discussing all other subjects showed

that he had a clear and unbiassed understanding; so that at every turn his acts gave the lie to his intellect, and

his intellect to his acts; but in the case of these second counsels that he gave Sancho he showed himself to

have a lively turn of humour, and displayed conspicuously his wisdom, and also his folly.

Sancho listened to him with the deepest attention, and endeavoured 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.

"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 lizardcatching 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 he set down to craft, as was the common opinion in the case of Julius Caesar.

"Ascertain cautiously what 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.

"Eat not garlic nor onions, lest they find out 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 thyself, for all affectation is bad.

"Dine sparingly and sup more sparingly still; for the health of the whole body is forged in the workshop of

"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."

"To eruct, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "means to belch, and that is one of the filthiest words in the Spanish

language, though a very expressive one; and therefore nice folk have had recourse 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; this is

"In truth, senor," said Sancho, "one of the counsels and cautions I mean to bear in mind shall be this, not to

"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

"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 why my

tongue lets fly the first that come, though they may not be pat to the purpose. But I'll take care henceforward

to use such as befit the dignity of my office; for 'in a house where there's plenty, supper is soon cooked,' and

'he who binds does not wrangle,' and 'the bellringer's in a safe berth,' and 'giving and keeping require

"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 Ubeda.' Mind, Sancho, I do not say that a proverb aptly brought in is objectionable; but to pile up and

"When thou ridest on horseback, do not go lolling with thy body on the back of the saddle, nor carry thy legs

stiff or sticking out from the horse's belly, nor yet sit so loosely that one would suppose thou wert on Dapple;

"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

"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 comparing 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 disparaged, and get nothing in any shape from the one thou 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 the present, Sancho, this is all that has occurred to me to advise thee; as time goes by and occasions arise

my instructions 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

profitable; but what use will they be to me if I don't remember one of them? To be sure that about not letting

my nails grow, and marrying again if I have the chance, will 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'll give it to my confessor, to drive it into me and

"Ah, sinner that I am!" said Don Quixote, "how bad 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 lefthanded, it argues one of two

things; either that he was the son of exceedingly mean and lowly parents, or that he himself was so

incorrigible and illconditioned that neither good company nor good teaching could make any impression on

him. It is a great defect that thou labourest 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'll be governor, and that's higher than alcalde. Only

come and see! Let them make light of me and abuse me; 'they'll come for wool and go back shorn;' 'whom

God loves, his house is known to Him;' 'the silly sayings of the rich pass for saws in the world;' and as I'll be

rich, being a governor, and at the same time generous, as I mean to be, no fault will he seen in me. 'Only

make yourself honey and the flies will suck you;' 'as much as thou hast so much art thou worth,' as my

grandmother used to say; and 'thou canst have no revenge of a man of substance.'"

"Oh, God's curse upon thee, Sancho!" here exclaimed Don Quixote; "sixty thousand devils fly away with thee

and thy 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. 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

"By God, master mine," said Sancho, "your worship is making 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 three just this instant come into my head, pat to the purpose

and like pears in a basket; but 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 three proverbs have just now come into thy memory, for

"What can be better," said Sancho, "than 'never put thy thumbs between two back teeth;' and 'to "get out of

my house" and "what do you want with my wife?" there is no answer;' and 'whether the pitcher hits the stove,

or the stove the pitcher, it's a bad business for the pitcher;' all which fit 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 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 was frightened at the one with her throat cut;' and your worship knows well that 'the fool knows

"Nay, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "the fool knows nothing, either in his own house or in anybody else's, for

no wise structure 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 he 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 promise. God guide thee, Sancho, and govern thee in thy government, and deliver me from the misgiving

I have that thou wilt turn the whole island upside down, a thing I might easily 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

"Senor," said Sancho, "if your worship thinks I'm not fit for this government, I give it up on the spot; for the

mere black of the nail of my soul is dearer to me than my whole body; and I can live just as well, 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. But if your worship 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 because of my being a governor the devil will

"By God, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for those last words thou hast uttered alone, I consider thou deservest

to be governor of a thousand islands. Thou hast good natural instincts, without which no knowledge is worth

anything; commend thyself 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."

It is stated, they say, in the true original of this history, that when Cide Hamete came to write this chapter, his

interpreter 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 perpetually 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, pen always restricted to writing upon

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 labour, and that to avoid this he had in the First Part availed himself

of the device of novels, like "The Illadvised Curiosity," and "The Captive Captain," which stand, as it were,

apart from the story; the others 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 without noticing

the elegance and art of their composition, which would be very manifest 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 episodes, 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

labours may not be despised, and that credit be given him, not alone for what he writes, but for what he has

And so he goes on with his story, saying that 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 some 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

duke, who 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 who had him in charge was a

majordomo of the duke's, a man of great discretion and humour and there can be no humour without

discretion and the same who played the part of the Countess Trifaldi in the comical way that has been

already described; and thus qualified, and instructed by his master and mistress as to how to deal with

Sancho, he carried out their scheme admirably. Now it came to pass that as soon as Sancho saw this

majordomo he seemed in his features to recognise those of the Trifaldi, and turning to his master, he said to

him, "Senor, either the devil will carry me off, 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 having 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 ourselves 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, senor," 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'll hold my peace; but I'll take care to be on the lookout

henceforth for any sign that may be seen to confirm or do away with this suspicion."

"Thou wilt do well, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and thou wilt let me know all thou discoverest, and all that

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. Behind him, in accordance with the duke's orders, followed Dapple with brand new asstrappings

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 blessing, which Don Quixote gave him with tears, and

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 happened his master the same 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 be honoured either with wonder or with

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

"The truth is, senora," replied Don Quixote, "that I do feel the loss of Sancho; but that is not the main cause

of my looking sad; and of all the offers your excellence makes me, I accept only the goodwill with which

they are made, and as to the remainder I entreat of your excellence to permit and allow me alone to wait upon

"Indeed, Senor Don Quixote," said the duchess, "that must not be; four of my damsels, as beautiful as

"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 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 generosity your

highness is disposed to display towards me; and, in short, I will sleep in my clothes, sooner than allow

"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 room. I am not the one to undermine the propriety of Senor

Don Quixote, for it strikes me that among his many virtues the one that is preeminent 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

To which Don Quixote replied, "Your highness has spoken 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 highness than by all the eulogies the greatest orators on earth could bestow upon her."

"Well, well, Senor Don Quixote," said the duchess, is nearly suppertime, and the duke is is probably

waiting; come let us go to supper, and retire to rest early, for the journey you made yesterday from Kandy

"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 Clavileno; and I don't know what could

have induced Malambruno 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 done to the Trifaldi and company, and others, and

the crimes he must have committed as a wizard and enchanter, he resolved to make away with all the

instruments of his craft; and so burned Clavileno 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 valour of the great Don

Don Quixote renewed his thanks to the duchess; and having supped, retired to his chamber alone, refusing to

allow anyone to enter with him to wait on him, such was his fear of encountering 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 knightserrant. He locked the door behind him, and by the light of two

wax candles undressed himself, but as he was taking off his stockings O disaster unworthy of such a

personage! there came a burst, not of sighs, or anything belying his delicacy or good breeding, but of some

two dozen stitches in one of his stockings, that made it look like a windowlattice. The worthy gentleman

was beyond measure distressed, and at that moment he would have given an ounce of silver to have had half a

Here Cide Hamete exclaimed as he was writing, "O 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 satisfaction in

being poor; unless, indeed, it be the kind of poverty one of their greatest saints refers to, saying, 'possess all

things as though ye possessed them not;' which is what 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 gentlemen and men of good

birth more than with other people? Why 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

honour, 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 honour, fancying

they perceive a league off the patch on his shoe, the sweatstains on his hat, the shabbiness of his cloak, and

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 much because he missed Sancho as because of the

irreparable disaster to his stockings, the stitches of which he would have even taken up with silk of another

colour, which is one of the greatest signs of poverty a gentleman can show in the course of his neverfailing

embarrassments. He put out the candles; but the night was warm and he could not sleep; 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

"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

waken, my singing would be in vain, if this strange AEneas, who has come into my neighbourhood to flout

"Heed not that, dear Altisidora," replied a voice; "the 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 power

of love; but come what may; better a blush on the cheeks 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, lovemakings, 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

with all his might and soul to his lady Dulcinea he made up his mind 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

O thou that art above in bed, Between the holland sheets, Alying there from night till morn, With

O thou, most valiant knight of all The famed Manchegan breed, Of purity and virtue more Than gold of

Give ear unto a suffering maid, Wellgrown but evilstarr'd, For those two suns of thine have lit A fire

Adventures seeking thou dost rove, To others bringing woe; Thou scatterest wounds, but, ah, the balm To

Say, valiant youth, and so may God Thy enterprises speed, Didst thou the light mid Libya's sands Or Jaca's

Did scaly serpents give thee suck? Who nursed thee when a babe? Wert cradled in the forest rude, Or gloomy

O Dulcinea may be proud, That plump and lusty maid; For she alone hath had the power A tiger fierce to

And she for this shall famous be From Tagus to Jarama, From Manzanares to Genil, From Duero to Arlanza.

Fain would I change with her, and give A petticoat to boot, The best and bravest that I have, All trimmed

O for to be the happy fair Thy mighty arms enfold, Or even sit beside thy bed And scratch thy dusty poll!

I rave, to favours such as these Unworthy to aspire; Thy feet to tickle were enough For one so mean as I.

What caps, what slippers silverlaced, Would I on thee bestow! What damask breeches make for thee; What

And I would give thee pearls that should As big as oakgalls show; So matchless big that each might well Be

Manchegan Nero, look not down From thy Tarpeian Rock Upon this burning heart, nor add The fuel of thy

A virgin soft and young am I, Not yet fifteen years old; (I'm only 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

And though my nose be rather flat, And though my mouth be wide, My teeth like topazes exalt My beauty to

Thou knowest that my voice is sweet, That is if thou dost hear; And I am moulded in a form Somewhat below

These charms, and many more, are thine, Spoils to thy spear and bow all; A damsel of this house am I, By

Here the lay of the heartstricken 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! O 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 ye pursue her, ye virgins of from fourteen to fifteen? Leave the unhappy

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 lovesmitten host, know that to Dulcinea only I am dough and

sugarpaste, flint to all others; for her I am honey, for you aloes. For me Dulcinea alone is beautiful, wise,

virtuous, graceful, and highbred, and all others are illfavoured, foolish, light, and lowborn. Nature sent

me into the world to be hers and no other's; Altisidora may weep or sing, the lady for whose sake they

belaboured 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 magicworking 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

O perpetual discoverer of the antipodes, torch of the world, eye of heaven, sweet stimulator of the

watercoolers! Thimbraeus here, Phoebus there, now archer, now physician, father of poetry, inventor of

music; thou that always risest and, notwithstanding appearances, never settest! To thee, O Sun, by whose aid

man begetteth man, to thee I appeal to help me 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

To come to the point, then Sancho with all his attendants arrived at a village of some thousand inhabitants,

and one of the largest the duke possessed. They informed him that it was called the island of Barataria, 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 him, 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 governor 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 him on it, and the duke's majordomo 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 question which shall be put to him, and which must he a somewhat knotty and

difficult one; and by his answer the people take the measure of their new governor's wit, and hail with joy or

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 that was painted on the wall. The answer

was, "Senor, there is written and recorded the day on which your lordship took possession of this island, and

the inscription says, 'This day, the soandso of suchandsuch a month and year, Senor Don Sancho Panza

"Your lordship," replied the majordomo; "for no other Panza but the one who is now seated in that chair has

"Well then, let me tell you, brother," said Sancho, "I haven'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'll

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'll 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 walkingstick, and the one

who had no stick said, "Senor, some time ago I lent this good man ten goldcrowns 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 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 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 which the old man replied, "I admit, senor, that he lent them to me; but let your worship lower your staff,

and as he leaves it to my oath, I'll swear that I gave them back, and paid him really and truly."

The governor lowered the staff, and as he did so the old man who had the stick handed it to the other old man

to hold for him while he 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 had been 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 always asking for

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

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 him he said, "Honest man, give me that stick,

Sancho took it and, handing it to the other old man, said to him, "Go, and God be with you; for now you are

"Yes," said the governor, "or if not I am the greatest dolt in the world; now you will see whether I have got

the headpiece 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 goldcrowns. 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 from this he said it might be seen that God sometimes guides those who

govern in their judgments, even though they may be fools; besides he had himself heard the curate of his

village mention just such another case, and he had so good a memory, that if it was not that he forgot

everything he wished to remember, there would not be such a memory in all the island. To conclude, 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

As soon as this case was disposed of, there came into court a woman holding on with a tight grip to a man

dressed like a welltodo cattle dealer, and she came forward making a great outcry and exclaiming, "Justice,

senor governor, justice! and if I don't get it on earth I'll 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 illwashed rag,

and, woe is me! got from me what I had kept these threeandtwenty 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

"It remains to be proved whether this gallant has clean hands or not," said Sancho; and turning to the man he

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 returning 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

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 God for the long life and

health of the senor governor 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 not say it to one who was a fool or deaf, for the man was off

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, senor governor, the shamelessness and boldness 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

"Take it!" said the woman; "I'd let my life be taken from me sooner than the purse. A pretty child I'd be! It's

another sort of cat they must throw in my 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 haven't the strength to take it

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 vigour in defending your body as you have shown 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

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 yoke with anybody." The man thanked him as clumsily as he could

and went his way, and the bystanders were again filled with admiration at their new governor's judgments and

Next, two men, one apparently a farm labourer, 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 labourer and I come before your

worship by reason of this honest man coming to my shop yesterday (for saving everybody's presence I'm a

passed tailor, God be thanked), and putting a piece of cloth into my hands and asking me, 'Senor, will 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 own roguery

and the bad opinion people have of tailors; and he told me to see if there would he enough for two. I guessed

what he would be at, and I said 'yes.' He, still following up his original unworthy notion, went on adding cap

after cap, and I 'yes' after 'yes,' until we got as far as five. He has just this moment come for them; I gave

them to him, but he won't pay me for the making; on the contrary, he calls upon me to pay him, or else return

"Yes," 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 caps this good man asks for; and by God and upon my

conscience I haven't a scrap of cloth left, and I'll 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 case it is not necessary to deliver longwinded arguments,

but only to give offhand the judgment of an honest man; and so my decision is that the tailor lose the

making and the labourer the cloth, and that the caps go to the prisoners in the gaol, and let there be no more

If the previous decision about the cattle dealer's purse excited the admiration of the bystanders, this provoked

their laughter; however, the governor's orders were after all executed. 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

We left Don Quixote wrapped up in the reflections which the music of the enamourned maid Altisidora had

given rise to. He went to bed with them, and just like fleas they would 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

disaster to his stockings. He threw over him his scarlet mantle, put on his head a montera of green velvet

trimmed with 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 proceeded to the

antechamber where the duke 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

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 on all the knightserrant in the world,

if they be all ungrateful! Go away, Senor Don Quixote; for this poor child will not come to herself again so

To which Don Quixote returned, "Do me the favour, senora, to let a lute be placed in my chamber tonight;

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 who might see

He had scarcely withdrawn when Altisidora, recovering from 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 duke and duchess spent it in charming conversation with Don 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

fulltoned, 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

Sewing, stitching, any labour, Having always work to do, To the poison Love instilleth Is the antidote most

And to properminded maidens Who desire the matron's name Modesty's a marriage portion, Modesty their

Men of prudence and discretion, Courtiers gay and gallant knights, With the wanton damsels dally, But the

modest take to wife. There are passions, transient, fleeting, Loves in hostelries declar'd, Sunrise loves, with

Love that springs up swift and sudden, Here today, tomorrow flown, Passes, leaves no trace behind it,

Painting that is laid on painting Maketh no display or show; Where one beauty's in possession There no other

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

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 they 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 paralysed with fear; and as luck would have it, two or three of

the cats made their way in through the grating of his chamber, and flying from one side to the other, made it

seem as if there was a legion of devils at large in it. They extinguished the candles that were burning 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, shouting out, "Avaunt, malignant enchanters! avaunt, ye witchcraftworking 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 masterkey and

went in with lights and witnessed the unequal combat. The duke ran forward to part the combatants, 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 pulled it off and flung it out of the window.

Don Quixote 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,

hardhearted knight, for the sin of thy insensibility and obstinacy; and God grant thy squire Sancho may forget

to whip himself, so that that dearly beloved Dulcinea of thine may never be released from her enchantment,

that thou mayest never come to her bed, at least while I who adore thee am alive."

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 bellringing rabble

of enchanters in cat shape, but because he recognised their good intentions in coming 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

five days of confinement 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 Sancho Panza, who was

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 clarions 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 music ceased, and Sancho seated himself at the head of the table, for there was only that

seat placed, and no more than one cover laid. A personage, who it appeared afterwards was a physician,

placed himself standing by his side with 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

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 carried 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 and making myself acquainted with the governor'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 dinners and suppers and allow him to eat what

appears to me to be fit 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 he removed as being too hot and containing many spices that stimulate thirst; for he who drinks

"Well then," said Sancho, "that dish of roast partridges there that seems so savoury will not do me any harm."

To this the physician replied, "Of those my lord the governor shall not eat so long as I live."

"Because," replied the doctor, "our master Hippocrates, the polestar and beacon of medicine, says in one of

his aphorisms omnis saturatio mala, perdicis autem pessima, which means 'all repletion is bad, but that of

"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

"Your worship is right, senor governor," said the physician; "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

"That big dish that is smoking farther off," said Sancho, "seems to me to be an olla podrida, and out of the

diversity of things in such ollas, I can't fail to light upon something tasty and good for me."

"Absit," 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 everything that is present 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 cat

now in order to preserve and fortify his health is a hundred or so of wafer cakes and a few thin slices of

Sancho on hearing this threw himself back in his chair and surveyed the doctor steadily, and in a solemn tone

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 Almodovar del Campo, on the righthand side, and I have the

To which Sancho, glowing all over with rage, returned, "Then let Doctor Pedro Recio de Malaguero, native

of Tirteafuera, a place that's on the righthand side as we go from Caracuel to Almodovar del Campo,

graduate of Osuna, get out of my presence at once; or I swear by the sun I'll take a cudgel, and by dint of

blows, beginning with him, I'll 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 honour as divine persons. Once more I

say let Pedro Recio get out of this or I'll take this chair I am sitting on and break it over his head. And if they

call me to account for it, I'll clear myself by saying I served God in killing a bad doctor a general

executioner. And now give me something to eat, or else take your government; for a trade that does not feed

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

The courier came in all sweating 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 Don

Sancho 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 secretary?" "I am, senor," 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 newborn secretary 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,

It has come to my knowledge, Senor 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 behoves you to be on the alert and

keep watch, that they surprise you not. I also know by 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 nothing that is presented to you. I will take

care to send you aid if you find yourself in difficulty, but in all things you will act as may be expected of your

Sancho was astonished, and those who stood by made believe to be so too, and turning to the majordomo he

said to him, "What we have got to do first, and it must be done at once, is to put Doctor Recio in the lockup;

for if anyone 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 piece of bread and four pounds 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 threatening us we must be well provisioned; for it is the tripes that carry the heart and not the

heart the tripes. And you, secretary, answer my lord the duke and tell him that all his commands 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 favour 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 Biscayan 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

At this instant a page entered saying, "Here is a farmer on business, who wants to speak to your lordship on a

"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, and 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'll bring more than one man on business to order. However, tell this good man to

come in; but take care first of all that he 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

"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?"

"Tonight at supper," said the carver, "the shortcomings of the dinner shall be made good, and your lordship

The farmer now came in, a wellfavoured 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 lord governor here?"

"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, senor, a native of Miguelturra, a village two leagues from Ciudad Real."

"Another Tirteafuera!" said Sancho; "say on, brother; I know Miguelturra very well I can tell you, for it's not

"The case is this, senor," continued the farmer, "that by God's mercy I am married with the leave and licence

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

"So that if your wife had not died, or had not been killed, you would not now be a widower," said Sancho.

"We've got that much settled," said Sancho; "get on, brother, for it's more bedtime than businesstime."

"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 smallpox; and though her face is thickly and deeply pitted, those who love her

say they are not pits that 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 compare and compete with the comeliest. Of her lips I

say nothing, for they are so fine and thin that, if lips might be reeled, one might make a skein of them; but

being of a different colour from ordinary lips they are wonderful, for they are mottled, blue, green, and

purple let my lord the governor pardon me for painting so minutely the charms of her who some time or

"Paint what you will," said Sancho; "I enjoy your painting, and if I had dined there could be no dessert more

"That I have still to furnish," said the farmer; "but a time will come when we may be able if we are not now;

and I can tell you, senor, if I could paint her gracefulness and her tall figure, it would astonish you; but that is

impossible because she is bent double with 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

"That will do, brother," said Sancho; "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, senor," said the farmer, "to do me the favour 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 illmatched

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 parchment, and his eyes watery and always running; but he

has the disposition of an angel, and if it was not for belabouring and pummelling himself he'd be a saint."

"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, senor, 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 up house; for

they must, in short, live by themselves, without being subject to the interferences of their fathersinlaw."

"Just see if there's anything else you'd like," said Sancho, "and don't hold back from mentioning it out of

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 illbred, boorish Don Bumpkin, if you don't get out of this at once and

hide yourself from my sight, I'll 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

stinking brute? And why should I give them to you if I had them, you knave and blockhead? What have I to

do with Miguelturra or the whole family of the Perlerines? Get out I say, or by the life of my lord the duke I'll

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 government 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

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 bandaged and doctored after the cat wounds, of which he was not cured for eight days; and

on one of these there befell him what Cide Hamete 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.

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 knighterrantry. Six days he

remained without appearing in public, and one night as he lay awake thinking of his misfortunes 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 coming to make an assault upon his chastity and

put him in danger 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; whereer thou art, thou art mine, and where'er I am, must he thine." The very instant he had

uttered 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 moustaches tied up, his face because of the scratches,

and his moustaches to keep them from drooping and falling down, in which 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 lovesmitten and unhappy Altisidora make her appearance, he saw coming in a most

venerable duenna, in a long whitebordered 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 advanced with noiseless steps,

Don Quixote kept an eye upon her from his watchtower, 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 himself at a great rate. The spectre still advanced, and on reaching 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 coverlet 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 knighterrantry to which I belong, the province of which extends to doing good even

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 purgatory, as you seem to think, but Dona Rodriguez, duenna of honour to my lady the

duchess, and I come to you with one of those grievances your worship is wont to redress."

"Tell me, Senora Dona Rodriguez," said Don Quixote, "do you perchance come to transact any gobetween

business? Because 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 Dona 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, senor," 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 thousand thoughts at once

suggested themselves 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, duchesses, marchionesses, and countesses? Many a time have

I heard it said by many a man of sense that he will sooner offer you a flatnosed wench than a romannosed

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 such nonsense; for it is impossible that a

long, whitehooded 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

illtempered, wrinkled, and prudish? Avaunt, then, ye duenna crew, undelightful to all mankind. Oh, but that

lady did well who, they say, had at the end of her reception room a couple of figures of duennas with

spectacles and lacecushions, as if at work, and those statues served quite as well to give an air of propriety

So saying he leaped off the bed, intending to close the door and not allow Senora Rodriguez to enter; but as

he went to shut it Senora Rodriguez returned with a wax candle lighted, and having a closer view of Don

Quixote, with the coverlet round him, and his bandages and nightcap, 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

"I may well ask the same, senora," said Don Quixote; "and I do ask whether I shall be safe from being

"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 AEneas enjoyed the fair softhearted

Dido. But give me your hand, senora; I require no better protection than my own continence, and my own

sense of propriety; as well as that which is inspired by that venerable headdress;" and so saying he kissed

her right hand and took it in his own, she yielding it to him with equal ceremoniousness. And here Cide

Hamete inserts a parenthesis in which he says that to have seen the pair marching 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 Dona Rodriguez took her seat on a chair at some little distance from his

couch, without 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

"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, Senor 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 by 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 provision and 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 trifling 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, fullbearded 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 afterwards my husband died of a certain shock

he received, and had I time to tell you of it I know your worship would be surprised;" and here she began to

weep bitterly and said, "Pardon me, Senor 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 they did not use coaches or

chairs, as they say they do now, and ladies rode behind their squires. This much at least I cannot help telling

you, that you may observe the good breeding 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, senor, 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 needlecase 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 lacqueys ran to rise 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 shortsighted, my lady dismissed him;

and it was chagrin at this I am convinced 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 seafoam; 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 daughter 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 gipsy, reads and writes 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 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, senor, 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 unprotected condition of my daughter, her youth, and all the perfections I have

said she possesses; and before God and on my conscience, out of all the damsels my lady has, there is not one

that comes up to the sole of her shoe, and the one they call Altisidora, and look 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, senor, all is not gold that glitters, and that same little Altisidora has more forwardness than

good looks, and more impudence 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'll hold my

"For heaven's sake, Dona 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.

Senor 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 has,

one in each leg, by which all the evil humours, of which the doctors say she is full, are discharged."

"Blessed Virgin!" exclaimed Don Quixote; "and is it possible that my lady the duchess has drains of that sort?

I would not have believed it if the barefoot friars had told it me; but as the lady Dona Rodriguez says so, it

must be so. But surely such issues, and in such places, do not discharge humours, but liquid amber. Verily, I

do believe now that this practice of opening issues is a very important matter for the health."

Don Quixote had hardly said this, when the chamber door flew open with a loud bang, and with the start the

noise gave her Dona 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 slipper began to lay on so heartily that anyone would 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. Nor was the apprehension an idle one; one; for leaving the duenna (who 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; Dona 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, wondering who could have been

the perverse enchanter who had reduced him to such a state; but that shall be told in due season, for Sancho

We left the great governor angered and irritated by that portraitpainting rogue of a farmer who, instructed

the majordomo, as the majordomo was by the duke, tried to practise upon him; he 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, come 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, stupid applicant, don't be in a hurry; wait for the proper time and season for doing business; don't come

at dinnerhour, 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 Senor Doctor

Pedro Recio 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

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 Recio Agilers of Tirteafuera promised to let him have supper that night though it might be in

contravention of all the aphorisms of Hippocrates. With this the governor was satisfied and looked forward to

the approach of night and suppertime 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 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 accustomed 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. What the headcarver

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'll 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 us live and eat in

peace and goodfellowship, for when God sends the dawn, be sends it for all. I mean to govern this island

without giving up a right or taking a bribe; let everyone keep his eye open, and look out for the arrow; for I

can tell them 'the devil's in Cantillana,' and if they drive me to it they'll see something that will astonish them.

"Of a truth, senor governor," said the carver, "your worship is in the right of it in everything you have said;

and I promise you in the name of all the inhabitants of this island that they will serve your worship with all

zeal, affection, and goodwill, 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 that 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 goodfornothing vagabonds; for I would have you know that lazy idlers are the same thing in

a State as the drones in a hive, that eat up the honey the industrious bees make. I mean to protect the

husbandman, to preserve to the gentleman his privileges, to reward the virtuous, and above all to respect

religion and honour its ministers. What say you to that, my friends? Is there anything in what I say, or am I

"There is so much in what your worship says, senor governor," said the majordomo, "that I am filled 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 headcarver, the chronicler charged with

recording his deeds, and alguacils and notaries enough to form a fairsized squadron. 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 clashing of swords. They hastened to the spot, and found that the

combatants were but two, who seeing the authorities approaching stood still, and one of them exclaimed,

"Help, in the name of God and the king! Are men to he allowed to rob in the middle of this town, and rush

"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, "Senor governor, I will tell you in a very few words. Your worship must know that

this gentleman has just now won 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 favour, very much against what my

conscience told me. He made off with his winnings, and when I made sure he was going to give me a crown

or so at least by way of a present, as it is usual and customary to give men of quality 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.

Indignant at this I followed him, and speaking him fairly and civilly 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

"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 be sharpers and their winnings to be unfairly

won; and that there could be no better proof that he himself was an honest man than his having refused to

"That is true," said the majordomo; "let your worship consider what is to be done with these men."

"What is to be done," said Sancho, "is this; you, the winner, 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 profession nor property, and hang about the island in idleness, take these hundred reals

now, and some time of the day tomorrow 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'll hang you on a gibbet, or at least

the hangman will by my orders; not a word from either of you, or I'll 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'll get rid of these gambling houses, for

"This one at least," said one of the notaries, "your worship 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 your worship may exercise your power, and it is they that do most harm and shelter

the most barefaced practices; for in 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

"I know already, notary, that there is a good deal to he 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 evildoer; I ran after him, and had it not been that he stumbled and fell, I should never have

To which the young man replied, "Senor, it was to avoid answering all the questions officers of justice put."

"You're facetious with me! You plume yourself on being a wag? Very good; and where were you going just

"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 astern, and send you to gaol. Ho there! lay hold of him and take him off; I'll make him

"By God," said the young man, "your worship will make me sleep in gaol just as soon as make me king."

"Why shan't I make thee sleep in gaol?" said Sancho. "Have I not the power to arrest thee and release thee

"All the power your worship has," said the young man, "won't be able to make me sleep in gaol."

"How? not able!" said Sancho; "take him away at once where he'll see his mistake with his own eyes, even if

the gaoler is willing to exert his interested generosity on his behalf; for I'll lay a penalty of two thousand

"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 Sancho, "have you got any angel that will deliver you, and take off the irons I am

"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 to have irons and chains put on me, and

to be shut up in a cell, and may lay heavy penalties on the gaoler 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

"So then," said Sancho, "it would be entirely of your own choice you would keep from sleeping; not in

"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 want to rob you of it; but for the future, let me advise you don't joke with the authorities, because you

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, "Senor governor, this person, who seems to be a man, is not so, but

a woman, and not an illfavoured 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 wear; she carried no sword

at her belt, but only a richly ornamented 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 people 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

practised upon Sancho were the ones who were most surprised, for this incident or discovery had not been

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, senor, before so many people what it is of such consequence to me to have kept

secret; one thing I wish to be known, that I am no thief or evildoer, but only an unhappy maiden whom the

Hearing this the majordomo said to Sancho, "Make the people stand back, senor governor, that this lady may

Sancho gave the order, and all except the majordomo, the headcarver, 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 woolfarmer of this town, who is in the habit of coming very often to my father's house."

"That won't do, senora," said the majordomo; "for I 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

"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

"Ay, that will do," said the majordomo; "for I know Diego de la Llana, 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 of 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 seeing her; and for all that report says she is extremely beautiful."

"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 weep bitterly.

On seeing this the secretary leant over to the headcarver'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 what had happened her, as they would all earnestly and by every means in their power

"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 received 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 day, 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 woolfarmer; 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 town 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 bullfights taking place, 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 could, 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 O 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 story of what has happened to you, for your words

"I have but little more to say, though many a tear to shed," said the damsel; "for illplaced desires can only

The maiden's beauty had made a deep impression on the headcarver's heart, and he again raised his lantern

for another look at her, and thought they were not tears she was shedding, but seedpearl or dew of the

meadow, nay, he exalted them still higher, and made Oriental pearls of them, and fervently hoped her

misfortune might not be so great a one as her tears and sobs seemed to indicate. The governor was losing

patience 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 halfsuppressed 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), tonight, 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

recognise 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 find myself put to shame before all these people as whimsical and vicious."

"So then, senora," said Sancho, "no other mishap has befallen you, nor was it jealousy that made you leave

"Nothing has happened me," said she, "nor was it jealousy that brought me out, but merely a longing to see

The appearance of the tipstaffs with her brother in custody, whom one of them had overtaken as he ran away

from his sister, now fully confirmed the truth of what 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, unheard 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 governor, however, said to them, "In truth, young lady and gentleman, 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 soandso, 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

"That is true," said the damsel, "but you see the confusion I was in was so great it did not let me behave as I

"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

should have a broken leg and keep at home; and the woman and the hen by gadding about are soon lost; and

The youth thanked the governor for his kind offer 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

womanservant 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, however, they set down to their youth.

The headcarver was left with 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; and even to Sancho 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

himself 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

Cide Hamete, the painstaking investigator of the minute points of this veracious history, says that when Dona

Rodriguez 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 instant 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 the room and posted themselves so close to it that they could hear all that was said

inside. But when the duchess heard how the Rodriguez 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 selfesteem mightily provoke the anger of women and make them eager for

revenge. The duchess told the duke what had happened, and he was much amused by it; and she, in pursuance

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 Panza in the cares of

government had forgotten all about) to Teresa Panza his wife with her husband's letter and another from

Now the history says this page was very sharp and quickwitted; and eager to serve his lord and lady he set

off very willingly for Sancho's village. Before he entered it he observed 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 Quixote 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

"Well then, miss," said the page, "come and show me where your mother is, for I bring her a letter and a

"That I will with all my heart, senor," 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 barelegged 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,

"Well," said the page, "I am bringing her such good news that she will have reason to thank God."

And then, skipping, running, and capering, the 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 grey petticoat (so short was it one would have fancied "they to her shame had cut it short"), a grey

bodice of the same stuff, and a smock. She was not very old, though plainly past forty, strong, healthy,

vigorous, and sundried; and seeing her daughter and the page on horseback, she exclaimed, "What's this,

"A servant of my lady, Dona Teresa Panza," 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, Senora Dona Teresa, as the lawful and only wife of Senor Don Sancho Panza, rightful governor of

"Ah, senor, get up, do that," said Teresa; "for I'm not a bit of a court lady, but only a poor country woman, the

daughter of a clodcrusher, and the wife of a squireerrant and not of any governor at all."

"You are," said the page, "the most worthy wife of a most archworthy governor; and as a proof of what I say

accept this letter and this present;" and at the same time he took out of his pocket a string of coral beads with

gold clasps, and placed it on her neck, and said, "This letter is from his lordship 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, "May I die but our master

Don Quixote's at the bottom of this; he must have given father the government or county he so often

"That is the truth," said the page; "for it is through Senor Don Quixote that Senor Sancho is now governor of

"Will your worship read it to me, noble sir?" said Teresa; "for though I can spin I can't read, not a scrap."

"Nor I either," said Sanchica; "but wait a bit, and I'll go and fetch some one who can read it, either the curate

himself or the bachelor Samson Carrasco, and they'll come gladly to hear any news of my father."

"There is no need to fetch anybody," said the page; "for though I can't spin I can read, and I'll read it;" and so

he read it through, but as it has been already given it is not inserted here; and then he took out the other one

Friend Teresa, Your husband Sancho's good qualities, of heart as well as of head, induced and compelled

me to request 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 Senora Teresa know that a good governor is hard to find in this world and may God make me as good as

Sancho's way of governing. Herewith I send you, my dear, a string of coral beads with gold clasps; I wish

they were Oriental pearls; but "he who gives thee a bone does not wish to see thee dead;" a time will come

when we shall become acquainted and meet one another, but God knows the future. Commend me to your

daughter Sanchica, and tell her from me to hold herself in readiness, for I mean to make a high match for her

when she least expects it. They tell me there 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 wellbeing; and if there be anything you stand in need of, it is but to open your mouth, and that

"Ah, 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 equal and equal may I see her with the tallest

churchtower in La Mancha! And as for the acorns, senor, I'll 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 dinner like a prince; for the good news he has brought, and his own bonny face deserve it all; and

meanwhile I'll run out and give the neighbours 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."

"That I will, mother," said Sanchica; "but mind, you must give me half of that string; for I don't think my lady

"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

"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 hunting and now sends, all for Senora Sanchica."

"May he live a thousand years," said Sanchica, "and the bearer as many, nay two thousand, if needful."

With 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, "None of us poor now, faith! We've got a little government!

"What's all this, Teresa Panza," said they; "what madness 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, with avemarias 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 you 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 astonishment at what 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 himself as to their fineness he fell to wondering afresh,

and said, "By the gown I wear I don't know what to say or think of these letters and presents; on the one hand

I can see and feel the fineness of these coral beads, and on the other I read how a duchess sends to beg for a

"Square that if you can," said Carrasco; "well, let's go and see the messenger, and from him we'll learn

They did so, and Teresa returned with them. They found the page sifting a little barley for his horse, and

Sanchica cutting 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 courteously, 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 and her ladyship the duchess, they were still puzzled and could not make out what was meant by

Sancho's government, and above all of an island, when all or most of those in the Mediterranean belonged to

To this the page replied, "As to Senor 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 more

than a thousand inhabitants; 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 from a peasant woman, she has been known to

send to ask for the loan of a comb from one of her neighbours; 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;

In the middle of this conversation Sanchica came in with her skirt full of eggs, and said she to the page, "Tell

"Ah! my God!" said Sanchica, "what a sight it must be to see my father in tights! Isn't it odd that ever since I

"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

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 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,

"Senor 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 honour to my husband's

government as well as I can; nay, if I am put to it and have to, I'll go to Court and set 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, mother!" said Sanchica; "would to God it were today instead of tomorrow, even though

they were to say when they saw me seated in the coach with my mother, 'See that rubbish, that garlicstuffed

fellow's daughter, how she goes stretched at her ease in a coach as if she was a shepope!' 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 over the

"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 luck; and as I have heard thy good father say many a time (for besides 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!" to thee with something

good, swallow it.' Oh no! go to sleep, and don't answer the strokes of good fortune and the lucky chances that

"And what do I care," added Sanchica, "whether anybody says when he sees me holding my head up, 'The

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

"That is true," said the page, "for Senor Governor Sancho utters them at every 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

"Then you still maintain that all this about Sancho's government is true, senor," 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 present and read the letters, don't believe it and suspect it to be something in the line of our

fellowtownsman 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 you are a mere ambassador of

"All I know, sirs," replied the page, "is that I am a real ambassador, and that Senor Sancho Panza is governor

as a matter of fact, and that my lord and lady the duke and duchess 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 I know by the

oath I swear, and that is by the life of my parents whom I have still alive, and love dearly."

"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 operibus credite, et non verbis. Let one of you come with me, and he will see with

"It's for me to make that trip," said Sanchica; "take me with you, senor, behind you on your horse; for I'll go

"Governors' daughters," said the page, "must not travel along the roads alone, but accompanied by coaches

"By God," said Sanchica, "I can go just as well mounted on a sheass as in a coach; what a dainty lass you

"Hush, girl," said Teresa; "you don't know what you're talking about; the gentleman is quite right, for 'as the

time so the behaviour;' when it was Sancho it was 'Sancha;' when it is governor it's 'senora;' I don't know if

"Senora Teresa says more than she is aware of," said the page; "and now give me something to eat and let me

"Come and do penance with me," said the curate at this; "for Senora Teresa has more will than means to serve

The page refused, but had to consent at last for his own sake; and the curate took him home with 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 acolyte 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, which are not the worst inserted in this great history, as will be seen

Day came after the night of the governor's round; a night which the headcarver passed without sleeping, so

were his thoughts of the face and air and beauty of the disguised damsel, while the majordomo spent what

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 senor governor got up, and by Doctor Pedro Recio's directions they made him 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 Recio 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

By means of this sophistry Sancho was made to endure hunger, and hunger so keen that in his heart he cursed

the government, and even him who had given it to him; however, with his hunger and his conserve he

undertook to deliver judgments that day, and the first thing that came before him was a question that was

submitted to him by a stranger, in the presence of the majordomo and the other attendants, and it was in these

words: "Senor, 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 four judges commonly sat to administer the law

which the lord of river, bridge and the lordship had enacted, and which was to this effect, 'If anyone crosses

by this bridge from one side to the other he shall declare on oath where he is going to and with what object;

and if he swears truly, he shall be allowed to pass, but if falsely, he shall be put to death for it by hanging on

the gallows erected there, without any remission.' Though the law and its severe penalty were known, many

persons 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 nothing 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 law he ought to go free.' It is asked of your worship, senor 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

To this Sancho 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; but repeat the case over again, so

The querist repeated again and again what he had said before, and then Sancho said, "It seems to me I can set

the matter right in a moment, and in this way; the man swears that he is going to die upon the gallows; but if

he dies upon it, he has sworn the truth, and by the law enacted deserves to go free and pass over the bridge;

but if they don't hang him, then he has sworn falsely, and by the same law deserves to be hanged."

"It is as the senor governor says," said the messenger; "and as regards a complete comprehension of the case,

"Well then I say," said Sancho, "that of this man 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 passage will be fully complied with."

"But then, senor 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

"Look here, my good sir," said Sancho; "either I'm a numskull 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 with 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 Quixote gave me the night before I left to become governor of this island, that came

into my mind, and it was this, that when there was any doubt about the justice of a case I should lean to

mercy; and it is God's will 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

Lacedemonians, 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 senor 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

The majordomo kept his word, for he felt it against his conscience to kill so wise a governor by hunger;

particularly as he intended to have done with him that same night, playing off the last joke he was

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 Senor Don Quixote writes to your worship deserves to be printed or written in letters of

When I was expecting to hear of thy stupidities and blunders, friend Sancho, I have received intelligence of

thy displays 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 wert a man, and art a man as if thou

wert a beast, so great is the humility wherewith 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 office 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 prefer. Dress well; 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 thou shouldst dress

like a soldier, but that thou shouldst array thyself in the apparel thy office requires, and that at the same time

it be neat and handsome. To win the goodwill 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 than hunger and high prices.

Make not many proclamations; but those thou makest take care that they be good ones, and above all that

they be observed and carried out; for proclamations that are not observed are the same as if they did not exist;

nay, they encourage the idea that the prince who had the wisdom and authority to make them had not the

power to enforce them; and laws that threaten and are not enforced come to he like the log, the king of the

frogs, that frightened them at first, but that in time they despised and mounted upon. Be a father to virtue and

a stepfather to vice. Be not always strict, nor yet always lenient, but observe a mean between these two

extremes, for in that is the aim of wisdom. Visit the gaols, the slaughterhouses, and the marketplaces; for

the presence of the governor is of great importance in such places; it comforts the prisoners who are in hopes

of a speedy release, it is the bugbear of the butchers who have then to give just weight, and it is the terror of

the marketwomen 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 when the people and those that have dealings

with thee become aware of thy special weakness they will bring their batteries to bear upon thee in that

quarter, till they have brought thee down to the depths of perdition. Consider and reconsider, con and con

over again the advices and the instructions I gave thee before thy departure hence to thy government, and

thou wilt see that in them, if thou dost follow them, thou hast a help at hand that will lighten for thee the

troubles and difficulties that beset governors at every step. Write to thy lord and lady and show 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 been good to him shows that he will be so to God also who has bestowed and

My lady the duchess sent off a messenger with thy suit and another present to thy wife Teresa Panza; we

expect the answer every moment. I have been a little indisposed through a certain scratching I came in for,

not very much to the benefit of my nose; but it was nothing; for if there are enchanters who maltreat me, there

are also some who defend me. Let me know if the majordomo who is with thee had any share in the Trifaldi

performance, as thou didst suspect; and keep me informed of everything that happens thee, as the distance is

so short; all the more as I am thinking of giving over very shortly this idle life I am now leading, for I was not

born for it. A thing has occurred to me which I am inclined to think will put me out of favour with the duke

and duchess; but though I am sorry for it I do not care, for after all I must obey my calling rather than their

pleasure, in accordance with the common saying, amicus Plato, sed magis amica veritas. I quote this Latin to

thee because I conclude that since thou hast been a governor thou wilt have learned it. Adieu; God keep thee

Sancho 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 with 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 without adding or suppressing anything, which he did, and the answer was to the

The pressure of business is so great upon me that I have no time to scratch my head or even to cut my nails;

and I have them so long God send a remedy for it. I 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 than when we two were wandering through the woods and wastes.

My 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 under 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 to bare bones; as if leanness was not worse than fever.

In short he is killing me with hunger, and I am dying myself of vexation; for when I thought I 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 suspect that in the

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 governors that come to this island, before entering it have plenty 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

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 headcarver 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 youth for a soninlaw; today we are going to explain our intentions to the father of

the pair, who is one Diego de la Llana, a gentleman and an old Christian as much as you please.

I have visited the marketplaces, as your worship advises me, and yesterday I found a stallkeeper selling

new hazel nuts 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 charityschool, who will know how to distinguish them well

enough, and I sentenced her not to come into the marketplace 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

marketwomen, for they are all barefaced, unconscionable, and impudent, and I can well believe it from what

I am very glad my lady the duchess has written to my wife Teresa Panza and sent her the present your

worship speaks of; and I will strive to show myself grateful when the time comes; kiss her hands for me, and

tell her I 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 lord 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 scratching I don't understand; but I suppose it must be one of the illturns the wicked

enchanters are always doing your worship; when we meet I shall know all about it. I wish I could send your

worship something; but I don't know what to send, unless it be some very curious clyster pipes, to work with

bladders, that they make in this island; but if the office remains with me I'll find out something to send, one

way or another. If my wife Teresa Panza writes to me, pay the postage and send me the letter, for I have a

very great desire to hear how my house and wife and children are going on. And so, may God deliver your

worship from evilminded enchanters, and bring me well and peacefully out of this government, which I

doubt, for I expect to take leave of it and my life together, from the way Doctor Pedro Recio treats me.

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.

Sancho spent the afternoon in drawing up certain ordinances relating to the good government of what he

fancied the island; and he ordained that there were to be no provision hucksters in the State, and that men

might import wine into it from any place they pleased, provided they declared the quarter it came from, so

that a price might be put upon it according to its quality, reputation, and the estimation it was held in; and he

that watered his wine, or changed the name, was to forfeit his life for it. He reduced the prices of all manner

of shoes, boots, and stockings, but of shoes in particular, as they seemed to him to run extravagantly high. He

established a fixed rate for servants' wages, which 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 produce authentic evidence that it was true, for it

was his opinion 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 makebelieve crippled limb

or a sham sore. In a word, he made so many good rules that to this day they are preserved there, and are

Cide Hamete 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 armour which is the prize at festivals of the sort. But one day at table

with 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 doleful

that she put all who heard and saw her into a state of perplexity; and though the duke and duchess supposed it

must be some joke their servants were playing off upon Don Quixote, still the earnest way the woman sighed

and moaned and wept puzzled them and made them feel uncertain, until Don Quixote, 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 anticipated, for she disclosed the countenance of Dona

Rodriguez, 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 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 capable of

crazy pranks. Dona Rodriguez, at length, turning to her master and mistress said to them, "Will your

excellences be pleased to permit me to speak to this gentleman for a moment, for it is requisite I should do so

in order to get successfully out of the business in which the boldness of an evilminded clown has involved

The duke said that for his part he gave her leave, and that she might speak with Senor Don Quixote as much

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 unhappy

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 depart 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 marry my daughter in fulfillment of the promise he gave her to become her

husband before he seduced her; for to expect that my lord the duke will 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

To these words Don Quixote replied very gravely and solemnly, "Worthy duenna, 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

would 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 will 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 profession is to spare the humble and chastise the proud; I mean, to

"There is no necessity," said the duke, "for your worship to take the trouble of seeking out the rustic of whom

this worthy duenna complains, nor is there any necessity, either, for asking my leave to challenge him; for I

admit him duly challenged, and will take care that he is informed of the challenge, and accepts it, and comes

to answer it in person to this castle of mine, where I shall afford to both a fair field, observing 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 within 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

wrongdoer, 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 malfeasance in breaking faith with this poor damsel,

who was a maiden and now by his misdeed is none; and say that he shall fulfill the promise he gave her to

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 challenge 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 armour, 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

"And I too," added her daughter, all in tears and covered with shame and confusion.

This declaration having been made, and the duke having settled in his own mind what he would do in the

matter, the 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

womenservants, who did not know where the folly and imprudence of Dona Rodriguez and her unlucky

And now, to complete the enjoyment of the 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 opportunity, 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 way of address, Letter for my lady the Duchess Soandso, of I don't know where; and

the other To my husband Sancho Panza, governor of the island of Barataria, whom God prosper 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

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 fine, and my husband's hunting suit does not fall short of it. All this village is

very much 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 Carrasco; 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 flock of goats, they cannot fancy what sort of

government he can be fit 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, lady 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 I beg

your excellence to order my husband to send me a small trifle of money, and to let it be something to speak

of, because 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 he off; and my friends and neighbours 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 I by him, for of course plenty of

people will ask, "Who are those ladies in that coach?" and some servant of mine will answer, "The wife and

daughter of Sancho Panza, governor of the island of Barataria;" and in this way Sancho will become known,

and I'll be thought well of, and "to Rome for everything." I am as vexed as vexed can be that they have

gathered no acorns this year in our village; for all that I send your highness about half a peck that I went to

the wood to gather and pick out one by one myself, and I could find no bigger ones; I wish they were as big

Let not your high 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 be in this place, where I remain, praying our Lord to have your highness in his

All were greatly amused by Teresa Panza's letter, but particularly 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

I got thy letter, Sancho of my soul, and I promise thee and swear as a Catholic Christian that I was within two

fingers' breadth of going mad I was so happy. I can tell thee, brother, when I came to hear that thou wert a

governor I thought I should have dropped 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. I had before me the

suit thou didst send me, and the coral beads my lady the 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 goatherd 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 I see thee a farmer

of taxes or a collector of revenue, which are offices where, though the devil carries off those who make a bad

use of them, still they make and handle money. My 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 honour to thee by going in a

Neither the curate, nor the barber, nor the bachelor, nor even the sacristan, 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 Berrueca has married her daughter to a goodfornothing painter, who came here to paint

anything that might turn up. The council gave him an order to paint his Majesty's arms over the door of the

townhall; 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 trifling things; he returned the

money, and for all that has married on the pretence of being a good workman; to be sure he has now laid

aside his paintbrush and taken a spade in hand, and goes to the field like a gentleman. Pedro Lobo's son has

received the first orders and tonsure, with the intention of becoming a priest. Minguilla, Mingo Silvato's

granddaughter, 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

there 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 thee who they are;

perhaps they will come back, and they will be sure to find those who will take them for wives with all their

blemishes, good or bad. Sanchica is making bonelace; she earns eight maravedis a day clear, which she puts

into a moneybox 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 flash 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.

The letters were applauded, laughed over, relished, and admired; 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 governor'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

unmentioned. He gave her the acorns, and also a cheese which Teresa had given him as being particularly

good and superior to those of Tronchon. The duchess received it with greatest delight, 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

To fancy that in this life anything belonging to it will remain for ever in the same state is an idle fancy; on the

contrary, 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 neverceasing wheel. Man's life alone, swifter than time, speeds onward to its end without any hope of

renewal, save it be in that other life which is endless and boundless. Thus saith Cide Hamete the Mahometan

philosopher; for there 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 endless 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 bellringing and shouting that one would have fancied the whole island was

going to the bottom. He sat up in bed and remained 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 shouts, he was more puzzled than ever, and

filled with 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 corridor a band of more than twenty persons with lighted torches and

naked swords in their hands, all shouting out, "To arms, to arms, senor governor, to arms! The enemy is in

the island in countless numbers, and we are lost unless your skill and valour come to our support."

Keeping up this noise, tumult, and uproar, they came to where Sancho stood dazed and bewildered by what

he saw and heard, and as they approached one of them called out to him, "Arm at once, your lordship, if you

"What have I to do with arming?" said Sancho. "What do I know about 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,

"Ah, senor governor," said another, "what slackness of mettle this is! Arm yourself; here are arms for you,

offensive and defensive; come out to the plaza and be our leader and captain; it falls upon you by right, for

"Arm me then, in God's name," said Sancho, and they at once produced two large shields they had come

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 bound 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 kneecaps, for these

boards I have bound so tight to my body won't let me. What you must do is carry me in your arms, and lay

me across or set me upright in some postern, and I'll hold it either with this lance or with my body."

"On, senor governor!" cried another, "it is fear more than the boards that keeps you from moving; make haste,

stir yourself, for there is no time to lose; the enemy is increasing in numbers, the shouts grow louder, and the

Urged by these exhortations and reproaches the poor governor 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 kneadingtroughs, or a boat bottom up on the beach; nor

did the gang of jokers feel any compassion for him 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 that, if he had not gathered

himself together and made himself small and drawn in his head between the shields, it would 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 up a position on top of him for some time, and from

thence as if from a watchtower 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 with your stinkpots of pitch

and resin, and kettles of boiling oil! Block the streets with feather beds!" In short, in his ardour he mentioned

every little thing, and every implement and engine of war by 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, "O 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

"Lift me up," said the wretched Sancho in a woebegone voice. They helped him to rise, and as soon as he was

on his feet 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

They rubbed him down, fetched him 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 him it was just daybreak. He said no more, and

in silence began to dress himself, while all watched him, waiting to see what the haste with which he was

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 Dapple embraced him and gave him a loving

kiss on the forehead, and said to him, not without tears in his eyes, "Come along, comrade and friend and

partner of my toils and sorrows; when I was with you and had no cares to trouble me except mending your

harness and feeding your little carcass, happy were my hours, my days, and my years; but since I left you,

and mounted the towers of ambition and pride, a thousand miseries, a thousand troubles, and four thousand

anxieties have entered into my soul;" and all the while he was speaking in this strain he was fixing the

packsaddle on the ass, without a word from anyone. Then having Dapple saddled, he, with great pain and

difficulty, got up on him, and addressing himself to the majordomo, the secretary, the headcarver, and Pedro

Recio 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,

vinedressing and pruning, are more in my way than defending provinces or kingdoms. 'Saint Peter is very

well at Rome; I mean each of us is best following the trade he was born to. A reapinghook fits my hand

better than a governor's sceptre; I'd rather have my fill of gazpacho' than be subject to the misery of a

meddling doctor who me with hunger, and I'd rather lie in summer under the shade of an oak, and in winter

wrap myself in a double sheepskin 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 that 'naked I

was born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor gain;' I mean that without a farthing I came into this

government, and without a farthing I go out of it, very different from 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 ribs is

"That is unnecessary, senor governor," said Doctor Recio, "for I will give your worship a draught against falls

and bruises that will soon make you as sound and strong as ever; and as for your diet I promise your worship

"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 matter 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 won't

want for rough sandals of hemp; 'every ewe to her like,' 'and let no one stretch his leg beyond the length of

To this the majordomo said, "Senor governor, we 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 so for the ten days you have held the government, and then you may

"No one can demand it of me," said Sancho, "but he whom my lord the duke shall appoint; I am going to

meet him, and to him I will render an exact one; besides, when I go forth naked as I do, there is no other

"By God the great Sancho is right," said Doctor Recio, "and we should let him go, for the duke will be

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.

The duke and duchess resolved that the challenge Don Quixote had, for the reason already mentioned, given

their vassal, should be proceeded with; and as the young man was in Flanders, whither he had fled to escape

having Dona Rodriguez for a motherinlaw, they arranged to substitute for him a Gascon lacquey, named

Tosilos, first of all carefully instructing 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 armed 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 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

hundred 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 government (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 singing; who as they drew near arranged themselves in a

line and lifting up their voices all together began to sing in their own language something that Sancho could

not with the exception of one word which sounded plainly "alms," from which he gathered that it was alms

they asked for in their song; and being, as Cide Hamete says, remarkably charitable, he took out of his

alforias the half loaf and half cheese he had been provided 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!"

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 passing, 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 neighbour Sancho Panza? But there's no doubt

Sancho was surprised to hear himself called by his name and find himself embraced by a foreign pilgrim, and

after regarding him steadily without speaking he was still unable to recognise him; but the pilgrim perceiving

his perplexity cried, "What! and is it possible, Sancho Panza, that thou dost not know thy neighbour Ricote,

Sancho upon this looking at him more carefully began to recall his features, and at last recognised him

perfectly, and without getting off the ass threw his arms round his neck saying, "Who the devil could have

known thee, Ricote, in this mummer's dress thou art in? Tell me, who bas frenchified thee, and how dost thou

dare to return to Spain, where if they catch thee and recognise thee it will go hard enough with thee?"

"If thou dost not betray me, Sancho," said the pilgrim, "I am safe; for in this dress no one will recognise me;

but let us turn aside out of the road into that grove there where my comrades are going to eat and rest, and

thou shalt eat with them there, for they are very good fellows; I'll have time enough to tell thee then all that

has happened me since I left our village in obedience to his Majesty's edict that threatened such severities

Sancho complied, and Ricote having spoken to the other pilgrims they withdrew to the grove they saw,

turning a considerable distance out of the road. They threw down their staves, took off their pilgrim's cloaks

and remained in their underclothing; they were all goodlooking young fellows, except 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 would summon it from two leagues off. They stretched themselves

on the ground, and making a tablecloth of the grass they spread upon it bread, salt, knives, walnut, scraps of

cheese, and wellpicked hambones which if they 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 thirstwakener. 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

they took up on the point of the knife; and then all at the same moment raised their arms and botas aloft, the

mouths placed in their mouths, and all eyes fixed on heaven just as if they were taking aim at it; and in this

attitude they remained ever so long, wagging their heads from side to side as if in acknowledgment of the

pleasure they were 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,

"when thou art at Rome do as thou seest," he asked Ricote for his bota and took aim like the rest of them, and

with not less enjoyment. Four times did the botas bear being uplifted, but the fifth it was all in vain, for they

were drier and more sapless than a rush by that time, which made the jollity that had been kept up so far

Every now and then some one of them would grasp Sancho's right hand in his own saying, "Espanoli y

Tudesqui tuto uno: bon compano;" and Sancho would answer, "Bon compano, jur a Di!" and then go off into

a fit of laughter that lasted an hour, without a thought for the moment of anything that had befallen 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 dropped asleep on their

very table and tablecloth. Ricote and Sancho 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 pilgrims buried in

sweet sleep; and without once falling into his own Morisco tongue Ricote spoke as follows in pure Castilian:

"Thou knowest well, neighbour and friend Sancho Panza, how the proclamation or edict his Majesty

commanded to be issued against those of my nation filled us all with terror and dismay; me at least it did,

insomuch that I think before the time granted us for quitting Spain was out, the full 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 out 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 positive enactments 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 harboured, designs of

such a nature that I think it was a divine inspiration that moved his Majesty to carry out a resolution so

spirited; not that we were all guilty, for some there were true and steadfast Christians; 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

bosom 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. Wherever we are we weep for Spain; for after all we were born there and it is our natural fatherland.

Nowhere do we find the reception our unhappy condition needs; and in Barbary and all the parts of Africa

where we counted upon being received, succoured, and welcomed, it is there they insult and illtreat us most.

We knew not our good fortune 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 forsaken yonder, so great is their love for it; and now I know by

"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 inhabitants do not pay any attention to trifling points; everyone lives as he likes, for in

most parts they enjoy liberty of conscience. 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, which

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 saying 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 kingdom 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 outside the town, I shall be able to do without risk, and to write, or cross over from

Valencia, to my daughter and wife, who I know are at Algiers, and find some means of bringing them to

some French port and thence to Germany, there to await what it may be God's will to do with us; for, after all,

Sancho, I know well that Ricota my daughter and Francisca Ricota my wife are Catholic Christians, and

though I am not so much so, still I 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 wife and daughter should have gone to Barbary rather than to France, where

To this Sancho replied, "Remember, Ricote, that may not have been open to them, for Juan Tiopieyo thy

wife's brother took them, and being a true Moor he 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 heard they

took from thy brotherinlaw and thy wife a great quantity of pearls and money in gold which they brought

"That may be," said Ricote; "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 help 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

"I would do it," said Sancho; "but I am 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

"I have given up being governor of an island," said Sancho, "and such a one, faith, as you won't find the like

"Where?" said Sancho; "two leagues from here, and it is called the island of Barataria."

"Nonsense! Sancho," said Ricote; "islands are away out in the sea; there are no islands on the mainland."

"What? No islands!" said Sancho; "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

"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 sleep, ay and

even one's food; for in islands the governors must eat little, especially if they have doctors to look after their

"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 wilt come with me as I said

to help me to take away treasure I left buried (for indeed it may be called a treasure, it is so large), and I will

"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 wellgotten gain may be

"I will not press thee, Sancho," said Ricote; "but tell me, wert thou in our village when my wife and daughter

"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 God and Our Lady his 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 himself most moved was Don Pedro Gregorio, the rich young heir thou knowest of, and they say he

was deep in love with her; and since she left he has not been seen in our village again, and we all suspect he

"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 lovemaking, would not trouble herself about

"God grant it," said Sancho, "for it would be a bad business for both of them; but now let me be off, friend

"God be with thee, brother Sancho," said Ricote; "my comrades are beginning to stir, and it is time, too, for

us to continue our journey;" and then they both embraced, and Sancho mounted Dapple, and Ricote leant

The length of time he delayed with Ricote prevented Sancho from reaching the duke's castle that day, though

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 Dapple fell into a deep dark hole that lay among some very old buildings.

As he fell he commended 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

Dapple touched bottom, and he found himself sitting on him without having received any hurt or damage

whatever. He felt himself all over and held his breath to try whether he was quite sound or had a hole made in

him anywhere, and finding himself 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 made sure 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 pathetically and dolefully Dapple was bemoaning himself, and no wonder he

complained, nor was it from illtemper, for in truth he was not in a very good case. "Alas," said Sancho,

"what unexpected accidents happen at every step to those who live in this miserable world! Who 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 today buried in a pit without a soul to help him, or servant or

vassal to come to his relief? Here must we perish with hunger, my ass and myself, if indeed we don't die first,

he of his bruises and injuries, and I of grief and sorrow. At any rate I'll not be as lucky as my master Don

Quixote of La Mancha, when he went down 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'll see, I imagine, toads and adders.

Unlucky wretch that I am, what an end my follies and fancies have come to! They'll 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. Unlucky wretches, I say again, that our hard fate

should not let us die in our own country and among our own people, where if there was no help for our

misfortune, at any rate there would be some one to grieve for it and to close our eyes as we passed away! O

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 miserable strait we are both in; and I promise to put a crown of laurel on

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

anyone within hearing; but all his shouting was only crying in the wilderness, for there was not a soul

anywhere in the neighbourhood 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. Sancho made for it, and entered it by creeping, and found it wide 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 widened out into another spacious cavity; seeing

which he made his way 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 without 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 dungeons for flowery gardens or the palaces of Galiana, and

would have counted upon issuing out of this darkness and imprisonment 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

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 Cide Hamete 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 Dona Rodriguez's daughter of

her honour, for whom he hoped to obtain satisfaction for the wrong and injury shamefully 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 Rocinante

through his paces or pressing him to the charge, he brought his feet so close 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 examined 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

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

"Who should be here, or who should complain," was the answer, "but the forlorn Sancho Panza, for his sins

and for his illluck governor of the island of Barataria, squire that was to the famous knight Don Quixote of

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 what thou wouldst have me do

for thee; for as my profession is to give aid and succour to those that need it in this world, it will also extend

to aiding and succouring 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

"Don Quixote I am," replied Don Quixote, "he whose profession it is to aid and succour 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 God's

mercy in purgatory, our holy mother the Roman Catholic Church has intercessory means sufficient to release

thee from the pains thou art in; and I for my part will plead with her to that end, so far as my substance will

go; without further delay, therefore, declare thyself, and tell me who thou art."

"By all that's good," was the answer, "and by the birth of whomsoever your worship chooses, I swear, Senor

Don 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 would 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."

Nor was this all; one would have fancied the ass understood what Sancho said, because that moment he began

"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

"Go, your worship," said Sancho, "and come back quick for God's sake; for I cannot bear being buried alive

Don Quixote left him, and hastened to the castle to tell the duke and duchess what had happened Sancho, and

they were not a little astonished at it; 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 labour 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 governors should come out of their governments, as this sinner comes out of the depths of the

Sancho overheard him and said, "It is eight or ten days, brother growler, since I entered upon the government

of the island they gave me, and all that time I never had a bellyful of victuals, no not for an hour; doctors

persecuted me and enemies crushed my bones; nor had I any opportunity of taking bribes or levying taxes;

and if that be the case, as it is, I don't deserve, I think, to come out in this fashion; but 'man proposes and God

disposes;' and God knows what is best, and what suits each one best; and 'as the occasion, so the behaviour;'

and 'let nobody say "I won't drink of this water;"' and 'where one thinks there are flitches, there are no pegs;'

"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;

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

Thus talking, and surrounded by boys and a crowd of people, they reached the castle, where in one of the

corridors the duke and duchess stood waiting for them; but Sancho would not go up to see the duke until he

had first put up Dapple in the stable, for he said he had passed a very bad night in his last quarters; then he

went upstairs to see his lord and lady, and kneeling before them he said, "Because it was your highnesses'

pleasure, not because of any desert of my own, I went to govern your island of Barataria, which 'I entered

naked, and naked I find myself; I neither lose nor gain.' Whether I have governed well or ill, I have had

witnesses who will say what they think fit. I have answered questions, I have decided causes, and always

dying of hunger, for Doctor Pedro Recio of Tirteafuera, the island and governor doctor, would have it so.

Enemies attacked us by night and put us in a great quandary, but the people of the island say they came off

safe and victorious by the might of my arm; and may God give them as much health as there's truth in what

they say. In short, during that time I have weighed the cares and responsibilities governing brings with it, and

by my reckoning I find my shoulders can't bear them, nor are they a load for my loins or arrows for my

quiver; and so, before the government threw me over I preferred to throw the government over; and yesterday

morning I left the island as I found it, with the same streets, houses, and roofs it had when I entered it. I asked

no loan of anybody, nor did I try to fill my pocket; and though I meant to make some useful laws, I made

hardly any, as I was afraid they would not be kept; for in that case it comes to the same thing to make them or

not to make them. I quitted the island, as I said, without any escort except my ass; I fell into a pit, I pushed on

through it, until this morning by the light of the sun I saw an outlet, but not so easy a one but that, had not

heaven sent me my master Don Quixote, I'd have stayed there till the end of the world. So now my lord and

lady duke and duchess, here is your governor Sancho Panza, who in the bare ten days he has held the

government has come by the knowledge that he would not give anything to be governor, not to say of an

island, but of the whole world; and that point being settled, kissing your worships' feet, and imitating the

game of the boys when they say, 'leap thou, and give me one,' I take a leap out of the government and pass

into the service of my master Don Quixote; for after all, though in it I eat my bread in fear and trembling, at

any rate I take my fill; and for my part, so long as I'm full, it's all alike to me whether it's with carrots or with

Here Sancho brought his long speech to an end, Don Quixote having been the whole time in dread of his

uttering a host of absurdities; and when he found him leave off with so few, he thanked heaven in his heart.

The duke embraced Sancho and told him he was heartily sorry he had given up the government so soon, but

that he would see that he was provided with some other post on his estate less onerous and more profitable.

The duchess also embraced him, and gave orders that he should be taken good care of, as it was plain to see

The duke and duchess had no reason to regret the joke that had been played upon Sancho Panza in giving him

the government; especially as their majordomo returned the same day, and gave them a minute account of

almost every word and deed that Sancho uttered or did during the time; and to wind up with, eloquently

described to them the attack upon the island and Sancho's fright and departure, with which they were not a

little amused. After this the history goes on to say that the day fixed for the battle arrived, and that the duke,

after having repeatedly instructed his lacquey Tosilos how to deal with Don Quixote so as to vanquish him

without killing or wounding him, gave orders to have the heads removed from the lances, telling Don

Quixote that Christian charity, on which he plumed himself, could not suffer the battle to be fought with so

much risk and danger to life; and that he must be content with the offer of a battlefield on his territory

(though that was against the decree of the holy Council, which prohibits all challenges of the sort) and not

push such an arduous venture to its extreme limits. Don Quixote bade his excellence arrange all matters

connected with the affair as he pleased, as on his part he would obey him in everything. The dread day, then,

having arrived, and the duke having ordered a spacious stand to be erected facing the court of the castle for

the judges of the field and the appellant duennas, mother and daughter, vast crowds flocked from all the

villages and hamlets of the neighbourhood to see the novel spectacle of the battle; nobody, dead or alive, in

The first person to enter thefield and the lists was the master of the ceremonies, who surveyed and paced the

whole ground to see that there was nothing unfair and nothing concealed to make the combatants stumble or

fall; then the duennas entered and seated themselves, enveloped in mantles covering their eyes, nay even their

bosoms, and displaying no slight emotion as Don Quixote appeared in the lists. Shortly afterwards,

accompanied by several trumpets and mounted on a powerful steed that threatened to crush the whole place,

the great lacquey Tosilos made his appearance on one side of the courtyard with his visor down and stiffly

cased in a suit of stout shining armour. The horse was a manifest Frieslander, broadbacked and fleabitten,

and with half a hundred of wool hanging to each of his fetlocks. The gallant combatant came well primed by

his master the duke as to how he was to bear himself against the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha; being

warned that he must on no account slay him, but strive to shirk the first encounter so as to avoid the risk of

killing him, as he was sure to do if he met him full tilt. He crossed the courtyard at a walk, and coming to

where the duennas were placed stopped to look at her who demanded him for a husband; the marshal of the

field summoned Don Quixote, who had already presented himself in the courtyard, and standing by the side

of Tosilos he addressed the duennas, and asked them if they consented that Don Quixote of La Mancha

should do battle for their right. They said they did, and that whatever he should do in that behalf they

declared rightly done, final and valid. By this time the duke and duchess had taken their places in a gallery

commanding the enclosure, which was filled to overflowing with a multitude of people eager to see this

perilous and unparalleled encounter. The conditions of the combat were that if Don Quixote proved the victor

his antagonist was to marry the daughter of Dona Rodriguez; but if he should be vanquished his opponent

was released from the promise that was claimed against him and from all obligations to give satisfaction. The

master of the ceremonies apportioned the sun to them, and stationed them, each on the spot where he was to

stand. The drums beat, the sound of the trumpets filled the air, the earth trembled under foot, the hearts of the

gazing crowd were full of anxiety, some hoping for a happy issue, some apprehensive of an untoward ending

to the affair, and lastly, Don Quixote, commending himself with all his heart to God our Lord and to the lady

Dulcinea del Toboso, stood waiting for them to give the necessary signal for the onset. Our lacquey, however,

was thinking of something very different; he only thought of what I am now going to mention.

It seems that as he stood contemplating his enemy she struck him as the most beautiful woman he had ever

seen all his life; and the little blind boy whom in our streets they commonly call Love had no mind to let slip

the chance of triumphing over a lacquey heart, and adding it to the list of his trophies; and so, stealing gently

upon him unseen, he drove a dart two yards long into the poor lacquey's left side and pierced his heart

through and through; which he was able to do quite at his ease, for Love is invisible, and comes in and goes

out as he likes, without anyone calling him to account for what he does. Well then, when they gave the signal

for the onset our lacquey was in an ecstasy, musing upon the beauty of her whom he had already made

mistress of his liberty, and so he paid no attention to the sound of the trumpet, unlike Don Quixote, who was

off the instant he heard it, and, at the highest speed Rocinante was capable of, set out to meet his enemy, his

good squire Sancho shouting lustily as he saw him start, "God guide thee, cream and flower of

knightserrant! God give thee the victory, for thou hast the right on thy side!" But though Tosilos saw Don

Quixote coming at him he never stirred a step from the spot where he was posted; and instead of doing so

called loudly to the marshal of the field, to whom when he came up to see what he wanted he said, "Senor, is

not this battle to decide whether I marry or do not marry that lady?" "Just so," was the answer. "Well then,"

said the lacquey, "I feel qualms of conscience, and I should lay aheavy burden upon it if I were to proceed

any further with the combat; I therefore declare that I yield myself vanquished, and that I am willing to marry

The marshal of the field was lost in astonishment at the words of Tosilos; and as he was one of those who

were privy to the arrangement of the affair he knew not what to say in reply. Don Quixote pulled up in mid

career when he saw that his enemy was not coming on to the attack. The duke could not make out the reason

why the battle did not go on; but the marshal of the field hastened to him to let him know what Tosilos said,

and he was amazed and extremely angry at it. In the meantime Tosilos advanced to where Dona Rodriguez

sat and said in a loud voice, "Senora, I am willing to marry your daughter, and I have no wish to obtain by

strife and fighting what I can obtain in peace and without any risk to my life."

The valiant Don Quixote heard him, and said, "As that is the case I am released and absolved from my

promise; let them marry by all means, and as 'God our Lord has given her, may Saint Peter add his 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 scruples of conscience you wish to marry

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

Tosilos meanwhile was trying to unlace his helmet, and he begged them to come to his help at once, as his

power of breathing was failing him, and he could not remain so long shut up in that confined space. They

removed it in all haste, and his lacquey features were revealed to public gaze. At this sight Dona Rodriguez

and her daughter raised a mighty outcry, exclaiming, "This is a trick! This is a trick! They have put Tosilos,

my lord the duke's lacquey, upon us in place of the real husband. The justice of God and the king against such

"Do not distress yourselves, ladies," said Don Quixote; "for this is no trickery or roguery; or if it is, it is not

the duke who is at the bottom of it, but those wicked enchanters who persecute me, and who, jealous of my

reaping the glory of this victory, have turned your husband's features into those of this person, who you say is

a lacquey of the duke's; take my advice, and notwithstanding the malice of my enemies marry him, for

When the duke heard this all his anger was near vanishing in a fit of laughter, and he said, "The things that

happen to Senor Don Quixote are so extraordinary that I am ready to believe this lacquey of mine is not one;

but let us adopt this plan and device; let us put off the marriage for, say, a fortnight, and let us keep this

person about whom we are uncertain in close confinement, and perhaps in the course of that time he may

return to his original shape; for the spite which the enchanters entertain against Senor Don Quixote cannot

last so long, especially as it is of so little advantage to them to practise these deceptions and transformations."

"Oh, senor," said Sancho, "those scoundrels are well used to changing whatever concerns my master from

one thing into another. A knight that he overcame some time back, called the Knight of the Mirrors, they

turned into the shape of the bachelor Samson Carrasco of our town and a great friend of ours; and my lady

Dulcinea del Toboso they have turned into a common country wench; so I suspect this lacquey will have to

Here the Rodriguez's daughter exclaimed, "Let him be who he may, this man that claims me for a wife; I am

thankful to him for the same, for I had rather he the lawful wife of a lacquey than the cheated mistress of a

To be brief, all the talk and all that had happened ended in Tosilos being shut up until it was seen how his

transformation turned out. All hailed Don Quixote as victor, but the greater number were vexed and

disappointed at finding that the combatants they had been so anxiously waiting for had not battered one

another to pieces, just as the boys are disappointed when the man they are waiting to see hanged does not

come out, because the prosecution or the court has pardoned him. The people dispersed, the duke and Don

Quixote returned to the castle, they locked up Tosilos, Dona Rodriguez and her daughter remained perfectly

contented when they saw that any way the affair must end in marriage, and Tosilos wanted nothing else.

Don Quixote now felt it right to quit a life of such idleness as he was leading in the castle; for he fancied that

he was making himself sorely missed by suffering himself to remain shut up and inactive amid the countless

luxuries and enjoyments his hosts lavished upon him as a knight. and he felt too that he would have to render

a strict account to heaven of that indolence and seclusion; and so one day he asked the duke and duchess to

grant him permission to take his departure. They gave it, showing at the same time that they were very sorry

he was leaving them. The duchess gave his wife's letters to Sancho Panza, who shed tears over them, saying,

"Who would have thought that such grand hopes as the news of my government bred in my wife Teresa

Panza's breast would end in my going back now to the vagabond adventures of my master Don Quixote of La

Mancha? Still I'm glad to see my Teresa behaved as she ought in sending the acorns, for if she had not sent

them I'd have been sorry, and she'd have shown herself ungrateful. It is a comfort to me that they can't call

that present a bribe; for I had got the government already when she sent them, and it's but reasonable that

those who have had a good turn done them should show their gratitude, if it's only with a trifle. After all I

went into the government naked, and I come out of it naked; so I can say with a safe conscience and that's

no small matter 'naked I was born, naked I find myself, I neither lose nor gain.'"

Thus did Sancho soliloquise on the day of their departure, as Don Quixote, who had the night before taken

leave of the duke and duchess, coming out made his appearance at an early hour in full armour in the

courtyard of the castle. The whole household of the castle were watching him from the corridors, and the

duke and duchess, too, came out to see him. Sancho was mounted on his Dapple, with his alforjas, valise, and

proven. supremely happy because the duke's majordomo, the same that had acted the part of the Trifaldi, had

given him a little purse with two hundred gold crowns to meet the necessary expenses of the road, but of this

Don Quixote knew nothing as yet. While all were, as has been said, observing him, suddenly from among the

duennas and handmaidens the impudent and witty Altisidora lifted up her voice and said in pathetic tones:

Give ear, cruel knight; Draw rein; where's the need Of spurring the flanks Of that illbroken steed? From

what art thou flying? No dragon I am, Not even a sheep, But a tender young lamb. Thou hast jilted a maiden

In thy claws, ruthless robber, Thou bearest away The heart of a meek Loving maid for thy prey, Three

kerchiefs thou stealest, And garters a pair, From legs than the whitest Of marble more fair; And the sighs that

pursue thee Would burn to the ground Two thousand Troy Towns, If so many were found.

May no bowels of mercy To Sancho be granted, And thy Dulcinea Be left still enchanted, May thy falsehood

to me Find its punishment in her, For in my land the just Often pays for the sinner. May thy grandest

adventures Discomfitures prove, May thy joys be all dreams, And forgotten thy love.

May thy name be abhorred For thy conduct to ladies, From London to England, From Seville to Cadiz; May

thy cards be unlucky, Thy hands contain ne'er a King, seven, or ace When thou playest primera; When thy

corns are cut May it be to the quick; When thy grinders are drawn May the roots of them stick.

All the while the unhappy Altisidora was bewailing herself in the above strain Don Quixote stood staring at

her; and without uttering a word in reply to her he turned round to Sancho and said, "Sancho my friend, I

conjure thee by the life of thy forefathers tell me the truth; say, hast thou by any chance taken the three

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

The duchess was amazed at Altisidora's assurance; she knew that she was bold, lively, and impudent, but not

so much so as to venture to make free in this fashion; and not being prepared for the joke, her astonishment

was all the greater. The duke had a mind to keep up the sport, so he said, "It does not seem to me well done in

you, sir knight, that after having received the hospitality that has been offered you in this very castle, you

should have ventured to carry off even three kerchiefs, not to say my handmaid's garters. It shows a bad heart

and does not tally with your reputation. Restore her garters, or else I defy you to mortal combat, for I am not

afraid of rascally enchanters changing or altering my features as they changed his who encountered you into

"God forbid," said Don Quixote, "that I should draw my sword against your illustrious person from which I

have received such great favours. The kerchiefs I will restore, as Sancho says he has them; as to the garters

that is impossible, for I have not got them, neither has he; and if your handmaiden here will look in her

hidingplaces, depend upon it she will find them. I have never been a thief, my lord duke, nor do I mean to

be so long as I live, if God cease not to have me in his keeping. This damsel by her own confession speaks as

one in love, for which I am not to blame, and therefore need not ask pardon, either of her or of your

excellence, whom I entreat to have a better opinion of me, and once more to give me leave to pursue my

"And may God so prosper it, Senor Don Quixote," said the duchess, "that we may always hear good news of

your exploits; God speed you; for the longer you stay, the more you inflame the hearts of the damsels who

behold you; and as for this one of mine, I will so chastise her that she will not transgress again, either with

"One word and no more, O valiant Don Quixote, I ask you to hear," said Altisidora, "and that is that I beg

your pardon about the theft of the garters; for by God and upon my soul I have got them on, and I have fallen

into the same blunder as he did who went looking for his ass being all the while mounted on it."

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

Don Quixote bowed his head, and saluted the duke and duchess and all the bystanders, and wheeling

Rocinante round, Sancho following him on Dapple, he rode out of the castle, shaping his course for

When Don Quixote saw himself in open country, free, and relieved from the attentions of Altisidora, he felt at

his ease, and in fresh spirits to take up the pursuit of chivalry once more; and turning to Sancho he said,

"Freedom, Sancho, is one of the most precious gifts that heaven has bestowed upon men; no treasures that the

earth holds buried or the sea conceals can compare with it; for freedom, as for honour, life may and should be

ventured; and on the other hand, captivity is the greatest evil that can fall to the lot of man. I say this, Sancho,

because thou hast seen the good cheer, the abundance we have enjoyed in this castle we are leaving; well

then, amid those dainty banquets and snowcooled beverages I felt as though I were undergoing the straits of

hunger, because I did not enjoy them with the same freedom as if they had been mine own; for the sense of

being under an obligation to return benefits and favours received is a restraint that checks the independence

of the spirit. Happy he, to whom heaven has given a piece of bread for which he is not bound to give thanks

"For all your worship says," said Sancho, "it is not becoming that there should he no thanks on our part for

two hundred gold crowns that the duke's majordomo has given me in a little purse which I carry next my

heart, like a warming plaster or comforter, to meet any chance calls; for we shan't always find castles where

they'll entertain us; now and then we may light upon roadside inns where they'll cudgel us."

In conversation of this sort the knight and squire errant were pursuing their journey, when, after they had

gone a little more than half a league, they perceived some dozen men dressed like labourers stretched upon

their cloaks on the grass of a green meadow eating their dinner. They had beside them what seemed to be

white sheets concealing some objects under them, standing upright or lying flat, and arranged at intervals.

Don Quixote approached the diners, and, saluting them courteously first, he asked them what it was those

cloths covered. "Senor," answered one of the party, "under these cloths are some images carved in relief

intended for a retablo we are putting up in our village; we carry them covered up that they may not be soiled,

"With your good leave," said Don Quixote, "I should like to see them; for images that are carried so carefully

"I should think they were!" said the other; "let the money they cost speak for that; for as a matter of fact there

is not one of them that does not stand us in more than fifty ducats; and that your worship may judge; wait a

moment, and you shall see with your own eyes;" and getting up from his dinner he went and uncovered the

first image, which proved to be one of Saint George on horseback with a serpent writhing at his feet and the

lance thrust down its throat with all that fierceness that is usually depicted. The whole group was one blaze of

gold, as the saying is. On seeing it Don Quixote said, "That knight was one of the best knightserrant the

army of heaven ever owned; he was called Don Saint George, and he was moreover a defender of maidens.

The man uncovered it, and it was seen to be that of Saint Martin on his horse, dividing his cloak with the

beggar. The instant Don Quixote saw it he said, "This knight too was one of the Christian adventurers, but I

believe he was generous rather than valiant, as thou mayest perceive, Sancho, by his dividing his cloak with

the beggar and giving him half of it; no doubt it was winter at the time, for otherwise he would have given

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

Don Quixote laughed, and asked them to take off the next cloth, underneath which was seen the image of the

patron saint of the Spains seated on horseback, his sword stained with blood, trampling on Moors and

treading heads underfoot; and on seeing it Don Quixote exclaimed, "Ay, this is a knight, and of the squadrons

of Christ! This one is called Don Saint James the Moorslayer, one of the bravest saints and knights the world

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

knighterrant in life, a steadfast saint in death, an untiring labourer in the Lord's vineyard, a teacher of the

Gentiles, whose school was heaven, and whose instructor and master was Jesus Christ himself."

There were no more images, so Don Quixote bade them cover them up again, and said to those who had

brought them, "I take it as a happy omen, brothers, to have seen what I have; for these saints and knights were

of the same profession as myself, which is the calling of arms; only there is this difference between them and

me, that they were saints, and fought with divine weapons, and I am a sinner and fight with human ones.

They won heaven by force of arms, for heaven suffereth violence; and I, so far, know not what I have won by

dint of my sufferings; but if my Dulcinea del Toboso were to be released from hers, perhaps with mended

fortunes and a mind restored to itself I might direct my steps in a better path than I am following at present."

The men were filled with wonder, as well at the figure as at the words of Don Quixote, though they did not

understand one half of what he meant by them. They finished their dinner, took their images on their backs,

Sancho was amazed afresh at the extent of his master's knowledge, as much as if he had never known him,

for it seemed to him that there was no story or event in the world that he had not at his fingers' ends and fixed

in his memory, and he said to him, "In truth, master mine, if this that has happened to us today is to be

called an adventure, it has been one of the sweetest and pleasantest that have befallen us in the whole course

of our travels; we have come out of it unbelaboured and undismayed, neither have we drawn sword nor have

we smitten the earth with our bodies, nor have we been left famishing; blessed be God that he has let me see

"Thou sayest well, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "but remember all times are not alike nor do they always run

the same way; and these things the vulgar commonly call omens, which are not based upon any natural

reason, will by him who is wise be esteemed and reckoned happy accidents merely. One of these believers in

omens will get up of a morning, leave his house, and meet a friar of the order of the blessed Saint Francis,

and, as if he had met a griffin, he will turn about and go home. With another Mendoza the salt is spilt on his

table, and gloom is spilt over his heart, as if nature was obliged to give warning of coming misfortunes by

means of such trivial things as these. The wise man and the Christian should not trifle with what it may

please heaven to do. Scipio on coming to Africa stumbled as he leaped on shore; his soldiers took it as a bad

omen; but he, clasping the soil with his arms, exclaimed, 'Thou canst not escape me, Africa, for I hold thee

tight between my arms.' Thus, Sancho, meeting those images has been to me a most happy occurrence."

"I can well believe it," said Sancho; "but I wish your worship would tell me what is the reason that the

Spaniards, when they are about to give battle, in calling on that Saint James the Moorslayer, say 'Santiago

and close Spain!' Is Spain, then, open, so that it is needful to close it; or what is the meaning of this form?"

"Thou art very simple, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "God, look you, gave that great knight of the Red Cross

to Spain as her patron saint and protector, especially in those hard struggles the Spaniards had with the

Moors; and therefore they invoke and call upon him as their defender in all their battles; and in these he has

been many a time seen beating down, trampling under foot, destroying and slaughtering the Hagarene

squadrons in the sight of all; of which fact I could give thee many examples recorded in truthful Spanish

Sancho changed the subject, and said to his master, "I marvel, senor, at the boldness of Altisidora, the

duchess's handmaid; he whom they call Love must have cruelly pierced and wounded her; they say he is a

little blind urchin who, though bleareyed, or more properly speaking sightless, if he aims at a heart, be it

ever so small, hits it and pierces it through and through with his arrows. I have heard it said too that the

arrows of Love are blunted and robbed of their points by maidenly modesty and reserve; but with this

"Bear in mind, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that love is influenced by no consideration, recognises no

restraints of reason, and is of the same nature as death, that assails alike the lofty palaces of kings and the

humble cabins of shepherds; and when it takes entire possession of a heart, the first thing it does is to banish

fear and shame from it; and so without shame Altisidora declared her passion, which excited in my mind

"Notable cruelty!" exclaimed Sancho; "unheardof ingratitude! I can only say for myself that the very

smallest loving word of hers would have subdued me and made a slave of me. The devil! What a heart of

marble, what bowels of brass, what a soul of mortar! But I can't imagine what it is that this damsel saw in

your worship that could have conquered and captivated her so. What gallant figure was it, what bold bearing,

what sprightly grace, what comeliness of feature, which of these things by itself, or what all together, could

have made her fall in love with you? For indeed and in truth many a time I stop to look at your worship from

the sole of your foot to the topmost hair of your head, and I see more to frighten one than to make one fall in

love; moreover I have heard say that beauty is the first and main thing that excites love, and as your worship

"Recollect, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "there are two sorts of beauty, one of the mind, the other of the

body; that of the mind displays and exhibits itself in intelligence, in modesty, in honourable conduct, in

generosity, in good breeding; and all these qualities are possible and may exist in an ugly man; and when it is

this sort of beauty and not that of the body that is the attraction, love is apt to spring up suddenly and

violently. I, Sancho, perceive clearly enough that I am not beautiful, but at the same time I know I am not

hideous; and it is enough for an honest man not to be a monster to he an object of love, if only he possesses

While engaged in this discourse they were making their way through a wood that lay beyond the road, when

suddenly, without expecting anything of the kind, Don Quixote found himself caught in some nets of green

cord stretched from one tree to another; and unable to conceive what it could be, he said to Sancho, "Sancho,

it strikes me this affair of these nets will prove one of the strangest adventures imaginable. May I die if the

enchanters that persecute me are not trying to entangle me in them and delay my journey, by way of revenge

for my obduracy towards Altisidora. Well then let me tell them that if these nets, instead of being green cord,

were made of the hardest diamonds, or stronger than that wherewith the jealous god of blacksmiths enmeshed

Venus and Mars, I would break them as easily as if they were made of rushes or cotton threads." But just as

he was about to press forward and break through all, suddenly from among some trees two shepherdesses of

surpassing beauty presented themselves to his sight or at least damsels dressed like shepherdesses, save that

their jerkins and sayas were of fine brocade; that is to say, the sayas were rich farthingales of gold

embroidered tabby. Their hair, that in its golden brightness vied with the beams of the sun itself, fell loose

upon their shoulders and was crowned with garlands twined with green laurel and red everlasting; and their

years to all appearance were not under fifteen nor above eighteen. Such was the spectacle that filled Sancho

with amazement, fascinated Don Quixote, made the sun halt in his course to behold them, and held all four in

a strange silence. One of the shepherdesses, at length, was the first to speak and said to Don Quixote, "Hold,

sir knight, and do not break these nets; for they are not spread here to do you any harm, but only for our

amusement; and as I know you will ask why they have been put up, and who we are, I will tell you in a few

words. In a village some two leagues from this, where there are many people of quality and rich gentlefolk, it

was agreed upon by a number of friends and relations to come with their wives, sons and daughters,

neighbours, friends and kinsmen, and make holiday in this spot, which is one of the pleasantest in the whole

neighbourhood, setting up a new pastoral Arcadia among ourselves, we maidens dressing ourselves as

shepherdesses and the youths as shepherds. We have prepared two eclogues, one by the famous poet

Garcilasso, the other by the most excellent Camoens, in its own Portuguese tongue, but we have not as yet

acted them. Yesterday was the first day of our coming here; we have a few of what they say are called

fieldtents pitched among the trees on the bank of an ample brook that fertilises all these meadows; last night

we spread these nets in the trees here to snare the silly little birds that startled by the noise we make may fly

into them. If you please to he our guest, senor, you will be welcomed heartily and courteously, for here just

She held her peace and said no more, and Don Quixote made answer, "Of a truth, fairest lady, Actaeon when

he unexpectedly beheld Diana bathing in the stream could not have been more fascinated and wonderstruck

than I at the sight of your beauty. I commend your mode of entertainment, and thank you for the kindness of

your invitation; and if I can serve you, you may command me with full confidence of being obeyed, for my

profession is none other than to show myself grateful, and ready to serve persons of all conditions, but

especially persons of quality such as your appearance indicates; and if, instead of taking up, as they probably

do, but a small space, these nets took up the whole surface of the globe, I would seek out new worlds through

which to pass, so as not to break them; and that ye may give some degree of credence to this exaggerated

language of mine, know that it is no less than Don Quixote of La Mancha that makes this declaration to you,

"Ah! friend of my soul," instantly exclaimed the other shepherdess, "what great good fortune has befallen us!

Seest thou this gentleman we have before us? Well then let me tell thee he is the most valiant and the most

devoted and the most courteous gentleman in all the world, unless a history of his achievements that has been

printed and I have read is telling lies and deceiving us. I will lay a wager that this good fellow who is with

"That's true," said Sancho; "I am that same droll and squire you speak of, and this gentleman is my master

Don Quixote of La Mancha, the same that's in the history and that they talk about."

"Oh, my friend," said the other, "let us entreat him to stay; for it will give our fathers and brothers infinite

pleasure; I too have heard just what thou hast told me of the valour of the one and the drolleries of the other;

and what is more, of him they say that he is the most constant and loyal lover that was ever heard of, and that

his lady is one Dulcinea del Toboso, to whom all over Spain the palm of beauty is awarded."

"And justly awarded," said Don Quixote, "unless, indeed, your unequalled beauty makes it a matter of doubt.

But spare yourselves the trouble, ladies, of pressing me to stay, for the urgent calls of my profession do not

At this instant there came up to the spot where the four stood a brother of one of the two shepherdesses, like

them in shepherd costume, and as richly and gaily dressed as they were. They told him that their companion

was the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha, and the other Sancho his squire, of whom he knew already from

having read their history. The gay shepherd offered him his services and begged that he would accompany

him to their tents, and Don Quixote had to give way and comply. And now the gave was started, and the nets

were filled with a variety of birds that deceived by the colour fell into the danger they were flying from.

Upwards of thirty persons, all gaily attired as shepherds and shepherdesses, assembled on the spot, and were

at once informed who Don Quixote and his squire were, whereat they were not a little delighted, as they knew

of him already through his history. They repaired to the tents, where they found tables laid out, and choicely,

plentifully, and neatly furnished. They treated Don Quixote as a person of distinction, giving him the place of

honour, and all observed him, and were full of astonishment at the spectacle. At last the cloth being removed,

"One of the greatest sins that men are guilty of is some will say pride but I say ingratitude, going by the

common saying that hell is full of ingrates. This sin, so far as it has lain in my power, I have endeavoured to

avoid ever since I have enjoyed the faculty of reason; and if I am unable to requite good deeds that have been

done me by other deeds, I substitute the desire to do so; and if that be not enough I make them known

publicly; for he who declares and makes known the good deeds done to him would repay them by others if it

were in his power, and for the most part those who receive are the inferiors of those who give. Thus, God is

superior to all because he is the supreme giver, and the offerings of man fall short by an infinite distance of

being a full return for the gifts of God; but gratitude in some degree makes up for this deficiency and

shortcoming. I therefore, grateful for the favour that has been extended to me here, and unable to make a

return in the same measure, restricted as I am by the narrow limits of my power, offer what I can and what I

have to offer in my own way; and so I declare that for two full days I will maintain in the middle of this

highway leading to Saragossa, that these ladies disguised as shepherdesses, who are here present, are the

fairest and most courteous maidens in the world, excepting only the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, sole

mistress of my thoughts, be it said without offence to those who hear me, ladies and gentlemen."

On hearing this Sancho, who had been listening with great attention, cried out in a loud voice, "Is it possible

there is anyone in the world who will dare to say and swear that this master of mine is a madman? Say,

gentlemen shepherds, is there a village priest, be he ever so wise or learned, who could say what my master

has said; or is there knighterrant, whatever renown he may have as a man of valour, that could offer what

Don Quixote turned upon Sancho, and with a countenance glowing with anger said to him, "Is it possible,

Sancho, there is anyone in the whole world who will say thou art not a fool, with a lining to match, and I

know not what trimmings of impertinence and roguery? Who asked thee to meddle in my affairs, or to inquire

whether I am a wise man or a blockhead? Hold thy peace; answer me not a word; saddle Rocinante if he be

unsaddled; and let us go to put my offer into execution; for with the right that I have on my side thou mayest

reckon as vanquished all who shall venture to question it;" and in a great rage, and showing his anger plainly,

he rose from his seat, leaving the company lost in wonder, and making them feel doubtful whether they ought

to regard him as a madman or a rational being. In the end, though they sought to dissuade him from involving

himself in such a challenge, assuring him they admitted his gratitude as fully established, and needed no fresh

proofs to be convinced of his valiant spirit, as those related in the history of his exploits were sufficient, still

Don Quixote persisted in his resolve; and mounted on Rocinante, bracing his buckler on his arm and grasping

his lance, he posted himself in the middle of a high road that was not far from the green meadow. Sancho

followed on Dapple, together with all the members of the pastoral gathering, eager to see what would be the

Don Quixote, then, having, as has been said, planted himself in the middle of the road, made the welkin ring

with words to this effect: "Ho ye travellers and wayfarers, knights, squires, folk on foot or on horseback, who

pass this way or shall pass in the course of the next two days! Know that Don Quixote of La Mancha,

knighterrant, is posted here to maintain by arms that the beauty and courtesy enshrined in the nymphs that

dwell in these meadows and groves surpass all upon earth, putting aside the lady of my heart, Dulcinea del

Toboso. Wherefore, let him who is of the opposite opinion come on, for here I await him."

Twice he repeated the same words, and twice they fell unheard by any adventurer; but fate, that was guiding

affairs for him from better to better, so ordered it that shortly afterwards there appeared on the road a crowd

of men on horseback, many of them with lances in their hands, all riding in a compact body and in great

haste. No sooner had those who were with Don Quixote seen them than they turned about and withdrew to

some distance from the road, for they knew that if they stayed some harm might come to them; but Don

Quixote with intrepid heart stood his ground, and Sancho Panza shielded himself with Rocinante's

hindquarters. The troop of lancers came up, and one of them who was in advance began shouting to Don

Quixote, "Get out of the way, you son of the devil, or these bulls will knock you to pieces!"

"Rabble!" returned Don Quixote, "I care nothing for bulls, be they the fiercest Jarama breeds on its banks.

Confess at once, scoundrels, that what I have declared is true; else ye have to deal with me in combat."

The herdsman had no time to reply, nor Don Quixote to get out of the way even if he wished; and so the

drove of fierce bulls and tame bullocks, together with the crowd of herdsmen and others who were taking

them to be penned up in a village where they were to be run the next day, passed over Don Quixote and over

Sancho, Rocinante and Dapple, hurling them all to the earth and rolling them over on the ground. Sancho was

left crushed, Don Quixote scared, Dapple belaboured and Rocinante in no very sound condition. They all got

up, however, at length, and Don Quixote in great haste, stumbling here and falling there, started off running

after the drove, shouting out, "Hold! stay! ye rascally rabble, a single knight awaits you, and he is not of the

temper or opinion of those who say, 'For a flying enemy make a bridge of silver.'" The retreating party in

their haste, however, did not stop for that, or heed his menaces any more than last year's clouds. Weariness

brought Don Quixote to a halt, and more enraged than avenged he sat down on the road to wait until Sancho,

Rocinante and Dapple came up. When they reached him master and man mounted once more, and without

going back to bid farewell to the mock or imitation Arcadia, and more in humiliation than contentment, they

A clear limpid spring which they discovered in a cool grove relieved Don Quixote and Sancho of the dust and

fatigue due to the unpolite behaviour of the bulls, and by the side of this, having turned Dapple and Rocinante

loose without headstall or bridle, the forlorn pair, master and man, seated themselves. Sancho had recourse to

the larder of his alforjas and took out of them what he called the prog; Don Quixote rinsed his mouth and

bathed his face, by which cooling process his flagging energies were revived. Out of pure vexation he

remained without eating, and out of pure politeness Sancho did not venture to touch a morsel of what was

before him, but waited for his master to act as taster. Seeing, however, that, absorbed in thought, he was

forgetting to carry the bread to his mouth, he said never a word, and trampling every sort of good breeding

under foot, began to stow away in his paunch the bread and cheese that came to his hand.

"Eat, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote; "support life, which is of more consequence to thee than to me,

and leave me to die under the pain of my thoughts and pressure of my misfortunes. I was born, Sancho, to

live dying, and thou to die eating; and to prove the truth of what I say, look at me, printed in histories, famed

in arms, courteous in behaviour, honoured by princes, courted by maidens; and after all, when I looked

forward to palms, triumphs, and crowns, won and earned by my valiant deeds, I have this morning seen

myself trampled on, kicked, and crushed by the feet of unclean and filthy animals. This thought blunts my

teeth, paralyses my jaws, cramps my hands, and robs me of all appetite for food; so much so that I have a

"So then," said Sancho, munching hard all the time, "your worship does not agree with the proverb that says,

'Let Martha die, but let her die with a full belly.' I, at any rate, have no mind to kill myself; so far from that, I

mean to do as the cobbler does, who stretches the leather with his teeth until he makes it reach as far as he

wants. I'll stretch out my life by eating until it reaches the end heaven has fixed for it; and let me tell you,

senor, there's no greater folly than to think of dying of despair as your worship does; take my advice, and

after eating lie down and sleep a bit on this green grassmattress, and you will see that when you awake

Don Quixote did as he recommended, for it struck him that Sancho's reasoning was more like a philosopher's

than a blockhead's, and said he, "Sancho, if thou wilt do for me what I am going to tell thee my ease of mind

would be more assured and my heaviness of heart not so great; and it is this; to go aside a little while I am

sleeping in accordance with thy advice, and, making bare thy carcase to the air, to give thyself three or four

hundred lashes with Rocinante's reins, on account of the three thousand and odd thou art to give thyself for

the disenchantment of Dulcinea; for it is a great pity that the poor lady should be left enchanted through thy

"There is a good deal to be said on that point," said Sancho; "let us both go to sleep now, and after that, God

has decreed what will happen. Let me tell your worship that for a man to whip himself in cold blood is a hard

thing, especially if the stripes fall upon an illnourished and worsefed body. Let my lady Dulcinea have

patience, and when she is least expecting it, she will see me made a riddle of with whipping, and 'until death

it's all life;' I mean that I have still life in me, and the desire to make good what I have promised."

Don Quixote thanked him, and ate a little, and Sancho a good deal, and then they both lay down to sleep,

leaving those two inseparable friends and comrades, Rocinante and Dapple, to their own devices and to feed

unrestrained upon the abundant grass with which the meadow was furnished. They woke up rather late,

mounted once more and resumed their journey, pushing on to reach an inn which was in sight, apparently a

league off. I say an inn, because Don Quixote called it so, contrary to his usual practice of calling all inns

castles. They reached it, and asked the landlord if they could put up there. He said yes, with as much comfort

and as good fare as they could find in Saragossa. They dismounted, and Sancho stowed away his larder in a

room of which the landlord gave him the key. He took the beasts to the stable, fed them, and came back to see

what orders Don Quixote, who was seated on a bench at the door, had for him, giving special thanks to

heaven that this inn had not been taken for a castle by his master. Suppertime came, and they repaired to

their room, and Sancho asked the landlord what he had to give them for supper. To this the landlord replied

that his mouth should be the measure; he had only to ask what he would; for that inn was provided with the

"There's no need of all that," said Sancho; "if they'll roast us a couple of chickens we'll be satisfied, for my

"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

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

"Much good that does us," said Sancho; "I'll lay a bet that all these shortcomings are going to wind up in

"By God," said the landlord, "my guest's wits must he precious dull; I tell him I have neither pullets nor hens,

and he wants me to have eggs! Talk of other dainties, if you please, and don't ask for hens again."

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

"In truth and earnest, senor guest," said the landlord, "all I have is a couple of cowheels like calves' feet, or a

couple of calves' feet like cowheels; they are boiled with chickpeas, onions, and bacon, and at this moment

"I mark them for mine on the spot," said Sancho; "let nobody touch them; I'll pay better for them than anyone

else, for I could not wish for anything more to my taste; and I don't care a pin whether they are feet or heels."

"Nobody shall touch them," said the landlord; "for the other guests I have, being persons of high quality,

"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 storerooms; we lay ourselves down in the middle of a meadow, and fill

Here ended Sancho's conversation with the landlord, Sancho not caring to carry it any farther by answering

him; for he had already asked him what calling or what profession it was his master was of.

Suppertime having come, then, Don Quixote betook himself to his room, the landlord brought in the

stewpan just as it was, and he sat himself down to sup very resolutely. It seems that in another room, which

was next to Don Quixote's, with nothing but a thin partition to separate it, he overheard these words, "As you

live, Senor Don Jeronimo, while they are bringing supper, let us read another chapter of the Second Part of

The instant Don Quixote heard his own name be started to his feet and listened with open ears to catch what

they said about him, and heard the Don Jeronimo who had been addressed say in reply, "Why would you

have us read that absurd stuff, Don Juan, when it is impossible for anyone who has read the First Part of the

history of 'Don Quixote of La Mancha' to take any pleasure in reading this Second Part?"

"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

On hearing this Don Quixote, full of wrath and indignation, lifted up his voice and said, "Whoever he may be

who says that Don Quixote of La Mancha has forgotten or can forget Dulcinea del Toboso, I will teach him

with equal arms that what he says is very far from the truth; for neither can the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso

be forgotten, nor can forgetfulness have a place in Don Quixote; his motto is constancy, and his profession to

"Who should it be," said Sancho, "but Don Quixote of La Mancha himself, who will make good all he has

Sancho had hardly uttered these words when two gentlemen, for such they seemed to be, entered the room,

and one of them, throwing his arms round Don Quixote's neck, said to him, "Your appearance cannot leave

any question as to your name, nor can your name fail to identify your appearance; unquestionably, senor, you

are the real Don Quixote of La Mancha, cynosure and morning star of knighterrantry, despite and in

defiance of him who has sought to usurp your name and bring to naught your achievements, as the author of

this book which I here present to you has done;" and with this he put a book which his companion carried

into the hands of Don Quixote, who took it, and without replying began to run his eye over it; but he

presently returned it saying, "In the little I have seen I have discovered three things in this author that deserve

to be censured. The first is some words that I have read in the preface; the next that the language is

Aragonese, for sometimes he writes without articles; and the third, which above all stamps him as ignorant, is

that he goes wrong and departs from the truth in the most important part of the history, for here he says that

my squire Sancho Panza's wife is called Mari Gutierrez, when she is called nothing of the sort, but Teresa

Panza; and when a man errs on such an important point as this there is good reason to fear that he is in error

"A nice sort of historian, indeed!" exclaimed Sancho at this; "he must know a deal about our affairs when he

calls my wife Teresa Panza, Mari Gutierrez; take the book again, senor, and see if I am in it and if he has

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

"Faith, then," said the gentleman, "this new author does not handle you with the decency that displays itself

in your person; he makes you out a heavy feeder and a fool, and not in the least droll, and a very different

"God forgive him," said Sancho; "he might have left me in my corner without troubling his head about me;

The two gentlemen pressed Don Quixote to come into their room and have supper with them, as they knew

very well there was nothing in that inn fit for one of his sort. Don Quixote, who was always polite, yielded to

their request and supped with them. Sancho stayed behind with the stew. and invested with plenary delegated

authority seated himself at the head of the table, and the landlord sat down with him, for he was no less fond

While at supper Don Juan asked Don Quixote what news he had of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, was she

married, had she been brought to bed, or was she with child, or did she in maidenhood, still preserving her

modesty and delicacy, cherish the remembrance of the tender passion of Senor Don Quixote?

To this he replied, "Dulcinea is a maiden still, and my passion more firmly rooted than ever, our intercourse

unsatisfactory as before, and her beauty transformed into that of a foul country wench;" and then he

proceeded to give them a full and particular account of the enchantment of Dulcinea, and of what had

happened him in the cave of Montesinos, together with what the sage Merlin had prescribed for her

Exceedingly great was the amusement the two gentlemen derived from hearing Don Quixote recount the

strange incidents of his history; and if they were amazed by his absurdities they were equally amazed by the

elegant style in which he delivered them. On the one hand they regarded him as a man of wit and sense, and

on the other he seemed to them a maundering blockhead, and they could not make up their minds

Sancho having finished his supper, and left the landlord in the X condition, repaired to the room where his

master was, and as he came in said, "May I die, sirs, if the author of this book your worships have got has any

mind that we should agree; as he calls me glutton (according to what your worships say) I wish he may not

"But he does," said Don Jeronimo; "I cannot remember, however, in what way, though I know his words are

offensive, and what is more, lying, as I can see plainly by the physiognomy of the worthy Sancho before me."

"Believe me," said Sancho, "the Sancho and the Don Quixote of this history must be different persons from

those that appear in the one Cide Hamete Benengeli wrote, who are ourselves; my master valiant, wise, and

"I believe it," said Don Juan; "and were it possible, an order should be issued that no one should have the

presumption to deal with anything relating to Don Quixote, save his original author Cide Hamete; just as

Alexander commanded that no one should presume to paint his portrait save Apelles."

"Let him who will paint me," said Don Quixote; "but let him not abuse me; for patience will often break

"None can be offered to Senor Don Quixote," said Don Juan, "that he himself will not be able to avenge, if he

does not ward it off with the shield of his patience, which, I take it, is great and strong."

A considerable portion of the night passed in conversation of this sort, and though Don Juan wished Don

Quixote to read more of the book to see what it was all about, he was not to be prevailed upon, saying that he

treated it as read and pronounced it utterly silly; and, if by any chance it should come to its author's ears that

he had it in his hand, he did not want him to flatter himself with the idea that he had read it; for our thoughts,

and still more our eyes, should keep themselves aloof from what is obscene and filthy.

They asked him whither he meant to direct his steps. He replied, to Saragossa, to take part in the harness

jousts which were held in that city every year. Don Juan told him that the new history described how Don

Quixote, let him be who he might, took part there in a tilting at the ring, utterly devoid of invention, poor in

"For that very reason," said Don Quixote, "I will not set foot in Saragossa; and by that means I shall expose

to the world the lie of this new history writer, and people will see that I am not the Don Quixote he speaks

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

"That is what I mean to do," said Don Quixote; "and as it is now time, I pray your worships to give me leave

to retire to bed, and to place and retain me among the number of your greatest friends and servants."

With this they exchanged farewells, and Don Quixote and Sancho retired to their room, leaving Don Juan and

Don Jeronimo amazed to see the medley he made of his good sense and his craziness; and they felt

thoroughly convinced that these, and not those their Aragonese author described, were the genuine Don

Quixote and Sancho. Don Quixote rose betimes, and bade adieu to his hosts by knocking at the partition of

the other room. Sancho paid the landlord magnificently, and recommended him either to say less about the

It was a fresh morning giving promise of a cool day as Don Quixote quitted the inn, first of all taking care to

ascertain the most direct road to Barcelona without touching upon Saragossa; so anxious was he to make out

this new historian, who they said abused him so, to be a liar. Well, as it fell out, nothing worthy of being

recorded happened him for six days, at the end of which, having turned aside out of the road, he was

overtaken by night in a thicket of oak or cork trees; for on this point Cide Hamete is not as precise as he

Master and man dismounted from their beasts, and as soon as they had settled themselves at the foot of the

trees, Sancho, who had had a good noontide meal that day, let himself, without more ado, pass the gates of

sleep. But Don Quixote, whom his thoughts, far more than hunger, kept awake, could not close an eye, and

roamed in fancy to and fro through all sorts of places. At one moment it seemed to him that he was in the

cave of Montesinos and saw Dulcinea, transformed into a country wench, skipping and mounting upon her

sheass; again that the words of the sage Merlin were sounding in his ears, setting forth the conditions to be

observed and the exertions to be made for the disenchantment of Dulcinea. He lost all patience when he

considered the laziness and want of charity of his squire Sancho; for to the best of his belief he had only

given himself five lashes, a number paltry and disproportioned to the vast number required. At this thought

he felt such vexation and anger that he reasoned the matter thus: "If Alexander the Great cut the Gordian

knot, saying, 'To cut comes to the same thing as to untie,' and yet did not fail to become lord paramount of all

Asia, neither more nor less could happen now in Dulcinea's disenchantment if I scourge Sancho against his

will; for, if it is the condition of the remedy that Sancho shall receive three thousand and odd lashes, what

does it matter to me whether he inflicts them himself, or some one else inflicts them, when the essential point

With this idea he went over to Sancho, having first taken Rocinante's reins and arranged them so as to be able

to flog him with them, and began to untie the points (the common belief is he had but one in front) by which

his breeches were held up; but the instant he approached him Sancho woke up in his full senses and cried out,

"It is I," said Don Quixote, "and I come to make good thy shortcomings and relieve my own distresses; I

come to whip thee, Sancho, and wipe off some portion of the debt thou hast undertaken. Dulcinea is

perishing, thou art living on regardless, I am dying of hope deferred; therefore untruss thyself with a good

will, for mine it is, here, in this retired spot, to give thee at least two thousand lashes."

"Not a bit of it," said Sancho; "let your worship keep quiet, or else by the living God the deaf shall hear us;

the lashes I pledged myself to must be voluntary and not forced upon me, and just now I have no fancy to

whip myself; it is enough if I give you my word to flog and flap myself when I have a mind."

"It will not do to leave it to thy courtesy, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for thou art hard of heart and, though a

clown, tender of flesh;" and at the same time he strove and struggled to untie him.

Seeing this Sancho got up, and grappling with his master he gripped him with all his might in his arms,

giving him a trip with the heel stretched him on the ground on his back, and pressing his right knee on his

"How now, traitor!" exclaimed Don Quixote. "Dost thou revolt against thy master and natural lord? Dost thou

"I neither put down king, nor set up king," said Sancho; "I only stand up for myself who am my own lord; if

your worship promises me to be quiet, and not to offer to whip me now, I'll let you go free and unhindered; if

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 ashouting, calling upon Don Quixote to come and protect him. Don Quixote

did so, and asked him what had happened to him, and what he was afraid of. Sancho replied that all the trees

were full of men's feet and legs. Don Quixote felt them, and guessed at once what it was, and said to Sancho,

"Thou hast nothing to be afraid of, for these feet and legs that thou feelest but canst not see belong no doubt

to some outlaws and freebooters that have been hanged on these trees; for the authorities in these parts are

wont to hang them up by twenties and thirties when they catch them; whereby I conjecture that I must be near

Barcelona;" and it was, in fact, as he supposed; with the first light they looked up and saw that the fruit

And now day dawned; and if the dead freebooters had scared them, their hearts were no less troubled by

upwards of forty living ones, who all of a sudden surrounded them, and in the Catalan tongue bade them

stand and wait until their captain came up. Don Quixote was on foot with his horse unbridled and his lance

leaning against a tree, and in short completely defenceless; he thought it best therefore to fold his arms and

bow his head and reserve himself for a more favourable occasion and opportunity. The robbers made haste to

search Dapple, and did not leave him a single thing of all he carried in the alforjas and in the valise; and lucky

it was for Sancho that the duke's crowns and those he brought from home were in a girdle that he wore round

him; but for all that these good folk would have stripped him, and even looked to see what he had hidden

between the skin and flesh, but for the arrival at that moment of their captain, who was about thirtyfour

years of age apparently, strongly built, above the middle height, of stern aspect and swarthy complexion. He

was mounted upon a powerful horse, and had on a coat of mail, with four of the pistols they call petronels in

that country at his waist. He saw that his squires (for so they call those who follow that trade) were about to

rifle Sancho Panza, but he ordered them to desist and was at once obeyed, so the girdle escaped. He

wondered to see the lance leaning against the tree, the shield on the ground, and Don Quixote in armour and

dejected, with the saddest and most melancholy face that sadness itself could produce; and going up to him he

said, "Be not so cast down, good man, for you have not fallen into the hands of any inhuman Busiris, but into

"The cause of my dejection," returned Don Quixote, "is not that I have fallen into thy hands, O valiant Roque,

whose fame is bounded by no limits on earth, but that my carelessness should have been so great that thy

soldiers should have caught me unbridled, when it is my duty, according to the rule of knighterrantry which

I profess, to be always on the alert and at all times my own sentinel; for let me tell thee, great Roque, had

they found me on my horse, with my lance and shield, it would not have been very easy for them to reduce

me to submission, for I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, he who hath filled the whole world with his

Roque Guinart at once perceived that Don Quixote's weakness was more akin to madness than to swagger;

and though he had sometimes heard him spoken of, he never regarded the things attributed to him as true, nor

could he persuade himself that such a humour could become dominant in the heart of man; he was extremely

glad, therefore, to meet him and test at close quarters what he had heard of him at a distance; so he said to

him, "Despair not, valiant knight, nor regard as an untoward fate the position in which thou findest thyself; it

may be that by these slips thy crooked fortune will make itself straight; for heaven by strange circuitous

ways, mysterious and incomprehensible to man, raises up the fallen and makes rich the poor."

Don Quixote was about to thank him, when they heard behind them a noise as of a troop of horses; there was,

however, but one, riding on which at a furious pace came a youth, apparently about twenty years of age, clad

in green damask edged with gold and breeches and a loose frock, with a hat looped up in the Walloon

fashion, tightfitting polished boots, gilt spurs, dagger and sword, and in his hand a musketoon, and a pair of

Roque turned round at the noise and perceived this comely figure, which drawing near thus addressed him, "I

came in quest of thee, valiant Roque, to find in thee if not a remedy at least relief in my misfortune; and not

to keep thee in suspense, for I see thou dost not recognise me, I will tell thee who I am; I am Claudia

Jeronima, the daughter of Simon Forte, thy good friend, and special enemy of Clauquel Torrellas, who is

thine also as being of the faction opposed to thee. Thou knowest that this Torrellas has a son who is called, or

at least was not two hours since, Don Vicente Torrellas. Well, to cut short the tale of my misfortune, I will

tell thee in a few words what this youth has brought upon me. He saw me, he paid court to me, I listened to

him, and, unknown to my father, I loved him; for there is no woman, however secluded she may live or close

she may be kept, who will not have opportunities and to spare for following her headlong impulses. In a

word, he pledged himself to be mine, and I promised to be his, without carrying matters any further.

Yesterday I learned that, forgetful of his pledge to me, he was about to marry another, and that he was to go

this morning to plight his troth, intelligence which overwhelmed and exasperated me; my father not being at

home I was able to adopt this costume you see, and urging my horse to speed I overtook Don Vicente about a

league from this, and without waiting to utter reproaches or hear excuses I fired this musket at him, and these

two pistols besides, and to the best of my belief I must have lodged more than two bullets in his body,

opening doors to let my honour go free, enveloped in his blood. I left him there in the hands of his servants,

who did not dare and were not able to interfere in his defence, and I come to seek from thee a safeconduct

into France, where I have relatives with whom I can live; and also to implore thee to protect my father, so that

Don Vicente's numerous kinsmen may not venture to wreak their lawless vengeance upon him."

Roque, filled with admiration at the gallant bearing, high spirit, comely figure, and adventure of the fair

Claudia, said to her, "Come, senora, let us go and see if thy enemy is dead; and then we will consider what

will be best for thee." Don Quixote, who had been listening to what Claudia said and Roque Guinart said in

reply to her, exclaimed, "Nobody need trouble himself with the defence of this lady, for I take it upon myself.

Give me my horse and arms, and wait for me here; I will go in quest of this knight, and dead or alive I will

"Nobody need have any doubt about that," said Sancho, "for my master has a very happy knack of

matchmaking; it's not many days since he forced another man to marry, who in the same way backed out of

his promise to another maiden; and if it had not been for his persecutors the enchanters changing the man's

Roque, who was paying more attention to the fair Claudia's adventure than to the words of master or man, did

not hear them; and ordering his squires to restore to Sancho everything they had stripped Dapple of, he

directed them to return to the place where they had been quartered during the night, and then set off with

Claudia at full speed in search of the wounded or slain Don Vicente. They reached the spot where Claudia

met him, but found nothing there save freshly spilt blood; looking all round, however, they descried some

people on the slope of a hill above them, and concluded, as indeed it proved to be, that it was Don Vicente,

whom either dead or alive his servants were removing to attend to his wounds or to bury him. They made

haste to overtake them, which, as the party moved slowly, they were able to do with ease. They found Don

Vicente in the arms of his servants, whom he was entreating in a broken feeble voice to leave him there to

die, as the pain of his wounds would not suffer him to go any farther. Claudia and Roque threw themselves

off their horses and advanced towards him; the servants were overawed by the appearance of Roque, and

Claudia was moved by the sight of Don Vicente, and going up to him half tenderly half sternly, she seized his

hand and said to him, "Hadst thou given me this according to our compact thou hadst never come to this

The wounded gentleman opened his all but closed eyes, and recognising Claudia said, "I see clearly, fair and

mistaken lady, that it is thou that hast slain me, a punishment not merited or deserved by my feelings towards

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

"Assuredly not," replied Don Vicente; "my cruel fortune must have carried those tidings to thee to drive thee

in thy jealousy to take my life; and to assure thyself of this, press my hands and take me for thy husband if

thou wilt; I have no better satisfaction to offer thee for the wrong thou fanciest thou hast received from me."

Claudia wrung his hands, and her own heart was so wrung that she lay fainting on the bleeding breast of Don

Vicente, whom a death spasm seized the same instant. Roque was in perplexity and knew not what to do; the

servants ran to fetch water to sprinkle their faces, and brought some and bathed them with it. Claudia

recovered from her fainting fit, but not so Don Vicente from the paroxysm that had overtaken him, for his life

had come to an end. On perceiving this, Claudia, when she had convinced herself that her beloved husband

was no more, rent the air with her sighs and made the heavens ring with her lamentations; she tore her hair

and scattered it to the winds, she beat her face with her hands and showed all the signs of grief and sorrow

that could be conceived to come from an afflicted heart. "Cruel, reckless woman!" she cried, "how easily wert

thou moved to carry out a thought so wicked! O furious force of jealousy, to what desperate lengths dost thou

lead those that give thee lodging in their bosoms! O husband, whose unhappy fate in being mine hath borne

So vehement and so piteous were the lamentations of Claudia that they drew tears from Roque's eyes, unused

as they were to shed them on any occasion. The servants wept, Claudia swooned away again and again, and

the whole place seemed a field of sorrow and an abode of misfortune. In the end Roque Guinart directed Don

Vicente's servants to carry his body to his father's village, which was close by, for burial. Claudia told him

she meant to go to a monastery of which an aunt of hers was abbess, where she intended to pass her life with

a better and everlasting spouse. He applauded her pious resolution, and offered to accompany her

whithersoever she wished, and to protect her father against the kinsmen of Don Vicente and all the world,

should they seek to injure him. Claudia would not on any account allow him to accompany her; and thanking

him for his offers as well as she could, took leave of him in tears. The servants of Don Vicente carried away

his body, and Roque returned to his comrades, and so ended the love of Claudia Jeronima; but what wonder,

when it was the insuperable and cruel might of jealousy that wove the web of her sad story?

Roque Guinart found his squires at the place to which he had ordered them, and Don Quixote on Rocinante in

the midst of them delivering a harangue to them in which he urged them to give up a mode of life so full of

peril, as well to the soul as to the body; but as most of them were Gascons, rough lawless fellows, his speech

did not make much impression on them. Roque on coming up asked Sancho if his men had returned and

restored to him the treasures and jewels they had stripped off Dapple. Sancho said they had, but that three

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

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

Roque Guinart ordered them to be restored at once; and making his men fall in in line he directed all the

clothing, jewellery, and money that they had taken since the last distribution to be produced; and making a

hasty valuation, and reducing what could not be divided into money, he made shares for the whole band so

equitably and carefully, that in no case did he exceed or fall short of strict distributive justice.

When this had been done, and all left satisfied, Roque observed to Don Quixote, "If this scrupulous exactness

Upon this Sancho remarked, "From what I have seen here, justice is such a good thing that there is no doing

One of the squires heard this, and raising the buttend of his harquebuss would no doubt have broken

Sancho's head with it had not Roque Guinart called out to him to hold his hand. Sancho was frightened out of

his wits, and vowed not to open his lips so long as he was in the company of these people.

At this instant one or two of those squires who were posted as sentinels on the roads, to watch who came

along them and report what passed to their chief, came up and said, "Senor, there is a great troop of people

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

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

They obeyed, and Don Quixote, Sancho, and Roque, left by themselves, waited to see what the squires

brought, and while they were waiting Roque said to Don Quixote, "It must seem a strange sort of life to Senor

Don Quixote, this of ours, strange adventures, strange incidents, and all full of danger; and I do not wonder

that it should seem so, for in truth I must own there is no mode of life more restless or anxious than ours.

What led me into it was a certain thirst for vengeance, which is strong enough to disturb the quietest hearts. I

am by nature tenderhearted and kindly, but, as I said, the desire to revenge myself for a wrong that was done

me so overturns all my better impulses that I keep on in this way of life in spite of what conscience tells me;

and as one depth calls to another, and one sin to another sin, revenges have linked themselves together, and I

have taken upon myself not only my own but those of others: it pleases God, however, that, though I see

myself in this maze of entanglements, I do not lose all hope of escaping from it and reaching a safe port."

Don Quixote was amazed to hear Roque utter such excellent and just sentiments, for he did not think that

among those who followed such trades as robbing, murdering, and waylaying, there could be anyone capable

of a virtuous thought, and he said in reply, "Senor Roque, the beginning of health lies in knowing the disease

and in the sick man's willingness to take the medicines which the physician prescribes; you are sick, you

know what ails you, and heaven, or more properly speaking God, who is our physician, will administer

medicines that will cure you, and cure gradually, and not of a sudden or by a miracle; besides, sinners of

discernment are nearer amendment than those who are fools; and as your worship has shown good sense in

your remarks, all you have to do is to keep up a good heart and trust that the weakness of your conscience

will be strengthened. And if you have any desire to shorten the journey and put yourself easily in the way of

salvation, come with me, and I will show you how to become a knighterrant, a calling wherein so many

hardships and mishaps are encountered that if they be taken as penances they will lodge you in heaven in a

Roque laughed at Don Quixote's exhortation, and changing the conversation he related the tragic affair of

Claudia Jeronima, at which Sancho was extremely grieved; for he had not found the young woman's beauty,

And now the squires despatched to make the prize came up, bringing with them two gentlemen on horseback,

two pilgrims on foot, and a coach full of women with some six servants on foot and on horseback in

attendance on them, and a couple of muleteers whom the gentlemen had with them. The squires made a ring

round them, both victors and vanquished maintaining profound silence, waiting for the great Roque Guinart

to speak. He asked the gentlemen who they were, whither they were going, and what money they carried with

them; "Senor," replied one of them, "we are two captains of Spanish infantry; our companies are at Naples,

and we are on our way to embark in four galleys which they say are at Barcelona under orders for Sicily; and

we have about two or three hundred crowns, with which we are, according to our notions, rich and contented,

Roque asked the pilgrims the same questions he had put to the captains, and was answered that they were

going to take ship for Rome, and that between them they might have about sixty reals. He asked also who

was in the coach, whither they were bound and what money they had, and one of the men on horseback

replied, "The persons in the coach are my lady Dona Guiomar de Quinones, wife of the regent of the Vicaria

at Naples, her little daughter, a handmaid and a duenna; we six servants are in attendance upon her, and the

"So then," said Roque Guinart, "we have got here nine hundred crowns and sixty reals; my soldiers must

number some sixty; see how much there falls to each, for I am a bad arithmetician." As soon as the robbers

heard this they raised a shout of "Long life to Roque Guinart, in spite of the lladres that seek his ruin!"

The captains showed plainly the concern they felt, the regent's lady was downcast, and the pilgrims did not at

all enjoy seeing their property confiscated. Roque kept them in suspense in this way for a while; but he had

no desire to prolong their distress, which might be seen a bowshot off, and turning to the captains he said,

"Sirs, will your worships be pleased of your courtesy to lend me sixty crowns, and her ladyship the regent's

wife eighty, to satisfy this band that follows me, for 'it is by his singing the abbot gets his dinner;' and then

you may at once proceed on your journey, free and unhindered, with a safeconduct which I shall give you,

so that if you come across any other bands of mine that I have scattered in these parts, they may do you no

harm; for I have no intention of doing injury to soldiers, or to any woman, especially one of quality."

Profuse and hearty were the expressions of gratitude with which the captains thanked Roque for his courtesy

and generosity; for such they regarded his leaving them their own money. Senora Dona Guiomar de Quinones

wanted to throw herself out of the coach to kiss the feet and hands of the great Roque, but he would not suffer

it on any account; so far from that, he begged her pardon for the wrong he had done her under pressure of the

inexorable necessities of his unfortunate calling. The regent's lady ordered one of her servants to give the

eighty crowns that had been assessed as her share at once, for the captains had already paid down their sixty.

The pilgrims were about to give up the whole of their little hoard, but Roque bade them keep quiet, and

turning to his men he said, "Of these crowns two fall to each man and twenty remain over; let ten be given to

these pilgrims, and the other ten to this worthy squire that he may be able to speak favourably of this

adventure;" and then having writing materials, with which he always went provided, brought to him, he gave

them in writing a safeconduct to the leaders of his bands; and bidding them farewell let them go free and

filled with admiration at his magnanimity, his generous disposition, and his unusual conduct, and inclined to

One of the squires observed in his mixture of Gascon and Catalan, "This captain of ours would make a better

friar than highwayman; if he wants to be so generous another time, let it be with his own property and not

The unlucky wight did not speak so low but that Roque overheard him, and drawing his sword almost split

his head in two, saying, "That is the way I punish impudent saucy fellows." They were all taken aback, and

not one of them dared to utter a word, such deference did they pay him. Roque then withdrew to one side and

wrote a letter to a friend of his at Barcelona, telling him that the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, the

knighterrant of whom there was so much talk, was with him, and was, he assured him, the drollest and

wisest man in the world; and that in four days from that date, that is to say, on Saint John the Baptist's Day,

he was going to deposit him in full armour mounted on his horse Rocinante, together with his squire Sancho

on an ass, in the middle of the strand of the city; and bidding him give notice of this to his friends the Niarros,

that they might divert themselves with him. He wished, he said, his enemies the Cadells could be deprived of

this pleasure; but that was impossible, because the crazes and shrewd sayings of Don Quixote and the

humours of his squire Sancho Panza could not help giving general pleasure to all the world. He despatched

the letter by one of his squires, who, exchanging the costume of a highwayman for that of a peasant, made his

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

dinnertime in another; sometimes they fled without knowing from whom, at other times they lay in wait, not

knowing for what. They slept standing, breaking their slumbers to shift from place to place. There was

nothing but sending out spies and scouts, posting sentinels and blowing the matches of harquebusses, though

they carried but few, for almost all used flintlocks. Roque passed his nights in some place or other apart from

his men, that they might not know where he was, for the many proclamations the viceroy of Barcelona had

issued against his life kept him in fear and uneasiness, and he did not venture to trust anyone, afraid that even

his own men would kill him or deliver him up to the authorities; of a truth, a weary miserable life! At length,

by unfrequented roads, short cuts, and secret paths, Roque, Don Quixote, and Sancho, together with six

squires, set out for Barcelona. They reached the strand on Saint John's Eve during the night; and Roque, after

embracing Don Quixote and Sancho (to whom he presented the ten crowns he had promised but had not until

Roque went back, while Don Quixote remained on horseback, just as he was, waiting for day, and it was not

long before the countenance of the fair Aurora began to show itself at the balconies of the east, gladdening

the grass and flowers, if not the ear, though to gladden that too there came at the same moment a sound of

clarions and drums, and a din of bells, and a tramp, tramp, and cries of "Clear the way there!" of some

runners, that seemed to issue from the city. The dawn made way for the sun that with a face broader than a

buckler began to rise slowly above the low line of the horizon; Don Quixote and Sancho gazed all round

them; they beheld the sea, a sight until then unseen by them; it struck them as exceedingly spacious and

broad, much more so than the lakes of Ruidera which they had seen in La Mancha. They saw the galleys

along the beach, which, lowering their awnings, displayed themselves decked with streamers and pennons

that trembled in the breeze and kissed and swept the water, while on board the bugles, trumpets, and clarions

were sounding and filling the air far and near with melodious warlike notes. Then they began to move and

execute a kind of skirmish upon the calm water, while a vast number of horsemen on fine horses and in

showy liveries, issuing from the city, engaged on their side in a somewhat similar movement. The soldiers on

board the galleys kept up a ceaseless fire, which they on the walls and forts of the city returned, and the heavy

cannon rent the air with the tremendous noise they made, to which the gangway guns of the galleys replied.

The bright sea, the smiling earth, the clear air though at times darkened by the smoke of the guns all

seemed to fill the whole multitude with unexpected delight. Sancho could not make out how it was that those

And now the horsemen in livery came galloping up with shouts and outlandish cries and cheers to where Don

Quixote stood amazed and wondering; and one of them, he to whom Roque had sent word, addressing him

exclaimed, "Welcome to our city, mirror, beacon, star and cynosure of all knighterrantry in its widest

extent! Welcome, I say, valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha; not the false, the fictitious, the apocryphal, that

these latter days have offered us in lying histories, but the true, the legitimate, the real one that Cide Hamete

Don Quixote made no answer, nor did the horsemen wait for one, but wheeling again with all their followers,

they began curvetting round Don Quixote, who, turning to Sancho, said, "These gentlemen have plainly

recognised us; I will wager they have read our history, and even that newly printed one by the Aragonese."

The cavalier who had addressed Don Quixote again approached him and said, "Come with us, Senor Don

Quixote, for we are all of us your servants and great friends of Roque Guinart's;" to which Don Quixote

returned, "If courtesy breeds courtesy, yours, sir knight, is daughter or very nearly akin to the great Roque's;

carry me where you please; I will have no will but yours, especially if you deign to employ it in your

The cavalier replied with words no less polite, and then, all closing in around him, they set out with him for

the city, to the music of the clarions and the drums. As they were entering it, the wicked one, who is the

author of all mischief, and the boys who are wickeder than the wicked one, contrived that a couple of these

audacious irrepressible urchins should force their way through the crowd, and lifting up, one of them

Dapple's tail and the other Rocinante's, insert a bunch of furze under each. The poor beasts felt the strange

spurs and added to their anguish by pressing their tails tight, so much so that, cutting a multitude of capers,

they flung their masters to the ground. Don Quixote, covered with shame and out of countenance, ran to

pluck the plume from his poor jade's tail, while Sancho did the same for Dapple. His conductors tried to

punish the audacity of the boys, but there was no possibility of doing so, for they hid themselves among the

hundreds of others that were following them. Don Quixote and Sancho mounted once more, and with the

same music and acclamations reached their conductor's house, which was large and stately, that of a rich

gentleman, in short; and there for the present we will leave them, for such is Cide Hamete's pleasure.

Don Quixote's host was one Don Antonio Moreno by name, a gentleman of wealth and intelligence, and very

fond of diverting himself in any fair and goodnatured way; and having Don Quixote in his house he set

about devising modes of making him exhibit his mad points in some harmless fashion; for jests that give pain

are no jests, and no sport is worth anything if it hurts another. The first thing he did was to make Don Quixote

take off his armour, and lead him, in that tight chamois suit we have already described and depicted more

than once, out on a balcony overhanging one of the chief streets of the city, in full view of the crowd and of

the boys, who gazed at him as they would at a monkey. The cavaliers in livery careered before him again as

though it were for him alone, and not to enliven the festival of the day, that they wore it, and Sancho was in

high delight, for it seemed to him that, how he knew not, he had fallen upon another Camacho's wedding,

another house like Don Diego de Miranda's, another castle like the duke's. Some of Don Antonio's friends

dined with him that day, and all showed honour to Don Quixote and treated him as a knighterrant, and he

becoming puffed up and exalted in consequence could not contain himself for satisfaction. Such were the

drolleries of Sancho that all the servants of the house, and all who heard him, were kept hanging upon his

lips. While at table Don Antonio said to him, "We hear, worthy Sancho, that you are so fond of manjar blanco

and forcedmeat balls, that if you have any left, you keep them in your bosom for the next day."

"No, senor, that's not true," said Sancho, "for I am more cleanly than greedy, and my master Don Quixote

here knows well that we two are used to live for a week on a handful of acorns or nuts. To be sure, if it so

happens that they offer me a heifer, I run with a halter; I mean, I eat what I'm given, and make use of

opportunities as I find them; but whoever says that I'm an outoftheway eater or not cleanly, let me tell

him that he is wrong; and I'd put it in a different way if I did not respect the honourable beards that are at the

"Indeed," said Don Quixote, "Sancho's moderation and cleanliness in eating might be inscribed and graved on

plates of brass, to be kept in eternal remembrance in ages to come. It is true that when he is hungry there is a

certain appearance of voracity about him, for he eats at a great pace and chews with both jaws; but

cleanliness he is always mindful of; and when he was governor he learned how to eat daintily, so much so

"Ay," said Sancho, "and of an island called Barataria. I governed it to perfection for ten days; and lost my rest

all the time; and learned to look down upon all the governments in the world; I got out of it by taking to

flight, and fell into a pit where I gave myself up for dead, and out of which I escaped alive by a miracle."

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

On the cloth being removed Don Antonio, taking Don Quixote by the hand, passed with him into a distant

room in which there was nothing in the way of furniture except a table, apparently of jasper, resting on a

pedestal of the same, upon which was set up, after the fashion of the busts of the Roman emperors, a head

which seemed to be of bronze. Don Antonio traversed the whole apartment with Don Quixote and walked

round the table several times, and then said, "Now, Senor Don Quixote, that I am satisfied that no one is

listening to us, and that the door is shut, I will tell you of one of the rarest adventures, or more properly

speaking strange things, that can be imagined, on condition that you will keep what I say to you in the

"I swear it," said Don Quixote, "and for greater security I will put a flagstone 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

Don Quixote was puzzled, wondering what could be the object of such precautions; whereupon Don Antonio

taking his hand passed it over the bronze head and the whole table and the pedestal of jasper on which it

stood, and then said, "This head, Senor Don Quixote, has been made and fabricated by one of the greatest

magicians and wizards the world ever saw, a Pole, I believe, by birth, and a pupil of the famous Escotillo of

whom such marvellous stories are told. He was here in my house, and for a consideration of a thousand

crowns that I gave him he constructed this head, which has the property and virtue of answering whatever

questions are put to its ear. He observed the points of the compass, he traced figures, he studied the stars, he

watched favourable moments, and at length brought it to the perfection we shall see tomorrow, for on

Fridays it is mute, and this being Friday we must wait till the next day. In the interval your worship may

consider what you would like to ask it; and I know by experience that in all its answers it tells the truth."

Don Quixote was amazed at the virtue and property of the head, and was inclined to disbelieve Don Antonio;

but seeing what a short time he had to wait to test the matter, he did not choose to say anything except that he

thanked him for having revealed to him so mighty a secret. They then quitted the room, Don Antonio locked

the door, and they repaired to the chamber where the rest of the gentlemen were assembled. In the meantime

Sancho had recounted to them several of the adventures and accidents that had happened his master.

That afternoon they took Don Quixote out for a stroll, not in his armour but in street costume, with a surcoat

of tawny cloth upon him, that at that season would have made ice itself sweat. Orders were left with the

servants to entertain Sancho so as not to let him leave the house. Don Quixote was mounted, not on

Rocinante, but upon a tall mule of easy pace and handsomely caparisoned. They put the surcoat on him, and

on the back, without his perceiving it, they stitched a parchment on which they wrote in large letters, "This is

Don Quixote of La Mancha." As they set out upon their excursion the placard attracted the eyes of all who

chanced to see him, and as they read out, "This is Don Quixote of La Mancha," Don Quixote was amazed to

see how many people gazed at him, called him by his name, and recognised him, and turning to Don Antonio,

who rode at his side, he observed to him, "Great are the privileges knighterrantry 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

"True, Senor Don Quixote," returned Don Antonio; "for as fire cannot be hidden or kept secret, virtue cannot

escape being recognised; and that which is attained by the profession of arms shines distinguished above all

It came to pass, however, that as Don Quixote was proceeding amid the acclamations that have been

described, a Castilian, reading the inscription on his back, cried out in a loud voice, "The devil take thee for a

Don Quixote of La Mancha! What! art thou here, and not dead of the countless drubbings that have fallen on

thy ribs? Thou art mad; and if thou wert so by thyself, and kept thyself within thy madness, it would not be so

bad; but thou hast the gift of making fools and blockheads of all who have anything to do with thee or say to

thee. Why, look at these gentlemen bearing thee company! Get thee home, blockhead, and see after thy

affairs, and thy wife and children, and give over these fooleries that are sapping thy brains and skimming

"Go your own way, brother," said Don Antonio, "and don't offer advice to those who don't ask you for it.

Senor Don Quixote is in his full senses, and we who bear him company are not fools; virtue is to be honoured

wherever it may be found; go, and bad luck to you, and don't meddle where you are not wanted."

"By God, your worship is right," replied the Castilian; "for to advise this good man is to kick against the

pricks; still for all that it fills me with pity that the sound wit they say the blockhead has in everything should

dribble away by the channel of his knighterrantry; but may the bad luck your worship talks of follow me

and all my descendants, if, from this day forth, though I should live longer than Methuselah, I ever give

The advicegiver took himself off, and they continued their stroll; but so great was the press of the boys and

people to read the placard, that Don Antonio was forced to remove it as if he were taking off something else.

Night came and they went home, and there was a ladies' dancing party, for Don Antonio's wife, a lady of rank

and gaiety, beauty and wit, had invited some friends of hers to come and do honour to her guest and amuse

themselves with his strange delusions. Several of them came, they supped sumptuously, the dance began at

about ten o'clock. Among the ladies were two of a mischievous and frolicsome turn, and, though perfectly

modest, somewhat free in playing tricks for harmless diversion sake. These two were so indefatigable in

taking Don Quixote out to dance that they tired him down, not only in body but in spirit. It was a sight to see

the figure Don Quixote made, long, lank, lean, and yellow, his garments clinging tight to him, ungainly, and

above all anything but agile. The gay ladies made secret love to him, and he on his part secretly repelled

them, but finding himself hard pressed by their blandishments he lifted up his voice and exclaimed, "Fugite,

partes adversae! Leave me in peace, unwelcome overtures; avaunt, with your desires, ladies, for she who is

queen of mine, the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, suffers none but hers to lead me captive and subdue me;"

and so saying he sat down on the floor in the middle of the room, tired out and broken down by all this

Don Antonio directed him to be taken up bodily and carried to bed, and the first that laid hold of him was

Sancho, saying as he did so, "In an evil hour you took to dancing, master mine; do you fancy all mighty men

of valour are dancers, and all knightserrant given to capering? If you do, I can tell you you are mistaken;

there's many a man would rather undertake to kill a giant than cut a caper. If it had been the shoefling you

were at I could take your place, for I can do the shoefling like a gerfalcon; but I'm no good at dancing."

With these and other observations Sancho set the whole ballroom laughing, and then put his master to bed,

covering him up well so that he might sweat out any chill caught after his dancing.

The next day Don Antonio thought he might as well make trial of the enchanted head, and with Don Quixote,

Sancho, and two others, friends of his, besides the two ladies that had tired out Don Quixote at the ball, who

had remained for the night with Don Antonio's wife, he locked himself up in the chamber where the head

was. He explained to them the property it possessed and entrusted the secret to them, telling them that now

for the first time he was going to try the virtue of the enchanted head; but except Don Antonio's two friends

no one else was privy to the mystery of the enchantment, and if Don Antonio had not first revealed it to them

they would have been inevitably reduced to the same state of amazement as the rest, so artfully and skilfully

The first to approach the ear of the head was Don Antonio himself, and in a low voice but not so low as not to

be audible to all, he said to it, "Head, tell me by the virtue that lies in thee what am I at this moment thinking

The head, without any movement of the lips, answered in a clear and distinct voice, so as to be heard by all,

All were thunderstruck at this, and all the more so as they saw that there was nobody anywhere near the table

or in the whole room that could have answered. "How many of us are here?" asked Don Antonio once more;

and it was answered him in the same way softly, "Thou and thy 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 everyone's hair was standing on end with 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, O sage head, talking head, answering head, wonderful head! Let some one else go and put what

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

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

Then one of Don Antonio's two friends advanced and asked it, "Who am I?" "Thou knowest," was the

answer. "That is not what I ask thee," said the gentleman, "but to tell me if thou knowest me." "Yes, I know

"I do not seek to know more," said the gentleman, "for this is enough to convince me, O Head, that thou

knowest everything;" and as he retired the other friend came forward and asked it, "Tell me, Head, what are

"I have said already," was the answer, "that I cannot judge of wishes; however, I can tell thee the wish of thy

"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 answer she received was, "Thou shalt,

for his vigour and his temperate habits promise many years of life, which by their intemperance others so

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 Sancho's whipping be accomplished

"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

The last questioner 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 wife

"Good, by God!" said Sancho Panza; "I could have told myself that; the prophet Perogrullo could have said

"What answer wouldst thou have, beast?" said Don Quixote; "is it not enough that the replies this head has

"Yes, it is enough," said Sancho; "but I should have liked 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 Don

Antonio's two friends who were in the secret. This Cide Hamete 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 astonish ignorant people; and its mechanism

was as follows. The 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 coloured like bronze, was hollow

throughout, as was 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 corresponding to the one above was placed the person

who was to answer, with his mouth to the tube, and the voice, as in an eartrumpet, 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 Antonio's, a smart sharpwitted student, was 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 answered by guesswork, and, being clever, cleverly. Cide Hamete 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 scandalised. By Don

Quixote, however, and by Sancho the head was still held to be an enchanted one, and capable of answering

The gentlemen of the city, to gratify Don Antonio and also to do the honours to Don Quixote, and give him

an opportunity of displaying his folly, made arrangements for a tilting at the ring in six days from that time,

which, however, for reason that will be mentioned hereafter, did not take place.

Don Quixote took a fancy to stroll about the city quietly and on foot, for he feared that if he went on

horseback the boys would follow him; so he and Sancho and two servants that Don 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, correcting in another, setting up type here, revising

there; in short all the work that is to be seen in great printing offices. He went up 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, "Senor, this gentleman

here" (pointing to a man of prepossessing appearance and a certain gravity of look) "has translated an Italian

"What is the title of the book?" asked Don Quixote; to which the author replied, "Senor, in Italian the book is

"Le Bagatelle," said the author, "is as though we should say in Spanish Los Juguetes; but though the book is

"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, but merely out of curiosity have

"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 piace you say in Spanish place, and where they say piu you say mas, and

"I translate them so of course," said the author, "for those are their proper equivalents."

"I would venture to swear," said Don Quixote, "that your worship is not known in the world, which always

begrudges their reward to rare wits and praiseworthy labours. What talents lie wasted there! What genius

thrust away into corners! What worth 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 wrong 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 work of translating, for a man may employ himself in ways worse and less profitable to himself. This

estimate does not include two famous translators, Doctor Cristobal de Figueroa, in his Pastor Fido, and Don

Juan de Jauregui, in his Aminta, 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

"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 apiece."

"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 with two

thousand copies you will feel so sore that it will astonish you, particularly if the book is a little out of the

"What!" said the author, "would your worship, then, have me give it to a bookseller who will give three

maravedis for the copyright and think he is doing me a favour? 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

"God send your worship good luck," said 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;" noticing 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

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 Part of the Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha," by one of

"I have heard of this book already," said Don Quixote, "and verily and on my conscience I thought it had

been by this time burned to ashes as a meddlesome intruder; but its Martinmas 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 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.

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, fully

persuaded that he would shortly see its fulfillment; and as for Sancho, 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

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 personage of distinction comes on board a galley) by exclaiming "Hu,

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 expect to

enjoy in my lifetime, since I have seen Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha, pattern and image wherein we see

Don Quixote delighted beyond measure with such a lordly reception, replied to him in words no less

courteous. All then proceeded to the poop, which was very handsomely decorated, and seated themselves on

the bulwark benches; the boatswain passed along the gangway and piped all hands to strip, which 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 now. Sancho was seated on the captain's stage, close

to the aftermost rower on the righthand side. He, previously instructed in what 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 pass 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

Don Quixote when he saw Sancho's flight without wings asked the general if this was a 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 perform such feats of agility, and if anyone 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 lowered the yard with a prodigious rattle. Sancho

thought heaven was 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,

squeezed his shoulders together and lost colour. 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 anchor, and leaping upon the middle of the gangway began to lay on to

the shoulders of the crew with his courbash or whip, and to haul out gradually to sea.

When Sancho saw so many red feet (for such he took the oars to be) moving all together, he said to himself,

"It's these that are the real chanted things, and not the ones my master talks of. What can those wretches have

done to be so whipped; and how does that one man who goes along there whistling dare to whip so many? I

Don Quixote, observing how attentively Sancho regarded what was going on, said to him, "Ah, Sancho my

friend, how quickly and cheaply might you finish off the disenchantment of Dulcinea, if you would strip to

the waist and take your place among those gentlemen! Amid the pain and sufferings of so many you would

not feel your own much; and moreover perhaps the sage Merlin would allow each of these lashes, being laid

on with a good hand, to count for ten of those which you must give yourself at last."

The general was about to ask what these lashes were, and what was Dulcinea's disenchantment, when a sailor

exclaimed, "Monjui signals that there is an oared vessel off the coast to the west."

On hearing this the general sprang upon the gangway crying, "Now then, my sons, don't let her give us the

slip! It must be some Algerine corsair brigantine that the watchtower 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 kept in shore, so that in this way the vessel 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 make 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 rapidly 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 captain in command of our galleys to anger. But chance, directing things otherwise, so

ordered it that just as the chief galley came close enough for those on board the vessel to hear the shouts from

her calling on them to surrender, two Toraquis, that is to say two Turks, both drunken, 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 underneath the oars. The galley shot a good

way 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 two galleys now joined company

and all four returned with the prize to the beach, where 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 skiff 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 sixandthirty in number, all smart

fellows and most of them Turkish musketeers. He asked which was the rais of the brigantine, and was

answered in Spanish by one of the prisoners (who afterwards proved to he a Spanish renegade), "This young

man, senor that you see here is our rais," and he pointed to one of the handsomest and most gallantlooking

"Tell me, dog," said the general, "what led thee to kill my soldiers, when thou sawest it was impossible for

thee to escape? Is that the way to behave to chief galleys? Knowest thou not that rashness is not valour? Faint

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 viceroy, who was now coming on board the galley, and with him certain of his attendants and

"Your excellency shall soon see how good, by the game strung up to this yard," replied the general.

"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

The viceroy looked at him, and seeing him so wellfavoured, so graceful, 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, saying, "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."

"A woman and a Christian, in such a dress and in such circumstances! It is more marvellous than credible,"

"Suspend the execution of the sentence," said the youth; "your vengeance will not lose much by waiting

What heart could be so hard as not to he softened by these words, at any rate so far as to listen to what the

unhappy youth had to say? The general bade him say what he pleased, but not to expect pardon for his

"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 Christian, as in fact I am, and not a mere pretended one, or outwardly, but a true

Catholic Christian. It availed me nothing 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 my own will, they took me with them.

I had a Christian mother, and a father who was a man of sound sense and a Christian too; I imbibed the

Catholic faith with my mother's milk, I was well brought up, and neither in word nor in deed did I, I think,

show any sign of being a Morisco. 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 gentleman who is lord of a village near ours,

contrived to find opportunities 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 Gregorio

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 the voyage he struck up a friendship with

my two uncles who were carrying me with them; for my father, like a wise and farsighted 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 and 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 by any chance they expelled us before his return. I obeyed him, and

with my uncles, as I have said, and others of our kindred and neighbours, passed over to Barbary, and the

place where we took up our abode was Algiers, 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

summoned 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 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 him. 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 when I thought of the danger he was in, for among those barbarous 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. I then,

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 embarrassment.

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 Gaspar, I told him the danger he was in if he let

it be seen he was a man, I dressed him as a Moorish woman, and that same afternoon 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

himself, he commanded her to be placed in the house of some Moorish ladies of rank who would protect and

attend to her; and thither he was taken at once. What we both suffered (for I cannot deny that I love him) may

be left to the imagination of those who are separated if they love one an. other 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

spoken "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 Moors and Turks, who merely serve as

rowers. The two Turks, greedy and insolent, 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 befalling 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 nothing of

these galleys, we were discovered, and the result was what you have seen. To sum up, there is Don Gregorio

in woman's 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 untied the cord that bound the hands of the Moorish girl.

But all the while the Morisco Christian was telling her strange story, 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 himself at her feet, and embracing them said in a voice broken by sobs and sighs, "O Ana

Felix, my unhappy daughter, I am thy father Ricote, come back to look for thee, unable to live without thee,

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 recognised in him that same Ricote he

met the day he quitted his government, and felt satisfied that this was his daughter. She being now unbound

embraced 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 adventures than in her name. She is Ana Felix, surnamed Ricote,

celebrated as much for her own beauty as for my wealth. I quitted 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 treasure 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 innocence

and her tears and mine can with strict justice open the door to clemency, extend it to us, for we never had any

intention of injuring you, nor do we sympathise with the aims of our people, who have been justly banished."

"I know Ricote well," said Sancho at this, "and I know too that what he says about Ana Felix being his

daughter is true; but as to those other particulars about going and coming, and having good or bad intentions,

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 has allotted you; but these rash

insolent fellows must pay the penalty of the crime they have committed;" and with that he gave orders to

have the two Turks who had killed his two soldiers hanged at once at the yardarm. The viceroy, however,

begged him earnestly not to hang them, as their behaviour savoured 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 Gregorio from the danger in which he had been left. Ricote

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 renegade already mentioned, who offered to return to Algiers

in a small vessel of about six banks, manned by Christian rowers, as he knew where, how, and when he could

and should land, nor was he ignorant of the house in which Don Gaspar was staying. The general and the

viceroy had some hesitation about placing confidence in the renegade and entrusting 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 house contained for their entertainment; so great was the goodwill and kindliness the beauty of Ana

The wife of Don Antonio Moreno, so the history says, was extremely happy to see Ana Felix in her house.

She welcomed her with 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 people of the city flocked to see her as though they

Don Quixote 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 carry him off in spite of the whole Moorish host, as Don Gaiferos carried off his wife

"Remember, your worship," observed Sancho on hearing him say so, "Senor Don Gaiferos 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 they bring the vessel close to the shore

"Your worship hits it off mighty 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 goodhearted fellow."

Don Antonio then said that if the renegade did not prove successful, the expedient of the great Don Quixote's

expedition to Barbary should be adopted. Two days afterwards the renegade put to sea in a light vessel of six

oars aside manned by a stout crew, and two days later the galleys made sail eastward, the general having

begged the viceroy to let him know all about the release of Don Gregorio and about Ana Felix, and the

One morning as Don Quixote went out for a stroll along the beach, arrayed in full armour (for, as he often

said, that was "his only gear, his only rest the fray," and he never was without it for a moment), he saw

coming towards him a knight, also in full armour, with a shining moon painted on his shield, who, on

approaching sufficiently near to be heard, said in a loud voice, addressing himself to Don Quixote,

"Illustrious knight, and never sufficiently extolled Don Quixote of La Mancha, I am the Knight of the White

Moon, whose unheardof achievements will perhaps have recalled him to thy memory. I come to do battle

with thee and prove the might of thy arm, to the end that I make thee acknowledge and confess that my lady,

let her be who she may, is incomparably fairer than thy Dulcinea del Toboso. If thou dost acknowledge this

fairly and openly, thou shalt escape death and save me the trouble of inflicting it upon thee; if thou fightest

and I vanquish thee, I demand no other satisfaction than that, laying aside arms and abstaining from going in

quest of adventures, thou withdraw and betake thyself to thine own village for the space of a year, and live

there without putting hand to sword, in peace and quiet and beneficial repose, the same being needful for the

increase of thy substance and the salvation of thy soul; and if thou dost vanquish me, my head shall be at thy

disposal, my arms and horse thy spoils, and the renown of my deeds transferred and added to thine. Consider

which will be thy best course, and give me thy answer speedily, for this day is all the time I have for the

Don Quixote was amazed and astonished, as well at the Knight of the White Moon's arrogance, as at his

reason for delivering the defiance, and with calm dignity he answered him, "Knight of the White Moon, of

whose achievements I have never heard until now, I will venture to swear you have never seen the illustrious

Dulcinea; for had you seen her I know you would have taken care not to venture yourself upon this issue,

because the sight would have removed all doubt from your mind that there ever has been or can be a beauty

to be compared with hers; and so, not saying you lie, but merely that you are not correct in what you state, I

accept your challenge, with the conditions you have proposed, and at once, that the day you have fixed may

not expire; and from your conditions I except only that of the renown of your achievements being transferred

to me, for I know not of what sort they are nor what they may amount to; I am satisfied with my own, such as

they be. Take, therefore, the side of the field you choose, and I will do the same; and to whom God shall give

The Knight of the White Moon 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 gentleman of the city, hurried out at once to the beach accompanied by Don

Antonio and several other gentlemen, just as Don Quixote was wheeling Rocinante round in order to take up

the necessary distance. The viceroy upon this, seeing that the pair of them were evidently preparing to come

to the charge, put himself between them, asking them what it was that led them to engage in combat all of a

sudden in this way. The Knight of the White Moon replied that it was a question of precedence of beauty; and

briefly told him what he had said to Don Quixote, and how the conditions of the defiance agreed upon on

both sides had been accepted. The viceroy went over to Don Antonio, and asked in a low voice did he know

who the Knight of the White Moon was, or was it some joke they were playing on Don Quixote. Don

Antonio replied that he neither knew who he was nor whether the defiance was in joke or in earnest. This

answer left the viceroy in a state of perplexity, not knowing whether he ought to let the combat go on or not;

but unable to persuade himself that it was anything but a joke he fell back, saying, "If there be no other way

out of it, gallant knights, except to confess or die, and Don Quixote is inflexible, and your worship of the

He of the White Moon thanked the viceroy in courteous and wellchosen words for the permission he gave

them, and so did Don Quixote, who then, commending himself with all his heart to heaven and to his

Dulcinea, as was his custom on the eve of any combat that awaited him, proceeded to take a little more

distance, as he saw his antagonist was doing the same; then, without blast of trumpet or other warlike

instrument to give them the signal to charge, both at the same instant wheeled their horses; and he of the

White Moon, being the swifter, met Don Quixote after having traversed twothirds of the course, and there

encountered him with such violence that, without touching him with his lance (for he held it high, to all

appearance purposely), he hurled Don Quixote and Rocinante to the earth, a perilous fall. He sprang upon

him at once, and placing the lance over his visor said to him, "You are vanquished, sir knight, nay dead

Don Quixote, bruised and stupefied, without raising his visor said in a weak feeble voice as if he were

speaking out of a tomb, "Dulcinea del Toboso is the fairest woman in the world, and I the most unfortunate

knight on earth; it is not fitting that this truth should suffer by my feebleness; drive your lance home, sir

"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 the great Don Quixote retire to his own home for a year, or for so long a time as

The viceroy, Don Antonio, and several others who were present heard all this, and heard too how Don

Quixote replied that so long as nothing in prejudice of Dulcinea was demanded of him, he would observe all

the rest like a true and loyal knight. The engagement given, he of the White Moon wheeled about, and

making obeisance to the viceroy with a movement of the head, rode away into the city at a half gallop. The

viceroy bade Don Antonio hasten after him, and by some means or other find out who he was. They raised

Don Quixote up and uncovered his face, and found him pale and bathed with sweat. Rocinante from the mere

hard measure he had received lay unable to stir for the present. Sancho, wholly dejected and woebegone,

knew not what to say or do. He fancied that all was a dream, that the whole business was a piece of

enchantment. Here was his master defeated, and bound not to take up arms for a year. He saw the light of the

glory of his achievements obscured; the hopes of the promises lately made him swept away like smoke before

the wind; Rocinante, he feared, was crippled for life, and his master's bones 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 handchair

which the viceroy sent for, and thither the viceroy himself returned, cager to ascertain who this Knight of the

Don Antonia Moreno followed the Knight of the White Moon, and a number of boys followed him too, nay

pursued him, until they had him fairly housed in a hostel in the heart of the city. Don Antonio, eager to make

his acquaintance, entered also; a squire came out to meet him and remove his armour, and he shut himself

into a lower room, still attended by Don Antonio, whose bread would not bake until he had found out who he

was. He of the White Moon, seeing then that the gentleman would not leave him, said, "I know very well,

senor, what you have come for; it is to find out who I am; and as there is no reason why I should conceal it

from you, while my servant here is taking off my armour I will tell you the true state of the case, without

leaving out anything. You must know, senor, that I am called the bachelor Samson Carrasco. I am of the same

village as Don Quixote of La Mancha, whose craze and folly make all of us who know him feel pity for him,

and I am one of those who have felt it most; and persuaded that his chance of recovery lay in quiet and

keeping at home and in his own house, I hit upon a device for keeping him there. Three months ago,

therefore, I went out to meet him as a knighterrant, under the assumed name of the Knight of the Mirrors,

intending to engage him in combat and overcome him without hurting him, making it the condition of our

combat that the vanquished should be at the disposal of the victor. What I meant to demand of him (for I

regarded him as vanquished already) was that he should return to his own village, and not leave it for a whole

year, by which time he might he cured. But fate ordered it otherwise, for he vanquished me and unhorsed me,

and so my plan failed. He went his way, and I came back conquered, covered with shame, and sorely bruised

by my fall, which was a particularly dangerous one. But this did not quench my desire to meet him again and

overcome him, as you have seen today. And as he is so scrupulous in his observance of the laws of

knighterrantry, he will, no doubt, in order to keep his word, obey the injunction I have laid upon him. This,

senor, is how the matter stands, and I have nothing more to tell you. I implore of you not to betray me, or tell

Don Quixote who I am; so that my honest endeavours may be successful, and that a man of excellent wits

"O senor," said Don Antonio, "may God forgive you the wrong you have done the whole world in trying to

bring the most amusing madman in it back to his senses. Do you not see, senor, that the gain by Don

Quixote's sanity can never equal the enjoyment his crazes give? But my belief is that all the senor bachelor's

pains will be of no avail to bring a man so hopelessly cracked to his senses again; and if it were not

uncharitable, I would say may Don Quixote never be cured, for by his recovery we lose not only his own

drolleries, but his squire Sancho Panza's too, any one of which is enough to turn melancholy itself into

merriment. However, I'll hold my peace and say nothing to him, and we'll see whether I am right in my

The bachelor replied that at all events the affair promised well, and he hoped for a happy result from it; and

putting his services at Don Antonio's commands he took his leave of him; and having had his armour 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.

Don 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 anything of his

Six days did Don Quixote keep his bed, dejected, melancholy, moody and out of sorts, brooding over the

unhappy event of his defeat. Sancho strove to comfort him, and among other things he said to him, "Hold up

your head, senor, and be of good cheer if you can, and give thanks to heaven that if you have had a tumble to

the ground you have not come off with a broken rib; and, as you know that 'where they give they take,' and

that 'there are not always fletches where there are pegs,' a fig for the doctor, for there's no need of him to cure

this ailment. Let us go home, and give over going about in search of adventures in strange lands and places;

rightly looked at, it is I that am the greater loser, though it is your worship that has had the worse usage. With

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 pass if your worship gives up becoming a king by renouncing the calling of chivalry;

"Peace, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "thou seest my suspension and retirement is not to exceed a year; I shall

soon return to my honoured calling, and I shall not be at a loss for a kingdom to win and a county to bestow

"May God hear it and sin be deaf," said Sancho; "I have always heard say that 'a good hope is better than a

As they were talking Don Antonio came in looking extremely pleased and exclaiming, "Reward me for my

good news, Senor Don Quixote! 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 immediately."

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 Barbary, where by the might of

my arm I should have restored to liberty, not only Don Gregorio, but all the Christian captives there are in

Barbary. But what am I saying, miserable being that I am? Am I not he that has been conquered? Am I not he

that has been overthrown? Am I not he who must not take up arms for a year? Then what am I making

professions for; what am I bragging about; when it is fitter for me to handle the distaff than the sword?"

"No more of that, senor," said Sancho; "'let the hen live, even though it be with her pip; 'today for thee and

tomorrow for me;' in these affairs of encounters and whacks one must not mind them, for he that falls

today may get up tomorrow; 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 to see Ana Felix, came with the renegade to Don Antonio's house. When they carried 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 wellfavoured, and to judge by appearances some seventeen or eighteen years of age.

Ricote and his daughter came out to welcome him, the father with tears, the daughter with bashfulness. They

did not embrace 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 beauty of Ana Felix were the admiration 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 whom he had sojourned. To conclude, Ricote liberally recompensed and rewarded as well the renegade

as the men who had rowed; and the renegade effected his readmission into the body of the Church and was

reconciled with it, and from a rotten limb became 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 objection 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

"Nay," said Ricote, who was present during the conversation, "it will not do to rely upon favour or bribes,

because with the great Don Bernardino de Velasco, Conde de Salazar, to whom his Majesty has entrusted our

expulsion, neither entreaties nor promises, bribes nor appeals 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 salve that soothes; and thus, by prudence, sagacity, care and

the fear he inspires, he has borne on his mighty shoulders 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 numbers

kept it. Heroic resolve of the great Philip the Third, and unparalleled wisdom to have entrusted it to the said

"At any rate," said Don Antonio, "when 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 Ricote should stay with him until we see what terms I can make."

The viceroy agreed to all that was proposed; but Don Gregorio on learning what had passed declared he could

not and would not on any account leave Ana Felix; however, as it was his purpose to go and see his parents

and devise some way of returning for her, he fell in with the proposed arrangement. Ana Felix remained with

The day for Don Antonio's departure 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. Ricote offered Don Gregorio a thousand crowns if he

would have them, but he would not take any save five which 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 armour and in travelling gear, and Sancho on foot, Dapple being

As he left Barcelona, Don Quixote turned gaze upon the spot where he had fallen. "Here Troy was," said he;

"here my illluck, 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

"Senor," 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 was glad, now that I am a squire and

on foot I am not 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

"Thou art a great philosopher, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "thou speakest very sensibly; I know not who

taught thee. But 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 preordination 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 proper amount of prudence, and my selfconfidence has therefore made me pay dearly; for I ought to

have reflected 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 honour I did not

lose nor can I lose the virtue of keeping my word. When I was a knighterrant, daring 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

"Senor," returned Sancho, "travelling on foot is not such a pleasant thing that it makes me feel disposed or

tempted to make long marches. Let us leave this armour 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 arrange the stages as

your worship pleases to measure them out; but to suppose that I am going to travel on foot, and make long

"Thou sayest well, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "let my armour 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 Roland's armour

"That's the very thing," said Sancho; "and if it was not that we should feel the want of Rocinante on the road,

"And yet, I had rather not have either him or the armour hung up," said Don Quixote, "that it may not be said,

"Your worship is right," said Sancho; "for, as sensible people hold, 'the fault of the ass must not be laid on the

packsaddle;' 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 armour, or the meekness of Rocinante, or the tenderness of my

In converse of this sort the whole of that day went by, as did the four succeeding ones, without anything

occurring to interrupt their journey, but on the fifth as they entered a village they found a great number of

people at the door of an inn enjoying 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

"That I will, certainly," said Don Quixote, "and according to the rights of the case, if I can manage to

"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 neighbour of his, who does not weigh more than nine, to run a race. The agreement was

that they were to run a distance of a hundred paces with equal weights; and when the challenger was asked

how the weights were to be equalised 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

"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

"Answer in God's name, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote, "for I am not fit to give crumbs to a cat, my

With this permission Sancho said to the peasants who stood clustered round him, waiting with open mouths

for the decision to come from his, "Brothers, what the fat man requires is not in reason, nor has it a shadow 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 be 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 I'll be bound the fat man won't part with an ounce of his

"The best plan will be for them not to run," said another, "so 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 me to seem discourteous and to travel apace;" and spurring Rocinante he pushed on,

leaving them 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'll bet, if they are going to Salamanca to study, they'll 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 hand or a mitre on his head."

That night master and man passed out in the fields in the open air, and the next day as they were pursuing

their journey they saw coming towards them a man on foot with alforjas at the neck 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, and embracing his right thigh, for he could reach no higher, exclaimed

with evident pleasure, "O Senor Don Quixote 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

"I do not recognise you, friend," said Don Quixote, "nor do I know who you are, unless you tell me."

"I am Tosilos, my lord the duke's lacquey, Senor Don Quixote," replied the courier; "he who refused to fight

"God bless me!" exclaimed Don Quixote; "is it possible that you are the one whom mine enemies the

enchanters changed into the lacquey you speak of in order to rob me of the honour of that battle?"

"Nonsense, good sir!" said the messenger; "there was no enchantment or transformation at all; I entered the

lists just as much lacquey Tosilos as I came out of them lacquey 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 Dona Rodriguez has gone back to Castile, and I am now on my way to Barcelona with a packet of

letters 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

"I take the offer," said Sancho; "no more compliments about it; pour out, good Tosilos, in spite of all the

"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

The lacquey 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 fellowship finished off the contents

of the alforjas down to the bottom, so resolutely that they licked the wrapper of the letters, merely because it

Said Tosilos to Sancho, "Beyond a doubt, Sancho my friend, this master of thine ought to be a madman."

"Ought!" said Sancho; "he owes no man anything; he pays for everything, particularly when the coin is

madness. I see it plain enough, and I tell him so plain enough; but what's the use? especially now that it is all

Tosilos begged him to explain what had happened 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

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 crowding 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

"Is it possible, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that thou dost still think that he yonder is a real lacquey?

Apparently it has escaped thy memory that thou hast seen Dulcinea turned and transformed into a peasant

wench, and the Knight of the Mirrors into the bachelor Carrasco; all the work of the enchanters that persecute

me. But tell me now, didst thou ask this Tosilos, as thou callest him, what 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

"The thoughts that I had," said Sancho, "were not such as to leave 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

"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 he proof against love; but it is impossible, strictly

speaking, for him to be ungrateful. Altisidora, to all appearance, loved me truly; she gave me the three

kerchiefs thou knowest of; she wept at my 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 knightserrant are like those of the fairies,' illusory and deceptive; all I can give her is the place in my

memory I keep for her, without prejudice, however, to that which I hold devoted to Dulcinea, whom thou art

wronging 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."

"Senor," replied Sancho, "if the truth is to be told, I cannot 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'll make bold to swear that in all the histories dealing with

knighterrantry that your worship has read you have never come across anybody disenchanted by whipping;

but whether or no I'll whip myself when I have a fancy for it, and the opportunity serves for scourging myself

"God grant it," said Don Quixote; "and heaven give thee grace to take it to heart and own the obligation thou

As they pursued their journey talking in this way they came to the very same spot where they had been

trampled on by the bulls. Don Quixote recognised it, and said he to Sancho, "This is the meadow where we

came upon those gay shepherdesses 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 he thou dost approve of it,

Sancho, 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

Quixotize and thou as the shepherd 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 limpid 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 widespread meadows carpets tinted with 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 verses, and love with conceits whereby we shall make

"Egad," said Sancho, "but that sort of life squares, nay corners, with my notions; and what is more the

bachelor Samson Carrasco and Master Nicholas the barber won't have well seen it before they'll 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

"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 Boscan formerly was called Nemoroso; as

for the curate I don't know what name we can fit to him unless it be something derived from his title, and we

call him the shepherd Curiambro. For the shepherdesses whose lovers we shall be, we can pick names as we

would pears; and as my lady's name does just as well for a shepherdess's as for a princess's, I need not trouble

myself to look for one that will suit her better; to thine, Sancho, thou canst give what name thou wilt."

"I don't mean to give her any but Teresona," said Sancho, "which will go well with her stoutness and with her

own right name, as she is called Teresa; and then 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 example; and if the bachelor chooses to

"God bless me, Sancho my friend!" said Don Quixote, "what a life we shall lead! What hautboys and Zamora

bagpipes we shall hear, what tabors, timbrels, and rebecks! And then if among all these different sorts of

music that of the albogues is heard, almost all the pastoral instruments will be there."

"What are albogues?" asked Sancho, "for I never in my life heard tell of them or saw them."

"Albogues," said Don Quixote, "are brass plates like candlesticks that struck against one another on the

hollow side make a noise which, if not very pleasing or harmonious, is not disagreeable and accords very

well with the rude notes of the bagpipe and tabor. The word albogue is Morisco, as are all those in our

Spanish tongue that begin with al; for example, almohaza, almorzar, alhombra, alguacil, alhucema, almacen,

alcancia, and others of the same sort, of which there are not many more; our language has only three that are

Morisco and end in i, which are borcegui, zaquizami, and maravedi. Alheli and alfaqui are seen to be Arabic,

as well 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 Master Nicholas too, for all barbers, or most of them, are guitar players and stringers of verses. I will

bewail my separation; thou shalt glorify thyself as a constant lover; the shepherd Carrascon will figure as a

rejected one, and the curate Curiambro as whatever may please him best; and so all will go as gaily as heart

To this Sancho made answer, "I am so unlucky, senor, that I'm afraid the day will never come when I'll see

myself at such a calling. O what neat spoons I'll make when I'm a shepherd! What messes, creams, garlands,

pastoral odds and ends! And if they don't get me a name for wisdom, they'll not fail to get me one for

ingenuity. My daughter Sanchica will bring us our dinner to the pasture. But stay she's goodlooking, and

shepherds there are with more mischief than simplicity in them; I would not have her 'come for wool and go

back shorn;' lovemaking and lawless desires are just as common in the fields as in the cities, and in

shepherds' shanties as in royal palaces; 'do away with the cause, you do away with the sin;' 'if eyes don't see

"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 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

"It seems to me," said Sancho, "that your worship is like the common saying, 'Said the fryingpan to the

kettle, Get away, blackbreech.' You chide me for uttering proverbs, and you string them in couples yourself."

"Observe, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "I bring in proverbs 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 proverbs are short

maxims drawn from the experience and observation of our wise men of old; but the proverb that is not to the

purpose 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 tomorrow God knoweth."

They turned aside, and supped late and poorly, very much against Sancho's will, who turned over in his mind

the hardships attendant upon knighterrantry 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 Camacho the Rich, and at Don

Antonio Moreno's; he reflected, however, that it could not be always day, nor always night; and so that night

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 constitution and 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 unconcern

of thy temperament. I believe thou art made of marble or hard brass, incapable of any emotion or feeling

whatever. I lie awake while thou sleepest, I weep while thou singest, I am faint with fasting while thou art

sluggish and torpid from pure repletion. 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 disenchantment score; and this I entreat of thee, making it a request, 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, thou thy constancy, making a beginning at once with the

"Senor," 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'll make me swear never to touch a

"O hard heart!" said Don Quixote, "O pitiless squire! O bread illbestowed and favours illacknowledged,

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 equivalent

"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 shepherd 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 between a sleeping man and a dead man there is very little

"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 with 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 difference between mine and yours, that

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 armour on one side of him and the ass's packsaddle 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 pigs 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 Panza, and they could not make out what it was. The widespread 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 entrenchments, and not only upsetting Don Quixote but sweeping

Rocinante off his feet into the bargain; and what with the trampling and the grunting, and the pace at which

the unclean beasts went, packsaddle, armour, Dapple and Rocinante were left scattered on the ground and

Sancho got up as well as 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

"I suppose it is the chastisement of heaven, too," said Sancho, "that flies should prick the squires of

vanquished knights, and lice eat them, and hunger assail them. If we squires were the sons of the knights we

serve, or their very near relations, it would be no wonder if the penalty of their misdeeds 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 wants of dawn I will give a loose rein to my thoughts, and seek a vent for them in a little

"I should think," said Sancho, "that the thoughts that allow one to make verses cannot be of great

consequence; let your worship string verses as much as you like and I'll sleep 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, debt, or trouble of any sort. Don Quixote, propped up against the trunk of a beech or a

cork tree for Cide Hamete does not specify what kind of tree it was sang in this strain to the

When in my mind I muse, O Love, upon thy cruelty, To death I flee, In hope therein the end of all to find.

But drawing near That welcome haven in my sea of woe, Such joy I know, That life revives, and still I linger

Thus life doth slay, And death again to life restoreth me; Strange destiny, That deals with life and death as

He accompanied each verse with many sighs and not a few tears, just like one whose heart was pierced with

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 and four or five on foot. Don Quixote's heart beat quick and

Sancho's quailed with fear, for the persons approaching 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, I would count this host that comes against us 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 his finger 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 Dapple 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 taking him to and what they wanted, but the instant he began to open

his lips they threatened to close them with the points 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 barbarians;"

"March, ye cannibals;" "No murmuring, ye Scythians;" "Don't open your eyes, ye murderous Polyphemes, ye

bloodthirsty lions," and suchlike names with which their captors harassed the ears of the wretched 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 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 recognised the mansion, "what does this mean? It is all courtesy and politeness in

They entered the chief court of the castle and found it prepared and fitted up in a style that added to their

The horsemen dismounted, and, together with the men on foot, without a moment's delay taking up Sancho

and Don Quixote 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 spite 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 ground and covered completely by an immense canopy of black velvet, and

on the steps all round it white wax tapers burned in more than a hundred silver candlesticks. Upon the

catafalque 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

sweetsmelling flowers of divers sorts, her hands crossed upon her bosom, 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,

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 he silent; which, however, they would have been without any signs,

for their amazement at all they saw held them tonguetied. And now two persons of distinction, who were at

once recognised by 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 have been 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 by bowing their heads slightly. At

this moment an official crossed over, and approaching 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 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 smiling to see the figure Sancho presented. And now from underneath 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 Roman habit, who, to the accompaniment of a harp which he himself

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 My lady

robes in baize and bombazine, Her beauty and her sorrows will I sing With defter quill than touched the

But not in life alone, methinks, to me Belongs the office; Lady, when my tongue Is cold in death, believe me,

unto thee My voice shall raise its tributary song. My soul, from this strait prisonhouse 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 Sancho Panza, here present, has to

undergo to restore her to the longlost light. Do thou, therefore, O Rhadamanthus, who sittest in judgment

with me in the murky caverns of Dis, as thou knowest 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

No sooner had Minos the fellow judge of Rhadamanthus said this, than Rhadamanthus 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 fourandtwenty smacks, and give him twelve pinches and six pin thrusts in the back and

On hearing this Sancho broke silence and cried out, "By all that's good, I'll 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 they must give me

fourandtwenty smacks, and prick holes in my body with pins, and raise weals on my arms with pinches!

Try those jokes on a brotherinlaw; 'I'm an old dog, and "tus, tus" is no use with me.'"

"Thou shalt die," said Rhadamanthus in a loud voice; "relent, thou tiger; humble thyself, proud Nimrod;

suffer and he 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 word of an honest man, ye shall see what ye were born

At this some six 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 fingers of wrist to

make their hands look longer, as is the fashion nowadays. 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 daggers; pinch my arms with redhot pincers; I'll 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

The duennas were now close to Sancho, and he, having become more tractable and reasonable, settling

himself well in his chair presented his face and beard to the first, who delivered him a smack very stoutly laid

"Less politeness and less paint, senora duenna," said Sancho; "by God your hands smell of vinegarwash."

In fine, all the duennas 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 tormentors,

exclaiming, "Begone, ye ministers of hell; I'm not made of brass not to feel such outoftheway tortures."

At this instant Altisidora, who probably was tired of having been so long lying on her back, turned on her

side; seeing which the bystanders cried out almost with one voice, "Altisidora is alive! Altisidora lives!"

Rhadamanthus 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. Now, I say, is the time when the virtue that is in thee is ripe, and endowed

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 pinproddings! You had better

take a big stone and tie it round my 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

Altisidora had by this time sat up on the catafalque, and as she did so the clarions sounded, accompanied by

the flutes, and the voices of all present exclaiming, "Long life to Altisidora! long life to Altisidora!" The duke

and duchess and the kings Minos and Rhadamanthus 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 were

recovering from a swoon, bowed her head to the duke and duchess and to the kings, and looking sideways at

Don 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 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

Sancho kissed her hands in gratitude, kneeling, and with the 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 memento 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 Sancho should be conducted to their old quarters.

Sancho 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 humour 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 tonight's adventure, Sancho?

Great and mighty is the power of coldhearted 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 the thought of the

"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 damsel more fanciful than wise, can have, as I have said before, anything to do with

the sufferings of Sancho Panza. Now I begin to see plainly and clearly that there are enchanters and

enchanted people in 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 questions, unless you want me to throw myself out

"Sleep, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote, "if the pinprodding and pinches thou hast received and the

"No pain came up to the insult of the smacks," said Sancho, "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

They fell asleep, both of them, and Cide Hamete, 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 plans, 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 armour

and another horse, and put a white moon upon his shield, and to carry his arms he had a mule led by a

peasant, not by Tom Cecial his former squire for fear he should be recognised 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 bachelor 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 out in quest of Don Quixote, and not

finding him at Saragossa, he went on, and how he fared has been already told. He returned to the duke's castle

and told him all, what the conditions of the combat were, and how Don Quixote was now, like a loyal

knighterrant, 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 madness; 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 be a madman. And so he

took his leave of the duke, and went home to his village to wait there for Don Quixote, who was coming after

him. Thereupon the duke seized the opportunity 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 foul, 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 described, the whole affair being so well

arranged and acted that it differed but little from reality. And Cide Hamete says, moreover, that for his part he

considers the concocters 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 themselves when they took such pains to make

As for the latter, one was sleeping soundly and the other lying awake occupied with his desultory thoughts,

when daylight came to them bringing with it the desire to rise; for the lazy down was never a delight to Don

Quixote, victor or vanquished. 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 worn 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 himself up and wellnigh covered himself altogether with the sheets and counterpane of the bed,

tonguetied, 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

honour under foot, and give a loose to the tongue that breaks through every impediment, publishing abroad

the inmost secrets of their hearts, they are reduced to sore extremities. Such a one am I, Senor Don Quixote of

La Mancha, crushed, conquered, lovesmitten, but yet patient under suffering 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

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

"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 I 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 bonelace, and ruffles of the same that served them for wristbands, with four fingers' breadth of

the arms 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." "That's no wonder," said Sancho; "for devils, whether playing or not, can

"Very likely," said Altisidora; "but there is another thing that surprises me too, I mean surprised 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 brandnew, wellbound 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 History of Don Quixote of La

Mancha," not by Cide Hamete, the original author, but 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?' said 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, knocking 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 taste of his foot. I am not disturbed by hearing that I am wandering in a fantastic 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

Altisidora was about to proceed with her complaint against Don Quixote, when he said to her, "I have several

times told you, senora that it grieves me you should have set your affections upon 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

Hearing this, Altisidora, with a show of anger and agitation, exclaimed, "God's life! Don Stockfish, soul of a

mortar, stone of a date, more obstinate and obdurate than a clown asked a favour when he has his mind made

up, if I fall upon you I'll tear your eyes out! Do you fancy, Don Vanquished, Don Cudgelled, that I died for

your sake? All that you have seen tonight has been makebelieve; I'm not the woman to let the black of my

"That I can well believe," said Sancho; "for all that about lovers pining to death is absurd; they may talk of it,

While they were talking, the musician, singer, and poet, who had sung the two stanzas given above came in,

and making 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 your 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 songster 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; for what have Garcilasso's stanzas to do

"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

nowadays there is no piece of silliness they can sing or write that is not set down to poetic licence."

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

vanquished knight like himself it was fitter he should live in a pigsty than in a royal palace. They gave it

He replied, "Senora, let me tell your ladyship that this damsel's ailment comes entirely of idleness, and the

cure for it is honest and 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 images of what she loves will not shift to and fro in her thoughts; this is the truth, this

"And mine," added Sancho; "for I never in all my life saw a lacemaker that died for love; when damsels are

at work their minds are more set 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, senora," said Altisidora; "for the mere thought of the

cruelty with 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 abominable, ugly looks." "That reminds me of the common saying, that 'he that rails is

Altisidora then, pretending to wipe away her tears with a handkerchief, made an obeisance to her master and

"Ill 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,

The vanquished and afflicted Don Quixote went along very downcast in one respect and very happy in

another. His sadness arose from his defeat, and his satisfaction from the thought of the virtue that lay in

Sancho, as had been proved by the resurrection of Altisidora; though it was with difficulty he could persuade

himself that the lovesmitten 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 master, "Surely, senor, I'm the most unlucky doctor in the world; 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 signing a bit

of a list of medicines, that the apothecary and not he makes up, and, there, his labour is over; but with me

though to cure somebody else costs me drops of blood, smacks, pinches, pinproddings, and whippings,

nobody gives me a farthing. Well, I swear by all that's good if they put another patient into my hands, they'll

have to grease them for me before I cure him; for, as they say, '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 be dealing it

"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 gratis data as it has cost thee no study

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 disenchant 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. 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

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'll hold myself in

readiness to gratify your worship'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 treasures of Venice, the mines of Potosi, would be insufficient to pay thee. See what thou hast of mine,

"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 should bid me) make three thousand three

hundred quarter reals; the three thousand are one thousand five hundred half reals, which make seven

hundred and fifty reals; and the three hundred make a hundred and fifty half reals, which come to

seventyfive reals, which added to the seven hundred and fifty make eight hundred and twentyfive reals in

all. These I will stop out of what I have belonging to your worship, and I'll return home rich and content,

"O blessed Sancho! O 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 misfortune will have been good fortune, and my defeat a most happy triumph. But look here,

Sancho; when wilt thou begin the scourging? For if thou wilt make short work of it, I will give thee a hundred

"When?" said Sancho; "this night without fail. Let your worship order it so that we pass it out of doors and in

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 was drawing itself out longer than

usual, just as is the case with lovers, who 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 Dapple's packsaddle, 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

headstall retreated about twenty paces from his master among some beech trees. Don Quixote seeing him

march off with such resolution and spirit, said to him, "Take care, my friend, not to cut thyself 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

midway; 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 will station myself apart and

count on my rosary here the lashes thou givest thyself. May heaven help thee as thy good intention deserves."

"'Pledges don't distress a good payer,'" said Sancho; "I mean to lay on in such a way as without killing myself

He then stripped himself from the waist upwards, and snatching up the rope he began to lay on and Don

Quixote 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

"Go 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, with such groans every now and then, that one would 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 own object, said to

him, "As thou livest, my friend, let the matter rest where it is, for the remedy seems to me a very rough one,

and it will he well to have patience; 'Zamora 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,

"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'll retire."

Sancho returned to his task with so much resolution that he soon had the bark stripped off several trees, such

was the severity with which he whipped himself; and one time, raising his voice, and giving a beech a

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 children; let Dulcinea

wait for a better opportunity, and I will content myself with a hope soon to be realised, 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 sweating and I don't want to take cold; it's a risk that novice disciplinants run."

Don Quixote obeyed, and stripping himself covered Sancho, who slept until the sun woke him; they then

resumed their journey, which for the time being they brought to an end at a village that lay three leagues

farther on. They dismounted at a hostelry which Don Quixote recognised as such and did not take to be a

castle with moat, turrets, portcullis, and drawbridge; 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 leather hangings 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 AEneas, 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 shown 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 unfortunate 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

"I'll 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

"Thou art right, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for this painter is like Orbaneja, a painter there was at Ubeda,

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

writer, 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 Deum de Deo meant, he replied De donde diere. But, putting this

aside, tell me, Sancho, hast thou a mind to have another turn at thyself tonight, and wouldst thou rather have

"Egad, senor," said Sancho, "for what I'm going to give myself, 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

"And yet it must not be, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote; "but, to enable thee to recover strength, we

must keep it for our own village; for at the latest we shall get there the day after tomorrow."

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'll give thee's,"

"For God's sake, Sancho, no more proverbs!" exclaimed Don Quixote; "it seems to me thou art becoming

sicut erat again; speak in a plain, simple, straightforward way, as I have often told thee, and thou wilt find

"I don't know what bad luck it is of mine," argument to my mind; however, I mean to mend said Sancho, "but

I can't utter a word without a proverb that is not as good as an argument to my mind; however, I mean to

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 accomplished, for therein lay the accomplishment

of his wishes. Meanwhile there arrived at the hostelry a traveller on horseback with three or four servants,

one of whom said to him who appeared to be the master, "Here, Senor Don Alvaro Tarfe, your worship may

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 my history I think I came casually upon this name of Don Alvaro Tarfe."

"Very likely," said Sancho; "we had better let him dismount, and byandby we can ask about it."

The gentleman dismounted, and the landlady gave him a room on the ground floor opposite Don Quixote's

and adorned with painted 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, addressing Don Quixote, who

was pacing up and down there, he asked, "In what direction your worship bound, gentle sir?"

"To a village near this which is my own village," replied Don Quixote; "and your worship, where are you

"And a goodly country," said Don Quixote; "but will your worship do me the favour of telling me your name,

for it strikes me it is of more importance to me to know it than I can tell you."

To which Don Quixote returned, "I have no doubt whatever that your worship is that Don Alvaro Tarfe who

appears in print in the Second Part of the history of Don Quixote of La Mancha, lately printed and published

"I am the same," replied the gentleman; "and that same Don Quixote, the principal personage in the said

history, was a very great friend of mine, and it was I who 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

Tell me, Senor Don Alvaro," said Don Quixote, "am I at all like that Don Quixote you talk of?"

"And that Don Quixote" said our one, "had he with him a squire called Sancho Panza?"

"He had," said Don Alvaro; "but though he had the name of being very droll, I never heard him say anything

"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 scoundrel, dunderhead, and thief, all in

one; for I am the real 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 find they fall from 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

"By God I believe it," said Don Alvaro; "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 few. He was

more greedy than wellspoken, 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

"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, Senor 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

treasurehouse of courtesy, haven of strangers, asylum of the poor, home of the valiant, champion of the

wronged, pleasant exchange of firm friendships, and city unrivalled in site and beauty. And though the

adventures that befell 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, Senor Don Alvaro 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 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 I the Don Quixote in print in the Second Part, nor this Sancho Panza, my squire, the one your worship

"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 demeanour; and again I say and declare that

"No doubt your worship is enchanted, like my lady Dulcinea del Toboso," said Sancho; "and would to heaven

your disenchantment rested on my giving myself another three thousand and odd lashes like what I'm giving

"I don't understand that about the lashes," said Don Alvaro. Sancho replied that it was a long story to tell, but

By this dinnertime 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 Alvaro 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 "Second 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

required in such cases, at which Don Quixote and Sancho were in high delight, as if a declaration of the sort

was of any great importance 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 exchanged by

Don Alvaro 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.

Evening came, they set out from the village, and after about half a league two roads branched off, one leading

to Don Quixote's village, the other the road Don Alvaro was to follow. In this short interval Don Quixote told

him of his unfortunate 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 passed 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 would 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

with those of the night before they made up three thousand and twentynine. The sun apparently had got up

early to witness the sacrifice, and with his light they resumed 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 anything worth mention happen 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 daylight, 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, longedfor 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 vanquishe by the arm of another, comes victor over

himself, which, as he himself has told me, is the greatest victory anyone can desire. I'm bringing back money,

"Have done with these fooleries," said Don Quixote; "let us push on straight and get to our own place, where

we will give free range to our fancies, and settle our plans for our future pastoral life."

At the entrance of the village, so says Cide Hamete, Don Quixote saw two boys quarrelling on the village

threshingfloor one of whom said to the other, "Take it easy, Periquillo; thou shalt never see it again as long

Don Quixote heard this, and said he to Sancho, "Dost thou not mark, friend, what that boy said, 'Thou shalt

"What!" said Don Quixote, "dost thou not see that, applied to the object of my desires, the words mean that I

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 caught it alive and presented it to Don Quixote, who was saying, "Malum signum, malum signum! a

"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

The two boys who had been quarrelling came over to look at the hare, and Sancho asked one of them what

their quarrel was about. He was answered by the one who had said, "Thou shalt never see it again as long as

thou livest," that he had taken a cage full of crickets from the other boy, and did not mean to give it back to

him as long as he lived. Sancho took out four cuartos from his pocket and gave them to the boy for the cage,

which he placed in Don Quixote's hands, saying, "There, 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

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 sumptercloth, over

Dapple and over the bundle of armour, 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 recognised by

both the curate and the bachelor, who came towards them with open arms. Don Quixote dismounted and

received them with a close embrace; and the boys, who are lynxes that nothing escapes, spied out the ass's

mitre and came running to see it, calling out to one another, "Come here, boys, and see Sancho Panza's ass

So at length, with the boys capering round them, and accompanied by the curate and the bachelor, they made

their entrance into the town, and proceeded to Don Quixote's house, at the door of which they found his

housekeeper and niece, whom the news of his arrival had already reached. It had been brought to Teresa

Panza, Sancho's wife, as well, and she with her hair all loose and half naked, dragging Sanchica her daughter

by the hand, ran out to meet her husband; but seeing him coming in by no means as good case as she thought

a governor ought to be, she said to him, "How is it you come this way, husband? It seems to me you come

tramping and footsore, and looking more like a disorderly vagabond than a governor."

"Hold your tongue, Teresa," said Sancho; "often 'where there are pegs there are no flitches;' let's go into the

house and there you'll hear strange things. I bring money, and that's the main thing, got by my own industry

"You bring the money, my good husband," said Teresa, "and no matter whether it was got this way or that;

for, however you may have got it, you'll not have brought any new practice into the world."

Sanchica 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

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

knighterrant bound by scrupulous good faith and the laws of knighterrantry; and of how he thought of

turning shepherd for that year, and taking his diversion in the solitude of the fields, where he could with

perfect freedom give range to his thoughts of love while he followed the virtuous pastoral calling; and he

besought them, if they had not a great deal to do and were not prevented by more important business, to

consent to be his companions, for he would buy sheep enough to qualify them for shepherds; and the most

important point of the whole affair, he could tell them, was settled, for he had given them names that would

fit them to a T. The curate asked what they were. Don Quixote replied that he himself was to be called the

shepherd Quixotize and the bachelor the shepherd Carrascon, and the curate the shepherd Curambro, and

Both were astounded at Don Quixote's new craze; however, lest he should once more make off out of the

village from them in pursuit of his chivalry, they trusting that in the course of the year he might be cured, fell

in with his new project, applauded his crazy idea as a bright one, and offered to share the life with him. "And

what's more," said Samson Carrasco, "I am, as all the world knows, a very famous poet, and I'll be always

making verses, pastoral, or courtly, or as it may come into my head, to pass away our time in those secluded

regions where we shall be roaming. But what is most needful, sirs, is that each of us should choose the name

of the shepherdess he means to glorify in his verses, and that we should not leave a tree, be it ever so hard,

without writing up and carving her name on it, as is the habit and custom of lovesmitten shepherds."

"That's the very thing," said Don Quixote; "though I am relieved from looking for the name of an imaginary

shepherdess, for there's the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, the glory of these brooksides, the ornament of

these meadows, the mainstay of beauty, the cream of all the graces, and, in a word, the being to whom all

"Very true," said the curate; "but we the others must look about for accommodating shepherdesses that will

"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, Filidas, Amarilises, Dianas, Fleridas, Galateas, Belisardas; for as they sell them in the

marketplaces we may fairly buy them and make them our own. If my lady, or I should say my shepherdess,

happens to be called Ana, I'll sing her praises under the name of Anarda, and if Francisca, I'll call her

Francenia, and if Lucia, Lucinda, for it all comes to the same thing; and Sancho Panza, if he joins this

Don Quixote laughed at the adaptation of the name, and the curate bestowed vast praise upon the worthy and

honourable resolution he had made, and again offered to bear him company all the time that he could spare

from his imperative duties. And so they took their leave of him, recommending and beseeching him to take

It so happened his niece and the housekeeper overheard all the three of them said; and as soon as they were

gone they both of them came in to Don Quixote, and said the niece, "What's this, uncle? Now that we were

thinking you had come back to stay at home and lead a quiet respectable life there, are you going to get into

fresh entanglements, and turn 'young shepherd, thou that comest here, young shepherd going there?' Nay!

"And," added the housekeeper, "will your worship be able to bear, out in the fields, the heats of summer, and

the chills of winter, and the howling of the wolves? Not you; for that's a life and a business for hardy men,

bred and seasoned to such work almost from the time they were in swaddlingclothes. Why, to make choice

of evils, it's better to be a knighterrant than a shepherd! Look here, senor; take my advice and I'm not

giving it to you full of bread and wine, but fasting, and with fifty years upon my head stay at home, look

after your affairs, go often to confession, be good to the poor, and upon my soul be it if any evil comes to

"Hold your peace, my daughters," said Don Quixote; "I know very well what my duty is; help me to bed, for I

don't feel very well; and rest assured that, knighterrant now or wandering shepherd to be, I shall never fail to

have a care for your interests, as you will see in the end." And the good wenches (for that they undoubtedly

were), the housekeeper and niece, helped him to bed, where they gave him something to eat and made him as

As nothing that is man's can last for ever, but all tends ever downwards from its beginning to its end, and

above all man's life, and as Don Quixote's enjoyed no special dispensation from heaven to stay its course, its

end and close came when he least looked for it. For whether it was of the dejection the thought of his defeat

produced, or of heaven's will that so ordered it a fever settled upon him and kept him in his bed for six days,

during which he was often visited by his friends the curate, the bachelor, and the barber, while his good

squire Sancho Panza never quitted his bedside. They, persuaded that it was grief at finding himself

vanquished, and the object of his heart, the liberation and disenchantment of Dulcinea, unattained, that kept

him in this state, strove by all the means in their power to cheer him up; the bachelor bidding him take heart

and get up to begin his pastoral life, for which he himself, he said, had already composed an eclogue that

would take the shine out of all Sannazaro had ever written, and had bought with his own money two famous

dogs to guard the flock, one called Barcino and the other Butron, which a herdsman of Quintanar had sold

But for all this Don Quixote could not shake off his sadness. His friends called in the doctor, who felt his

pulse and was not very well satisfied with it, and said that in any case it would be well for him to attend to the

health of his soul, as that of his body was in a bad way. Don Quixote heard this calmly; but not so his

housekeeper, his niece, and his squire, who fell weeping bitterly, as if they had him lying dead before them.

The doctor's opinion was that melancholy and depression were bringing him to his end. Don Quixote begged

them to leave him to himself, as he had a wish to sleep a little. They obeyed, and he slept at one stretch, as the

saying is, more than six hours, so that the housekeeper and niece thought he was going to sleep for ever. But

at the end of that time he woke up, and in a loud voice exclaimed, "Blessed be Almighty God, who has shown

me such goodness. In truth his mercies are boundless, and the sins of men can neither limit them nor keep

The niece listened with attention to her uncle's words, and they struck her as more coherent than what usually

fell from him, at least during his illness, so she asked, "What are you saying, senor? Has anything strange

"The mercies, niece," said Don Quixote, "are those that God has this moment shown me, and with him, as I

said, my sins are no impediment to them. My reason is now free and clear, rid of the dark shadows of

ignorance that my unhappy constant study of those detestable books of chivalry cast over it. Now I see

through their absurdities and deceptions, and it only grieves me that this destruction of my illusions has come

so late that it leaves me no time to make some amends by reading other books that might be a light to my

soul. Niece, I feel myself at the point of death, and I would fain meet it in such a way as to show that my life

has not been so ill that I should leave behind me the name of a madman; for though I have been one, I would

not that the fact should be made plainer at my death. Call in to me, my dear, my good friends the curate, the

bachelor 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,

"Good news for you, good sirs, that I am no longer Don Quixote of La Mancha, but Alonso Quixano, whose

way of life won for him the name of Good. Now am I the enemy of Amadis of Gaul and of the whole

countless troop of his descendants; odious to me now are all the profane stories of knighterrantry; now I

perceive my folly, and the peril into which reading them brought me; now, by God's mercy schooled into my

When the three heard him speak in this way, they had no doubt whatever that some new craze had taken

possession of him; and said Samson, "What? Senor Don Quixote! Now that we have intelligence of the lady

Dulcinea being disenchanted, are you taking this line; now, just as we are on the point of becoming

shepherds, to pass our lives singing, like princes, are you thinking of turning hermit? Hush, for heaven's sake,

"All that nonsense," said Don Quixote, "that until now has been a reality to my hurt, my death will, with

heaven's help, turn to my good. I feel, sirs, that I am rapidly drawing near death; a truce to jesting; let me

have a confessor to confess me, and a notary to make my will; for in extremities like this, man must not trifle

with his soul; and while the curate is confessing me let some one, I beg, go for the notary."

They looked at one another, wondering at Don Quixote's words; but, though uncertain, they were inclined to

believe him, and one of the signs by which they came to the conclusion he was dying was this so sudden and

complete return to his senses after having been mad; for to the words already quoted he added much more, so

well expressed, so devout, and so rational, as to banish all doubt and convince them that he was sound of

mind. The curate turned them all out, and left alone with him confessed him. The bachelor went for the

notary and returned shortly afterwards with him and with Sancho, who, having already learned from the

bachelor the condition his master was in, and finding the housekeeper and niece weeping, began to blubber

The confession over, the curate came out saying, "Alonso Quixano the Good is indeed dying, and is indeed in

This news gave a tremendous impulse to the brimming eyes of the housekeeper, niece, and Sancho Panza his

good squire, making the tears burst from their eyes and a host of sighs from their hearts; for of a truth, as has

been said more than once, whether as plain Alonso Quixano the Good, or as Don Quixote of La Mancha, Don

Quixote was always of a gentle disposition and kindly in all his ways, and hence he was beloved, not only by

The notary came in with the rest, and as soon as the preamble of the had been set out and Don Quixote had

commended his soul to God with all the devout formalities that are usual, coming to the bequests, he said,

"Item, it is my will that, touching certain moneys in the hands of Sancho Panza (whom in my madness I made

my squire), inasmuch as between him and me there have been certain accounts and debits and credits, no

claim be made against him, nor any account demanded of him in respect of them; but that if anything remain

over and above, after he has paid himself what I owe him, the balance, which will be but little, shall be his,

and much good may it do him; and if, as when I was mad I had a share in giving him the government of an

island, so, now that I am in my senses, I could give him that of a kingdom, 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, that I led thee to seem as mad as myself, making thee fall into the same error I myself fell into,

"Ah!" said Sancho weeping, "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 Dulcinea

disenchanted, as fine as fine can be. If it be that you are dying of vexation at having been vanquished, lay the

blame on me, and say you were overthrown because I had girthed Rocinante badly; besides you must have

seen in your books of chivalry that it is a common thing for knights to upset one another, and for him who is

"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

"Item, I leave all my property absolutely to Antonia Quixana my niece, here present, after all has been

deducted from the most available portion of it that may be required to satisfy the bequests I have made. And

the first disbursement I desire to be made is the payment of the wages I owe for the time my housekeeper has

served me, with twenty ducats, over and above, for a gown. The curate and the bachelor Samson Carrasco,

"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

"Item, I entreat the aforesaid gentlemen my executors, that, if any happy chance should lead them to discover

the author who is said to have written a history now going about under the title of 'Second Part of the

Achievements of Don Quixote of La Mancha,' they beg of him on my behalf as earnestly as they can to

forgive me for having been, without intending it, the cause of his writing so many and such monstrous

absurdities as he has written in it; for I am leaving the world with a feeling of compunction at having

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 down in

the heir the feeling of grief the dead man might be expected to leave behind him.

At last Don Quixote's end came, after he had received all the sacraments, and had in full and forcible terms

expressed his detestation of books of chivalry. The notary was there at the time, and he said that in no book of

chivalry had he ever read of any knighterrant 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 Quixano the Good, commonly called

Don Quixote of La Mancha, had passed away from this present life, and died naturally; and said he desired

this testimony in order to remove the possibility of any other author save Cide Hamete Benengeli bringing

him to life again falsely and making interminable stories out of his achievements.

Such was the end of the Ingenious Gentleman of La Mancha, whose village Cide Hamete would not indicate

precisely, in order to leave all the towns and villages of La Mancha to contend among themselves for the

right to adopt him and claim him as a son, as the seven cities of Greece contended for Homer. The

lamentations of Sancho and the niece and housekeeper are omitted here, as well as the new epitaphs upon his

And said most sage Cide Hamete to his pen, "Rest here, hung up by this brass wire, upon this shelf, O my

pen, whether of skilful make or clumsy cut I know not; here shalt thou remain long ages hence, unless

presumptuous or malignant storytellers take thee down to profane thee. But ere they touch thee warn them,

For me alone was Don Quixote born, and I for him; it was his to act, mine to write; we two together make but

one, notwithstanding and in spite of that pretended Tordesillesque writer who has ventured or would venture

with his great, coarse, illtrimmed ostrich quill to write the achievements of my valiant knight; no burden

for his shoulders, nor subject for his frozen wit: whom, if perchance thou shouldst come to know him, thou

shalt warn to leave at rest where they lie the weary mouldering bones of Don Quixote, and not to attempt to

carry him off, in opposition to all the privileges of death, to Old Castile, making him rise from the grave

where in reality and truth he lies stretched at full length, powerless to make any third expedition or new sally;

for the two that he has already made, so much to the enjoyment and approval of everybody to whom they

have become known, in this as well as in foreign countries, are quite sufficient for the purpose of turning into

ridicule the whole of those made by the whole set of the knightserrant; and so doing shalt thou discharge thy

Christian calling, giving good counsel to one that bears illwill to thee. And I shall remain satisfied, and

proud to have been the first who has ever enjoyed the fruit of his writings as fully as he could desire; for my

desire has been no other than to deliver over to the detestation of mankind the false and foolish tales of the

books of chivalry, which, thanks to that of my true Don Quixote, are even now tottering, and doubtless