A 415756
CERVANTES
DON
QUIXOTE
868
C421
tss
1895
V. 2
DON
QUIXOTE
OF THE
MANCHA
1


ARTES
1817
SCIENTIA
VERITAS
LIBRARY
OF THE
| UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN |
TUEROR
JA NIS PENINDULAN ANNAN
..
Elizabetha
Waukeg
if


گے
868
051
تک


}


DON QUIXOTE
THE INTRODUCTION
BY JUSTIN HUNTLY
MCCARTHY
THE ILLUSTRATIONS BY
FRANK BRANGWYN
Vol. II.

:
.
1
',

n
UNIL
OF
Don Quixote encaged.
MICH

THE HISTORY OF THE
VALOROUS AND WITTY
KNIGHT-ERRANT
DON QUIXOTE
OF THE MANCHA
Saavedra
BY CERVANTES
TRANSLATED BY
THOMAS SHELTON
1612-1620
LONDON
GIBBINGS and CO. Ld.
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT CO.
1895
IN FOUR VOLUMES
VOL. II.
:
;
Fifteen Hundred Copies printed by Morrison and Gibb
Edinburgh, N.B., 1895.

English
Clizali Fran
4-75.41
42993
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.
THE FOURTH PART.
CHAPTER I
Wherein is discoursed the New and Pleasant Adventure
that happened to the Curate and the Barber in Sierra
Morena,
CHAPTER II.
PAGE
1
Which treats of the discretion of the beautiful Dorothea,
and the artificial manner used to dissuade the
amorous Knight from continuing his Penance; and
how he was gotten away; with many other de-
lightful Occurrences,
21
CHAPTER III.
Of many Pleasant Discourses passed between Don Quixote
and those of his Company, after he had abandoned the
rigorous place of his Penance,
CHAPTER IV.
•
Of the Pleasant Discourses continued between Don Quixote
and his Squire Sancho Panza, with other Adven-
37
tures,
a
V
. 51
vi
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER V.
Treating of that which befel all Don Quixote his Train in
the Inn,
CHAPTER VI.
PAGE
64
Wherein is rehearsed the History of the Curious-
Impertinent,
CHAPTER VII.
Wherein is prosecuted the History of the Curious-
Impertinent,
CHAPTER VIII.
Wherein is ended the History of the Curious-Impertinent:
and likewise recounted the Rough Encounter and
Conflict passed between Don Quixote and certain Bags
of Red Wine,
73
99
125
CHAPTER IX.
Which treats of many Rare Successes befallen in the Inn, 137
CHAPTER X.
Wherein is prosecuted the History of the famous Princess
Micomicona, with other Delightful Adventures,
CHAPTER XI.
Treating of the Curious Discourse made by Don Quixote
upon the Exercises of Arms and Letters,
CHAPTER XII.
Wherein the Captive recounteth his Life, and other
Accidents,
150
164
•
170
CHAPTER XIII.
Wherein is prosecuted the History of the Captive, .
. 181

CONTENTS.
vii
CHAPTER XIV.
Wherein the Captive prosecuteth the Pleasant Narration of
his Life,
PAGE
•
198
CHAPTER XV.
Which speaks of that which after befel in the Inn, and of
sundry other things worthy to be known,
CHAPTER XVI.
Wherein is recounted the History of the Lackey, with other
strange Adventures befallen in the Inn, .
CHAPTER XVII,
Wherein are prosecuted the Wonderful Adventures of the
Inn,
CHAPTER XVIII.
225
235
248
Wherein are decided the Controversies of the Helmet of
Mambrino and of the Pannel, with other strange and
most true Adventures,
259
CHAPTER XIX.
In which is finished the Notable Adventure of the Troopers,
and the great Ferocity of our Knight, Don Quixote, and
how he was enchanted,
•
CHAPTER XX.
Wherein is prosecuted the manner of Don Quixote's
Enchantment, with other Famous Occurrences,
CHAPTER XXI.
270
281
•
Wherein the Canon prosecutes his Discourse upon Books of
Chivalry, and many other things worthy of his wit,
294
viii
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXII.
Wherein the Discreet Discourse that passed between Sancho
Panza and his Lord Don Quixote is expressed, .
CHAPTER XXIII.
Of the Discreet Contention between Don Quixote and the
Canon, with other Accidents,
PAGE
•
304
314
CHAPTER XXIV.
Relating that which the Goatherd told to those that carried
away Don Quixote,
CHAPTER XXV.
Of the falling out of Don Quixote and the Goatherd; with
…… the Adventure of the Disciplinants, to which the Knight
gave end to his cost,
323
•
330
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FOR VOL. II.
PAGE
1. Don Quixote encaged,
2. "I heard a crier go about,"
Frontispiece
18
3. "Lay down that letter there on the sack,"
51
4. "He would sit on a bench under a poplar tree,"
325
5. "He espied many men descending, apparelled
in white,"
332
ix
THE HISTORY OF THE VALOROUS AND
WITTY KNIGHT-ERRANT
DON QUIXOTE
OF THE MANCHA.
THE FOURTH PART.
CHAPTER I.
WHEREIN IS DISCOURSED
THE NEW AND PLEASANT
ADVENTURE THAT HAPPENED TO THE CURATE AND
THE BARBER IN SIERRA MORENA.
MOST happy and fortunate were those times wherein
the thrice audacious and bold knight, Don Quixote of
the Mancha, was bestowed on the world, by whose
most honourable resolution to revive and renew in it
the already worn-out and well-nigh deceased exercise of
arms, we joy in this, our so niggard and scant an age of
all pastimes, not only the sweetness of his true history,
but also of the other tales and digressions contained
therein, which are in some respects no less pleasing,
artificial, and true than the very history itself; the
which, prosecuting the carded, spun, and self-twined
thread of the relation, says that, as the curate began to
bethink himself upon some answer that might both
comfort and animate Cardenio, he was hindered by a
voice which came to his hearing, said very dolefully
the words ensuing:
"O God! is it possible that I have yet found out the
place which may serve for a hidden sepulchre to the
II,
A
2
THE HISTORY OF
load of this loathsome body that I unwillingly bear so
long? Yes, it may be, if the solitariness of these rocks
do not illude me. Ah, unfortunate that I am! how
much more grateful companions will these crags and
thickets prove to my designs, by affording me leisure
to communicate my mishaps to Heaven with plaints,
than that of any mortal man living, since there is none
upon earth from whom may be expected counsel in
doubts, ease in complaints, or in harms remedy?" The
curate and his companions heard and understood all
the words clearly, and forasmuch as they conjectured
(as indeed it was) that those plaints were delivered very
near unto them, they did all arise to search out the
plaintiff; and, having gone some twenty steps thence,
they beheld a young youth behind a rock, sitting under
an ash-tree, and attired like a country swain, whom, by
reason his face was inclined, as he sat washing of his
feet in the clear stream that glided that way, they could
not perfectly discern, and therefore approached towards
him with so great silence, as they were not descried by
him, who only attended to the washing of his feet,
which were so white, as they properly resembled two
pieces of clear crystal that grew among the other stones
of the stream. The whiteness and beauty of the feet
amazed them, being not made, as they well conjectured,
to tread clods, or measure the steps of lazy oxen, and
holding the plough, as the youth's apparel would
persuade them; and therefore the curate, who went
before the rest, seeing they were not yet espied, made
signs to the other two that they should divert a little
out of the way, or hide themselves behind some broken
cliffs that were near the place, which they did all of
them, noting what the youth did with very great
attention. He wore a little brown capouch, girt very
near to his body with a white towel, also a pair of
DON QUIXOTE.
3
breeches and gamashoes of the same coloured cloth, and
on his head a clay-coloured cap; his gamashoes were
lifted up half the leg, which verily seemed to be white
alabaster. Finally, having washed his feet, taking out
a linen kerchief from under his cap, he dried them
therewithal, and at the taking out of the kerchief he
held up his face, and then those which stood gazing on
him had leisure to discern an unmatchable beauty, so
surpassing great, as Cardenio, rounding the curate in
the ear, said, “This body, since it is not Lucinda, can
be no human creature, but a divine." The youth took
off his cap at last, and, shaking his head to the one and
other part, did dishevel and discover such beautiful
hairs as those of Phoebus might justly emulate them;
and thereby they knew the supposed swain to be a
delicate woman; yea, and the fairest that ever the first
two had seen in their lives, or Cardenio himself, the
lovely Lucinda excepted; for, as he after affirmed, no
feature save Lucinda's could contend with hers. The
long and golden hairs did not only cover her shoulders,
but did also hide her round about in such sort as (her
feet excepted) no other part of her body appeared, they
were so near and long. At this time her hands served
her for a comb, which, as her feet seemed pieces of
crystal in the water, so did they appear among her
hairs like pieces of driven snow. All which circum-
stances did possess the three which stood gazing at her
with great admiration and desire to know what she
was, and therefore resolved to show themselves; and
with the noise which they made when they arose, the
beautiful maiden held up her head, and, removing her
hairs from before her eyes with both hands, she espied
those that had made it; and presently arising, full of
fear and trouble, she laid hand on a packet that was by
her, which seemed to be of apparel, and thought to fly
4
THE HISTORY OF
away without staying to pull on her shoes, or to gather
up her hair. But scarce had she gone six paces when
her delicate and tender feet, unable to abide the rough
encounter of the stones, made her to fall to the earth;
which the three perceiving, they came out to her, and
the curate arriving first of all, said to her, "Lady, what-
soever you be, stay and fear nothing; for we which you
behold here come only with intention to do you service,
and therefore you need not pretend so impertinent a
flight, which neither your feet can endure, nor would
we permit."
The poor girl remained so amazed and confounded
as she answered not a word; wherefore, the curate and
the rest drawing nearer, they took her by the hand,
and then he prosecuted his speech, saying, "What your
habit concealed from us, lady, your hairs have be
wrayed, being manifest arguments that the causes were
of no small moment which have thus bemasked your
singular beauty under so unworthy array, and con-
ducted you to this all-abandoned desert, wherein it
was a wonderful chance to have met you, if not to
remedy your harms, yet at least to give you some
comfort, seeing no evil can afflict and vex one so
much, and plunge him in so deep extremes (whilst
it deprives not the life), that will wholly abhor from
listening to the advice that is offered with a good and
sincere intention; so that, fair lady, or lord, or what else
you shall please to be termed, shake off your affright-
ment, and rehearse unto us your good or ill fortune;
for you shall find in us jointly, or in every one part,
companions to help you to deplore your disasters."
Whilst the curate made this speech, the disguised
woman stood as one half asleep, now beholding the
one, now the other, without once moving her lip or
saying a word; just like a rustical clown, when rare
DON QUIXOTE.
..5
and unseen things to him before are unexpectedly
presented to his view.
But the curate insisting, and using other persuasive
reasons addressed to that effect, won her at last to make
a breach on her tedious silence, and, with a profound
sigh, blow open her coral gates, saying somewhat to this
effect: "Since the solitariness of these rocks hath not
been potent to conceal me, nor the dishevelling of my
disordered hairs licensed my tongue to belie my sex,
it were in vain for me to feign that anew which, if
you believed it, would be more for courtesy's sake than
any other respect. Which presupposed, I say, good sirs,
that I do gratify you highly for the liberal offers you
have made me, which are such as have bound me to
satisfy your demand as near as I may, although I fear
the relation which I must make to you of my mishaps
will breed sorrow at once with compassion in you, by
reason you shall not be able to find any salve that may
cure, comfort, or beguile them; yet, notwithstanding,
to the end my reputation may not hover longer sus-
pended in your opinions, seeing you know me to be a
woman, and view me young, alone, and thus attired,
being things all of them able, either joined or parted,
to overthrow the best credit, I must be enforced to
unfold what I could otherwise most willingly conceal.”
All this she, that appeared so comely, spoke with-
out stop or staggering, with so ready delivery, and
80 sweet a voice, as her discretion admired them no
less than her beauty; and, renewing again their com-
pliments and entreaties to her to accomplish speedily
her promise, she, setting all coyness apart, drawing on
her shoes very modestly, and winding up her hair, sat
her down on a stone, and the other three about her,
where she used no little violence to smother certain
rebellious tears that strove to break forth without her
6
THE HISTORY OF
permission, and then, with a reposed and clear voice, she
began the history of her life in this manner :-
"In this province of Andalusia there is a certain
town from whence a duke derives his denomination,
which makes him one of those in Spain are called
grandees. He hath two sons-the elder is heir of his
states, and likewise, as may be presumed, of his virtues ;
the younger is heir I know not of what, if he be not of
Vellido [one that murdered Sancho, king of Castile, as he
was easing himself at the siege of Camora] his treacheries
or Galalon's frauds. My parents are this nobleman's
vassals, of humble and low calling, but so rich as, if the
goods of nature had equalled those of their fortunes,
then should they have had nothing else to desire, nor I
feared to see myself in the misfortunes wherein I now
am plunged; for perhaps my mishaps proceed from
that of theirs, in not being nobly descended. True it
is that they are not so base as they should therefore
shame their calling, nor so high as may check my
conceit, which persuades me that my disasters proceed
from their lowness. In conclusion, they are but
farmers and plain people, but without any touch or
spot of bad blood, and, as we usually say, old, rusty
Christians, yet so rusty and ancient as yet their riches
and magnificent port gained them, by little and little,
the title of gentility, yea, and of worship also; although
the treasure and nobility whereof they made most
price and account was to have had me for their
daughter; and therefore, as well by reason that they
had none other heir than myself, as also because, as
affectionate parents, they held me most dear, I was
one of the most made of and cherished daughters that
ever father brought up. I was the mirror wherein
they beheld themselves, the staff of their old age, and
the subject to which they addressed all their desires,
!
7
DON QUIXOTE.
from which, because they were most virtuous, mine
did not stray an inch; and even in the same manner
that I was lady of their minds, so was I also of their
goods. By me were servants admitted or dismissed ;
the notice and account of what was sowed or reaped
passed through my hands; of the oil-mills, the wine-
presses, the number of great and little cattle, the bee-
hives-in fine, of all that so rich a farmer as my father
was, had, or could have, I kept the account, and was the
steward thereof and mistress, with such care of my side,
and pleasure of theirs, as I cannot possibly endear it
enough. The times of leisure that I had in the day,
after I had given what was necessary to the head
servants and other labourers, I did entertain in those
exercises which were both commendable and requisite
for maidens, to wit, in sewing, making of bone lace,
and many times handling the distaff; and if sometimes
I left those exercises to recreate my mind a little, I
would then take some godly book in hand, or play on
the harp; for experience had taught me that music
ordereth disordered minds, and doth lighten the
passions that afflict the spirit.
"This was the life which I led in my father's house,
the recounting whereof so particularly hath not been
done for ostentation, nor to give you to understand
that I am rich, but to the end you may note how much,
without mine own fault, have I fallen from that happy
state I have said, unto the unhappy plight into which
I am now reduced. The history, therefore, is this, that
passing my life in so many occupations, and that with
such recollection as might be compared to a religious
life, unseen, as I thought, by any other person than
those of our house; for when I went to mass it was
commonly so early, and so accompanied by my mother
and other maid-servants, and I myself so covered and
8
THE HISTORY OF
watchful as mine eyes did scarce see the earth whereon
I trod; and yet, notwithstanding, those of love, or, as
I may better term them, of idleness, to which lynx's
eyes may not be compared, did represent me to Don
Fernando's affection and care; for this is the name of
the duke's younger son of whom I spake before.”
Scarce had she named Don Fernando, when Cardenio
changed colour, and began to sweat, with such alter-
ation of body and countenance, as the curate and barber
which beheld it, feared that the accident of frenzy did
assault him, which was wont (as they had heard) to
possess him at times. But Cardenio did nothing else
than sweat, and stood still, beholding now and then the
country girl, imagining straight what she was; who,
without taking notice of his alteration, followed on her
discourse in this manner :—
'And scarce had he seen me, when (as he himself
after confessed) he abode greatly surprised by my love,
as his actions did after give evident demonstration.
But to conclude soon the relation of those misfor-
tunes which have no conclusion, I will overslip in
silence the diligences and practices of Don Fernando,
used to declare unto me his affection. He suborned all
the folk of the house; he bestowed gifts and favours
on my parents. Every day was a holiday and a day
of sports in the streets where I dwelt; at night no man
could sleep for music. The letters were innumerable
that came to my hands, without knowing who brought
them, farsed too full of amorous conceits and offers,
and containing more promises and protestations than
characters. All which not only could not mollify my
mind, but rather hardened it so much as if he were
my mortal enemy; and therefore did construe all
the endeavours he used to gain my goodwill to be
practised to a contrary end: which I did not as
DON QUIXOTE.
9
accounting Don Fernando ungentle, or that I esteemed
him too importunate; for I took a kind of delight to
see myself so highly esteemed and beloved of so noble
a gentleman; nor was I anything offended to see his
papers written in my praise; for, if I be not deceived
in this point, be women ever so foul, we love to hear
men call us beautiful. But mine honesty was that
which opposed itself unto all these things, and the
continual admonitions of my parents, which had by
this plainly perceived Don Fernando's pretence, as one
that cared not all the world should know it. They
would often say unto me that they had deposited their
honours and reputation in my virtue alone and dis-
cretion, and bade me consider the inequality that was
between Don Fernando and me, and that I might
collect by it how his thoughts (did he ever so much
affirm the contrary) were more addressed to compass
his pleasures than my profit; and that if I feared any
inconvenience might befall, to the end they might
cross it, and cause him to abandon his so unjust a
pursuit, they would match me where I most liked,
either to the best of that town or any other town
adjoining, saying, they might easily compass it, both
by reason of their great wealth and my good report. I
fortified my resolution and integrity with these certain
promises and the known truth which they told me,
and therefore would never answer to Don Fernando
any word that might ever so far off argue the least
hope of condescending to his desires. All which
cautions of mine, which I think he deemed to be
disdains, did inflame more his lascivious appetite (for
this is the name wherewithal I entitle his affection
towards me), which, had it been such as it ought, you
had not known it now, for then the cause of revealing
it had not befallen me. Finally, Don Fernando, under-
10
THE HISTORY OF
standing how my parents meant to marry me, to the
end they might make void his hope of ever possessing
me, or at least set more guards to preserve mine honour,
and this news or surmise was an occasion that he did
what you shall presently hear.
"For, one night as I sat in my chamber, only attended
by a young maiden that served me, I having shut the
doors very safe, for fear lest, through my negligence, my
honesty might incur any danger, without knowing or
imagining how it might happen, notwithstanding all
my diligences used and preventions, and amidst the
solitude of this silence and recollection, he stood before
me in my chamber. At his presence I was so troubled
as I lost both sight and speech, and by reason thereof
could not cry, nor I think he would not, though I had
attempted it, permit me; for he presently ran over to
me, and, taking me between his arms (for, as I have
said, I was so amazed as I had no power to defend
myself), he spake such things to me as I know not how
it is possible that so many lies should have ability to
feign things resembling in show so much the truth; and
the traitor caused tears to give credit to his words,
and sighs to give countenance to his intention.
"I, poor soul, being alone amidst my friends, and
weakly practised in such affairs, began, I know not
how, to account his leasings for verities, but not in
such sort as his tears or sighs might any wise move me
to any compassion that were not commendable. And
so, the first trouble and amazement of mind being past,
I began again to recover my defective spirits, and then
said to him, with more courage than I thought I should
have had, 'If, as I am, my lord, between your arms, I
were between the paws of a fierce lion, and that I were
made certain of my liberty on condition to do or say
anything prejudicial to mine honour, it would prove
DON QUIXOTE.
II
as impossible for me to accept it as for that which once
hath been to leave off his essence and being. Where-
fore, even as you have engirt my middle with your
arms, so likewise have I tied fast my mind with
virtuous and forcible desires that are wholly different
from yours, as you shall perceive, if, seeking to force
me, you presume to pass further with your inordinate
design. I am your vassal, but not your slave; nor
hath the nobility of your blood power, nor ought it to
harden, to dishonour, stain, or hold in little account
the humility of mine ; and I do esteem myself, though
a country wench and farmer's daughter, as much as you
can yourself, though a nobleman and a lord. With me
your violence shall not prevail, your riches gain any
grace, your words have power to deceive, or your sighs
and tears be able to move; yet, if I shall find any of
these properties mentioned in him whom my parent
shall please to bestow on me for my spouse, I will
presently subject my will to his, nor shall it ever vary
from his mind a jot; so that, if I might remain with
honour, although I rested void of delights, yet would
I willingly bestow on you that which you presently
labour so much to obtain: all which I do say to divert
your straying thought from ever thinking that any one
may obtain of me aught who is not my lawful spouse.'
'If the let only consists therein, most beautiful Doro-
thea' (for so I am called), answered the disloyal lord,
‘behold, I give thee here my hand to be thine alone;
and let the heavens, from which nothing is concealed,
and this image of Our Lady, which thou hast here
present, be witnesses of this truth !'”
When Cardenio heard her say that she was called
Dorothea, he fell again into his former suspicion, and in
the end confirmed his first opinion to be true, but
would not interrupt her speech, being desirous to know
12
THE HISTORY OF
the success, which he knew wholly almost before, and
therefore said only, "Lady, is it possible that you are
named Dorothea? I have heard report of another of
that name, which perhaps hath run the like course of
your misfortunes; but I request you to continue your
relation, for a time may come wherein I may recount
unto you things of the same kind, which will breed
no small admiration." Dorothea noted Cardenio's words
and his uncouth and disastrous attire, and then entreated
him very instantly if he knew anything of her affairs
he would acquaint her therewithal; for if fortune had
left her any good, it was only the courage which she
had to bear patiently any disaster that might befall
her, being certain in her opinion that no new one
could arrive which might increase a whit those she
had already.
"Let
"Lady, I would not let slip the occasion," quoth
Cardenio, "to tell you what I think, if that which I
imagine were true; and yet there is no commodity left
to do it, nor can it avail you much to know it."
it be what it list," said Dorothea; "but that which after
befel of my relation was this: That Don Fernando
took an image that was in my chamber for witness
of our contract, and added withal most forcible words
and unusual oaths, promising unto me to become my
husband; although I warned him, before he had
ended his speech, to see well what he did, and to
weigh the wrath of his father when he should see him
married to one so base and his vassal, and that there-
fore he should take heed that my beauty (such as it
was) should not blind him, seeing he should not find
therein a sufficient excuse for his error, and that if he
meant to do me any good, I conjured him, by the love
that he bore unto me, to licence my fortunes to rule in
their own sphere, according as my quality reached; for
DON QUIXOTE.
13
such unequal matches do never please long, nor per-
severe with that delight wherewithal they began.
"All the reasons here rehearsed I said unto him, and
many more which now are fallen out of mind, but yet
proved of no efficacy to wean him from his obstinate
purpose; even like unto one that goeth to buy, with
intention never to pay for what he takes, and therefore
never considers the price, worth, or defect of the stuff
he takes to credit. I at this season made a brief
discourse, and said thus to myself, 'I may do this, for I
am not the first which by matrimony hath ascended
from a low degree to a high estate; nor shall Don
Fernando be the first whom beauty or blind affection
(for that is the most certain) hath induced to make
choice of a consort equal to his greatness. Then, since
herein I create no new world nor custom, what error
can be committed by embracing the honour where-
withal fortune crowns me, although it so befel that
his affection to me endured no longer than till he
accomplished his will? for before God I certes shall
still remain his wife. And if I should disdainfully
give him the repulse, I see him now in such terms as,
perhaps forgetting the duty of a nobleman, he may use
violence, and then shall I remain for ever dishonoured,
and also without excuse of the imputations of the
ignorant, which knew not how much without any
fault I have fallen into this inevitable danger; for
what reasons may be sufficiently forcible to persuade
my father and others that this nobleman did enter into
my chamber without my consent?' All these demands
and answers did I, in an instant, revolve in mine
imagination, and found myself chiefly forced (how I
cannot tell) to assent to his petition by the witnesses
he invoked, the tears he shed, and finally by his sweet
disposition and comely feature, which, accompanied with
14
THE HISTORY OF
so many arguments of unfeigned affection, were able to
conquer and enthrall any other heart, though it were
as free and wary as mine own. Then called I for
my waiting-maid, that she might on earth accompany
the celestial witnesses.
"And then Don Fernando turned again to reiterate
and confirm his oaths, and added to his former other
new saints as witnesses, and wished a thousand succeed-
ing maledictions to light on him if he did not accom-
plish his promise to me. His eyes again waxed moist,
his sighs increased, and himself enwreathed me more
straitly between his arms, from which he had never
once loosed me; and with this, and my maiden's de-
parture, I left to be a maiden, and he began to be a
traitor and a disloyal man. The day that succeeded to
the night of my mishaps came not, I think, so soon as
Don Fernando desired it; for, after a man hath satisfied
that which the appetite covets, the greatest delight it
can take after is to apart itself from the place where
the desire was accomplished. I say this, because Don
Fernando did hasten his departure from me: by my
maid's industry, who was the very same that had
brought him into my chamber, he was got in the street
before dawning. And at his departure from me he
said (although not with so great show of affection and
vehemency as he had used at his coming) that I might
be secure of his faith, and that his oaths were firm and
most true; and for a more confirmation of his word,
he took a rich ring off his finger and put it on mine.
In fine, he departed, and I remained behind, I cannot
well say whether joyful or sad; but this much I know,
that I rested confused and pensive, and almost beside
myself for the late mischance; yet either I had not the
heart, or else I forgot to chide my maid for her
treachery committed by shutting up Don Fernando
:
'
-
DON QUIXOTE.
15
in my chamber; for as yet I could not determine
whether that which had befallen me was a good or an
evil.
"I said to Don Fernando, at his departure, that he
might see me other nights when he pleased, by the same
means he had come that night, seeing I was his own,
and would rest so, until it pleased him to let the world
know that I was his wife. But he never returned again
but the next night following, nor could I see him
after, for the space of a month, either in the street or
church, so as I did but spend time in vain to expect
him; although I understood that he was still in town,
and rode every other day a-hunting, an exercise to
which he was much addicted.
"Those days were, I know, unfortunate and accursed
to me, and those hours sorrowful; for in them I began
to doubt, nay, rather wholly to discredit Don Fernando's
faith; and my maid did then hear loudly the checks
I gave unto her for her presumption, ever until then
dissembled; and I was, moreover, constrained to watch
and keep guard on my tears and countenance, lest I
should give occasion to my parents to demand of me
the cause of my discontents, and thereby engage me to
use ambages or untruths to cover them. But all this
ended in an instant, one moment arriving whereon all
these respects stumbled, all honourable discourses
ended, patience was lost, and my most hidden secrets
issued in public; which was, when there was spread a
certain rumour throughout the town, within a few days
after, that Don Fernando had married, in a city near
adjoining, a damsel of surpassing beauty, and of very
noble birth, although not so rich as could deserve, by
her preferment or dowry, so worthy a husband; it
was also said that she was named Lucinda, with many
other things that happened at their espousals worthy
16
THE HISTORY OF
of admiration." Cardenio hearing Lucinda named did
nothing else but lift up his shoulders, bite his lip, bend
his brows, and after a little while shed from his eyes
two floods of tears. But yet for all that Dorothea did
not interrupt the file of her history, saying, "This dole-
ful news came to my hearing; and my heart, instead of
freezing thereat, was so inflamed with choler and rage,
as I had well-nigh run out to the streets, and with out-
cries published the deceit and treason that was done
to me; but my fury was presently assuaged by the
resolution which I made to do what I put in execution
the very same night, and then I put on this habit which
you see, being given unto me by one of those that
among us country-folk are called swains, who was
my father's servant; to whom I disclosed all my mis-
fortunes, and requested him to accompany me to the
city where I understood my enemy sojourned. He,
after he had reprehended my boldness, perceiving me
to have an inflexible resolution, made offer to attend
on me, as he said, unto the end of the world; and
presently after I trussed up in a pillow-bear a woman's
attire, some money, and jewels, to prevent necessities
that might befal; and in the silence of night, without
acquainting my treacherous maid with my purpose, I
issued out of my house, accompanied by my servant
and many imaginations, and in that manner set on
towards the city, and though I went on foot, was yet
borne away flying by my desires, to come, if not in time
enough to hinder that which was past, yet at least to
demand of Don Fernando that he would tell me with
what conscience or soul he had done it. I arrived
where I wished within two days and a half; and at
the entry of the city I demanded where Lucinda her
father dwelt; and he of whom I first demanded the
question answered me more than I desired to hear.
DON QUIXOTE.
17
He showed me the house, and recounted to me all that
befel at the daughter's marriage, being a thing so
public and known in the city, as men made meetings
of purpose to discourse thereof.
"He said to me that the very night wherein Don
Fernando was espoused to Lucinda, after she had given
her consent to be his wife, she was instantly assailed
by a terrible accident that struck her into a trance,
and her spouse approaching to unclasp her bosom that
she might take the air, found a paper folded in it,
written with Lucinda's own hand, wherein she said
and declared that she could not be Don Fernando's
wife, because she was already Cardenio's, who was, as
the man told me, a very principal gentleman of the
same city; and that if she had given her consent to
Don Fernando, it was only done because she would
not disobey her parents. In conclusion, he told me
that the paper made also mention how she had a
resolution to kill herself presently after the marriage,
and did also lay down therein the motives she had to
do it; all which, as they say, was confirmed by a
poniard that was found hidden about her in her
apparel. Which Don Fernando perceiving, presuming
that Lucinda did flout him, and hold him in little
account, he set upon her ere she was come to herself,
and attempted to kill her with the very same poniard,
and had done it, if her father and other friends which
were present had not opposed themselves and hindered
his determination. Moreover, they reported that pre-
sently after Don Fernando absented himself from the
city, and that Lucinda turned not out of her agony
until the next day, and then recounted to her parents
how she was verily spouse to that Cardenio of whom
we spake even now. I learned besides that Cardenio,
as it is rumoured, was present at the marriage, and
II.
B
18
THE HISTORY OF
that as soon as he saw her married, being a thing he
would never have credited, departed out of the city in
a desperate mood, but first left behind him a letter,
wherein he showed at large the wrong Lucinda had
done to him, and that he himself meant to go to some
place where people should never after hear of him. All
this was notorious, and publicly bruited throughout
the city, and every one spoke thereof, but most of all
having very soon after understood that Lucinda was
missing from her parents' house and the city, for she
could not be found in neither of both; for which her
parents were almost beside themselves, not knowing
what means to use to find her.
·
"These news reduced my hopes again to their ranks,
and I esteemed it better to find Don Fernando un-
married than married, presuming that yet the gates of
my remedy were not wholly shut, I giving myself to
understand that Heaven had peradventure set that
impediment on the second marriage to make him
understand what he owed to the first, and to remember
how he was a Christian, and that he was more obliged
to his soul than to human respects. I revolved all
these things in my mind, and comfortless did yet
comfort myself, by feigning large yet languishing
hopes, to sustain that life which I now do so much
abhor. And whilst I stayed thus in the city, ignorant
what I might do, seeing I found not Don Fernando, I
heard a crier go about publicly, promising great re-
wards to any one that could find me out, giving signs
of the very age and apparel I wore; and I likewise
heard it was bruited abroad that the youth which
came with me had carried me away from my father's
house-a thing that touched my soul very nearly, to
view my credit so greatly wrecked, seeing that it was
not sufficient to have lost it by my coming away,

"I heard a crier go about."
CAR
Ce
UNIL
OF
MICH
1
!
DON QUIXOTE.
19
without the addition of him with whom I departed,
being a subject so base and unworthy of my loftier
thoughts. Having heard this cry, I departed out of
the city with my servant, who even then began to
give tokens that he faltered in the fidelity he had
promised to-me; and both of us together entered the
very same night into the most hidden parts of this
mountain, fearing lest we might be found. But, as it
is commonly said that one evil calls on another, and
that the end of one disaster is the beginning of a
greater, so proved it with me; for my good servant,
until then faithful and trusty, rather incited by his
own villany than my beauty, thought to have taken
the benefit of the opportunity which these inhabitable
places offered, and solicited me of love, with little
shame and less fear of God, or respect of myself; and
now seeing that I answered his impudences with
severe and reprehensive words, leaving the entreaties
aside wherewithal he thought first to have compassed his
will, he began to use his force; but just Heaven, which
seldom or never neglects the just man's assistance, did
so favour my proceedings, as with my weak forces, and
very little labour, I threw him down a steep rock, and
there I left him, I know not whether alive or dead;
and presently I entered in among these mountains
with more swiftness than my fear and weariness
required, having therein no other project or design
than to hide myself in them, and shun my father and
others, which by his entreaty and means sought for me
everywhere.
"Some months are past since my first coming here,
where I found a herdman, who carried me to a village
seated in the midst of these rocks, wherein he dwelt,
and entertained me, whom I have served as a shepherd
ever since, procuring as much as lay in me to abide
20
THE HISTORY OF
i
still in the field, to cover these hairs which have now
so unexpectedly betrayed me; yet all my care and
industry availed not, seeing my master came at last to
the notice that I was no man, but a woman, which was
an occasion that the like evil thought sprung in him
as before in my servant; and as fortune gives not
always remedy for the difficulties which occur, I found
neither rock nor downfall to cool and cure my master's
infirmity, as I had done for my man, and therefore
I accounted it a less inconvenience to depart thence,
and hide myself again among these deserts, than to
adventure the trial of my strength or reason with him
therefore, as I say, I turned to imbosk myself, and
search out some place where, without any encum-
brance, I might entreat Heaven, with my sighs and
tears, to have compassion on my mishap, and lend me
industry and favour, either to issue fortunately out of
it, or else to die amidst these solitudes, not leaving any
memory of a wretch, who hath ministered matter,
although not through her own default, that men may
speak and murmur of her, both in her own and in
other countries."
*
DON QUIXOTE..
CHAPTER II.
WHICH TREATS OF THE DISCRETION OF THE BEAUTIFUL
DOROTHEA, AND THE ARTIFICIAL MANNER USED TO
DISSUADE THE AMOROUS KNIGHT FROM CONTINUING
HIS PENANCE; AND HOW HE WAS GOTTEN AWAY;
WITH MANY OTHER DELIGHTFUL OCCURRENCES.
"THIS is, sirs, the true relation of my tragedy; see there.
fore, now, and judge, whether the sighs you heard, the
words to which you listened, and the tears that gushed
out at mine eyes, have not had sufficient occasion to
appear in greater abundance; and, having considered
the quality of my disgrace, you shall perceive all
comfort to be vain, seeing the remedy thereof is im-
possible. Only I will request at your hands one favour,
which you ought and may easily grant, and is, that
you will address me unto some place where I may live
secure from the fear and suspicion I have to be found
by those which I know do daily travel in my pursuit ;
for although I am sure that my parents' great affection
toward me doth warrant me to be kindly received and
entertained by them, yet the shame is so great that
possesseth me, only to think that I shall not return to
their presence in that state which they expect, as I
account it far better to banish myself from their sight
for ever, than once to behold their face with the least
suspicion that they again would behold mine, divorced
from that honesty which whilom my modest behaviour
promised." Here she ended, and her face, suddenly
22
THE HISTORY OF
overrun by a lovely scarlet, perspicuously denoted the
feeling and bashfulness of her soul.
The audients of her sad story felt great motions
both of pity and admiration for her misfortunes; and
although the curate thought to comfort and counsel her
forthwith, yet was he prevented by Cardenio, who, tak-
ing her first by the hand, said at last, "Lady, thou art
the beautiful Dorothea, daughter unto rich Clenardo."
Dorothea rested admired when she heard her father's
name, and saw of how little value he seemed who had
named him, for we have already recounted how
raggedly Cardenio was clothed; and therefore she said
unto him, "And who art thou, friend, that knowest so
well my father's name? for until this hour (if I have not
forgotten myself) I did not once name him through-
out the whole discourse of my unfortunate tale."
"I am," answered Cardenio, "the unlucky knight
whom Lucinda (as thou saidst) affirmed to be her hus
band. I am the disastrous Cardenio, whom the wicked
proceeding of him that hath also brought thee to those
terms wherein thou art, hath conducted me to the state
in which I am, and thou mayest behold-ragged, naked,
abandoned by all human comfort, and, what is worse,
void of sense, seeing I only enjoy it but at some few
short times, and that when Heaven pleaseth to lend
it me.
I am he, Dorothea, that was present at Don
Fernando's unreasonable wedding, and that heard the
consent which Lucinda gave him to be his wife. I
was he that had not the courage to stay and see the
end of her trance, or what became of the paper found
in her bosom; for my soul had not power or sufferancè
to behold so many misfortunes at once, and therefore
abandoned the place and my patience together, and
only left a letter with mine host, whom I entreated
to deliver it into Lucinda her own hands, and then
DON QUIXOTE:
23
came into these deserts, with resolution to end in them
my miserable life, which, since that hour, I have hated
as my most mortal enemy; but fortune hath not
pleased to deprive me of it, thinking it sufficient to
have impaired my wit, perhaps reserving me for the
good success befallen me now in finding of yourself;
for, that being true (as I believe it is) which you have
here discoursed, peradventure it may have reserved
yet better hap for us both in our disasters than we
expect.
"For, presupposing that Lucinda cannot marry with
Don Fernando, because she is mine, nor Don Fernando
with her, because yours, and that she hath declared so
manifestly the same, we may well hope that Heaven
hath means to restore to every one that which is his
own, seeing it yet consists in being not made away or
annihilated. And seeing this comfort remains, not
sprung from any very remote hope, nor founded on
idle surmises, I request thee, fair lady, to take another
resolution in thine honourable thought, seeing I mean
to do it in mine, and let us accommodate ourselves to
expect better success; for I do vow unto thee, by the
faith of a gentleman and Christian, not to forsake thee
until I see thee in Don Fernando's possession; and
when I shall not, by reasons, be able to induce him to
acknowledge how far he rests indebted to thee, then
will I use the liberty granted to me as a gentleman,
and with just title challenge him to the field in respect
of the wrong he hath done unto thee, forgetting wholly
mine own injuries, whose revenge I will leave to
Heaven, that I may be able to right yours on earth.”
Dorothea rested wonderfully admired, having known
and heard Cardenio, and, ignoring what competent
thanks she might return him in satisfaction of his
large offers, she cast herself down at his feet to have
24
THE HISTORY OF
kissed them, which Cardenio would not permit'; and
the licentiate answered for both, praising greatly
Cardenio's discourse, and chiefly entreated, prayed,
and counselled them, that they would go with him to
his village, where they might fit themselves with such
things as they wanted, and also take order how to
search out Don Fernando, or carry Dorothea to her
father's house, or do else what they deemed most
convenient. Cardenio and Dorothea gratified his
courtesies, and accepted the favour he preferred. The
barber also, who had stood all the while silent and
suspended, made them a pretty discourse, with as
friendly an offer of himself and his service as master
curate, and likewise did briefly relate the occasion of
their coming thither, with the extravagant kind of
madness which Don Quixote had, and how they
expected now his squire's return, whom they had sent
to search for him. Cardenio having heard him named,
remembered presently, as in a dream, the conflict passed
between them both, and recounted it unto them, but
could not in any wise call to mind the occasion thereof.
By this time they heard one call for them, and knew
by the voice that it was Sancho Panza's, who, because
he found them not in the place where he had left them,
cried out for them as loudly as he might. They went
to meet him, and demanding for Don Quixote, he
answered that he found him all naked to his shirt,
lean, yellow, almost dead for hunger, and sighing for
his Lady Dulcinea; and, although he had told him
how she commanded him to repair presently to Toboso,
where she expected him, yet, notwithstanding, he
answered that he was determined never to appear
before her beauty until he had done feats that should
make him worthy of her gracious favour. And then
the squire affirmed, if that humour passed on any
DON QUIXOTE.”
25
further, he feared his lord would be in danger never
to become an emperor, as he was bound in honour, no,
nor a cardinal, which was the least that could be
expected of him.
The licentiate bid him be of good cheer, for they
would bring him from thence whether he would or no ;
and recounted to Cardenio and Dorothea what they had
bethought for Don Quixote's remedy, or, at least, for
the carrying him home to his house. To that Dorothea
answered that she would counterfeit the distressed
lady better than the barber, and chiefly seeing she had
apparel wherewithal to act it most naturally, and
therefore desired them to leave to her charge the
representing of all that which should be needful for
the achieving of their design; for she had read many
books of knighthood, and knew well the style that
distressed damsels used when they requested any
favour of knights-adventurers. "And then need we
nothing else," quoth the curate, "but only to put our
purpose presently in execution; for, questionless, good
success turns on our side, seeing it hath so unexpectedly
begun already to open the gates of your remedy, and
hath also facilitated for us that whereof we had most
necessity in this exigent." Dorothea took forthwith out
of her pillow-bear a whole gown of very rich stuff, and
a short mantle of another green stuff, and a collar, and
many other rich jewels out of a box, wherewithal she
adorned herself in a trice so gorgeously as she seemed
a very rich and goodly lady. All which, and much
more, she had brought with her, as she said, from her
house, to prevent what might happen, but never had
any use of them until then. Her grace, gesture, and
beauty liked them all extremely, and made them
account Don Fernando to be a man of little under-
standing, seeing he contemned such feature. But he
:

26
THE HISTORY OF
•
which was most of all admired was Sancho Panza,
because, as he thought (and it was so indeed), that he
had not in all the days of his life before seen so fair a
creature; and he requested the curate, very seriously,
to tell him who that beautiful lady was, and what she
sought among those thoroughfares. "This fair lady,
friend Sancho," answered the curate, "is (as if a man
said nothing she is so great) heir-apparent, by direct
line, of the mighty kingdom of Micomicon, and comes
in the search of your lord, to demand a boon of him,
which is, that he will destroy and undo a great wrong
done unto her by a wicked giant; and, through the
great fame which is spread over all Guinea of your
lord's prowess, this princess is come to find him out.”
"A happy searcher, and a fortunate finding !" quoth
Sancho; "and chiefly, if my master be so happy as to
right that injury and redress that wrong by killing
the mighty lubber of a giant whom you say. Yes,
he will kill him, I am very certain, if he can once
but meet him, and if he be not a spirit; for my master
hath no kind of power over spirits. But I must request
one favour of you among others most earnestly, good
master licentiate, and it is, that to the end my lord
may not take an humour of becoming a cardinal (which
is the thing I fear most in this world), that you will
give him counsel to marry this princess presently, and
by that means he shall remain incapable of the dignity
of a cardinal, and will come very easily by his empire,
and I to the end of my desires; for I have thought
well of the matter, and have found that it is in no
wise expedient that my lord should become a cardinal;
for I am wholly unfit for any ecclesiastical dignity,
seeing I am a married man, and therefore, to trouble
myself now with seeking of dispensations to enjoy
church livings, having, as I have, both wife and
:
DON QUIXOTË.
27
children, were never to end. So that all my good
consists in that my lord do marry this princess
instantly, whose name yet I know not, and therefore
I have not said it." "She is hight," quoth the curate,
"the Princess Micomicona; for her kingdom being
called Micomicon, it is evident she must be termed so."
"That is questionless," quoth Sancho; "for I have
known many to take their denomination and surname
from the place of their birth, calling themselves Peter
of Alcala, John of Ubeda, and James of Valladolid; and
perhaps in Guinea princes and queens use the same
custom, and call themselves by the names of their
provinces."
"So I think," quoth the curate; "and as touching
your master's marriage with her, I will labour therein
as much as lies in my power." Wherewithal Sancho
remained as well satisfied as the curate admired at his
simplicity, and to see how firmly he had fixed in his
fantasy the very ravings of his master, seeing he did
believe without doubt that his lord should become an
emperor. Dorothea in this space had gotten upon the
curate's mule, and the barber had somewhat better
fitted the beard which he made of the ox's tail on his
face, and did after entreat Sancho to guide them to the
place where Don Quixote was, and advertised him
withal that he should in no wise take any notice of
the curate or barber, or confess in any sort that he
knew them, for therein consisted all the means of
bringing Don Quixote to the mind to become an
emperor. Yet Cardenio would not go with them,
fearing lest thereby Don Quixote might call to mind
their contention; and the curate, thinking also that
his presence was not expedient, remained with him,
letting the others go before, and these followed afar
off fair and softly on foot; and ere they departed, the
28
THE HISTORY OF
curate instructed Dorothea anew what she should say,
who bid him to fear nothing, for she would discharge
her part to his satisfaction, and as books of chivalry
required and laid down.
They travelled about three-quarters of a league, as
they espied the knight, and at last they discovered him.
among a number of intricate rocks, all apparelled, but
not armed; and as soon as Dorothea beheld him, she
struck her palfrey, her well-bearded barber following
her; and as they approached Don Quixote, the barber
leaped lightly down from his mule and ran towards
Dorothea to take her down between his arms, who,
alighting, went with a very good grace towards Don
Quixote, and kneeled before him. And although he
strived to make her arise, yet she, remaining still on
her knees, spake to him in this manner: "I will not
arise from hence, thrice valorous and approved knight,
until your bounty and courtesy shall grant unto me
one boon, which shall much redound unto your honour
and prize of your person, and to the profit of the most
disconsolate and wronged damsel that the sun hath ever
seen. And if it be so that the valour of your invincible
arm be correspondent to the bruit of your immortal
fame, you are obliged to succour this comfortless wight
that comes from lands so remote, to the sound of your
famous name, searching you for to remedy her mishaps."
"I will not answer you a word, fair lady," quoth
Don Quixote, "nor hear a jot of your affair, until you
arise from the ground." "I will not get up from hence,
my lord," quoth the afflicted lady, “if first, of your
wonted bounty, you do not grant to my request." "I
do give and grant it," said Don Quixote, "so that it be
not a thing that may turn to the damage or hindrance
of my king, my country, or of her that keeps the key
of my heart and liberty." "It shall not turn to the
DON QUIXOTE.
29
damage or hindrance of those you have said, good sir,"
replied the dolorous damsel; and, as she was saying this,
Sancho Panza rounded his lord in the ear, saying softly
to him, “Sir, you may very well grant the request she
asketh, for it is a matter of nothing; it is only to kill a
monstrous giant, and she that demands it is the mighty
Princess Micomicona, queen of the great kingdom of
Micomicon in Ethiopia." "Let her be what she will,"
quoth Don Quixote, "for I will accomplish what I am
bound, and my conscience shall inform me conformable
to the state I have professed." And then, turning to the
damsel, he said, "Let your great beauty arise; for I
grant to you any boon which you shall please to ask of
me."
"Why, then," quoth the damsel, “that which
I demand is that your magnanimous person come
presently away with me to the place where I shall
carry you, and do likewise make me a promise not to
undertake any other adventure or demand until you
revenge me upon a traitor who hath, against all laws,
both divine and human, usurped my kingdom." "I
say that I grant you all that," quoth Don Quixote;
"and therefore, lady, you may cast away from this
day forward all the melancholy that troubles you, and
labour that your languishing and dismayed hopes may
recover again new strength and courage; for, by the
help of God, and that of mine arm, you shall see
yourself shortly restored to your kingdom, and en-
throned in the chair of your ancient and great estate,
in despite and maugre the traitors that shall dare
gainsay it and therefore, hands, to the work; for they
say that danger always follows delay." The distressed
damsel strove with much ado to kiss his hand, but Don
Quixote, who was a most accomplished knight for
courtesy, would never condescend thereunto; but,
making her arise, he embraced her with great kindness
30
THE HISTORY OF
and respect, and commanded Sancho to saddle Rozinante,
and help him to arm himself.
Sancho took down the arins forthwith, which hung
on a tree like trophies, and, searching the girths, armed
his lord in a moment, who, seeing himself armed, said,
"Let us, in God's name, depart from hence to assist
this great lady." The barber kneeled all this while,
and could with much ado dissemble his laughter, or
keep on his beard that threatened still to fall off, with
whose fall, perhaps, they should all have remained
without bringing their good purpose to pass. And
seeing the boon was granted, and noted the diligence
wherewithal Don Quixote made himself ready to depart
and accomplish the same, he arose and took his lady by
the hand, and both of them together holp her upon
her mule; and presently after Don Quixote leaped on
Rozinante, and the barber got on his beast, Sancho
only remaining afoot, where he afresh renewed the
memory of the loss of his grey ass, with the want
procured to him thereby; but all this he bore with
very great patience, because he supposed that his lord
was now in the way and next degree to be an emperor;
for he made an infallible account that he would marry
that princess, and at least be king of Micomicon. But
yet it grieved him to think how that kingdom was in
the country of black Moors, and that therefore the
nation which should be given to him for his vassals
should be all black, for which difficulty his imagination
coined presently a good remedy, and he discoursed with
himself in this manner: "Why should I care though
my subjects be all black Moors? Is there any more to
be done than to load them in a ship and bring them
into Spain, where I may sell them, and receive the price
of them in ready money? And with that money may I
buy some title or office, wherein I may after live at
DON QUIXOTE.
31
mine ease all the days of my life. No! but sleep, and
have no wit or ability to dispose of things; and to sell
thirty or ten thousand vassals in the space that one
would say, Give me those straws. I will despatch them
all; they shall fly, the little with the great, or as I can
best contrive the matter; and be they ever so black,
I will transform them into white or yellow ones. Come
near, and see whether I cannot suck well my fingers'
ends." And thus he travelled, so solicitous and glad as
he quite forgot his pain of travelling afoot. Cardenio
and the curate stood in the meantime beholding all
that passed from behind some brambles where they
lay lurking, and were in doubt what means to use to
issue and join in company with them. But the curate,
who was an ingenious and prompt plotter, devised
instantly what was to be done that they might attain
their desire. Thus, he took out of his case a pair of
shears, and cut off Cardenio's beard therewithal in a
trice, and then gave unto him to wear a riding capouch
which he himself had on, and a black cloak, and him-
self walked in a doublet and hose. Cardenio, thus
attired, looked so unlike that he was before, as he
would not have known himself in a looking-glass.
This being finished, and the others gone on before
whilst they disguised themselves, they sallied out with
facility to the highway before Don Quixote or his
company; for the rocks and many other bad passages
did not permit those that were a-horseback to make so
speedy an end of their journey as they. And having
thoroughly passed the mountain, they expected at the
foot thereof for the knight and his company, who when
he appeared, the curate looked on him very earnestly
for a great space, with inkling that he began to know
him. And after he had a good while beheld him, he
ran towards him with his arms spread abroad, saying,
:
32
THE HISTORY OF
"In a good hour be the mirror of all knighthood
found, and my noble countryman, Don Quixote of the
Mancha! the flower and cream of gentility, the shadow
and remedy of the afflicted, and the quintessence of
knights-errant !" and, saying this, he held Don Quixote
his left thigh embraced; who, admiring at that which
he heard that man to say and do, did also review him
with attention, and finally knew him, and, all amazed
to see him, made much ado to alight; but the curate
would not permit him. Wherefore Don Quixote said,
"Good master licentiate, permit me to alight; for it
is in no sort decent that I be a-horseback, and so
reverend a person as you go on foot." "I will never
consent thereunto," quoth the curate; "your highness
must needs stay on horseback, seeing that thereon you
are accustomed to achieve the greatest feats of chivalry
and adventures which were ever seen in our age. For
it shall suffice me, who am an unworthy priest, to get up
behind some one of these other gentlemen that ride
in your company, if they will not take it in bad part;
yea, and I will make account that I ride on Pegasus, or
the zebra [a strange beast of Africa that travels very swiftly]
of the famous Moor Muzaraque, who lies yet enchanted
in the steep rock of Zulema, near unto Alcala of
Henares."
"Truly, I did not think upon it, good master
licentiate," answered Don Quixote; "yet, I presume,
my lady the princess will be well appaid, for my sake,
to command her squire to lend you the use of his
saddle, and to get up himself on the crupper, if so it be
that the beast will bear double." "Yes, that it will,"
said the princess, "for aught I know; and likewise, I
am sure, it will not be necessary to command my squire
to alight, for he is of himself so courteous and courtly
as he will in no wise condescend that an ecclesiastical
DON QUIXOTE.
33
man should go on foot when he may help him to a
horse."
That is most certain," quoth the barber; and,
saying so, he alighted, and entreated the curate to take
the saddle, to which courtesy he did easily condescend.
But, by evil fortune, as the barber thought to leap up
behind him, the mule, which was in effect a hired one,
and that is sufficient to say it was unhappy, did lift a
little her hinder quarters, and bestowed two or three
flings on the air, which had they hit on Master Nicholas
his breast or pate, he would have bequeathed the quest
of Don Quixote upon the devil. But, notwithstanding,
the barber was so affrighted as he fell on the ground,
with so little heed of his beard as it fell quite off and
lay spread upon the ground; and, perceiving himself
without it, he had no other shift but to cover his face
with both his hands, and complain that all his cheek
teeth were strucken out. Don Quixote, beholding such
a great sheaf of a beard fallen away, without jaw or
blood, from the face, he said, "I vow this is one of the
greatest miracles that ever I saw in my life; it hath
taken and plucked away his beard as smoothly as if it
were done of purpose." The curate beholding the
danger which their invention was like to incur if it
were detected, went forthwith, and, taking up the
beard, came to Master Nicholas, that lay still plaining,
and, with one push, bringing his head towards his own
breast, he set it on again, murmuring the while over
him certain words, which he said were a certain prayer
appropriated to the setting on of fallen beards, as they
should soon perceive; and so, having set it on hand-
somely, the squire remained as well bearded and whole
as ever he was in his life. Whereat Don Quixote rested
marvellously admired, and requested the curate to teach
him that prayer when they were at leisure; for he
II.
C
34
THE HISTORY OF
!
supposed that the virtue thereof extended itself further
than to the fastening on of beards, since it was manifest
that the place whence the beard was torn must have
remained without flesh, wounded, and ill dight, and,
seeing it cured all, it must of force serve for more than
the beard. "It is true," replied master curate; and
then promised to instruct him with the secret with the
first opportunity that was presented.
Then they agreed that the curate should ride first on
the mule, and after him the other two, each one by
turns, until they arrived to the inn, which was about
some two leagues thence. Three being thus mounted
(to wit, Don Quixote, the princess, and curate), and the
other three on foot (Cardenio, the barber, and Sancho
Panza), Don Quixote said to the damsel, "Madam, let
me entreat your highness to lead me the way that most
pleaseth you." And before she could answer, the
licentiate said, "Towards what kingdom would you
travel? Is it, by fortune, towards that of Micomicon ?
I suppose it should be thitherwards, or else I know
but little of kingdoms." She, who knew very well the
curate's meaning, and was herself no babe, answered,
saying, “Yes, sir, my way lies towards that kingdom."
"If it be so,” quoth the curate," you must pass through
the village where I dwell, and from thence direct your
course towards Carthagena, where you may luckily
embark yourselves. And if you have a prosperous
wind, and a quiet and calm sea, you may come within
the space of nine years to the sight of the Lake Meona,
I mean Meolidas, which stands on this side of your
highness's kingdom some hundred days' journey, or
more." "I take you to be deceived, good sir,"
quoth she, "for it is not yet fully two years since I
departed from thence, and, truly, I never almost had
any fair weather, and yet, notwithstanding, I have
::

DON QUIXOTE.
35
arrived and come to see that which I so much longed
for, to wit, the presence of the worthy Don Quixote of
the Mancha, whose renown came to my notice as soon
as I touched the earth of Spain with my foot, and
moved me to search for him, to commend myself to his
courtesy, and commit the justice of my cause to the
valour of his invincible arm."
"No more," quoth Don Quixote; "I cannot abide
to hear myself praised, for I am a sworn enemy of all
adulation; and although this be not such, yet notwith-
standing the like discourses do offend my chaste ears.
What I can say to you, fair princess, is that whether
I have valour or not, that which I have, or have not,
shall be employed in your service, even to the very loss
of my life. And so, omitting that till this time, let
me entreat good master licentiate to tell me the occa-
sion which hath brought him here to these quarters,
so alone, without attendants, and so slightly attired,
as it strikes me in no little admiration?" "To this
I will answer with brevity," quoth the curate. "You
shall understand that Master Nicholas the barber, our
very good friend, and myself, travelled towards Seville
to recover certain sums of money which a kinsman of
mine, who hath dwelt these many years in the Indies,
hath sent unto me. The sum is not a little one, for it
surmounted seventy thousand reals of eight, all of good
weight-see if it was not a rich gift. And passing
yesterday through this way, we were set upon by four
robbers, which despoiled us of all, even to our very
beards, and that in such sort as the barber was forced to
set on a counterfeit one; and this young man that goeth
here with us" (meaning Cardenio) was transformed
by them anew. And the best of it is that it is publicly
66
bruited about all this commark that those which sur-
prised us were galley-slaves who were set at liberty,
36
THE HISTORY OF
as is reported, much about this same place, by so
valiant a knight as, in despite of the commissary and
the guard, he freed them all. And, questionless, he
either was wood, or else as great a knave as themselves,
or some one that wanted both soul and conscience,
seeing he let slip the wolves amidst the sheep, the fox
among the hens, and flies hard by honey, and did
frustrate justice, rebel against his natural lord and
king; for he did so by oppugning his just command-
ments; and hath deprived the galleys of their feet, and
set all the holy brotherhood in an uproar, which hath
reposed these many years past; and finally, would
do an act by which he should lose his soul, and yet
not gain his body." Sancho had rehearsed to the
curate and barber the adventure of the slaves, which
his lord had accomplished with such glory; and there-
fore the curate did use this vehemence as he repeated
it, to see what Don Quixote would say or do, whose
colour changed at every word, and durst not confess
that he was himself the deliverer of that good people.
"And these," quoth the curate, "were they that have
robbed us. And God, of His infinite mercy, pardon
him who hindered their going to receive the punish-
ment they had so well deserved !”
DON QUIXOTE.
37
CHAPTER III.
OF MANY PLEASANT DISCOURSES PASSED BETWEEN DON
QUIXOTE AND THOSE OF HIS COMPANY, AFTER HE
HAD ABANDONED THE RIGOROUS PLACE OF HIS
PENANCE.
SCARCE had the curate finished his speech thoroughly,
when Sancho said, "By my faith, master licentiate,
he that did that feat was my lord, and that not for
want of warning, for I told him beforehand, and
advised him that he should see well what he did, and
that it was a sin to deliver them, because they were
all sent to the galleys for very great villanies they
had played."
"You bottlehead," replied Don Quixote, hearing him
speak, "it concerneth not knights-errant to examine
whether the afflicted, the enchained, and oppressed,
which they encounter by the way, be carried in that
fashion, or are plunged in that distress, through their
own default or disgrace, but only are obliged to assist
them as needy and oppressed, setting their eyes upon
their pains, and not on their crimes. I met with
a rosary or beads of inserted people, sorrowful and
unfortunate, and I did for them that which my
religion exacts; as for the rest, let them verify it
elsewhere: and to whosoever else, the holy dignity and
honourable person of master licentiate excepted, it
shall seem evil, I say he knows but slightly what
belongs to chivalry, and he lies like a whoreson and
38
THE HISTORY OF
a villain born, and this will I make him know with
the broad side of my sword." These words he said,
settling himself in his stirrups, and addressing his
morion (for the barber's basin, which he accounted
to be Mambrino's helmet, he carried hanging at the
pommel of his saddle, until he might have it repaired
of the crazings the galley-slave had wrought in it).
Dorothea, who was very discreet and pleasant, and that
was by this well acquainted with Don Quixote's faulty
humour, and saw all the rest make a jest of him,
Sancho Panza excepted, would also show her conceit
to be as good as some others, and therefore said unto
him, "Sir knight, remember yourself of the boon you
have promised unto me, whereunto conforming your-
self, you cannot intermeddle in any other adventure,
be it ever so urgent. Therefore, assuage your stomach ;
for if master licentiate had known that the galley-
slaves were delivered by your invincible arm, he would
rather have given unto himself three blows on the
mouth, and also bit his tongue thrice, than have spoken
any word whence might result your indignation.”
"That I dare swear," quoth the curate; "yea, and
besides torn away one of my moustaches."
Madam," said Don Quixote, "I will hold my peace,
and suppress the just choler already enkindled in my
breast, and will ride quietly and peaceably, until I
have accomplished the thing I have promised; and
I request you, in recompense of this my good desire, if
it be not displeasing to you, to tell me your grievance,
and how many, which, and what the persons be, of
whom I must take due, sufficient, and entire revenge.”
"I will promptly perform your will herein," answered
Dorothea, "if it will not be irksome to you to listen
to disasters." "In no sort, good madam," said Don
Quixote. To which Dorothea answered thus: "Be
:
DON QUIXOTE.
39
then attentive to my relation." Scarce had she said
so, when Cardenio and the barber came by her side,
desirous to hear how the discreet Dorothea would
feign her tale; and the same did Sancho, which was
as much deceived in her person as his lord Don
Quixote. And she, after dressing herself well in the
saddle, bethought and provided herself whilst she
coughed and used other gestures, and then began to
speak on this manner :-
"First of all, good sirs, I would have you note that I
am called "_____ And here she stood suspended a while,
by reason she had forgotten the name that the curate
had given unto her. But he presently occurred to her
succour, understanding the cause, and said, "It is no
wonder, great lady, that you be troubled and stagger
whilst you recount your misfortunes, seeing it is the
ordinary custom of disasters to deprive those whom
they torment and distract their memory in such sort
as they cannot remember themselves even of their own
very names, as now it proves done in your highness,
which forgets itself that you are called the Princess
Micomicona, lawful inheritrix of the great kingdom of
Micomicon. And with this note, you may easily reduce
into your doleful memory all that which you shall please
to rehearse."
"It is very true," quoth the damsel, "and from
henceforth I think it will not be needful to prompt
me any more, for I will arrive into a safe port with
the narration of my authentic history; which is, that
my father, who was called the wise Tinacrio, was very
expert in that which was called art magic, and he
knew by his science that my mother, who was called
Queen Xaramilla, should die before he deceased, and
that he should also pass from this life within a while
after, and leave me an orphan; but he was wont to
40
THE HISTORY OF
say how that did not afflict his mind so much, as that
he was very certain that a huge giant, lord of a great
island near unto my kingdom, called Pandafilando of
the dusky sight (because, although his eyes stood in
their right places, yet do they still look asquint,
which he doth to terrify the beholders), I say that
my father knew that this giant, when he should hear
of his death, would pass with a main power into my
land, and deprive me thereof, not leaving me the least
village wherein I might hide my head; yet might all
this be excused if I would marry with him. But, as
he found out by his science, he knew I would never
condescend thereunto, or incline mine affection to so
unequal a marriage; and herein he said nothing but
truth, for it never passed once my thought to espouse
that giant, nor with any other, were he ever so un-
reasonable, and great, and mighty. My father likewise
added then, that after his death I should see Pandafi-
lando usurp my kingdom, and that I should in no wise
stand to my defence, for that would prove my destruc-
tion; but, leaving to him the kingdom freely without
troubles, if I meant to excuse mine own death, and the
total ruin of my good and loyal subjects, for it
would be impossible to defend myself from the devilish
force of the giant, I should presently direct my course
towards Spain, where I should find a redress of my
harms by encountering with a knight-errant whose fame
should extend itself much about that time throughout
that kingdom, and his name should be, if I forget not
myself, Don Azote or Don Gigote."
<<
Lady, you would say Don Quixote," quoth Sancho
Panza, "or, as he is called by another name, the
knight of the ill-favoured face." 'You have reason,"
replied Dorothea. "He said, moreover, that he should
be high of stature, have a withered face, and that on
DON QUIXOTE.
41
the right side, a little under the left shoulder, or there-
abouts, he should have a tawny spot with certain hairs
like to bristles." Don Quixote, hearing this, said to
his squire, "Hold my horse here, son Sancho, and help
me to take off mine apparel; for I will see whether I
be the knight of whom the wise king hath prophesied."
Why would you now put off your clothes?" quoth
Dorothea. "To see whether I have that spot which
your father mentioned," answered Don Quixote. “You
need not undo your apparel for that purpose," said
Sancho, "for I know already that you have a spot with
the tokens she named on the very ridges of your back,
and argues you to be a very strong man.
"That is
sufficient," quoth Dorothea; "for we must not look too
near, or be over-curious in our friends' affairs; and
whether it be on the shoulder, or ridge of the back, it
imports but little, for the substance consists only in
having such a mark, and not wheresoever it shall be,
seeing all is one and the self-same flesh; and, doubt-
lessly, my good father did aim well at all, and I like-
wise in commending myself to Don Quixote; for
surely he is the man of whom my father spoke, seeing
the signs of his face agree with those of the great
renown that is spread abroad of this knight, not only
in Spain, but also in Ethiopia; for I had no sooner
landed in Osuna, when I heard so many of his
prowesses recounted, as my mind gave me presently
that he was the man in whose search I travelled."
"But how did you land in Osuna, good madam,"
quoth Don Quixote, "seeing it is no sea town?"
"Marry, sir," quoth the curate, anticipating Dorothea's
answer, "the princess would say that after she had
landed in Malaga, but the first place wherein she heard
tidings of you was at Osuna." "So I would have said,"
quoth Dorothea.” "And it may be very well," quoth
42
THE HISTORY OF
"}
the curate; "and I desire your majesty to continue
your discourse. "There needs no further continua-
tion," quoth Dorothea, "but that, finally, my fortune
hath been so favourable in finding of Don Quixote, as
I do already hold and account myself for queen and
lady of all mine estate, seeing that he, of his wonted
bounty and magnificence, hath promised me the boon
to accompany me wheresoever I shall guide him, which
shall be to none other place than to set him before
Pandafilando of the dusky sight, to the end you may
slay him, and restore me to that which he hath so
wrongfully usurped; for all will succeed in the twink-
ling of an eye, as the wise Tinacrio, my good father,
hath already foretold, who said moreover, and also left
it written in Chaldaical or Greek characters (for I
cannot read them), that if the knight of the prophecy,
after having beheaded the giant, would take me to wife,
that I should in no sort refuse him, but instantly ad-
mitting him for my spouse, make him at once possessor
of myself and my kingdom."
"How
"What thinkest thou of this, friend Sancho?" quoth
Don Quixote then, when he heard her say so.
likest thou this point? Did not I tell thee thus much
before? See now, whether we have not a kingdom to
command, and a queen whom we may marry." "I
swear as much," quoth Sancho. "A pox on the knave
that will not marry as soon as Master Pandahilado his
windpipes are cut! Mount, then, and see whether the
queen be ill or no. I would to God all the fleas of my
bed were turned to be such !" And, saying so, he gave
two or three friskles in the air, with very great signs
of contentment, and presently went to Dorothea, and,
taking her mule by the bridle, he withheld it, and, lay-
ing himself down on his knees before her, requested her
very submissively to give him her hands to kiss them,
DON QUIXOTE.
43
in sign that he received her for his queen and lady.
Which of the beholders could abstain from laughter,
perceiving the master's madness and the servant's
simplicity? To be brief, Dorothea must needs give
them unto him, and promised to make him a great lord
in her kingdom, when Heaven became so propitious to
her as to let her once recover and possess it peaceably.
And Sancho returned her thanks with such words as
made them all laugh anew.
"This is my history, noble sirs," quoth Dorothea,
"whereof only rests untold that none of all the train
which I brought out of my kingdom to attend on me is
now extant but this well-bearded squire; for all of
them were drowned in a great storm that overtook us
in the very sight of the harbour, whence he and I
escaped, and came to land by the help of two planks,
on which we laid hold, almost by miracle; as also the
whole discourse and mystery of my life seems none
other than a miracle, as you might have noted. And
if in any part of the relation I have exceeded, or not
observed a due decorum, you must impute it to that
which master licentiate said to the first of my history,
that continual pains and afflictions of mind deprives
them that suffer the like of their memory."
"That
shall not hinder me, O high and valorous lady!"
quoth Don Quixote, "from enduring as many as I
shall suffer in your service, be they never so great or
difficult; and therefore I do now ratify and confirm
the promise I have made, and do swear to go with you
to the end of the world, until I find out your fierce
enemy, whose proud head I mean to slice off, by the
help of God and my valorous arm, with the edge of
this (I will not say a good) sword, thanks be to Gines
of Passamonte, which took away mine own." This he
said murmuring to himself, and then prosecuted, say-
44
THE HISTORY OF
ing, “And after I have cut it off, and left you peaceably
in the possession of your state, it shall rest in your
own will to dispose of your person as you like best;
for as long as I shall have my memory possessed,
and my will captivated, and my understanding yielded
to her I will say no more; it is not possible that
ever I may induce myself to marry any other, although
she were a Phoenix."
That which Don Quixote. had said last of all, of not
marrying, disliked Sancho so much, as, lifting his voice
with great anger, he said, "I vow and swear by myself
that you are not in your right wits, Sir Don Quixote;
for how is it possible that you can call the matter of
contracting so high a princess as this is in doubt? Do
you think that fortune will offer you, at every corner's
end, the like hap of this which is now proffered? Is
my Lady Dulcinea, perhaps, more beautiful? No,
certainly, nor half so fair; nay, I am rather about to
say that she comes not to her shoe that is here
present. In an ill hour shall I arrive to possess that
unfortunate earldom which I expect, if you go thus
seeking for mushrubs at the bottom of the sea. Marry,
marry yourself presently, the devil take you for me,
and take that kingdom comes into your hands, and
being a king, make me presently a marquis or admiral,
and instantly after let the devil take all if he pleaseth."
Don Quixote, who heard such blasphemies spoken
against his Lady Dulcinea, could not bear them any
longer; and therefore, lifting up his javelin, without
speaking any word to Sancho, gave him therewithal
two such blows as he overthrew him to the earth; and
had not Dorothea cried to him to hold his hand, he had
doubtlessly slain him in the place.
"Thinkest thou," quoth he after a while, "base
peasant! that I shall have always leisure and disposi
DON QUIXOTE.
45
tion to thrust my hand into my pouch, and that there
be nothing else but thou erring and I pardoning?
And dost not thou think of it, excommunicated rascal?
for certainly thou art excommunicated, seeing thou
hast talked so broadly of the peerless Dulcinea! And
dost not thou know, base slave! vagabond! that if it
were not for the valour she infuseth into mine arm,
that I should not have sufficient forces to kill a flea?
Say, scoffer with the viper's tongue! who dost thou
think hath gained this kingdom, and cut the head off
this giant, and made thee a marquis (for I give all this
for done already, and for a matter ended and judged),
but the worths and valour of Dulcinea, using mine arm
as the instrument of her act? She fights under my
person, and overcomes in me; and I live and breathe
in her, and from her I hold my life and being. O
whoreson villain! how ungrateful art thou, that seest
thyself exalted out from the dust of the earth to be a
nobleman, and yet dost repay so great a benefit with
detracting the person that bestowed it on thee!"
Sancho was not so sore hurt but that he could hear
all his master's reasons very well; wherefore, arising
somewhat hastily, he ran behind, Dorothea her palfrey,
and from thence said to his lord, "Tell me, sir, if you be
not determined to marry with this princess, it is most
clear that the kingdom shall not be yours; and if it be
not, what favours can you be able to do to me? It is
of this that I complain me. Marry yourself one for one
with this princess, now that we have her here as it
were rained to us down from heaven, and you may
after turn to my Lady Dulcinea; for I think there be
kings in the world that keep lemans. As for beauty,
I will not intermeddle; for, if I must say the truth,
each of both is very fair, although I have never seen
the Lady Dulcinea. "How! hast thou not seen her,
48
THE HISTORY OF
loose, and do not intermeddle with my ease! Leave
mine ass, leave my comfort
comfort! Fly, villain! absent thy-
self, thief! and abandon that which is none of thine!"
He needed not to have used so many words and frumps,
for Gines leaped down at the very first, and beginning
a trot, that seemed rather to be a gallop, he absented
himself, and fled far enough from them in a moment.
Sancho went then to his ass, and, embracing him, said,
"How hast thou done hitherto, my darling and treasure,
grey ass of mine eyes, and my dearest companion?" and
with that stroked and kissed him as if it were a reason-
able creature. The ass held his peace, and permitted
Sancho to kiss and cherish him, without answering a
word. All the rest arrived, and congratulated with
Sancho for the finding of his ass, but chiefly Don
Quixote, who said unto him that notwithstanding that
he found his ass, yet would not he therefore annul
his warrant for the three colts; for which Sancho
returned him very great thanks.
Whilst they two travelled together discoursing thus,.
the curate said to Dorothea that she had very discreetly
discharged herself, as well in the history as in her
brevity and imitation thereof to the phrase and con-
ceits of books of knighthood. She answered that she
did ofttimes read books of that subject, but that she
knew not where the provinces lay, nor seaports, and
therefore did only say at random that she had landed
in Osuna. "I knew it was so," quoth the curate,
"and therefore I said what you heard, wherewithal
the matter was soldered. But is it not a marvellous
thing to see with what facility the unfortunate gentle-
man believes all these inventions and lies, only because
they bear the style and manner of the follies laid
down in his books?" "It is," quoth Cardenio, “and
that so rare and beyond all conceit, as I believe, if the
DON QUIXOTE.
49.
like were to be invented, scarce could the sharpest wits
devise such another."
"There is yet," quoth the curate, "as marvellous a
matter as that; for, leaving apart the simplicities
which this good gentleman speaks concerning his
frenzy, if you will commune with him of any other
subject whatsoever, he will discourse on it with an
excellent method, and show himself to have a clear
and pleasing understanding; so that, if he be not
touched by matters of chivalry, there is no man but will
deem him to be of a sound and excellent judgment."
Don Quixote on the other side prosecuted his con-
versing with his squire whilst the others talked
together, and said to Sancho, "Let us two, friend
Panza, forget old injuries, and say unto me now,
without any rancour or anger, where, how, and when
didst thou find my Lady Dulcinea? What did she
when thou camest? What saidst thou to her? What
answered she? What countenance showed she as she
read my letter? And who writ it out fairly for thee?
And every other thing that thou shalt think worthy
of notice in this affair to be demanded or answered,
without either addition or lying, or soothing adula-
tion; and on the other side do not abbreviate it, lest
thou shouldst defraud me thereby of expected delight."
"Sir," answered Sancho, "if I must say the truth,
none copied out the letter for me; for I carried no
letter at all.”
"Thou sayest true," quoth Don Quixote; "for I
found the tablets wherein it was written with myself
two days after thy departure, which did grieve me
exceedingly, because I knew not what thou wouldst
do when thou didst perceive the want of the letter,
and I always made full account that thou wouldst
return again from the place where thou shouldst first
II
Ꭰ .
50
THE HISTORY OF
miss it." "I had done so," quoth Sancho, "if I had
not borne it away in memory, when you read it to me,
in such sort as I said it to a clerk of a vestry, who did
copy it out of my understanding so point by point, as
he said that he never in all the days of his life, although
he had read many a letter of excommunication, read or
seen so fine a letter as it was. "And dost thou hold
it yet in memory, Sancho?" quoth Don Quixote.
""
"No, sir," said Sancho; "for after I gave it, seeing
it served for none other purpose, I did willingly forget
it; and if I remember anything, it is that of the
'mouldy'—I would say 'sovereign lady;' and the end,
'yours until death, the knight of the ill-favoured face;'
and I put between these two things in the letter three
hundred souls, and lives, and sweet eyes."

OF
AR
Co
"Lay down that letter there on the sack."

MICH
DON QUIXOTE.
51
CHAPTER IV.
OF THE PLEASANT DISCOURSES CONTINUED BETWEEN
DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA,
WITH OTHER ADVENTURES.
:
"ALL this liketh me well," said Don Quixote; "there-
fore say on. Thou arrivedst, and what was that queen
of beauty doing then? I daresay that thou foundest
her threading of pearls, or embroidering some curious
device with Venice gold, for me her captive knight."
'No, that I did not," quoth Sancho; "but winnowing
two bushels of wheat in the yard of her house."
"Why, then," said Don Quixote, "thou mayest make
account that each corn of that wheat was a grain of
pearl, seeing they were touched by her delicate hand.
And, friend, didst thou note well what the wheat was,
whether of the best or ordinary?" "It was not, but
red," said Sancho. "Well, then, I assure thee," answered
Don Quixote, “that being sifted by her hands, it must
needs make very fair bread and white. But pass for-
ward. When thou didst deliver my letter, did she kiss
it? Did she set it on her head? Did she use any
ceremony worthy of such a letter? Or what did she?"
"When I went to give it unto her," said Sancho, "she
was holding up of her arms with a good quantity of
wheat that she had in her sieve, and therefore said
unto me, 'Friend, lay down that letter there on the
sack, for I cannot read it until I have winnowed all
that is here."" "O discreet lady!" quoth Don Quixote ;
·
52
THE HISTORY OF
1
:
"she surely did that because she might read it at
leisure, and recreate herself therewithal. Forward,
Sancho. And as long as she was thus busied, what
discourses passed she with thee? What did she
demand of thee concerning me? And thou, what didst
thou answer? Say all, good Sancho, say all; recount
to me every particularity, and let not the least minuity
remain in the inkhorn."
"She demanded nothing of me," quoth Sancho; “but
I recounted unto her the state I had left you in for her
sake, doing of penance, all naked from the girdle up-
ward, among these rocks, like a brute beast, sleeping on
the ground, and eating your bread without table-cloths,
and that you never combed your beard, but was weep-
ing and cursing your fortune." "There thou saidst
ill," quoth Don Quixote; "for I do not curse my
fortune, but rather bless it, and will bless it as long as I
shall live, seeing it hath made me worthy to merit the
love of so high a lady as Dulcinea of Toboso." "She
is in good faith so high," answered Sancho, "as she
surpasseth me almost by a whole cubit." "Why, how
now, Sancho?" said the knight; "hast thou measured
thyself with her?" "I did measure myself with her
in this manner,” replied Sancho, "that coming over to
help her to lift up a sack of wheat on an ass, we joined
so near as I well perceived that she was more than a
great span higher than myself." "That is true," quoth
Don Quixote; "but thinkest thou not that the tall-
ness of her extended stature is adorned with a thousand
millions of graces and endowments of the soul? But,
Sancho, thou canst not deny me one thing: when thou
didst thus approach her, didst thou not feel a most
odoriferous smell, an aromatical fragrancy, an-I cannot
tell what, so pleasing as I know not how to term it—
I say such a scent as if thou wert in some curious
DON QUIXOTE.
53
perfumer's shop?" "That which I know," quoth
Sancho, "is that I felt a little unsavoury scent, some-
what rammish and man-like, and I think the reason was
because she had sweat a little doing of that exercise."
"It was not so," quoth Don Quixote, "but either thou
hadst the mur, or else didst smell thyself; for I know
very well how that rose among thorns dost scent, that
lily of the field, and that chosen amber." "It may
well be," said Sancho, "as you have said, for I have
had many times such a smell as methought the Lady
Dulcinea had then; and though she smelled too it
were no marvel, for one devil is like another."
"And well," quoth Don Quixote, "see here, she
hath sifted her corn, and sent it to the mill; what
did she after she had read the letter?" "The letter?"
said Sancho. "She read it not, for she said she could
neither read nor write; and therefore she tore it into
small pieces, and would have no man to read it, lest
those of the village should know her secrets, and said
that what I had told her by word of mouth of your
love and extraordinary penance, which you remained
doing for her sake, was sufficient; and, finally, she
concluded, commanding me to say unto you that she
had her commended unto you, and that she remained
with greater desire to see you than to write unto you,
and therefore she requested and willed you, as you
tendered her affection, that presently upon sight hereof
you should abandon these shrubby groves, leave off
your frenzy, and take presently the way of Toboso, if
some matter of greater importance did not occur, for
she had very great desire to see and talk with you.
She laughed heartily when I told her that you named
yourself 'the knight of the ill-favoured face.' I de-
manded of her whether the beaten Biscaine came
there, and she answered that he did, and affirmed
54
THE HISTORY OF
withal that he was a very honest man. I asked also
for the galley-slaves, but she told me that she had
seen none of them as yet."
"All goes well till this," said Don Quixote; "but
tell me, I pray thee, what jewel did she bestow on
thee at thy departure, for reward of the news thou
carriedst unto her of me? For it is an usual and
ancient custom among knights and ladies errant, to
bestow on squires, damsels, or dwarfs, which bring
them any good tidings of their ladies, or servants,
some rich jewel, as a reward and thanks of their
welcome news."
“It may well be," quoth Sancho, "and I hold it for
a very
laudable custom; but I think it was only used
in times past, for I think the manner of this our age
is only to give a piece of bread and cheese; for this
was all that my Lady Dulcinea bestowed on me, and
that over the yard walls, when I took my leave with
her, and in sign thereof (well fare all good tokens) the
cheese was made of sheep's milk." "She is marvellous
liberal," quoth Don Quixote; "and if she gave thee
not a jewel of gold, it was, without doubt, because she
had none then about her. But it is not lost that comes
at last; I will see her, and then all things shall be
amended. Knowest thou, Sancho, whereat I wonder?
It is at this sudden return; for it seems to me thou
wast gone and hast come back again in the air; for
thou hast been away but a little more than three days,
Toboso being more than thirty leagues from hence;
and therefore I do believe that the wise enchanter who
takes care of mine affairs, and is my friend (for there
is such a one of force, and there must be, under pain
that I else should not be a good knight-errant),—I say
I verily think that wise man holp thee to trample
unawares of thyself; for there are wise men of that
:
•
DON QUIXOTE.
55
condition which will take a knight-errant sleeping in
his bed, and without knowing how or in what manner,
he will wake the next day a thousand leagues from that
place where he fell asleep; and were it not for this,
knights-errant could not succour one another in their
most dangerous exigents, as they do now at every step.
For it ofttimes befals that a knight is fighting in the
mountains of Armenia, with some devilish fauno, some
dreadful shadow, or fierce knight, where he is like to
have the worst, and in this point of death, when he
least expects it, there appears there, on the top of a
cloud or riding in a chariot of fire, another knight his
friend, who was but even then in England, and helps
him, and delivers him from death; and returns again
that night to his own lodging, where he sups with a
very good appetite; and yet, for all that, is there wont
to be two or three thousand leagues from the one to the
other country. All which is compassed by the industry
and wisdom of those skilful enchanters that take care
of the said valorous knights. So that, friend Sancho,
am not hard of belief in giving thee credit that thou
hast gone and returned in so short a time from this
place to Toboso, seeing, as I have said, some wise man
my friend hath (belike) transported thee thither by
stealth, and unaware of thyself.”
"I easily think it," replied Sancho; "for Rozinante
travelled, in good faith, as lustily as if he were an
Egyptian's ass, with quicksilver in his ears."
"And
thinkest thou not," quoth Don Quixote, "that he had not
quicksilver in his ears? yes, and a legion of devils also
to help it? who are folk that do travel and make others
go as much as they list without any weariness. But, leav-
ing all this apart, what is thine opinion that I should do
now concerning my lady's commandment to go and see
her? For, although I know that I am bound to obey
56
THE HISTORY OF
her behests, yet do I find myself disabled at this time to
to accomplish them by reason of the grant I have made
the princess that comes with us; and the law of arms
doth compel me to accomplish my word rather than
my will. On the one side, I am assaulted and urged by
a desire to go and see my lady; on the other, my
promised faith, and the glory I shall win in this enter-
prise, do incite and call me away. But that which I
resolve to do is to travel with all speed, that I may
quickly arrive to the place where that giant is, and will
cut off his head at my coming; and when I have peace-
ably installed the princess in her kingdom, will
presently return to see the light that doth lighten my
senses; to whom I will yield such forcible reasons of
my so long absence, as she shall easily condescend to
excuse my stay, seeing all doth redound to her glory
and fame; for all that I have gained, do win, or shall
hereafter achieve, by force of arms in this life, proceeds
wholly from the gracious favour she pleaseth to bestow
upon me, and my being hers."
4
"O God!" quoth Sancho, "I perceive that you are
greatly diseased in the pate. I pray you, sir, tell me
whether you mean to go this long voyage for nought,
and let slip and lose so rich and so noble a preferment as
this, where the dowry is a kingdom, which is in good
faith, as I have heard say, twenty thousand leagues in
compass, and most plentifully stored with all things neces-
sary for the sustaining of human life, and that it is greater
than Portugal and Castile joined together? Peace, for
God's love, and blush at your own words, and take my
counsel, and marry presently in the first village that
hath a parish priest; and if you will not do it there,
can you wish a better commodity than to have our own
master licentiate, who will do it most excellently?
And note that I am old enough to give counsel, and
DON QUIXOTE.
57
that this which I now deliver is as fit for you as if it
were expressly cast for you in a mould; for a sparrow
in the fist is worth more than a flying bittor.
'For he that can have good, and evil doth choose,
For ill that betides him, must not patience lose."
"Why, Sancho," quoth Don Quixote, "if thou givest
me counsel to marry to the end I may become a king,
after I have slain the giant, and have commodity there-
by to promote thee, and give thee what I have promised,
I let thee to understand that I may do all that most
easily without marrying myself; for, before I enter
into the battle, I will make this condition, that when I
come away victor, although I marry not the princess,
yet shall a part of the kingdom be at my disposition
to bestow upon whom I please; and when I receive it,
upon whom wouldst thou have me bestow it but on
thyself?" "That is manifest," said Sancho; “but I
pray you, sir, have care to choose that part you would
reserve towards the seaside, to the end that if the
living do not please me, I may embark my black
vassals, and make the benefit of them which I have
said. And likewise I pray you not to trouble your
mind thinking to go and see my Lady Dulcinea at this
time, but travel towards the place where the giant is,
and kill him, and conclude that business first; for I
swear unto you that I am of opinion it will prove an
adventure of very great honour and profit." "I assure
thee, Sancho," quoth Don Quixote, "thou art in the
right, and I will follow thy counsel in rather going
first with the princess than to visit Dulcinea. And I
warn thee not to speak a word to anybody, no, not to
those that ride with us, of that which we have here
spoken and discoursed together; for, since Dulcinea is
so wary and secret as she would not have her thoughts
58
THE HISTORY OF
.
discovered, it is no reason that I, either by myself or
any other, should detect them."
"If that be so," quoth Sancho, "why, then, do you
send all those which you vanquish by virtue of your
arm to present themselves to my Lady Dulcinea, seeing
this is as good as subsignation of your handwriting,
that you wish her well, and are enamoured on her?
And seeing that those which go to her must forcibly
lay them down on their knees before her presence, and
say that they come from you to do her homage, how
then can the thoughts of you both be hidden and con-
cealed ?" "Oh, how great a fool art thou, and how
simple!" quoth Don Quixote. "Dost not thou perceive,
Sancho, how all this results to her greater glory? For
thou oughtest to wit that, in our knightly proceedings,
it is great honour that one lady alone have many
knights-errant for her servitors, without extending their
thoughts any further than to serve her only for her
high worths, without attending any other reward of
their many and good desires, than that she will deign
to accept them as her servants and knights." "I have
heard preach," said Sancho, "that men should love our
Saviour with that kind of love only for His own sake,
without being moved thereunto either by the hope of
glory or the fear of pain; although, for my part, I would
love and serve Him for what He is able to do."
"The
devil take thee for a clown!" quoth Don Quixote ; "how
sharp and pertinently dost thou speak now and then,
able to make a man imagine that thou hast studied !"
"Now, by mine honesty," quoth Sancho, "I can neither
read nor write."
Master Nicholas perceiving them drowned thus in
their discourses, cried out to them to stay and drink of
a little fountain that was by the way. Don Quixote
rested, to Sancho's very great contentment, who was
DON QUIXOTE.
59
already tired with telling him so many lies, and was
afraid his master would entrap him in his own words;
for, although he knew Dulcinea to be of Toboso, yet
had he never seen her in his life. And Cardenio had
by this time put on the apparel Dorothea wore when
they found her in the mountains, which, though they
were not very good, yet exceeded with great advantage
those which he had himself before. And, alighting
hard by the fountain, they satisfied with the provision
the curate had brought with him from the inn, although
it were but little, the great hunger that pressed them.
And whilst they took their ease there, a certain young
stripling that travelled passed by, who, looking very
earnestly on all those which sat about the fountain,
he ran presently after to Don Quixote, and, embracing
his legs, he said, weeping downright, "Oh, my lord,
do not you know me? Look well upon me; for I am
the youth Andrew whom you unloosed from the oak
whereunto I was tied." Don Quixote presently knew
him, and, taking him by the hands, he turned to those
that were present and said, "Because you may see of
how great importance it is that there be knights-
errant in the world, to undo wrongs and injuries that
are committed in it by the insolent and bad men which
live therein, you shall wit that a few days past, as I
rode through a wood, I heard certain lamentable
screeches and cries, as of some needful and afflicted
person. I forthwith occurred, borne away by my
profession, towards the place from whence the lament-
able. voice sounded, and I found tied to an oaken tree
this boy whom you see here in our presence, for which
I am marvellous glad, because if I shall not say the
truth he may check me. I say that he was tied to the
oak, stark naked from the middle upward, and a certain
clown was opening his flesh with cruel blows that he
譬
​60
THE HISTORY OF
..t
gave him with the reins of a bridle, which clown, as
I after understood, was his master. And so soon as I
saw him, I demanded the cause of those cruel stripes.
The rude fellow answered that he beat him because
he was his servant, and that certain negligences of his
proceeded rather from being a thief than of simplicity.
To which this child answered, 'Sir, he whips me for
no other cause but by reason that I demand my wages
of him.' His master replied I know not now what
speeches and excuses, the which although I heard, yet
were they not by me admitted. In resolution, I
caused him to be loosed, and took the clown's oath that he
would take him home, and pay him there his wages,
one real upon another-ay, and those also perfumed.
Is it not true, son Andrew? Didst not thou note
with what a domineering countenance I commanded it,
and with what humility he promised to accomplish
all that I imposed, commanded, and desired? Answer
me; be not ashamed, nor stagger at all, but tell what
passed to these gentlemen, to the end it may be mani-
festly seen how necessary it is, as I have said, to have
knights-errant up and down the highways."
"All that which you have said," quoth the boy, "is
very true; but the end of the matter succeeded alto-
gether contrary to that which you imagined."
"How
contrary?" quoth Don Quixote. "Why, hath not the
peasant paid thee ?”
"He not only hath not paid me,"
answered the boy, "but rather, as soon as you were
past the wood, and that we remained both alone, he
turned again and tied me to the same tree, and gave me
afresh so many blows, as I remained another St.
Bartholomew, all flayed; and at every blow he said
some jest or other in derision of you; so that, if I had
not felt the pain of the stripes so much as I did, I
could have found it in my heart to have laughed very
DON QUIXOTE.
61
""
heartily. In fine, he left me in such pitiful case as I
have been ever since curing myself in an hospital of
the evil which the wicked peasant did then unto me.
And you are in the fault of all this, for if you had
ridden on your way, and not come to the place where
you were not sought for, nor intermeddled yourself in
other men's affairs, perhaps my master had contented
himself with giving me a dozen or two of strokes, and
would presently after have loosed and paid me my
wages. But by reason you dishonoured him so much
without cause, and said to him so many villains, his
choler was inflamed, and, seeing he could not revenge
it on you, finding himself alone, he disburdened the
shower on me so heavily as I greatly fear that I shall
never again be mine own man. "The hurt consisted
in my departure," quoth Don Quixote, "for I should
not have gone from thence until I had seen thee paid;
for I might have very well known, by many experi-
ences, that there is no clown that will keep his word, if
he see the keeping of it can turn any way to his
damage. But yet, Andrew, thou dost remember how I
swore that if he paid thee not, I would return and seek
him out, and likewise find him, although he conveyed
himself into a whale's belly."
"That's true," quoth
Andrew; "but all avails not." "Thou shalt see
whether it avails or no presently," quoth Don Quixote;
and, saying so, got up very hastily, and commanded
Sancho to bridle Rozinante, who was feeding whilst
they did eat. Dorothea demanded of him what he
meant to do. He answered that he would go and
find out the villain, and punish him for using such bad
proceedings, and cause Andrew to be paid the last
denier, in despite of as many peasants as lived in the
world. To which she answered, entreating him to
remember that he could not deal with any other
64-
THE HISTORY OF
CHAPTER V.
FREATING OF THAT WHICH BEFEL ALL DON QUIXOTE
HIS TRAIN IN THE INN.
THE dinner being ended, they saddled and went to
horse presently, and travelled all that day and the
next without encountering any adventure of price,
until they arrived at the only bug and scarecrow of
Sancho Panza, and though he would full fain have
excused his entry into it, yet could he in no wise avoid
it. The innkeeper, the hostess, her daughter, and
Maritornes, seeing Don Quixote and Sancho return,
went out to receive them with tokens of great love and
joy, and he entertained them with grave countenance
and applause, and bade them to make him ready a
better bed than the other which they had given unto
him the time before. "Sir," quoth the hostess, "if you
would pay us better than the last time, we would give
you one for a prince." Don Quixote answered that he
would. They prepared a reasonable good bed for him
in the same wide room where he lay before; and he
went presently to bed, by reason that he arrived much
tired, and void of wit. And scarce was he gotten into
his chamber, when the hostess, leaping suddenly on the
barber, and taking him by the beard, said, "Now, by
myself blessed, thou shalt use my tail no more for a
beard, and thou shalt turn me my tail; for my hus-
band's comb goes thrown up and down the floor, that
it is a shame to see it. I mean the comb that I was
DON QUIXOTE.
65
wont to hang up in my good tail." The barber would
not give it unto her for all her drawing, until the
licentiate bade him to restore it, that they had now
no more use thereof, but that he might now very well
discover himself, and appear in his own shape, and say
to Don Quixote that after the galley-slaves had robbed
him he fled to that inn; and if Don Quixote demanded
by chance for the princess her squire, that they should
tell him how she had sent him before to her kingdom,
to give intelligence to her subjects that she returned,
bringing with her him that should free and give them
all liberty. With this the barber surrendered the
tail willingly to the hostess, and likewise all the other
borrowed wares which she had lent for Don Quixote's
delivery. All those of the inn rested wonderful
amazed at Dorothea's beauty, and also at the comeliness of
the shepherd Cardenio. Then the curate gave order to
make ready for them such meat as the inn could afford;
and the innkeeper, in hope of better payment, did
dress very speedily for them a reasonably good dinner.
Don Quixote slept all this while, and they were of
opinion to let him take his rest, seeing sleep was
more requisite for his disease than meat. At the table
they discoursed (the innkeeper, his wife, daughter,
and Maritornes, and all the other travellers being
present) of Don Quixote's strange frenzy, and of the
manner wherein they found him. The hostess, eftsoons,
recounted what had happened there, between him and
the carrier; and looking to see whether Sancho were
present, perceiving that he was away, she told likewise
all the story of his canvassing, whereat they conceived
no little content and pastime. And, as the curate said
that the original cause of Don Quixote's madness pro-
ceeded from the reading of books of knighthood, the
innkeeper answered,—
II.
E

66
THE HISTORY OF
"I cannot conceive how that can be, for, as I believe,
there is no reading so delightful in this world, and I
myself have two or three books of that kind with other
papers, which do verily keep me alive, and not only
me, but many other. For in the reaping times, many
of the reapers repair to this place in the heats of mid-
day, and there is evermore some one or other among
them that can read, who takes one of these books in
hand, and then some thirty or more of us do compass
him about, and do listen to him with such pleasure, as
it hinders a thousand hoary hairs; for I dare say, at
least of myself, that when I hear tell of those furious
and terrible blows that knights-errant give, it inflames
me with a desire to become such a one myself, and
could find in my heart to be hearing of them day and
night." "I am just of the same mind, no more, nor no
less," said the hostess, "for I never have any quiet
hour in my house, but when thou art hearing those
books whereon thou art so besotted, as then thou dost
only forget to chide, which is thy ordinary exercise at
other times." That is very true," said Maritornes ;
"and I in good sooth do take great delight to hear
those things, for they are very fine, and especially when
they tell how such a lady lies embraced by her knight
under an orange tree, and that a certain damsel keepeth
watch all the while, ready to burst for envy that she hath
not likewise her sweetheart, and very much afraid. I
say that all those things are as sweet as honey to me.”
"And you," quoth the curate to the innkeeper's
daughter, "what do you think?" "I know not in
good sooth, sir," quoth she; "but I do likewise give
ear, and in truth, although I understand it not, yet do
I take some pleasure to hear them; but I mislike
greatly those blows which please my father so much,
and only delight in the lamentations that knights make
DON QUIXOTE.
67
being absent from their ladies; which in sooth do now
and then make me weep through the compassion I take
of them." "Well, then," quoth Dorothea, "belike, fair
maiden, you would remedy them, if such plaints were
breathed for your own sake?" "I know not what I
would do," answered the girl, "only this I know, that
there are some of those ladies so cruel, as their knights
call them tigers and lions, and a thousand other wild
beasts. And, good Jesus, I know not what unsouled
folk they be, and so without conscience, that because
they will not once behold an honourable man, they
suffer him either to die or run mad. And I know not
to what end serves all that coyness. For if they do it
for honesty's sake, let them marry with them, for the
knights desire nothing more." "Peace, child,” quoth
the hostess; "for it seems that thou knowest too much
of those matters, and it is not decent that maidens
should know or speak so much." "I speak," quoth
she, “by reason that this good sir made me the
demand; and I could not in courtesy omit to answer
him." "Well," said the curate, "let me entreat you,
good mine host, to bring us here those books, for I
would fain see them."
"I am pleased," said the innkeeper; and then entering
into his chamber, he brought forth a little old malet
shut up with a chain; and, opening thereof, he took
out three great books and certain papers written with
a very fair letter. The first book he opened was that
of Don Cirongilio of Thracia, the other, Felixmarte of
Hircania, and the third, The History of the Great Captain,
Gonzalo Hernandez of Cordova, with the life of Diego
Garcia of Paredes adjoined. As soon as the curate had
read the titles of the two books, he said to the barber,
"We have now great want of our friends, the old
woman and niece." "Not so much as you think,"
68*
THE HISTORY OF
►
quoth the barber; "for I know also the way to the
yard or the chimney, and, in good sooth, there is a fire
in it good enough for that purpose."
"Would you
then," quoth the host, "burn my books?" "No more
of them," quoth the curate; "but these first two of
Don Cirongilio and Felixmarte are my books." "Per-
haps," quoth the innkeeper, "heretical or phlegmatical,
that you would thus roughly handle them." "Schis-
matical, thou shouldest have said," quoth the barber,
"and not phlegmatical." "It is so," said the innkeeper ;
"but if you will needs burn any, I pray you, rather let
it be that of the Great Captain, and of that Diego Garcia;
for I would rather suffer one of my sons to be burned
than any one of those other two.” "Good friend, these
two books are lying, and full of follies and vanities;
but that of the Great Captain is true, and containeth
the acts of Gonzalo Hernandez of Cordova, who for
his sundry and noble acts merited to be termed by all
the world the Great Captain, a name famous, illustrious,
and only deserved by himself, and this other, Diego
Garcia of Paredes, was a noble gentleman, born in the
city of Truxillo in Estremadura, and was a most
valorous soldier, and of so surpassing force, as he
would detain a mill-wheel with one hand from turning
in the midst of the speediest motion. And standing
once at the end of a bridge, with a two-handed sword,
defended the passage against a mighty army that
attempted to pass over it; and did so many other
things, that if another who were a stranger and un-
passionate had written them, as he did himself who
was the relater and historiographer of his own acts, and
therefore recounted them with the modesty of a gentle-
man and proper chronicler, they would have drowned
all the Hectors, Achilleses, and Rolands in oblivion."
"There is a jest," quoth the innkeeper. "Deal with
DON QUIXOTE.
69
.'
A
my father, I pray you see at what you wonder.
wise tale at the withholding of the wheel of a mill. I
swear you ought to read that which is read in Felix-
marte of Hircania, who with one thwart blow cut five
mighty giants in halves, as if they were of beans, like
to the little friars that children make of bean-cods ;
and set another time upon a great and most powerful
army
of more than a million and six hundred thousand
soldiers, and overthrew and scattered them all like a
flock of sheep. What, then, can you say to me of the
good Don Cirongilio of Thracia, who was so animous and
valiant, as may be seen in his book; wherein is laid
down, that, as he sailed along a river, there issued out
of the midst of the water a serpent of fire, and he, as
soon as he perceived it, leaped upon her, and hanging
by her scaly shoulders, he wrung her throat so straitly
between both his arms, that the serpent, perceiving
herself to be well-nigh strangled, had no other way to
save herself but by diving down into the deeps, carrying
the knight away with her, who would never let go his
grip, and when they came to the bottom he found
himself by a palace in such fair and pleasant gardens,
as it was a wonder; and presently the serpent turned
into an old man, which said to him such things as
there is no more to be desired. Two figs for the Great
Captain and that Diego Garcia of whom you speak."
Dorothea, hearing him speak thus, said to Cardenio,
"Methinks our host wants but little to make up a
second part of Don Quixote." "So it seems to me
likewise,” replied Cardenio ; "for, as we may conjecture
by his words, he certainly believes that everything
written in those books passed just as it is laid down,
and barefooted friars would be scarce able to persuade
him the contrary." "Know, friend," quoth the curate
to the innkeeper, "that there was never any such man

THE HISTORY OF
as Felixmarte of Hircania, or Don Cirongilio of
Thracia, nor other such knights as books of chivalry
recount; for all is but a device and fiction of idle wits
that composed them, to the end that thou sayest, to
pass over the time, as your readers do in reading of
them. For I sincerely swear unto thee, that there
were never such knights in the world, nor such ad-
ventures and ravings happened in it." "Cast that
bone to another dog," quoth the innkeeper, "as though
I knew not how many numbers are five, and where the
shoe wrests me now. I pray you, sir, go not about to
give me pap, for by the Lord I am not so white. Is it
not a good sport that you labour to persuade me, that
all that which these good books say are but ravings and
fables, they being printed by grace and favour of the
Lords of the Privy Council; as if they were folk that
would permit so many lies to be printed at once, and
so many battles and enchantments, as are able to make a
man run out of his wits." "I have told thee already,
friend," said the curate," that this is done for the recreation
of our idle thoughts, and so even as, in well-governed
commonwealths, the plays at chess, tennis, and trucks
are tolerated for the pastime of some men which have
none other occupation, and either ought not or cannot
work, even so such books are permitted to be printed ;
presuming (as in truth they ought) that no man would
be found so simple and ignorant as to hold any of
these books for a true history. And if my leisure per-
mitted, and that it were a thing requisite for this
auditory, I could say many things concerning the
subject of books of knighthood, to the end that they
should be well contrived, and also be pleasant and
profitable to the readers; but I hope sometime to have
the commodity to communicate my conceit with those
that may redress it. And in the meanwhile, you may

DON QUIXOTE.
71
believe, good mine host, what I have said, and take to
you your books, and agree with their truths or leasings
as you please, and much good may it do you; and I
pray God that you halt not in time on the foot that
your guest Don Quixote halteth." "Not so," quoth the
innkeeper, "for I will never be so wood as to become a
knight-errant, for I see well that what was used in the
times of these famous knights is now in no use nor
request."
Sancho came in about the midst of this discourse,
and rested much confounded and pensative of that which
he heard them say, that knights-errant were now in no
request, and that the books of chivalry only contained
follies and lies, and purposed with himself to see the
end of that voyage of his lord's, and that if it sorted not
the wished success which he expected, he resolved to
leave him and return home to his wife and children
and accustomed labour. The innkeeper thought to
take away his books and budget, but the curate with-
held him, saying, "Stay a while, for I would see what
papers are those which are written in so fair a
character." The host took them out and gave them to
him to read, being in number some eight sheets, with a
title written in text letters, which said, The History of
the Curious-Impertinent. The curate read two or three
lines softly to himself, and said after, "Truly the title
of this history doth not mislike me, and therefore I am
about to read it through." The innkeeper hearing him,
said, "Your reverence may very well do it, for I assure
you that some guests which have read it here, as they
travelled, did commend it exceedingly, and have begged
it of me as earnestly, but I would never bestow it, hop-
ing some day to restore it to the owner of this malet,
who forgot it here behind him with these books and
papers, for it may be that he will sometime return, and
..
72
THE HISTORY OF
i
although I know that I shall have great want of the
books, yet will I make to him restitution, for although
I am an innkeeper, yet God be thanked I am a Christian
therewithal.” "You have great reason, my friend,”
quoth the curate; "but yet notwithstanding, if the taste
like me, thou must give me leave to take a copy thereof."
"With all my heart," replied the host. And as they
two talked, Cardenio, taking the book, began to read a
little of it, and, it pleasing him as much as it had done
the curate, he requested him to read it in such sort as
they might all hear him. "That I would willingly do,"
said the curate, "if the time were not now more fit for
sleeping than reading.” "It were sufficient repose for
ine," said Dorothea, "to pass away the time listening to
some tale or other, for my spirit is not yet so well
quieted as to afford me licence to sleep, even then when
nature exacteth it." "If that be so," quoth the curate,
"I will read it, if it were but for curiosity; perhaps it
containeth some delightful matter." Master Nicholas
and Sancho entreated the same. The curate, seeing and
knowing that he should therein do them all a pleasure,
and he himself likewise receive as great, said, “Seeing
you will needs hear it, be all of you attentive, for the
history beginneth in this manner."

DON QUIXOTE.
.73
CHAPTER VI.
WHEREIN IS REHEARSED THE HISTORY OF THE

CURIOUS-IMPERTINENT.
"IN Florence, a rich and famous city of Italy, in the
province called Tuscany, there dwelt two rich and
principal gentlemen called Anselmo and Lothario,
which two were so great friends, as they were named
for excellency, and by antonomasia, by all those that
knew them, the Two Friends. They were both
bachelors, and much of one age and manners; all which
was of force to make them answer one another with
reciprocal amity. True it is that Anselmo was some-
what more inclined to amorous dalliance than Lothario,
who was altogether addicted to hunting. But when
occasion exacted it, Anselmo would omit his own
pleasures, to satisfy his friend's; and Lothario likewise
his, to please Anselmo. And by this means both their
wills were so correspondent, as no clock could be better
ordered than were their desires. Anselmo being at last
deeply enamoured of a principal and beautiful young
lady of the same city, called Camilla, being so worthily
descended, and she herself of such merit therewithal,
as he resolved (by the consent of his friend Lothario,
without whom he did nothing) to demand her of her
parents for wife; and did put his purpose in execution;
and Lothario himself was the messenger, and concluded
the matter so to his friend's satisfaction, as he was
shortly after put in possession of his desires; and

74
THE HISTORY OF
Camilla so contented to have gotten Anselmo, as she
ceased not to render Heaven and Lothario thanks, by
whose means she had obtained so great a match. The
first days, as all marriage days are wont to be merry,
Lothario frequented, according to the custom, his
friend Anselmo's house, endeavouring to honour, feast,
and recreate him all the ways he might possibly. But
after the nuptials were finished, and the concourse of
strangers, visitations, and congratulations somewhat
ceased, Lothario also began to be somewhat more slack
than he wonted in going to Anselmo his house, deem-
ing it (as it is reason that all discreet men should) not
so convenient to visit or haunt so often the house of his
friend after marriage as he would, had he still remained
a bachelor. For although true amity neither should
nor ought to admit the least suspicion, yet notwith-
standing a married man's honour is so delicate and
tender a thing, as it seems it may be sometimes im-
paired, even by very brethren; and how much more by
friends? Anselmo noted the remission of Lothario,
and did grievously complain thereof, saying that, if
he had wist by marriage he should thus be deprived of
his dear conversation, he would never have married ;
and that since through the uniform correspondency of
them both being free, they had deserved the sweet title
of the Two Friends, that he should not now permit
(because he would be noted circumspect without any
other occasion) that so famous and pleasing a name
should be lost; and therefore he requested him (if it
were lawful to use such a term between them two) to
return and be master of his house, and come and go as
he had done before his marriage, assuring him that his
spouse Camilla had no other pleasure and will, than that
which himself pleased she should have; and that she,
after having known how great was both their friend-


DON QUIXOTE.
75
ships, was not a little amazed to see him become so
strange.
"To all these and many other reasons alleged by
Anselmo, to persuade Lothario to frequent his house,
he answered with so great prudence, discretion, and
wariness, as Anselmo remained satisfied of his friend's
good intention herein; and they made an agreement
between them two, that Lothario should dine at his
house twice a week, and the holy days besides. And
although this agreement had passed between them, yet
Lothario purposed to do that only which he should
find most expedient for his friend's honour, whose
reputation he tendered much more dearly than he did
his own; and was wont to say very discreetly, that
the married man, unto whom Heaven had given a
beautiful wife, ought to have as much heed of the
friends which he brought to his house, as he should
of the women friends that visited his wife; for that
which is not done nor agreed upon in the church or
market, nor in public feasts or stations (being places
that a man cannot lawfully hinder his wife from fre-
quenting sometimes at least) are oft-times facilitated and
contrived in a friend's or kinswoman's house, whom
perhaps we never suspected. Anselmo on the other
side affirmed, that therefore married men ought every
one of them to have some friend who might advertise
them of the faults escaped in their manner of proceed-
ing; for it befalls many times, that through the great
love which the husband bears to his wife, either he
doth not take notice, or else he doth not advertise her,
because he would not offend her to do or omit to do
certain things, the doing or omitting whereof might
turn to his honour or obloquy; to which things, being
advertised by his friend, he might easily apply some
remedy. But where might a man find a friend so dis-


76
THE HISTORY OF
creet, loyal, and trusty as Anselmo demands? I know
not truly, if not Lothario: for he it was that with all
solicitude and care regarded the honour of his friend;
and therefore endeavoured to clip and diminish the
number of the days promised, lest he should give
occasion to the idle vulgar, or to the eyes of vagabonds
and malicious men to judge any sinister thing, viewing
so rich, comely, noble, and qualified a young man as he
was, to have so free access into the house of a woma..
so beautiful as Camilla. For though his virtues and
modest carriage were sufficiently able to set a bridle to
any malignant tongue, yet notwithstanding he would
not have his credit, nor that of his friends, called into
any question; and therefore would spend most of the
days that he had agreed to visit his friend, in other
places and exercises; yet feigning excuses so plausible,
as his friend admitted them for very reasonable. And
thus the time passed on in challenges of unkindness of
the one side, and lawful excuses of the other.
"It so fell out, that, as both the friends walked on a
day together in a field without the city, Anselmo said
to Lothario these words ensuing: 'I know very well,
friend Lothario, that among all the favours which God
of His bounty hath bestowed upon me by making me
the son of such parents, and giving to me with so
liberal a hand, both the goods of nature and fortune;
yet as I cannot answer Him with sufficient gratitude for
the benefits already received, so do I find myself most
highly bound unto Him above all others, for having given
me such a friend as thou art, and so beautiful a wife as
Camilla, being both of you such pawns, as if I esteem
you not in the degree which I ought, yet do I hold you
as dear as I may. And yet, possessing all those things
which are wont to be the all and some that are wont
and may make a man happy, I live notwithstanding the
A

DON QUIXOTE.
77
most sullen and discontented life of the world, being
troubled, I know not since when, and inwardly wrested
with so strange a desire, and extravagant, from the
common use of others, as I marvel at myself, and do
condemn and rebuke myself when I am alone, and do
labour to conceal and cover mine own desires; all
which hath served me to as little effect, as if I had pro-
claimed mine own errors purposely to the world. And
seeing that it must finally break out, my will is, that
it be only communicated to the treasury of thy secret;
hoping by it and mine own industry, which, as my true
friend, thou wilt use to help me, I shall be quickly
freed from the anguish it causeth, and by thy means
my joy and contentment shall arrive to the pass that
my discontents have brought me through mine own
folly.'
"Lothario stood suspended at Anselmo's speech, as one
that could not imagine to what so prolix a prevention
and preamble tended; and although he revolved and
imagined sundry things in his mind which he deemed
might afflict his friend, yet did he ever shoot wide from
the mark which in truth it was; and that he might
quickly escape that agony, wherein the suspension held
him, he said, that his friend did notable injury to their
amity, in searching out wreathings and ambages in the
discovery of his most hidden thoughts to him, seeing
he might assure himself certainly, either to receive
counsels of him how to entertain, or else remedy and
means how to accomplish them.
“It is very true,' answered Anselmo, 'and with that
confidence I let thee to understand, friend Lothario,
that the desire which vexeth me is a longing to knów
whether my wife Camilla be as good and perfect as I do
account her, and I cannot wholly rest satisfied of this
truth, but by making trial of her, in such sort as it may
78
THE HISTORY OF
give manifest argument of the degree of her goodness,
as the fire doth show the value of gold; for I am of
opinion, O friend, that a woman is of no more worth
or virtue than that which is in her, after she hath been
solicited [casta est quam nemo rogavit]; and that she
alone is strong who cannot be bowed by the promises,
gifts, tears, and continual importunities of importunate
lovers. For what thanks is it,' quoth he, 'for a woman
to be good, if nobody say or teach her ill? What
wonder that she be retired and timorous, if no occasion
be ministered to her of dissolution, and chiefly she that
knows she hath a husband ready to kill her for the
least argument of lightness? So that she which is only
good for fear or want of occasion, will I never hold in
that estimation, that I would the other solicited and
pursued, who, notwithstanding, comes away crowned
with the victory. And therefore, being moved as well
by these reasons as by many other which I could tell
you, which accredit and fortify mine opinion, I desire
that my wife Camilla do also pass through the pikes of
those proofs and difficulties, and purify and refine her-
self in the fire of being requested, solicited, and pursued,
and that by one whose worths and valour may deserve
acceptance in her opinion; and if she bear away the
palm of the victory, as I believe she will, I shall
account my fortune matchless, and may brag that my
desires are in their height, and will say that a strong
woman hath fallen to my lot, of whom the wise man
saith, "Who shall find her?" And when it shall succeed
contrary to mine expectation, I shall, with the pleasure
that I will conceive to see how rightly it jumps with
mine opinion, bear very indifferent the grief which in
all reason this so costly a trial must stir in me. And
presupposing that nothing which thou shalt say to me
shall be available to hinder my design, or dissuade me
DON QUIXOTE.
79
from putting my purpose in execution, I would have
thyself, dear friend Lothario, to provide thee to be the
instrument that shall labour this work of my liking,
and I will give thee opportunity enough to perform the
same, without omitting anything that may further thee
in the solicitation of an honest, noble, wary, retired, and
passionless woman.
"And I am chiefly moved to commit this so hard an
enterprise to thy trust, because I know that, if Camilla
be vanquished by thee, yet shall not the victory arrive
to the last push and upshot, but only to that of account-
ing a thing to be done, which shall not be done for
many good respects. So shall I remain nothing offended,
and mine injury concealed in the virtue of thy silence;
for I know thy care to be such in matters concerning
me, as it shall be eternal, like that of death. And
therefore if thou desirest that I may lead a life deserving
that name, thou must forthwith provide thyself to enter
into this amorous conflict, and that not languishing
or slothfully, but with that courage and diligence
which my desire expecteth, and the confidence I have
in our amity assureth me.'
"These were the reasons used by Anselmo to Lothario,
to all which he was so attentive, as, until he ended, he
did not once unfold his lips to speak a word save those
which we have above related; and seeing that he spoke
no more, after he had beheld him a good while, as a
thing that he had never before, and did therefore strike
him into admiration and amazement, he said, 'Friend
Anselmo, I cannot persuade myself that the words you
have spoken be other than jests, for, had I thought that
thou wert in earnest, I would not have suffered thee
to pass on so far, and by lending thee no ear would have
excused this tedious oration. I do verily imagine that
either thou dost not know me, or I thee; but not so, for
80
THE HISTORY OF
I know thee to be Anselmo, and thou that I am Lothario.
The damage is, that I think thou art not the Anselmo
thou wast wont to be, and perhaps thou deemest me
not to be the accustomed Lothario that I ought to
be; for the things which thou hast spoken are not of
that Anselmo my friend, nor those which thou seekest
ought to be demanded of that Lothario, of whom thou
hast notice, for true friends ought to prove and use
their friends, as the poet said, usque ad aras, that is,
that they should in no sort employ them or implore
their assistance in things offensive unto God; and if a
Gentile was of this opinion in matters of friendship,
how much greater reason is it that a Christian should
have that feeling, specially knowing that the celestial
amity is not to be lost for any human friendship what-
soever. And when the friend should throw the bars
so wide, as to set heavenly respects apart, for to com-
pliment with his friend, it must not be done on light
grounds, or for things of small moment, but rather for
those whereon his friend's life and honour wholly de-
pend. Then tell me now, Anselmo, in which of these
two things art thou in danger, that I may adventure
my person to do thee a pleasure, and attempt so detest-
able a thing as thou dost demand? None of them
truly, but rather dost demand, as I may conjecture,
that I do industriously labour to deprive thee of thine
honour and life together, and, in doing so, I likewise
deprive myself of them both. For if I must labour to
take away thy credit, it is most evident that I despoil
thee of life, for a man without reputation is worse than
a dead man, and I being the instrument, as thou desir-
est that I should be, of so great harm unto thee, do not
I become likewise thereby dishonoured, and by the
same consequence also without life? Hear me, friend
Anselmo, and have patience not to answer me until I
DON QUIXOTE.
81
have said all that I think, concerning that which thy
mind exacteth of thee; for we shall have after leisure
enough, wherein thou mayest reply, and I have patience
to listen unto thy reasons.'
"I am pleased,' quoth Anselmo; 'say what thou
likest.' And Lothario prosecuted his speech in this
manner: 'Methinks, Anselmo, that thou art now of
the Moors' humours, which can by no means be made
to understand the error of their sect, neither by cita-
tions of the Holy Scripture, nor by reasons which
consist in speculations of the understanding, or that
are founded in the Articles of the Faith, but must be
won by palpable examples, and those easy, intelligible,
demonstrative, and doubtless, by mathematical demon-
strations, which cannot be denied. Even as when we
say,
"If from two equal parts we take away two parts
equal, the parts that remain are also equal." And when
they cannot understand this, as in truth they do not,
we must demonstrate it to them with our hands, and
lay it before their eyes, and yet for all this nought can
avail to win them in the end to give credit to the verities
of our religion; which very terms and manner of pro-
ceeding I must use with thee, by reason that the desire
which is sprung in thee doth so wander and stray from
all that which bears the shadow only of reason, as I
doubt much that I shall spend my time in vain, which
I shall bestow, to make thee understand thine own
simplicity, for I will give it no other name at this pre-
sent; and, in good earnest, I was almost persuaded to
leave thee in thine humour, in punishment of thine
inordinate and unreasonable desire, but that the love
which I bear towards thee doth not consent I use to
thee such rigour, or leave thee in so manifest a danger
of thine own perdition. And, that thou mayest clearly
see it, tell me, Anselmo, hast not thou said unto me,
II.
F

82
THE HISTORY OF
A
++
that I must solicit one that stands upon her reputation;
persuade an honest woman; make proffers to one that
is not passionate or engaged; and serve a discreet
woman? Yes, thou hast said all this. Well, then, if
thou knowest already that thou hast a retired, honest, un-
passionate, and prudent wife, what seekest thou more?
And, if thou thinkest that she will rest victorious,
after all mine assaults, as doubtless she will, what better
titles wouldest thou after bestow upon her, than those
she possesseth already? Either it proceeds, because thou
dost not think of her as thou sayest, or else because
thou knowest not what thou demandest. If thou dost
not account her such as thou praisest her, to what end
wouldest thou prove her? But rather, as an evil person,
use her as thou likest best. But, if she be as good as
thou believest, it were an impertinent thing to make
trial of truth itself. For, after it is made, yet it will
still rest only with the same reputation it had before.
Wherefore, it is a concluding reason, that, to attempt
things, whence rather harm may after result unto us
than good, is the part of rash and discourseless brains ;
and principally when they deal with those things
whereunto they are not compelled or driven, and that
they see even afar off, how the attempting the like is
manifest folly. Difficult things are undertaken for God,
or the world, or both. Those that are done for God
are the works of the saints, endeavouring to lead angels'
lives, in frail and mortal bodies. Those of the world
are the travels and toils of such as cross such immense
seas, travel through so adverse regions, and converse
with so many nations, to acquire that which we call
the goods of fortune. And the things acted for God
and the world together are the worthy exploits of
resolute and valorous martial men, which scarce
perceive so great a breach in the adversary wall, as the

DON QUIXOTE.
83
cannon bullet is wont to make; when, leaving all
fear apart, without making any discourse, or taking
notice of the manifest danger that threatens them, borne
away, by the wings of desire and honour, to serve God,
their nation and prince, do throw themselves boldly
into the throat of a thousand menacing deaths which
expect them.
"These are things wont to be practised; and it is
honour, glory, and profit to attempt them, be they
never so full of inconveniences and danger; but that
which thou sayest thou wilt try and put in practice
shall never gain thee God's glory, the goods of fortune,
or renown among men; for, suppose that thou bringest
it to pass according to thine own fantasy, thou shalt
remain nothing more contented, rich, or honourable
than thou art already; and, if thou dost not, then shalt
thou see thyself in the greatest misery of any wretch
living; for it will little avail thee then to think that
no man knows the disgrace befallen thee, it being
sufficient both to afflict and dissolve thee that thou
knowest it thyself. And, for greater confirmation of
this truth, I will repeat unto thee a stanza of the famous
poet Luigi Tansillo, in the end of his first part of
St. Peter's Tears, which is:
"The grief increaseth, and withal the shame
In Peter when the day itself did show:
And though he no man sees, yet doth he blame
Himself because he had offended so.
For breasts magnanimous not only tame
When that of others they are seen, they know;
But of themselves ashamed they often be,
Though none but Heaven and earth their error see.
So that thou canst not excuse thy grief with secrecy, be
it never so great, but rather shall have continual occasion
to weep, if not watery tears from thine eyes, at least

84
THE HISTORY OF
}
tears of blood from thy heart, such as that simple doctor
wept, of whom our poet makes mention, who made trial
of the vessel, which the prudent Reynaldos, upon maturer
discourse, refused to deal withal. And, although it be
but a poetical fiction, yet doth it contain many hidden
morals, worthy to be noted, understood, and imitated;
how much more, seeing that by what I mean to say
now, I hope thou shalt begin to conceive the great error
which thou wouldest wittingly commit.
“Tell me, Anselmo, if Heaven or thy fortunes had
made thee lord and lawful possessor of a most precious
diamond, of whose goodness and quality all the lapi-
daries that had viewed the same would rest satisfied,
and that all of them would jointly and uniformly
affirm that it arrived in quality, goodness, and fineness
to all that to which the nature of such a stone might
extend itself, and that thou thyself didst believe the
same without witting anything to the contrary; would
it be just that thou shouldest take an humour to set that
diamond between an anvil and a hammer, and to try
there by very force of blows whether it be so hard and
so fine as they say? And further: when thou didst put
thy design in execution, put the case that the stone
made resistance to thy foolish trial, yet wouldest thou
add thereby no new valure or esteem to it. And if it
did break, as it might befall, were not then all lost?
Yes, certainly, and that leaving the owner, in all men's
opinion, for a very poor ignorant person. Then, friend
Anselmo, make account that Camilla is a most precious
diamond as well in thine as in other men's estimation;
and it is no reason to put her in contingent danger of
breaking, seeing that, although she remain in her
integrity, she cannot mount to more worth than she
hath at the present; and if she faltered, or did not
resist, consider even at this present what state you

DON QUIXOTE.
85
would be in then, and how justly thou mightest then
complain of thyself for being cause of her perdition and
thine own. See how there is no jewel in the world
comparable to the modest and chaste woman, and that
all women's honour consists in the good opinion that's
had of them; and seeing that of thy spouse is so great,
as it arrives to that sum of perfection which thou
knowest, why wouldest thou call this verity in ques-
tion? Know, friend, that a woman is an imperfect
creature, and should therefore have nothing cast in her
way to make her stumble and fall, but rather have
all encumbrances cleared out of her way, to the end she
may without impeachment run with a swift course to
obtain the perfection she wants, which only consists in
being virtuous.
"The naturalists recount that the ermine is a little
beast that hath a most white skin; and that, when the
hunters would chase him, they use this art to take him.
As soon as they find out his haunt, and places where
he hath recourse, they thwart them with mire and dirt,
and after when they descry the little beast, they pursue
him towards those places which are defiled; and the
ermine, espying the mire, stands still, and permits him-
self to be taken and captived in exchange of not passing
through the mire, or staining of his whiteness, which
it esteems more than either liberty or life. The honest
and chaste woman is an ermine, and the virtue of
chastity is whiter and purer than snow; and he that
would not lose it, but rather desires to keep and pre-
serve it, must proceed with a different style from that
of the ermine. For they must not propose and lay
before her the mire of the passions, flatteries, and
services of importunate lovers; for perhaps she shall
not have the natural impulse and force, which commonly
through proper debility is wont to stumble, to pass over

86
THE HISTORY OF
those encumbrances safely; and therefore it is requisite
to free the passage and take them away, and lay before
her the clearness of virtue and the beauty comprised
in good fame. The good woman is also like unto a
bright and clear mirror of crystal, and therefore is
subject to be stained and dimmed by every breath that
toucheth it. The honest woman is to be used as
relics of saints, to wit, she must be honoured but not
touched. The good woman is to be kept and prized
like a fair garden full of sweet flowers and roses, that
is held in estimation, whose owner permits no man to
enter and trample or touch his flowers, but holds it to
be sufficient that they, standing afar off, without the
rails, may joy at the delightful sight and fragrance
thereof. Finally I will repeat certain verses unto thee
that have now come to my memory, the which were
repeated of late in a new play, and seem to me very fit
for the purpose of which we treat. A prudent old man
did give a neighbour of his that had a daughter counsel
to keep and shut her up; and among many other
reasons he used these:
"Truly woman is of glass;
Therefore no man ought to try
If she broke or not might be,
Seeing all might come to pass.
Yet to break her 'tis more easy;
And it is no wit to venture
A thing of so brittle temper,
That to solder is so queasy.
And I would have all men dwell
In this truth and reason's ground,
That if Danaes may be found,
Golden showers are found as well."
“All that which I have said to thee, Anselmo, until
this instant, hath been for that which may touch thy-

DON QUIXOTE.
87
self; and it is now high time that somewhat be heard
concerning me. And if by chance I shall be somewhat
prolix, I pray thee to pardon me; for the labyrinth
wherein thou hast entered, and out of which thou
wouldest have me to free thee, requires no less. Thou
holdest me to be thy friend, and yet goest about to
despoil me of mine honour, being a thing contrary to
all amity; and dost not only pretend this, but dost
likewise endeavour that I should rob thee of the same.
That thou wouldest deprive me of mine is evident; for
when Camilla shall perceive that I solicit her as thou
demandest, it is certain that she will esteem of me
as of one quite devoid of wit and discretion, seeing
intend and do a thing so repugnant to that which I
at heart am, and thine friendship do bind me unto.
That thou wouldest have me rob thee thereof is as
manifest; for Camilla, seeing me thus to court her, must
imagine that I have noted some lightness in her which
lent me boldness thus to discover unto her my depraved
desires, and she holding herself to be thereby injured
and dishonoured, her disgrace must also concern thee
as a principal part of her. And hence springs that
which is commonly said, That the husband of the
adulterous wife, although he know nothing of her lewd-
ness, nor hath given any occasion to her to do what she
ought not, nor was able any way to hinder by diligence,
care, or other means, his disgrace, yet is covered
with a vile name, and is in a manner beheld by
those that know his wife's malice with the eyes of
contempt; whereas they should indeed regard him
rather with those of compassion, seeing that he falls
into that misfortune not so much through his own
default, as through the light fantasy of his wicked
consort. But I will show thee the reason why a bad
woman's husband is justly dishonoured and contemned,
88
THE HISTORY OF
although he be ignorant and guiltless thereof, and can-
not prevent, nor hath given to it any occasion. And be
not grieved to hear me, seeing the benefit of the dis-
course shall redound unto thyself.
"When God created our first parent in the terrestrial
paradise, the Holy Scripture saith, That God infused
sleep into Adam, and that, being asleep, He took out a
rib out of his left side, of which He formed our mother
Eve; and as soon as Adam awaked and beheld her, he
said, "This is flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bones."
And God said, "For this cause shall a man leave his
father and his mother, and they shall be two in one
flesh." And then was the divine ordinance of matri-
mony first instituted, with such indissoluble knots as
only may be by death dissolved. And this marvellous
ordinance is of such efficacy and force, as it makes two
different persons to be one very flesh; and yet operates
further in good married folk; for, although they have
two souls, yet it makes them to have but one will.
And hence it proceeds, that by reason the wife's flesh
is one and the very same with her husband's, the
blemishes or defects that taint it do also redound into
the husband's, although he, as we have said, have
ministered no occasion to receive that damage. For as
all the whole body feels any pain of the foot, head, or
any other member, because it is all one flesh, and the
head smarts at the grief of the ankle, although it hath
not caused it; so is the husband participant of his
wife's dishonour, because he is one and the selfsame
with her. And by reason that all the honours and dis-
honours of the world are, and spring from flesh and
blood, and those of the bad woman be of this kind, it
is forcible, that part of them fall to the husband's share,
and that he be accounted dishonourable, although he
wholly be ignorant of it. See then, Anselmo, to what
DON QUIXOTE.
89
peril thou dost thrust thyself by seeking to disturb the
quietness and repose wherein thy wife lives, and for
how vain and impertinent curiosity thou wouldest stir
up the humours which are now quiet in thy chaste
spouse's breast. Note how the things thou dost adven-
ture to gain are of small moment; but that which thou
shalt lose so great, that I must leave it in his point,
having no words sufficiently able to indear it. But if
all that I have said be not able to move thee from thy
bad purpose, thou mayest well seek out for some other
instrument of thy dishonour and mishaps; for I mean
not to be one, although I should therefore lose thine
amity, which is the greatest loss that might any way
befall me.'
"Here the prudent Lothario held his peace, and
Anselmo remained so confounded and melancholy, as
he could not answer a word to him for a very great
while. But in the end he said, 'I have listened,
friend Lothario, to all that which thou hast said unto
me, with the attention which thou hast noted, and have
perceived in thy reasons, examples, and similitudes the
great discretion wherewithal thou art endowed, and the
perfection of amity that thou hast attained; and do
also confess and see, that, if I follow not thine advice,
but should lean unto mine own, I do but shun the
good, and pursue the evil. Yet oughtest thou likewise
to consider, how herein I suffer the disease which some
women are wont to have, that long to eat earth, lime,
coals, and other far worse and loathsome things even
to the very sight, and much more to the taste; so that it
is behooveful to use some art by which I may be cured;
and this might be easily done by beginning only to
solicit Camilla, although you did it but weak and
feignedly; for I know she will not be so soft and
pliable as to dash her honesty about the ground at the
90
THE HISTORY OF
first encounters, and I will rest satisfied with this com
mencement alone; and thou shalt herein accomplish
the obligation thou owest to our friendship, by not only
restoring me to life, but also by persuading me not to
despoil myself of mine honour. And thou art bound
to do this, for one reason that I shall allege, to wit,
that I being resolved, as indeed I am, to make this ex-
perience, thou oughtest not to permit, being my friend,
that I should bewray my defect herein to a stranger,
whereby I might very much endanger my reputation,
which thou labourest so much to preserve; and though
thy credit may lose some degrees in Camilla's opinion
whilst thou dost solicit her, it matters not very much,
or rather nothing; for very shortly, when we shall
espy in her the integrity that we expect, thou mayest
open unto her sincerely the drift of our practice, by
which thou shalt again recover thine impaired reputa-
tion. Therefore seeing the adventure is little, and the
pleasure thou shalt do me by the enterprising thereof
so, too great, I pray thee do it, though ever so many
encumbrances represent themselves to thee, for, as I
have promised, with only thy beginning, I will rest
satisfied and account the cause concluded.'
"Lothario perceiving the firm resolution of Anselmo,
and nothing else occurring forcibly dissuasive, not
knowing what other reasons to use that might hinder
this his precipitate resolution, and noting withal how
he threatened to break the matter of this his indiscreet
desires to a stranger, he determined, to avoid greater
inconveniences, to give him satisfaction, and perform
his demand, with purpose and resolution to guide the
matter so discreetly, as, without troubling Camilla's
thoughts, Anselmo should rest contented; and therefore
entreated him not to open his mind to any other, for
he himself would undertake that enterprise, and begin
DON QUIXOTE.
91
it whensoever he pleased. Anselmo embraced him very
tender and lovingly, and gratified him as much for that
promise as if he had done him some very great favour,
and there they accorded between them that he should
begin the work the very next day ensuing; for he
would give him place and leisure to speak alone with
Camilla, and would likewise provide him of money,
jewels, and other things to present unto her. He did
also admonish him to bring music under her windows
by night, and write verses in her praise, and if he would
not take the pains to make them, he himself would
compose them for him. Lothario promised to perform
all himself, yet with an intention far wide from
Anselmo's; and with this agreement they returned to
Anselmo's house, where they found Camilla somewhat
sad and careful, expecting her husband's return, who
had stayed longer abroad that day than his custom.
Lothario, leaving him at his house, returned to his own,
as pensive as he had left Anselmo contented, and knew
not what plot to lay, to issue out of that impertinent
affair with prosperous success. But that night he
bethought himself of a manner how to deceive Anselmo
without offending Camilla; and so the next day ensu-
ing he came to his friend's house to dinner, where
Camilla, knowing the great good-will her husband bore
towards him, did receive and entertain him very kindly
with the like. Dinner being ended, and the table taken
up, Anselmo requested Lothario to keep Camilla com-
pany until his return, for he must needs go about an
affair that concerned him greatly, but would return
again within an hour and a-half. Camilla entreated
her husband to stay, and Lothario proffered to go and
keep him company; but nothing could prevail with
Anselmo, but rather he importuned his friend Lothario
to remain and abide there till his return, because he
92
THE HISTORY OF
must go to treat of a matter of much consequence. IIe
also commanded Camilla not to leave Lothario alone
until he came back. And so he departed, leaving
Camilla and Lothario together at the table, by reason
that all the attendants and servants were gone to
dinner.
"Here Lothario saw that he was entered into the lists
which his friend so much desired, with his adversary
before him, who was with her beauty able to overcome
a whole squadron of armed knights; see then if
Lothario had not reason to fear himself; but that which
he did at the first onset was to lay his elbow on the
arm of his chair and his hand on his cheek, and, desir-
ing Camilla to bear with his respectlessness therein, he
said he would repose a little whilst he attended
Anselmo's coming. Camilla answered that she thought
he might take his ease better on the cushions of state ;
and therefore prayed him he would enter into the
parlour and lie on them. But he excused himself, and
so remained asleep in the same place until Anselmo's
return, who, coming in, and finding his wife in her
chamber and Lothario asleep, made full account that,
by reason of his long stay, they had time enough both
to talk and repose; and therefore expected very
greedily the hour wherein his friend should awake, to
go out with him and learn what success he had. All
succeeded as he wished; for Lothario arose, and both
of them went abroad; and then he demanded of him.
what he desired. And Lothario answered that it
seemed not to him so good to discover all his meaning
at the first; and therefore had done no other thing at
that time than speak a little of her beauty and discre-
tion; for it seemed to him that this was the best pre-
amble he could use to gain by little and little some
interest and possession in her acceptance, to dispose
DON QUIXOTE.
93.
her thereby the better to give ear again to his words
more willingly, imitating therein the devil's craft when
he means to deceive any one that is vigilant and care-
ful; for then he translates himself into an angel of
light, being one of darkness, and laying before him
apparent good, discovers what he is in the end, and
brings his intention to pass, if his guiles be not at the
beginning detected. All this did greatly like Anselmo,
who said that he would afford him every day as much
leisure, although he did not go abroad; for he would
spend the time so at home as Camilla should never be
able to suspect his drift.
"It therefore befel that many days passed which
Lothario did willingly overslip, and said nothing to
Camilla; yet did he ever soothe Anselmo, and told him
that he had spoken to her, but could never win her to
give the least argument of flexibility, or make way for
the feeblest hope that might be; but rather affirmed
that she threatened him that, if he did not repel his
impertinent desires, she would detect his indirect pro-
ceedings to her husband. 'It is well,' quoth Anselmo.
'Hitherto Camilla hath resisted words; it is therefore
requisite to try what resistance she will make against
works. I will give thee to-morrow four thousand
crowns in gold, to the end thou mayest offer, and also
bestow them on her; and thou shalt have as many
more to buy jewels wherewithal to bait her; for
women are naturally inclined, and specially if they be
fair (be they ever so chaste), to go brave and gorgeously
attired; and if she can overcome this temptation, I
will remain pleased, and put thee to no more trouble.'
Lothario answered, that, seeing he had begun, he
would bear his enterprise on to an end, although he
made full account that he should depart from the con-
flict both tired and vanquished. He received the four

94
THE HISTORY OF
thousand crowns the next day, and at once with them
four thousand perplexities, for he knew not what to
invent to lie anew; but concluded finally to tell his
friend how Camilla was as inflexible at gifts and
promises as at words; and therefore it would be in
vain to travail any more in her pursuit, seeing he should.
do nothing else but spend the time in vain.
"But fortune, which guided these affairs in another
manner, so disposed, that Anselmo, having left Lothario
and Camilla alone, as he was wont, entered secretly into
a chamber, and through the crannies and chinks did
listen and see what they would do; where he perceived
that Lothario, in the space of half-an-hour, spoke not a
word to Camilla, nor yet would he have spoken, though
he had remained there a whole age, and thereupon
surmised straight that all that which his friend had
told him of Camilla's answers and his own speech were
but fictions and untruths; and that he might the more
confirm himself, and see whether it were so, he came
forth, and, calling Lothario apart, he demanded of him
what Camilla had said, and in what humour she was at
the present? Lothario answered, that he meant not
ever any more to sound her in that matter; for she
replied unto him so untowardly and sharply, as he
durst not attempt any more to speak unto her of such
things.
"Oh,' quoth Anselmo, 'Lothario, Lothario! how
evil dost thou answer to the affection thou owest me, or
to the confidence I did repose in thee? I have stood
beholding thee all this while through the hole of that
lock, and saw how thou never spokest one word to her.
Whereby I do also collect, that thou hast not yet once
accosted her; and if it be so, as doubtlessly it is, say,
why dost thou deceive me? or why goest thou about
fraudulently to deprive me of those means whereby I


DON QUIXOTE.
95
may obtain my desires?' Anselmo said no more, yet
what he said was sufficient to make Lothario confused
and ashamed, who, taking it to be a blemish to his
reputation to be found in a lie, swore to Anselmo that
he would from thenceforward so endeavour to please
his mind, and tell him no more leasings, as he himself
might perceive the success thereof, if he did again
curiously lie in watch for him; a thing which he might
well excuse, because his most serious labour to satisfy
his desire should remove all shadow of suspicion.
Anselmo believed him, and that he might give him the
greater commodity, and less occasion of fear, he resolved
to absent himself from his house some eight days, and
go to visit a friend of his that dwelt in a village not
far from the city; and therefore dealt with his friend,
that he should send a messenger to call for him very
earnestly, that, under that pretext, he might find an
excuse to Camilla for his departure.
"O unfortunate and inconsiderate Anselmo ! what
is that which thou doest? what dost thou contrive? or
what is that thou goest about? Behold, thou workest
thine own ruin, laying plots of thine own dishonour,
and giving order to thy proper perdition. Thy wife
Camilla is good; thou dost possess her in quiet and
peaceable manner; no man surpriseth thy delights, her
thoughts transgress not the limits of her house. Thou
art her heaven on earth, and the goal to which her
desires aspire. Thou art the accomplishment and sum
of her delectation. Thou art the square by which she
measureth and directeth her will, adjusting wholly
with thine and with that of Heaven. Since then the
mines of her honour, beauty, modesty, and recollection
bountifully afford thee, without any toil, all the
treasures contained in them, or thou canst desire, why
wouldst thou dig the earth and seek out new veins and


96
THE HISTORY OF
ne'er-seen treasures, exposing thyself to the danger that
thy labours may turn to wreck, seeing, in fine, that they
are only sustained by the weak supporters of her fragile
nature? Remember how he that seeks the impossible
may justly be refused of that which is possible, accord-
ing to that which the poet saith:
""In death for life I seek,
Health in infirmity;
For issue in a dungeon deep,
In jails for liberty,
And in a treachour loyalty.
"But envious fate, which still
Conspires to work mine ill,
With heaven hath thus decreed,
That easy things should be to me denied
'Cause I crave the impossible."
"Anselmo departed the next day following to the
village, telling Camilla, at his departure, that, whilst
he was absent, his friend Lothario would come and see
to the affairs of his house, and to eat with her, and
desired her therefore to make as much of him as she
would do of his own person. Camilla, like a discreet
and modest woman, was grieved at the order her hus-
band did give to her, and requested him to think how in-
decent it was that any one should possess the chair of
his table, he being absent, and if he did it as doubting
her sufficiency to manage his household affairs, that at
least he should make trial of her that one time, and
should clearly perceive how she was able to discharge
matters of far greater consequence. Anselmo replied,
that what he commanded was his pleasure, and there-
fore she had nothing else to do but hold down her head
and obey it. Camilla answered, that she would do so,
although it was very much against her will. In fine,
her husband departed, and Lothario came the next day


1
DON QUIXOTE.
97
following to the house, where he was entertained by
Camilla very friendly, but would never treat with
Lothario alone, but evermore was compassed by her
servants and waiting maidens, but chiefly by one called
Leonela, whom she loved dearly, as one that had been
brought up with her in her father's house, even from
their infancy, and when she did marry Anselmo she
brought her from thence in her company.
"The first three days Lothario spoke not a word,
although he might, when the tables were taken up, and
that the folk of the house went hastily to dinner, for so
Camilla had commanded, and did give Leonela order
besides to dine before herself, and that she should still
keep by her side; but the girl, who had her fancy other-
wise employed in things more pleasing her humour,
and needed those hours and times for the accomplishing
of them, did not always accomplish so punctually her
lady's command, but now and then would leave her
alone, as if that were her lady's behest. But the honest
presence of Camilla, the gravity of her face, and the
modesty of her carriage, was such, that it served as a
bridle to restrain Lothario's tongue. But the benefit
of Camilla's many virtues, setting silence to Lothario's
speech, resulted afterward to both their harms; for
though the tongue spoke not, yet did his thoughts
discourse, and had leisure afforded them to contemplate,
part by part, all the extremes of worth and beauty that
were cumulated in Camilla, potent to inflame a statue
of frozen marble, how much more a heart of flesh!
Lothario did only behold her in the time and space he
should speak unto her, and did then consider how
worthy she was to be loved. And this consideration
did by little and little give assaults to the respects
which he ought to have borne towards his friend
Anselmo ; a thousand times did he determine to absent
11.
G

98
THE HISTORY OF
himself from the city, and go where Anselmo should
never see him, nor he Camilla; but the delight he took
in beholding her did again withhold and hinder his
resolutions. When he was alone, he would condemn
himself of his mad design, and term himself a bad
friend and worse Christian; he made discourses and
comparisons between himself and Anselmo, all which
did finish in this point, that Anselmo's foolhardiness
and madness were greater than his own infidelity, and
that, if he might be as easily excused before God, for
that he meant to do, as he would be before men, he
needed not to fear any punishment should be inflicted
on him for the crime. Finally, Camilla's beauty and
worth, assisted by the occasion which the ignorant
husband had thrust into his fists, did wholly ruin
and overthrow Lothario his loyalty; and therefore,
without regarding any other thing than that to which
his pleasure conducted him, about three days after
Anselmo's departure (which time he had spent in a
continual battle and resistance of his contending
thoughts), he began to solicit Camilla with such trouble
of the spirits and so amorous words, as she was strucken
almost beside herself with wonder, and made him no
other answer, but, arising from the table, flung away in
a fury into her chamber. But yet, for all this dryness,
Lothario his hope (which is wont evermore to be born
at once with love) was nothing dismayed, but rather
accounted the more of Camilla, who, perceiving that in
Lothario which she never durst before to imagine, knew
not what she might do; but, it seeming unto her to be
a thing neither secure nor honest, to give him occasion
or leisure to speak unto him again, determined to send
one unto her husband Anselmo the very same night, as:
indeed she did, with a letter to recall him home to her
house. The subject of her letter was this.

DON QUIXOTE.
99
;
CHAPTER VII.
WHEREIN IS PROSECUTED THE HISTORY OF THE CURIOUS-
IMPERTINENT.
"EVEN as it is commonly said, that an army seems not
well without a general, or a castle without a constable,
so do I affirm, that it is much more indecent to see a
young married woman without her husband, when he
is not justly detained away by necessary affairs. I find
myself so ill disposed in your absence, and so impatient
and impotent to endure it longer, as, if you do not
speedily return, I shall be constrained to return back
unto my father, although I should leave your house
without any keeping; for the guard you appointed for
me, if it be so that he may deserve that title, looks
more, I believe, to his own pleasure, than to that which
concerns you. Therefore, seeing you have wit enough, I
will say no more; nor ought I to say more in reason.'
"Anselmo received the letter, and by it understood
that Lothario had begun the enterprise, and that Cam-
illa had answered to him according as he had hoped.
And, marvellous glad at the news, he answered his
wife by word of mouth, that she should not remove in
any wise from her house; for he would return with
all speed. Camilla was greatly admired at his answer,
which struck her into a greater perplexity than she was
at the first, being afraid to stay at home, and also to go
to her father. For by staying she endangers her
honesty; by going she should transgress her husband's
100
THE HISTORY OF
1
command. At last she resolved to do that which was
worst, which was to remain at home, and not to shun
Lothario's presence, lest she should give her servants
occasion of suspicion. And now she was grieved to
have written what she did to her husband, fearful lest
he should think that Lothario had noted in her some
token of lightness, which might have moved him to
lose the respect which otherwise was due unto her.
But, confident in her innocency, she cast her hopes in
God and her good thoughts, wherewithal she thought
to resist all Lothario's words, and by holding her
silent without making him any answer, without giving
any further account of the matter to her husband, lest
thereby she might plunge him in new difficulties and
contention with his friend, and did therefore bethink
her how she might excuse Lothario to Anselmo, when
he should demand the occasion that moved her to write
unto him that letter.
"With these more honest than profitable or discreet
resolutions, she gave ear the second day to Lothario,
who charged her with such resolution, as her constancy
began to stagger, and her honesty had enough to do
recurring to her eyes to contain them, lest they should
give any demonstration of the amorous compassion
which Lothario's words and tears had stirred in her
breast. Lothario noted all this, and it inflamed him
the more. Finally, he thought that it was requisite the
time and leisure which Anselmo's absence afforded him,
to lay closer siege to that fortress; and so he assaulted
her presumptuously, with the praises of her beauty, for
there is nothing which with such facility doth rend and
raze to the ground the proudly-crested turrets of
women's vanity, than the same vanity being dilated on
by the tongue of adulation and flattery. To be brief,
he did with all diligence undermine the rock of her
DON QUIXOTE..
ΙΟΙ
integrity with so warlike engines, as although Camilla
were made of brass, yet would she be overthrown, for
Lothario wept, entreated, promised, flattered, persisted
and feigned so feelingly, and with such tokens of truth,
as, traversing Camilla's care of her honour, he came in
the end to triumph over that which was least suspected,
and he most desired; for she rendered herself—even
Camilla rendered herself. But what wonder if Lothario's
amity could not stand on foot? A clear example,
plainly demonstrating that the amorous passion is only
vanquished by shunning it, and that nobody ought to
adventure to wrestle with so strong an adversary; for
heavenly forces are necessary for him that would
confront the violence of that passion, although human.
None but Leonela knew the weakness of her lady, for
from her the two bad friends and new lovers could not
conceal the matter; nor yet would Lothario discover to
Camilla her husband's pretence, or that he had given
him wittingly the opportunity whereby he arrived to
that pass, because she should not imagine that he had
gotten her lightly, and by chance, and did not purposely
solicit her.
"A few days after, Anselmo arrived to his house, and
did not perceive what wanted therein, to wit, that
which it had lost, and he most esteemed. From thence
he went to see his friend Lothario, whom he found at
home, and, embracing one another, he demanded of him
the news of his life or of his death. The news which
I can give thee, friend Anselmo,' quoth Lothario, ‘are,
that thou hast a wife who may deservedly be the
example and garland of all good women. The words
that I spoke unto her were spent on the air, my proffers
contemned, and my gifts repulsed, and besides, she
hath mocked me notably for certain feigned tears that
I did shed. In resolution, even as Camilla is the
102
THE HISTORY OF
pattern of all beauty, so is she a treasury wherein
modesty resides, courtesy and wariness dwell, and all
the other virtues that may beautify an honourable
woman, or make her fortunate. Therefore, friend, take
back thy money, for here it is ready, and I never had
occasion to employ it; for Camilla's integrity cannot be
subdued with so base things as are gifts and promises.
And, Anselmo, content thyself now with the proofs made
already, without attempting to make any further trial.
And seeing thou hast passed over the sea of difficulties
and suspicions with a dry foot, which may and are
wont to be had of women, do not eftsoons enter into
the profound depths of new inconveniences, nor take
thou any other pilot to make experience of the goodness
and strength of the vessel that Heaven hath allotted to
thee, to pass therein through the seas of this world;
but make account that thou art harboured in a safe
haven, and there hold thyself fast with the anchor of
good consideration, and so rest thee until death come
to demand his debt, from the payment whereof no
nobility or privilege whatsoever can exempt us.'
Anselmo rested singularly satisfied at Lothario's
discourse, and did believe it as firmly as if it were
delivered by an oracle; but did entreat him notwith-
standing to prosecute his attempt, although it were only
done for curiosity, and to pass away the time; yet not
to use so efficacious means as he hitherto practised; and
that he only desired him to write some verses in her
praise under the name of Chloris, for he would make
Camilla believe that he was enamoured on a certain
lady, to whom he did appropriate that name, that he
might celebrate her praises with the respect due to her
honour; and that if he would not take the pains to
invent them, that he himself would willingly compose
them. That is not needful,' quoth Lothario, 'for the
DON QUIXOTE.
103
Muses are not so alienated from me, but that they visit
me sometimes in the year. Tell you unto Camilla what
you have divined of my loves, and as for the verses, I
will make them myself; if not so well as the subject
deserves, yet at the least as artificially as I may devise
them.' The impertinent-curious man and his treacher-
ous friend having thus agreed, and Anselmo returned to
his house, he demanded of Camilla that which she
marvelled he had not asked before, that she should tell
unto him the occasion why she sent unto him the
letter? Camilla made answer, because it seemed unto
her that Lothario beheld her somewhat more immodestly
than when he was at home; but that now she did again
dissuade herself, and believed that it was but a light
surmise, without any ground, because that she perceived
Lothario to loathe her presence, or wish by any means
to be alone with her. Anselmo told her that she might
very well live secure for him, for that he knew Lothario's
affections were bestowed elsewhere, and that upon one of
the noblest damsels of the city, whose praises he solem-
nised under the name of Chloris, and that although he
were not, yet was there no cause to doubt of Lothario's
virtue, or the amity that was between them both. Here,
if Camilla had not been premonished by Lothario that
the love of Chloris was but feigned, and that he him-
self had told it to Anselmo to blind him, that he might
with less difficulty celebrate her own praises under the
name of Chloris, she had without doubt fallen into the
desperate toils of jealousy; but being already advertised,
she posted over that assault lightly. The day following,
they three sitting together at dinner, Anselmo requested
Lothario to repeat some one of the verses that he had
made to his beloved Chloris; for, seeing that Camilla
knew her not, he might boldly say what he pleased.
'Although she knew her,' quoth Lothario, yet would I

104
THE HISTORY OF
not therefore suppress any part of her praises. For when
any lover praiseth his lady for her beauty, and doth
withal tax her of cruelty, her credit incurs no danger.
But befall what it list, I composed yesterday a sonnet of
the ingratitude of Chloris, and is this ensuing :-
"A SONNET.
""Amidst the silence of the darkest night,
When sweetest sleep invadeth mortal eyes;
I poor account, to Heav'n and Chloris bright,
Give of the richest harms, which ever rise.
And at the time we Phoebus may devise,
Shine through the roseal gates of the Orient bright,
With deep accents and sighs, in wonted guise,
I do my plaints renew, with main and might.
And when the sun, down from his starry seat,
Directest rays toward the earth doth send,
My sighs I double and my sad regreet:
And night returns; but of my woes no end.
For I find always, in my mortal strife,
Heaven without ears, and Chloris likewise deaf.""
"Camilla liked the sonnet very well, but Anselmo best
of all; for he praised it, and said, that the lady must
be very cruel that would not answer such perspicuous
truths with reciprocal affection. But then Camilla
answered, 'Why, then, belike, all that which en-
amoured poets say is true?' 'Inasmuch as poets,'
quoth Lothario, 'they say not truth; but as they are
enamoured, they remain as short as they are true.'
'That is questionless,' quoth Anselmo, all to under-
prop and give Lothario more credit with Camilla, who
was as careless of the cause (her husband said so) as she
was enamoured of Lothario; and therefore with the
delight she took in his compositions, but chiefly know-
ing that his desires and labours were addressed to her-
self, who was the true Chloris, she entreated him to repcat
DON QUIXOTE.
105
some other sonnet or ditty, if he remembered any.
'Yes, that I do,' quoth Lothario; 'but I believe that
it is not so good as the first, as you may well judge;
for it is this:-
""A SONNET.
"I die, and if I cannot be believed,
My death's more certain, as it is most sure
To see me, at thy feet, of life deprived;
Rather than grieve, this thraldom to endure.
Well may I (in oblivious shades obscure)
Of glory, life, and favour be denied.
And yet even there, shall in my bosom pure,
The shape of thy fair face, engraved, be eyed.
For that's a relic, which I do reserve
For the last trances my contentions threaten,
Which 'midst thy rigour doth itself preserve.
O woe's the wight, that is by tempests beaten
By night, in unknown seas, in danger rife
For want of north, or haven, to lose his life.""
"Anselmo commended also this second sonnet as he
had done the first, and added by that means one link
to another in the chain wherewith he entangled him-
self, and forged his own dishonour; seeing, when
Lothario dishonoured him most of all, he said unto
him then that he honoured him most. And herc-
withal Camilla made all the links, that verily served
only to abase her down to the centre of contempt, seem
to mount her in her husband's opinion up to the height
of virtue and good fame.
"It befel soon after, that Camilla, finding herself alone
with her maiden, said to her, 'I am ashamed, friend
Leonela, to see how little I knew to value myself, seeing
that I made not Lothario spend some time at least in
the purchasing the whole possession of me, which I,
with a prompt will, bestowed upon him so speedily. I
106
THE HISTORY OF
"""
fear me that he will impute my hastiness to lightness,
without considering the force he used towards me, which
wholly hindered and disabled my resistance.' 'Let not
that afflict you, madam,' quoth Leonela; for it is no
sufficient cause to diminish estimation, that that be given
quickly which is to be given, if that in effect be good
that is given, and be in itself worthy of estimation; for
it is an old proverb, "that he that gives quickly, gives
twice." 'It is also said as well,' quoth Camilla, ““that
that which costeth little, is less esteemed." 'That
reason hath no place in you,' quoth Leonela, foras-
much as love, according as some have said of it, doth
sometimes fly, other times it goes; it runs with this
man, and goes leisurely with the other; it makes some
key-cold, and inflames others; some it wounds, and
some it kills; it begins the career of his desires in an
instant, and in the very same concludes it likewise. It
is wont to lay siege to the fortress in the morning, and
at night it makes it to yield, for there's no force able to
resist it; which being so, what do you wonder? or what
is it that you fear, if the same hath befallen Lothario,
seeing that love made of my lord's absence an instrument
to vanquish us? And it was forcible, that in it we
should conclude on it which love had before determined,
without giving time itself any time to lead Anselmo
that he might return, and with his presence leave the
work imperfect. For love hath none so officious or
better a minister to execute his desires than is occasion.
It serves itself of occasion in all his act, but most of all
at the beginning. And all this that I have said I know
rather by experience than hearsay, as I will some day
let you to understand; for, madam, I am likewise made
of flesh and lusty young blood. And as for you, Lady
Camilla, you did not give up and yield yourself presently,
but stayed until you had first seen in Lothario's eyes, his

DON QUIXOTE.
107
sighs, in his discourses, in his promises, and gifts, all
his soul, in which, and in his perfections, you might
read how worthy he is to be loved. And seeing this is
so, let not these scruples and nice thoughts assault or
further disturb your mind, but persuade yourself that
Lothario esteems you as much as you do him, and lives
with content and satisfaction, seeing that it was your
fortune to fall into the amorous snare, that it was his
good luck to catch you with his valour and deserts;
who not only hath the four S's which they say every
good lover ought to have, but also the whole A B C,
which if you will not credit, do but listen to me a while,
and I will repeat it to you by rote. He is, as it seems,
and as far as I can judge, Amiable, Bountiful, Courteous,
Dutiful, Enamoured, Firm, Gallant, Honourable, Illus-
trious, Loyal, Mild, Noble, Honest, Prudent, Quiet, Rich,
and the S's which they say; and besides True, Valorous.
The X doth not quader well with him, because it sounds
harshly. Y he is Young, and the Z he is Zealous of
thine honour.' Camilla laughed at her maiden's A B C,
and accounted her to be more practised in love-matters
than she herself had confessed, as indeed she was; for
then she revealed to her mistress how she and a certain
young man, well-born, of the city, did treat of love one
with another. Hereat her mistress was not a little
troubled in mind, fearing that her honour might be
greatly endangered by that means; she demanded
whether her affection had passed further than words?
And the maid answered very shamelessly and freely
that they did; for it is most certain, that this kind of
wretchless mistresses do also make their maidens care-
less and impudent; who, when they perceive their ladies
to falter, are commonly wont to halt likewise them-
selves, and care not that the world do know it.
"Camilla, seeing that error past remedy, could do no


108
THE HISTORY OF
more but entreat Leonela not to reveal anything of
their affairs to him she said was her sweetheart,
and that she should handle her matters discreetly
and secretly, lest they might come to Anselmo or
Lothario's notice. Leonela promised to perform her
will, but did accomplish her promise in such sort, as
she did confirm Camilla's fears that she should lose her
credit by her means. For the dishonest and bold girl,
after she had perceived that her mistress's proceedings
were not such as they were wont, grew so hardy, as she
gave entrance and brought her lover into her master's
house, presuming that, although her lady knew it, yet
would she not dare to discover it. For this among
other harms follows the sins of mistresses, that it makes
them slaves to their own servants, and doth oblige them
to them to conceal their dishonest and base proceed-
ings, as it fell out in Camilla, who, although she espied
Leonela, not once only, but sundry times together,
with her lover in a certain chamber of the house, she
not only dared not to rebuke her for it, but rather
gave her opportunity to hide him, and would remove
all occasion out of her husband's way, whereby he
might suspect any such thing.
“But all could not hinder Lothario from espying him
once, as he departed out of the house at the break of
the day; who, not knowing him, thought at the first it
was a spirit, but when he saw him post away, and cast
his cloak over his face, lest he should be known, he,
abandoning his simple surmise, fell into a new suspicion
which had overthrown them all, were it not that Camilla
did remedy it. For Lothario thought that he whom
he had seen issue out of Anselmo's house at so unseason-
able an hour, had not entered into it for Leonela's sake,
nor did he remember then that there was such a one as
Leonela in the world, but only thought that, as Camilla

DON QUIXOTE.
109
was lightly gotten by him, so belike she was won by
some other. For the wickedness of a bad woman
bringeth usually all these additions, that she loseth
her reputation even with him, to whom prayed and
persuaded she yieldeth herself; and he believeth that
she will as easily, or with more facility, consent to
others, and doth infallibly credit the least suspicion
which thereof may be offered.
"And it seems that Lothario in this instant was wholly
deprived of all reasonable discourse, and quite despoiled
of his understanding; for, without pondering of the
matter, impatient and kindled by the jealous rage that
inwardly gnawed his bowels, fretting with desire to be
revenged on Camilla, who had never offended him, he
came to Anselmo before he was up, and said to him,
'Know, Anselmo, that I have had these many days a
civil conflict within myself whether I should speak or
no, and I have used as much violence as I might to
myself, not to discover a thing unto you, which now it
is neither just nor reasonable I should conceal. Know
that Camilla's fortress is rendered, and subject to all
that I please to command; and if I have been somewhat
slow to inform thee this of truth, it was because I would
first see whether it proceeded of some light appetite in
her, or whether she did it to try me, and see whether
that love was still constantly continued, which I first
began to make unto her by thy order and licence. I
did also believe that if she had been such as she ought
to be, and her that we both esteemed her, she would
have by this time acquainted you with my importunacy ;
but seeing that she lingers therein, I presume that her
promises made unto me are true, that when you did
again absent yourself out of town, she would speak with
me in the wardrobe' (and it was true, for there Camilla
was accustomed to talk with him), 'yet would not I have

1 to
THE HISTORY OF
:
thee run rashly to take revenge, seeing the sin is not
yet otherwise committed than in thought, and perhaps
between this and the opportunity she might hope to
put it in execution, her mind would be changed, and
she repent herself of her folly. And therefore seeing
thou hast ever followed mine advice partly or wholly,
follow and keep one counsel that I will give unto thee
now, to the end that thou mayest after, with careful
assurance and without fraud, satisfy thine own will as
thou likest best. Feign thyself to be absent two or
three days as thou art wont, and then convey thyself
cunningly into the wardrobe, where thou mayest very
well hide thyself behind the tapestry, and then thou
shalt see with thine own eyes, and I with mine, what
Camilla will do; and if it be that wickedness which
rather ought to be feared than hoped for, thou mayest;
with wisdom, silence, and discretion, be the proper
executioner of so injurious a wrong.'
"Anselmo remained amazed, and almost besides him-
self, hearing his friend Lothario so unexpectedly to
acquaint him with those things in a time wherein
he least expected them; for now he esteemed Camilla
to have escaped victress from the forged assaults of
Lothario, and did himself triumph for glory of her
victory. Suspended thus and troubled, he stood silent
a great while looking on the earth, without once remov-
ing his eye from it; and finally, turning towards his
friend, he said, Lothario, thou hast done all that
which I could expect from so entire amity, and I do
therefore mean to follow thine advice in all things
precisely. Do therefore what thou pleasest, and keep
that secret which is requisite in so weighty and un-
expected an event.' All that I do promise,' quoth
Lothario; and so departed, wholly repented for that
he had told to Anselmo, seeing how foolishly he had
DON QUIXOTE.
111
proceeded, since he might have revenged himself on
Camilla very well, without taking a way so cruel and
dishonourable. There did he curse his little wit, and
abased his light resolution, and knew not what means
to use to destroy what he had done, or give it some
reasonable and contrary issue. In the end he resolved
to acquaint Camilla with the whole matter, and by
reason that he never missed of opportunity to speak
unto her, he found her alone the very same day; and
she, seeing likewise that she had fit time to speak unto
him, said, 'Know, friend Lothario, that a certain thing
doth pinch my heart in such manner, as it seems ready
to burst in my breast, as doubtlessly I fear me that in
time it will, if we cannot set a remedy to it. For such
is the immodesty of Leonela, as she shuts up a lover of
hers every night in this housë, and remains with him
until daylight, which so much concerns my credit, as
it leaves open a spacious field to him that sees the other
go out of my house at so unseasonable times, to judge
of me what he pleaseth; and that which most grieves
me is, that I dare not punish or rebuke her for it. For
she being privy to our proceedings, sets a bridle on me,
and constrains me to conceal hers; and hence I fear
will bad success befall us.' Lothario at the first sus-
pected that Camilla did speak thus to make him believe
that the man whom he had espied was Leonela's friend,
and none of hers; but seeing her to weep indeed, and
be greatly afflicted in mind, he began at last to give
credit unto the truth, and, believing it, was greatly
confounded and grieved for that he had done. And
yet, notwithstanding, he answered Camilla that she
should not trouble or vex herself any more; for he
would take such order, as Leonela's impudences should
be easily crossed and suppressed; and then did recount
unto her all that he had said to Anselmo, spurred on
112
THE HISTORY OF
by the furious rage of jealous indignation, and how her
husband had agreed to hide himself behind the tapestry
of the wardrobe, that he might from thence clearly
perceive the little loyalty she kept towards him; and
demanded pardon of her for that folly, and counsel to
redress it, and come safely out of the intricate labyrinth
whereinto his weak-eyed discourse had conducted him.
"Camilla, having heard Lothario's discourse, was
afraid and amazed, and with great anger and many
and discreet reasons did rebuke him, reviling the
baseness of his thoughts, and the simple and little
consideration that he had. But as women have
naturally a sudden wit for good or bad, much more
prompt than men, although when indeed they would
make discourses, it proves defective; so Camilla found
in an instant a remedy for an affair in appearance so
irremediable and helpless, and therefore bade Lothario
to induce his friend Anselmo to hide himself the next
day ensuing, for she hoped to take commodity out of
his being there for them both to enjoy one another with
more security than ever they had before; and without
wholly manifesting her proverb to him, she only
advertised him to have care that, after Anselmo were
hidden, he should presently come when Leonela called
for him, and that he should answer her as directly to
every question she proposed, as if Anselmo were not
in place. Lothario did urge her importunately to
declare her design unto him, to the end he might with
more security and advice obscure all that was necessary.
'I say,' quoth Camilla, 'there is no other observance
to be had, than only to answer me directly to what I
shall demand.' For she would not give him account
beforehand of her determination, fearful that he would
not conform himself to her opinion, which he took to
be so good, or else lest he would follow or seek any
DON QUIXOTE.
113
!
other, that would not prove after so well. Thus
departed Lothario; and Anselmo, under pretext that
he would visit his friend out of town, departed, and
returned covertly back again to hide himself, which he
could do the more commodiously, because Camilla and
Leonela did purposely afford him opportunity. Anselmo
having hidden himself with the grief that may be
imagined one would conceive, who did expect to see
with his own eyes an anatomy made of the bowels of
his honour, and was in danger to lose the highest
felicity that he accounted himself to possess in his
beloved Camilla; Camilla and Leonela, being certain
that he was hidden within the wardrobe, entered into
it, wherein scarce had Camilla set her foot, when,
breathing forth of a deep sigh, she spoke in this
manner :-
'Ah, friend Leonela! were it not better that, before
I put in execution that which I would not have thee
to know, lest thou shouldest endeavour to hinder it,
that thou takest Anselmo's poniard that I have sought
of thee, and pass this infamous breast of mine through
and through? but do it not, for it is no reason that I
should suffer for other men's faults. I will know, first
of all, what the bold and dishonest eyes of Lothario
noted in me, that should stir in him the presumption
to discover unto me so unlawful a desire as that which
he hath revealed, so much in contempt of his friend,
and to my dishonour. Stand at that window, Leonela,
and call him to me, for I do infallibly believe that he
stands in the street awaiting to effect his wicked
purpose. But first my cruel yet honourable mind shall
be performed.' 'Alas, dear madam,' quoth the wise
and crafty Leonela, 'what is it you mean to do with
that poniard? Mean you perhaps to deprive either
your own or Lothario's life therewithal? for whichso-
II.
H
..
:
114
+
THE HISTORY OF
ever of these things you do, shall redound to the loss
of your credit and fame. It is much better that you
dissemble your wrong, and give no occasion to the bad
man now to enter into this house, and find us here in
it alone. Consider, good madam, how we are but weak
women, and he is a man, and one resolute, and by
reason that he comes blinded by his bad and passionate
intent, he may peradventure, before you be able to put
yours in execution, do somewhat that would be worse
for you than to deprive you of your life. Evil befall
my master Anselmo, that ministers so great occasion to
impudency thus to discover her visage in our house.
And if you should kill him by chance, madam, as I
suspect you mean to do, what shall we do after with
the dead carcase? What said Camilla? We would
leave him here that Anselmo might bury him ; for it
is only just that he should have the agreeable task
of interring his own infamy. Make an end, then,
and call him, for methinks that all the time which I
spend in not taking due revenge for my wrong, turns
to the prejudice of the loyalty which I owe unto my
spouse.'
"Anselmo listened very attentively all the while, and
at every word that Camilla said, his thoughts changed.
But when he understood that she was resolved to kill
Lothario, he was about to come out and discover himself,
to the end that such a thing should not be done; but
the desire that he had to see wherein so brave and
honest a resolution would end, withheld him, deter-
mining then to sally out when his presence should be
needful to hinder it. Camilla about this time began
to be very weak and dismayed, and casting herself, as if
she had fallen into a trance, upon a bed that was in the
room, Leonela began to lament very bitterly, and to
say, 'Alas! wretch that I am, how unfortunate should
DON QUIXOTE.
115
I be, if the flower of the world's honesty, the crown of
good women, and the pattern of chastity should die
here between my hands!' Those and such other
things she said so dolefully, as no one could hear her
that would not deem her to be one of the most esteemed
and loyal damsels of the world, and take her lady for
another new and persecuted Penelope. Soon after,
Camilla returned to herself, and said presently, 'Why
goest thou not, Leonela, to call the most disloyal friend
of a friend that ever the sun beheld, or the night
concealed? Make an end, run, make haste, and let not
the fire of my choler be through thy stay consumed
and spent, nor the just revenge, which I hope to take,
pass over in threats or maledictions.' 'I go to call
him, madam,' quoth Leonela; 'but, first of all, you
must give me that poniard, lest you should do with it
in mine absence somewhat that would minister occasion
to us, your friends, to deplore you all the days of our
lives.' 'Go away boldly, friend Leonela,' said Camilla,
'for I shall do nothing in thine absence; for although
I be in thine opinion both simple and bold enough to
turn for mine honour, yet mean I not to be so much as
the celebrated Lucretia, of whom it is recorded that she
slew herself, without having committed any error, or
slain him first who was the principal cause of her
disgrace. I will die, if I must needs die, but I will be
satisfied and revenged on him that hath given me
occasion to come into this place to lament his boldness,
sprung without my default.'
"Leonela could scarce be entreated to go and call
Lothario, but at last she went out, and in the meantime
Camilla remained, speaking to herself these words:
'Good God! had not it been more discretion to have
dismissed Lothario, as I did many times before, than
thus to possess him, as I have done, with an opinion that
116
THE HISTORY OF
!
:
I am an evil and dishonest woman, at least all the while
that passeth, until mine acts shall undeceive him, and
teach him the contrary? It had been doubtlessly better;
but then should not I be revenged, nor my husband's
honour satisfied, if he were permitted to bear away so
clearly his malignity, or escape out of the snare wherein
his wicked thoughts involved him. Let the traitor pay
with his life's defrayment that which he attempted
with so lascivious a desire. Let the world know (if it
by chance shall come to know it) that Camilla did not
only conserve the loyalty due to her lord, but also took
revenge of the intended spoil thereof. But yet I
believe that it were best to give Anselmo first notice
thereof; but I did already touch it to him in the letter
which I wrote to him to the village, and I believe his
not concurring to take order in this so manifest an
abuse, proceeds of his too sincere and good meaning,
which would not, nor cannot believe that the like kind
of thought could ever find entertainment in the breast
of so firm a friend, tending so much to his dishonour.
And what marvel if I myself could not credit it for a
great many days together? Nor would I ever have
thought it, if his insolency had not arrived to that
pass, which the manifest gifts, large promises, and
continual tears he shed do give testimony. But why
do I make now these discourses? Hath a gallant resolu-
tion perhaps any need of advice? No, verily; therefore
avaunt treacherous thoughts, here we must use revenge.
Let the false man come in, arrive, die, and end, and let
after befall what can befall. I entered pure and un-
touched to his possession, whom Heaven bestowed on
me for mine, and I will depart from him purely. And
if the worst befall, I shall only be defiled by mine own
chaste blood, and the impure gore of the falsest friend
that ever amity saw in this world.' And saying of
DON QUIXOTE.
117
this, she pranced up and down the room with the
poniard naked in her hand, with such long and
unmeasurable strides, and making withal such gestures,
as she rather seemed defective of wit, and a desperate
ruffian than a delicate woman.
"All this Anselmo perceived very well from behind
the arras that covered him, which did not a little
admire him, and he thought that what he had seen
and heard was a sufficient satisfaction of far greater
suspicions than he had, and could have wished with
all his heart that the trial of Lothario's coming might be
excused, fearing greatly some sudden bad success. And
as he was ready to manifest himself, and to come out
and embrace and dissuade his wife, he withdrew himself,
because he saw Leonela return, bringing Lothario in by
the hand. And as soon as Camilla beheld him, she
drew a great stroke with the point of the poniard
athwart the wardrobe, saying, 'Lothario, note well
what I mean to say unto thee, for if by chance thou
beest so hardy as to pass over this line which thou
seest, ere I come as far as it, I will in the very same
instant stab myself into the heart with this poniard
which I hold in my hand. And before thou dost
speak or answer me any word, I would first have thee
to listen to a few of mine; for after, thou mayest say
what thou pleasest.
"First of all, I would have thee, O Lothario! to say
whether thou knowest my husband, Anselmo, and what
opinion thou hast of him? And next I would have
thee to tell me if thou knowest myself? Answer to
this without delay, nor do not stand long thinking on
what thou art to answer, seeing they are no deep
questions which I propose unto thee.' Lothario was
not so ignorant, but that from the very beginning, when
Camilla requested him to persuade her husband to hide
118
THE HISTORY OF
himself behind the tapestry, he had not fallen on the
drift of her invention; and therefore did answer her
intention so aptly and discreetly, as they made that
untruth pass between them for a more than manifest
verity; and so he answered to Camilla in this form:
'I did never conjecture, beautiful Camilla, that thou
wouldest have called me here to demand of me things
so wide from the purpose for which I come. If thou
doest it to defer yet the promised favour, thou mightest
have entertained it yet further off, for the good desired
afflicteth so much the more, by how much the hope to
possess it is near. But because thou mayest not accuse
me for not answering to thy demands, I say that I
know thy husband Anselmo, and both of us know one
another even from our tender infancy, and I will not
omit to say that which thou also knowest of our amity,
to make me thereby a witness against myself of the
wrong which love compels me to do unto him, yet
love is a sufficient excuse and excuser of greater errors
than are mine. Thee do I likewise know and hold in
the same possession that he doth; for were it not so,
I should never have been won by less perfections than
thine, to transgress so much that which I owe to myself
and to the holy laws of true amity, now broken and
violated by the tyranny of so powerful an adversary as
love hath proved.' 'If thou dost acknowledge that,'
replied Camilla, O mortal enemy of all that which
justly deserveth love! with what face darest thou
then appear before that which thou knowest to be the
mirror wherein he looks, in whom thou also oughtest
to behold thyself, to the end thou mightest perceive
upon how little occasion thou dost wrong him? But,
unfortunate that I am, I fall now in the reason which
hath moved thee to make so little account of thine own
duty, which was perhaps some negligent or light be-
7

DON QUIXC
119
haviour of mine, which I will
seeing that, as I presume, it hat
me deliberately, but rather thr
that women which think they a
times unwittingly commit. If
did I ever answer thy prayers wi
that might awake in thee the les
accomplish thine infamous desires?
onesty,
ed from
relessness
1 do some-
aitor, when
word or token
ow of hope to
When were not
thine amorous entreaties reprehended and dispersed by
the roughness and rigour of mine answers? When
were thy many promises and larger gifts ever believed
or admitted? But forasmuch as I am persuaded that
no man can persevere long time in the amorous
contention, who hath not been sustained by some hope,
I will attribute the fault of thine impertinence to
myself; for doubtlessly some carelessness of mine
hath hitherto sustained thy care, and therefore I will
chastise and give to myself the punishment which thy
fault deserveth. And because thou mightest see that
I, being so inhuman towards myself, could not possibly
be other than cruel to thee, I thought fit to call thee
to be a witness of the sacrifice which I mean to make to
the offended honour of my most honourable husband,
tainted by thee with the blackest note that thy malice
could devise, and by me, through the negligence that
I used, to shun the occasion, if I gave thee any, thus to
nourish and canonis thy wicked intentions.
I say
again, that the suspicion I have, that my little regard
hath engendered in thee these distracted thoughts, is
that which afflictet me most, and that which I mean
to chastise most with mine own hands; for if another
executioner punished me, then should my crime become
more notorious But before I do this, I, dying, will
kill, and carry him away with me, that shall end and
satisfy the greedy desire of revenge which I hope for,

120
HISTORY OF
and I
shall go,
inflict, it
who hath
efore mine eyes, wheresoever I
nt which disengaged justice shall
ng unbowed or suborned by him,
to so desperate terms.'
"And hav
lese words, she flew upon Lothario
with incredil
and lightness, and her poniard
naked, giving arguments and tokens that she
meant to stab him, as he himself was in doubt whether
her demonstrations were false or true; wherefore he
was driven to help himself by his wit and strength,
for to hinder Camilla from striking of him, who did so
lively act her strange guile and fiction, as to give it
colour, she would give it a blush of her own blood:
for perceiving, or else feigning that she could not hurt
Lothario, she said, 'Seeing that adverse fortune will
not satisfy thoroughly my just desires, yet at least it
shall not be potent wholly to cross my designs.' And
then striving to free the dagger hand, which Lothario
held fast, she snatched it away, and directing the
point to some place of her pody, which might hurt her,
but not very grievously, she stabbed herself, and hid
it in her apparel near unto the left shoulder, and fell
forthwith to the ground, as if she were in a trance.
Lothario and Leonela stood amazed at the unexpected
event, and still rested doubtful of the truth of the
matter, seeing Camilla to lie on the ground bathed in
her blood. Lothario ran, all wan and pale, very
hastily to her, to take out the poniard, and seeing how
little blood followed, he lost the fear that he had
conceived of her greater hurt, and began anew to
admire the cunning wit and discretion of the beautiful
Camilla; but yet that he might play the part of a
friend, he began a long and doleful lamentation over
Camilla's body, even as she were dead and began to
breathe forth many curses and execrations not only
DON QUIXOΤΕ.
121
against himself, but also against him that had employed
him in that unfortunate affair. And knowing that his
friend Anselmo did listen unto him, he said such
things as would move a man to take more compassion
of him than of Camilla herself, although they accounted
her dead. Leonela took her up between her arms, and
laid her on the bed, and entreated Lothario to go out,
and find some one that would undertake to cure her
secretly. She also demanded of him his advice,
touching the excuse they might make to Anselmo con-
cerning her mistress her wound, if he came to town
before it were fully cured.
"He answered, that they might say what they pleased,
for he was not in a humour of giving any counsel worth
the following; and only said this, that she should
labour to stanch her lady's blood; for he meant to go
there whence they should hear no news of him ever
after. And so departed out of the house with very
great tokens of grief and feeling; and when he was
alone in a place where nobody perceived him, he blest
himself a thousand times to think of Camilla's art, and
the gestures, so proper and accommodated to the purpose,
used by her maid Leonela. He considered how assured
Anselmo would remain that he had a second Portia to
wife, and desired to meet him, that they might celebrate
together the fiction, and the best dissembled truth that
could be ever imagined. Leonela, as is said, stanched
her lady's blood, which was just as much as might serve
to colour her invention and no more; and, washing the
wound with some wine, she tied it up the best that she
could, saying such words whilst she cured her as were
able, though nothing had been done before, to make
Anselmo believe that he had an image of honesty in
Camilla. To the plaints of Leonela, Camilla added others,
terming herself a coward of base spirit, since she wanted
:

122
THE HISTORY OF
time (being a thing so necessary) to deprive her life
which she hated so mortally; she demanded counsel of
her maiden, whether she would tell or conceal all that
success to her beloved spouse. And she answered, that
it was best to conceal it, lest she should engage her
husband to be revenged on Lothario, which would not
be done without his very great peril, and that every good
wife was bound, not to give occasion to her husband of
quarrelling, but rather to remove from him as many as
was possible. Camilla answered, that she allowed of
her opinion, and would follow it; and that in any sort
they must study some device to cloak the occasion of
her hurt from Anselmo, who could not choose but
espy it. To this Leonela answered, that she herself
knew not how to lie, no, not in very jest itself. 'Well,
friend,' quoth Camilla, and I, what do I know? for I
dare not to forge or report an untruth if my life lay on
it. And if we know not how to give it a better issue, it
will be better to report the naked truth than to be over-
taken in a leasing.' 'Do not trouble yourself, madam,
quoth Leonela; 'for I will bethink myself of somewhat
between this and to-morrow morning, and perhaps the
wound may be concealed from him, by reason that it
is in the place where it is; and Heaven perhaps may be
pleased to favour our so just and honourable thoughts.
Be quiet, good madam, and labour to appease your
alteration of mind, that my lord at his return may not
find you perplexed; and leave all the rest to God's and
my charge, who doth always assist the just.'
"With highest attention stood Anselmo listening and
beholding the tragedy of his dying honours, which the
personages thereof had acted with so strange and forcible
effects, as it verily seemed that they were transformed
into the opposite truth of their well-contrived. fiction.
He longed greatly for the night and leisure to get out


DON QUIXOTE.
123

of his house, that he might go and congratulate with
his good friend Lothario, for the precious jewel that he
had found in this last trial of his wife. The mistress
and maiden had as great care to give him the oppor-
tunity to depart; and he, fearing to lose it, issued out
in a trice, and went presently to find Lothario, who
being found, it is not possible to recount the embrace-
ments he gave unto him, the secrets of his contentment
that he revealed, or the attributes and praises that he
gave to Camilla. All which Lothario heard, without
giving the least argument of love; having represented
to his mind at that very time, how greatly deceived his
friend lived, and how unjustly he himself injured him.
And although that Anselmo noted that Lothario took
no delight at his relation, yet did he believe that the
cause of his sorrow proceeded from having left Camilla
wounded, and he himself given the occasion thereof;
and therefore, among many other words, said unto him,
that there was no occasion to grieve at Camilla's hurt, it
doubtlessly being but light, seeing she and her maid had
agreed to hide it from him; and that according unto
this there was no great cause of fear, but that from
thenceforward he should live merrily and contentedly
with him, seeing that by his industry and means he
found himself raised to the highest felicity that might
be desired; and therefore would from thenceforth
spend his idle times in writing of verses in Camilla's
praise, that he might eternise her name, and make it
famous in ensuing ages. Lothario commended his
resolution therein, and said that he for his part would
also help to raise up so noble an edifice; and herewithal
Anselmo rested the most soothingly and contentedly
deceived that could be found in the world. And then
himself took by the hand to his house, believing that
he bore the instrument of his glory, the utter perdition

124
THE HISTORY OF

of his fame. Camilla entertained him with a frowning
countenance, but a cheerful mind. The fraud rested
unknown a while, until, at the end of certain months,
fortune turned the wheel, and the wickedness that was
so artificially cloaked, issued to the public notice of the
world; and Anselmo his impertinent curiosity cost him
his life."

`DON QUIXOTE.
125/
CHAPTER VIIL
WHEREIN IS ENDED THE HISTORY OF TE CURIOUS-
IMPERTINENT: AND LIKEWISE R! JUNTED THE
ROUGH ENCOUNTER AND CONFLICT PASED BETWEEN
DON QUIXOTE AND CERTAIN BAGSF RED WINE.
A LITTLE more of the novel did rt unread, when
Sancho Panza, all perplexed, ran o of the chamber
where his lord reposed, crying asid as he could,
"Come, good sirs, speedily, and assist my lord, who is
engaged in one of the most terrible battles that ever
mine eyes have seen. I swear that he hath given such
a blow to the giant, my lady the Princess Micomicona
her enemy, as he hath cut his
as a turnip."
ead quite off as round
aoth the curate (leaving
e reading of his novel).
What a devil, man, how
"What sayest thou, friend?"
off at that word to prosecute
"Art thou in thy wits, San
can that be, seeing the giant dwells at least two thousand
leagues from hence?" By this they heard a marvellous
great noise within the chamber, and that Don Quixote
cried out aloud, "Stay, false thief! robber, stay! for
since thou art here, thy scimitar shall but little aval
thee." And therewithal it seemed that he struck a
number of mighty blows on the walls. And Sancho
said, “There is no need to stand thus listening abroad,
but rather that you go in and part the fray, or else assist
my lord; although I think it be not very necessary,
for the giant is questionless dead by this, and giving

126
THE HISTORY OF
all
great
in pie
Quixote
of the wir
account for the ill life he led; for I saw his blood run
the house, and his head cut off, which is as
great wine bag." "I am content to be hewn
quoth the innkeeper, hearing of this, "if Don
Don devil have not given some blow to one
bags that stood filled at his bed's head, and
the shed w e must needs be that which seems blood to
this good nn." And saying so, he entered into the
room, and a the rest followed him, where they found
Don Quixote in the strangest guise that may be
imagined. He was in his shirt, the which was not long
enough before cover his thighs, and it was six fingers
shorter behind. His legs were very long and lean, full
of hair, and ho ble dirty. He wore on his head a
little red but ve greasy nightcap, which belonged to
the innkeeper. He had wreathed on his left arm the
coverlet of his bed; on which Sancho looked very often
and angrily, as one at knew well the cause of his own
malice to it: and ins right hand he gripped his naked
sword, wherewithal 1 laid round about him many a
thwack; and withal ke as if he were in battle with
some giant. And thest of all was, that he held not
his eyes open; for he windeed asleep, and dreaming
that he was in fight with giant. For the imagina-
tion of the adventure which he had undertaken to
finish, was so bent upon it, as it made him to dream
that he was already arrived at the kingdom of Micomi-
con, and that he was then in combat with his enemy,
and he had given so many blows on the wine-bags,
supposing them to be giants, as all the whole chamber
flowed with wine. Which being perceived by the
host, all inflamed with rage, he set upon Don Quixote
with dry fists, and gave unto him so many blows that
if Cardenio and the curate had not taken him away,
he would doubtlessly have finished the war of the

DON QUIXOTE.
127
giant; and yet with all this did not the poor knig
awake, until the barber brought in a great
of cold water from the well, and threw it al
ht
1eful
a clap
erein he
upon him, and therewithal Don Quixote aed, but
not in such sort as he perceived the manner
was. Dorothea, seeing how short and h
champion was arrayed, would not go i
conflict of her combatant and his adversa
thin her
to see the
Sancho went up and down the floor seching for the
giant's head, and seeing that he could not find it he
said, “Now I do see very well that all the things of this
house are enchantments, for the last Ime that I was
here, in this very same room, I got many blows and
buffets, and knew not who did strime, nor could I
see anybody; and now the head a
ears not, which I
saw cut off with mine own eyes, a yet the blood ran
as swiftly from the body as water would from a foun-
tain." "What blood, or what foutain dost thou tattle
of here, thou enemy of God and is saints?" quoth the
innkeeper. "Thou thief, dost thou not see that the blood
than these wine-bags
and the fountain is no other th
ll wi
*}
he
id
which are slashed here and wine red that swims up
and down this chame I wish that I may see his
soul swimming in he
did bore them!" "I know
nothing,” replied Sanch, "but this, that if I cannot
find the giant's head, I shall become so unfortunate, as
mine earldom will dissolve like salt cast into water.”
And certes, Sancho awake was in worse case than his
master sleeping, so much had his lord's promiss
distracted him. The innkeeper, on the other side, was
at his wits' end, to see the humour of the squiz and
unhappiness of his lord, and swore that it should not
succeed with them now as it had done the other time,
when they went away without payment; and that now
the privileges of chivalry should not any whit avail

128
THE HISTORY OF
him, but he should surely pay both the one and the
a, even for the very patches that were to be
bored wine-bags.
othe
set on
The
believin
after it com
he laid him
"Well may
from hencefo
tunate wretch
from this day
unto you, seeing
and through he
so happily accom
Sancho, hearing
te held fast Don Quixote by the hands, who
at he had achieved the adventure, and was
into the Princess Micomicona her presence,
lf on his knees before the curate, saying,
ur greatness, high and famous lady, live
secure from any danger that this unfor-
may do unto you; and I am also freed
orward from the promise that I made
have, by the assistance of the heavens,
favour by whom I live and breathe,
ished it." "Did not I say so?" quoth
his master. "Yea, I was not drunk.
See if my master hh not powdered the giant by this?
The matter is ques onless, and the earldom is mine
own." Who would hot laugh at these raving fits of
All of them laughed save the
himself for anger to the devil
And the barber, Cardenio,
t
the master and man
innkeeper, who gave
more than a hundred tes.
and the curate, got Don Quixote to bed again, not with-
out much ado, who presently fell asleep with tokens of
marvellous weariness.
it him sleeping, and
went out to comfort Sancho Panza for the grief he had,
because he could not find the giant's head; but yet had
more do to pacify the innkeeper, who was almost out
of his wits for the unexpected and sudden death of his
wine-bags,
T
The hostess, on the other side, went up and down
whining and saying, "In an ill season and an unlucky
hour ad this knight-errant enter into my house, alas !
and I would that mine eyes had never seen him, seeing
he costs me so dear. The last time that he was here,
he went away scot free for his supper, bed, straw,
and

DON QUIXOTE.
129
barley, both for himself and his man, his horse and his
ass, saying that he was a knight-adventurer and God
give to him ill venture, and to all the other adventurers
of the world!) and was not therefore bound to pay any-
thing, for so it was written in the statute of chivalry.
And now for his cause came the other gentleman, and
took away my good tail, and hath returned it me
back with two quarters of damage; for all the hair is
fallen off, and it cannot stand my husband any more
in stead for the purpose he had it; ad for an end and
conclusion of all, to break my wine-bags and shed my
wine: I wish I may see as much of his blood shed.
And do not think otherwise; for, by my father's old
bones and the life of my mother, they shall pay mc
every doit, one quart upon another, or else I will never
be called as I am, nor be mine wn father's daughter."
These and such like words spake the innkeeper's
wife with very great fury, and was seconded by her
good servant Maritornes. The daughter held her peace,
and would now and then smile a little. But master
parson did quiet and pacify all, by promising to satisfy
them for the damages as well as he might, as well for
the wine as for the baggut chiefly for her tail, the
which was so much accoed of and valued so highly.
Dorothea did comfort Sancho, saying to him, that,
whensoever it should be verified that his lord had slain
the giant, and established her quietly in her kingdom,
she would bestow upon him the best earldom there of.
With this he took courage, and assured the princess that
he himself had seen the giant's head cut off; and for a
more certain token thereof, he said that he had a beard
that reached him, own to his girdle; and that if the
head could not n be found, it was by reason that all
the affairs of th use were guided by enchantment,
as he had made
nce to his the last time that
II,
I

130
THE HISTORY OF
he was lodged therein. Dorothea replied that she was
of the same opinion, and bade him to be of good cheer,
for all would be well ended to his heart's desire. All
parties being quiet, the curate resolved to finish the end
of his novel, ecause he perceived that there rested but
a little unread thereof. Cardenio, Dorothea, and all
the rest entreated him earnestly to finish it. And he
desiring to delight them all herein and recreate himself,
did prosecute the tale in this manner :—
"It after befel that Anselmo grew so satisfied of his
wife's honesty as he led a most contented and secure
life. And Camilla did for the nonce look sourly upon
Lothario, to the end Anselmo might construe her mind
amiss. And for a greater confirmation thereof, Lothario
requested Anselmo to use his coming any more to
his house, seeing that learly perceived how Camilla
could neither brook hi company nor presence. But
the hoodwinked Anselmo answered him that he
would in no wise consent thereunto; and in this
manner did weave his own dishonour a thousand ways,
thinking to work his contentment. In this season, such
was the delight that Leonela took also in her affections,
as she suffered herself to be
rne away by them head-
longly, without any care or gard, confident because
her lady did cover it, yea, and sometimes instructed her
how she might put her desires in practice, without any
fear or danger. But finally, Anselmo heard on a night
somebody walk in Leonela's chamber, and, being
desirous to know who it was, as thought to enter,
he felt the door to be held fast agairst him, which gave
him a greater desire to open it and therefore he
struggled so long, and used such vidence, as he threw
open the door, and entered just at the time that another
leaped out at the window; and th
overtake him, or herein h
re he ran out to
know him, but
Y

DON QUIXOTE.
131
could neither compass the one nor the othey reason
that Leonela, embracing him hardly, withh
said, Pacify yourself, good sir, and be
him and
troubled,
be
Anselmo
nor follow him that was here; for he is onnat belongs
to me, and that so much, as he is my spoo
would not believe her, but rather, blind with rage, he
drew out his poniard and would have wounded her,
saying, that she should presently tell him the truth, or
else he would kill her. She, distracted with fear, said,
without noting her own words, 'Kill me not, sir, and
I will acquaint you with things which concern you more
than you can imagine.' 'Say quickly, then,' quoth
Anselmo, 'or else thou shalt die.' 'It will be impos-
sible,' replied Leonela, 'for me speak anything now,
I am so affrighted; but give respite till morning, and I
will recount unto you things that will marvellously
astonish you; and in the meantime rest secure, that he
which leaped out of the window is a young man of this
city, betwixt whom and mae hath passed a promise of
marriage.' Anselmo was somewhat satisfied by these
words, and therefore resolved to expect the term which
she had demanded to open her mind; for he did not
suspect that he should hear anything of Camilla, by
reason he was already so assured of her virtue. And
so, departing out of the chamber, and shutting ap
Leonela therein, threatening her withal that she should
never depart thence until she had said all that she
promised to reveal unto him, he went preserítly to
Camilla, to tell unto her all that which his maiden had
said, and the pro ise she had passed, to disclose greater
and more imposant things. Whether Camilla, hearing
this, were perplexed or no, I leave to the discreet
reader's judgment; for such was the Year which she
conceived, believing certainly (as it was to be doubted)
that Leonea would tell to Anselmo sill that she knew of


}

132
THE HISTORY OF
her disloty, as she had not the courage to expect and
see whet
But the
and some re
her surmise would become false or no.
same night, as soon as she perceived
Anselmo to tasleep, gathering together her best jewels
ceived of ausey, she departed out of her house unper-
and went to Lothario's lodging, to whom
she recounted all that had passed, and requested him
either to leave her in some safe place, or both of them
to depart to some place where they might live secure
out of Anselmo's reach. The confusion that Camilla
struck into Lothario was such as he knew not what to
say, and much less how to resolve himself what he
might do. But at last, he determined to carry Camilla
to a monastery when his sister was prioress; to
which she easily condes ended: and therefore Lothario
departed, and left her there with all the speed that the
case required, and did also absent himself presently
from the city, without acquainting anybody with his
departure.
Anselmo, as soon as it was day, without heeding the
absence of his wife, arose and went to the place where
he had shut up Leonela, with desire to know of her
what she had promised to acquaint him withal. He
pened the chamber door, and entered, but could find
nobody therein, but some certain sheets knit together
and tied to the window, as a certain sign how Leonela
had made an escape by that way.
Wherefore he re-
turneda very sad to tell to Camilla the adventure; but
when he could neither find her at bed nor in the whole
house, he remained astonished, and demanded for her
of his servants, but none of them cou tell him any-
thing. And as he searched for her, he happened to see
her coffers liepen and most of her jewels wanting;
and herewithal fell into the true account of his dis-
grace, and that Leonela was not the cause of his

}

DON QUIXOTE.
misfortune, and so departed out of his buse sad and
pensive, even as he was, half ready and inapparelled,
to his friend Lothario, to recount unto him his disaster:
but when he found him to be likewise absented, and
that the servants told him how their master was
departed the very same night, and had borne away
with him all his money, he was ready to run out of
his wits. And to conclude, he returned to his own
house again, wherein he found n creature, man or
woman, for all his folk were dearted, and had left
the house alone and desert. He knew not what he
might think, say, or do; and then his judgment began
to fail him. There he did contemplate and behold
himself in an instant, without a wife, a friend, and
servants; abandoned (to his seeming) of Heaven that
covered him, and chiefly without honour; for he
clearly noted his own perdition in Camilla's crime.
In the end he resolved, after he had bethought himself
a great while, to go to his friend's village, wherein he
had been all the while that he afforded the leisure to
contrive that disaster. And so, shutting up his house,
he mounted a-horseback, and rode away in langushing
and doleful wise. And scarce had he ridden the half-
way, when he was so fiercely assaulted by his thoughts,
as he was constrained to alight, and, tying his horse to
a tree, he leaned himself to the trunk thereof, and
breathed out a thousand pitiful and dolorous sighs ;
and there he abode until it was almost nights about
which hour espied a man to come from the city a-horse-
back by the same way, and, having saluted him, he
demanded of him what news he brought from Florence.
The citizen replied, 'The strangest that had happened
there many a day; for it is there reported publicly
that Lothari, the great friend of the rich man, hath
carried aw the said Anselmo's wife Camilla this
7


HE HISTORY OF
night, for shs also missing: all which a waiting-
maid of Carla's hath confessed, whom the governor
apprehended yesternight as she slipped down at a
window by a pair of sheets out of the said Anselmo's
house. I know not particularly the truth of the affair,
but well I wot that all the city is amazed at the
accident; for such a fact would not be as much as
surmised from the great and familiar amity of them
two, which was so uch as they were called, "The Two
Friends."
• Is
: perhaps yet known,' replied
Anselmo, 'which ay Lothario and Camilla have
taken?' 'In no wise,' quoth the citizen, although
the governor hath used all possible diligence to find
them out.' 'Farewell, then, good sir,' said Anselmo.
And so
'And with you, sir,' said the traveller.
departed.
"With these so unfortunate news poor Anselmo
arrived, not only to terms of losing his wits, but also
well-nigh of losing his life; and therefore, arising as
well as he might, he came to his friend's house, who
had heard nothing yet of his disgrace; but perceiving
him to arrive so wan, pined, and dried up, he presently
conjectured that some grievous evil afflicted him.
Anselmo requested him presently that he might be
carried to his chamber, and provided of paper and ink
to write withal. All was done, and he left in bed, and
alone, for so he desired them; and also that the door
should be fast locked. And being alone, the imagina-
tion of his misfortune gave him such a terrible charge,
as he clearly perceived that his life would shortly fail
him, and therefore resolved to leave notice of the
cause of his sudden and unexpected death; and there-
fore he began to write it; but before he could set an
end to his discourse, his breath failed, and he yielded
up his life into the hands of sorrow, whichis imperti-

DON QUIXOTE
135
nent curiosity had stirred up in him. The gentleman
of the house, seeing that it grew late, and that Anselmo
had not called, determined to enter, and know whether
his indisposition passed forward, and he found him
lying on his face, with half of his body in the bed, and
the other half leaning on the table whereon he lay,
with a written paper unfolded, and, held the pen also
yet in his hand. His host drew near unto him and,
first of all, having called him, he took him by the
hand; and seeing that he answered not, and that it
was cold, he knew that he was dead; and, greatly per-
plexed and grieved thereat, he called in his people,
that they might also be witnesses of the disastrous
success of Anselmo; and after all, he took the paper
and read it, which he knew to be written with his own
hand, the substance whereof was this :--
"A foolish and impertinent desire hath despoiled me
of life. If the news of my death shall arrive to Camilla,
let her also know that I do pardon her, for she was not
bound to work miracles; nor had I any need to desire
that she should work them. And seeing I was the
builder and contriver of mine own dishonour, there
is no reason'—
"Hitherunto did Anselmo write, by which it appeared
that his life end in that point, ere he could set
an end to the reason he was to give. The next day
ensuing, the gentleman his friend acquainted Anselmo's
kinsfolk with his death; the which had already know-
ledge of his misfortune, and also of the monastery
wherein Camilla had retired herself, being almost in
terms to accompany her husband in that forcible
voyage; not for the news of his death, but for grief of
others which she had received of her absent friend.
It is said that although she was a widow, yet would
she neither depart out of the monastery, nor become a



136
HE HISTORY OF
religious won, until she had received within a few
days after news how Lothario was slain in a battle
given by Monsieur de Lautrec, to the great Captain
Gonzalo Fernandez of Cordova, in the kingdom of
Naples; and that was the end of the late repentant
friend, the which being known to Camilla, she made
a profession, and shortly after deceased between the
rigorous hands of sorrow and melancholy: and this
was the end of them all, sprung from a rash and
inconsiderate beginning."
"This novel," quoth the curate, having read it, "is a
pretty one; but yet I cannot persuade myself that it
is true, and if it be a fiction, the author erred therein;
for it cannot be imagined that any husband would be
so foolish as to make so costly an experience as did
Anselmo but if this accident had been devised betwixt
a gentleman and his love, then were it possible; but
being between man and wife, it contains somewhat
that is impossible and unlikely, but yet I can take no
exception against the manner of recounting thereof."
}


DON QUIXOTE.
137
CHAPTER IX.
WHICH TREATS OF MANY RARE SUCCESSES BEFALLEN
IN THE INN.
WHILST they discoursed thus, the innkeeper, who
stood all the while at the door, said, "Here comes a
fair troop of guests, and if they will here alight we
may sing Gaudeamus." "What folk is it?" quoth
Cardenio. "Four men on horseback," quoth the host,
"and ride jennet-wise, with lances and targets, and
masks on their faces; and with them comes likewise a
woman apparelled in white, in a side-saddle, and her
face also masked, and two lackeys that run with them
a-foot." "Are they near?" quoth the curate. "So
near,” replied the innkeeper, "as they do now arrive.”
Dorothea hearing him say so, covered her face, and
Cardenio entered into Don Quixote's chamber; and
scarce had they leisure to do it, when the others of
whom the host spake, entered into the inn, and the
four horsemen alighting, which were all of very comely
and gallant disposition, they went to help down the
lady that rode in the side-saddle, and one of them,
taking her down in his arms, did seat her in a chair
that stood at the chamber door, into which Cardenio
had entered: and all this while neither she nor they
took off their masks, or spake a word, only the gentle-
woman, at her sitting down in the chair, breathed forth
a very deep sigh, and let fall her arms like a sick and
dismayed person. The lackeys carried away their




138
THE HISTORY OF
1
horses to the stable. Master curate seeing and noting
all this, and qurious to know what they were that came
to the inn in so unwonted an attire, and kept such
profound silence therein, went to the lackeys and
demanded of one of them that which he desired to
know, who answered, "In good faith, sir, I cannot tell
you what folk this is; only this I know, that they
seem to be very noble, but chiefly he that went and
took down the lady in his arms that you see there;
and this I say, because all the others do respect
him very much, and nothing is done but what he
ordains and commands." "And the lady, what is
she?" quoth the curate. "I can as hardly inform
you," quoth the lackey "for I have not once seen
her face in all this journey; yet I have heard her often
groan and breathe out so profound sighs, as it seems she
would give up the ghost at every one of them. And it
is no marvel that we should know no more than we
have said, for my companion and myself have been
in their company but two days; for they encountered us
on the way, and prayed and persuaded us to go with
them unto Andalusia, promising that they would re-
compense our pains largely." And hast thou heard
them name one another?" said the curate.
truly,” answered the lackey; "for they all travel with
such silence, as it is a wonder; for you shall not hear
a word among, but the sighs and throbs of the poor
lady, which do move in us very great compassion.
And we do questionless persuade ourselves that she is
forced wheresoever she goes: and as it may be collected
by her attire, she is a nun, or, as is most probable, goes
to be one; and perhaps she goeth so sorrowful as it
seems because she hath no desire to become religious."
"It may very well be so," quoth the curate. And so
leaving them, he returned to the place where he had
I
“No,




DON QUIXOTE.
139
left Dorothea; who, hearing the disguiseady to sigh
so often, moved by the native compassion of that sex,
drew near her and said, "What ails you, good madam?
I pray you think if it be any of those inconveniences
to which women be subject, and whereof they may have
use and experience to cure them, I do offer unto you my
service, assistance, and good-will to help you, as much
as lies in my power." To all those compliments the
doleful lady answered nothing; and although Dorothea
made her again larger offers of her service, yet stood
she ever silent, until the bemasked gentleman (whom
the lackey said the rest did obey) came over and said
to Dorothea, “Lady, do not trouble yourself to offer
anything to that woman, for she is of a most ungrateful
nature, and is never wont to gratify any courtesy, nor
do you seek her to answer unto your demands, if you
would not hear some lie from her mouth."
"I never

said any," quoth the silent lady, "but rather because I
am so true and sincere, without guiles, I am now
drowned here in those misfortunes; and of this I
would have thyself bear witness, seeing my pure truth
makes thee to be so false and disloyal."
Cardenio overheard those words very clear and
distinctly, as one that stood so near unto her that said
them as only Don Quixote's chamber door stood
between them. And instantly when he heard them,
he said with a very loud voice, "Good God! what is
this that I hear? What voice is this that hath touched
mine ear?" The lady, moved with a sudden passion,
turned her head at those outcries, and seeing she could
not perceive him that gave them, she got up, and
would have entered into the room, which the gentle-
man espying, withheld her, and would not let her stir
out of the pc and with the alteration and sudden
motion the
her face, and she discovered



140
THE HISTORY OF
an incomparable beauty, and an angelical countenance,
although it was somewhat wan and pale, and turned
here and there with her eyes to every place so earnestly
as she seemed to be distracted; which motions, with-
out knowing the reason why they were made, struck
Dorothea and the rest that beheld her into very great
compassion. The gentleman holding her very strongly
fast by the shoulders, the mask he wore on his own face
was falling; and he being so busied could not hold it
up, but in the end fell wholly. Dorothea, who had like-
wise embraced the lady, lifting up her eyes by chance,
saw that he which did also embrace the lady was her
spouse Don Fernando; and scarce had she known him,
when, breathing out a long and most pitiful "Alas!"
from the bottom of her heart, she fell backward in a
trance; and if the barber had not been by good hap
at hand, she would have fallen on the ground with all
the weight of her body. The curate presently repaired
to take off the veil of her face and cast water thereon:
and as soon as he did discover it, Don Fernando, who
was he indeed that held fast the other, knew her, and
looked like a dead man as soon as he viewed her, but
did not all this while let go Lucinda, who was the
other whom he held so fast, and that laboured so much
to escape out of his hands. Cardenio likewise heard
the "Alas!" that Dorothea said when she fell into a
trance, and, believing that it was his Lucinda, issued
out of the chamber greatly altered, and the first he
espied was Don Fernando, which held Lucinda fast,
who forthwith knew him. And all the three-Lucinda,
Cardenio, and Dorothea-stood dumb and amazed, as
folk that knew not what had befallen unto them. All
of them held their peace, and beheld one another:
Dorothea looked on Don Fernando Da- ernando on
Cardenio, Cardenio on Luc

nda again
DON QUIXOTE.
141
1/

?
on Cardenio; but Lucinda was the firs that broke
silence, speaking to Don Fernando in this manner:
"Leave me off, Lord Fernando, I conjure thee, by that
thou shouldst be, for that which thou art and if thou
wilt not do it for any other respect, let me cleave to
the wall whose ivy I am; to the supporter from whom
neither thy importunity nor threats, promises or gifts,
could once deflect me. Note how Heaven, by unusual,
unfrequented, and from us concealed ways, hath set
my true spouse before mine eyes; and thou dost know
well, by a thousand costly experiences, that only death
is potent to blot forth his remembrance out of my
memory. Let, then, so manifest truths be of power (if
thou must do none other) to convert thine affliction
into rage, and thy good-will into despite, and there-
withal end my life; for if I may render up the ghost
in the presence of my dear spouse, I shall account it
fortunately lost. Perhaps by my death he will remain
satisfied of the faith which I ever kept sincere towards
him until the last period of my life." By this time
Dorothea was come to herself, and listened to most of
Lucinda's reasons, and by them came to the knowledge
of herself. But seeing Don Fernando did not yet let
her depart from between his arins, nor answer anything
to her words, encouraging herself the best that she
might, she arose, and, kneeling at his feet, and shedding
a number of crystal and penetrating tears, she spoke
to him thus:
"If it be not so, my lord, that the beams of that sun
which thou holdest eclipsed between thine arms do
darken and deprive those of thine eyes, thou mightest
have by this perceived how she that is prostrated at
thy feet is the unfortunate (until thou shalt please) and
the disastrous Dorothea. I am that poor humble
countrywoman whom thou, either through thy bounty,



142
THE HISTORY OF
or for thy pasure, didst deign to raise to that height
that she might call thee her own. I am she which,
some time iminured within the limits of honesty, did
lead a most contented life, until it opened the gates of
her recollection and wariness to thine importunity, and
seeming just and amorous requests, and rendered
up to
thee the keys of her liberty; a gift by thee so ill re-
compensed, as the finding myself in so remote a place
as this wherein you have met with me, and I seen you,
may clearly testify; but yet for all this, I would not
have you to imagine that I come here guided by dis-
honourable steps, being only hitherto conducted by the
tracts of dolour and feeling, to see myself thus forgotten
by thee. It was thy will that I should be thine own,
and thou didst desire it in such a manner, as although
now thou wouldst not have it so, yet canst not thou
possibly leave off to be mine! Know, my dear lord, that
the matchless affections that I do bear towards thee
may recompense and be equivalent to her beauty and
nobility for whom thou dost alandon me.
"Thou canst not be the beautiful Lucinda's, because
thou art mine; nor she thine, forasmuch as she belongs
to Cardenio; and it will be more easy, if you will
note it well, to reduce thy will to love her that adores
thee, than to address hers, that hates thee, to bear thee
affection. Thou didst solicit my wretchlessness, thou
prayedst to mine integrity, and wast not ignorant of my
quality; thou knowest alsó very well upon what terms
I subjected myself to thy will, so as there remains no
place nor colour to term it a fraud or deceit; and all
this being so, as in verity it is, and that thou beest as
Christian as thou art noble, why dost thou with these
so many untoward wreathings dilate the making of
mine end happy, whose commencement thou didst
illustrate so much? And if thou wilt not have me for


DON QUIXOTE.
143
what I am, who am thy true and lawful spouse, yet at
least take and admit me for thy slave, for so that I may
be in thy possession I will account myself happy and
fortunate. Do not permit that by leaving and abandon-
ing me, meetings may be made to discourse of my
dishonour. Do not vex thus the declining years of my
parents, seeing that the loyal services which they ever
have done as vassals to thine deserve not so dishonest
a recompense. And if thou esteemest that thy blood
by meddling with mine shall be stained or embased,
consider how few noble houses, or rather none at all,
are there in the world which have not run the same
way, and that the woman's side is not essentially
requisite for the illustrating of noble descents. How
much more, seeing that true nobility consists in virtue,
which if it shall want in thee, by refusing that which
thou owest me so justly, I shall remain with many more
degrees of nobility than thou shalt. And in conclusion,
that which I will lastly say is, that whether thou wilt,
or no, I am thy wife; the witnesses are thine own
words, which neither should nor ought to lie, if thou dost
esteem thyself to have that for the want of which thou
despisest me. Witness shall also be thine own hand-
writing. Witness Heaven, which thou didst invoke to
bear witness of that which thou didst promise unto me :
and when all this shall fail, thy very conscience shall
never fail from using clamours, being silent in thy
mirth and turning, for this truth which I have said
to thee now shall trouble thy greatest pleasure and
delight."

#
•
These and many other like reasons did the sweetly
grieved Dorothea use with such feeling, as all those that
were preserit, as well such as accompanied Don Fer-
nando, and all the others that lid accompany her, shed
abundance of tears. Don Fernando listened unto her


144
THE HISTORY OF
without replying a word, until she had ended her
speech, and given beginning to so many sighs and sobs,
as the heart that could endure to behold them without
moving were harder than brass. Lucinda did also
regard her, no less compassionate of her sorrow than
admired at her discretion and beauty, and although she
would have approached to her, and used some consol-
atory words, yet was she hindered by Don Fernando's
arms, which held her still embraced; who, full of
confusion and marvel, after she had stood very atten-
tively beholding Dorothea a good while, opening his
arms, and leaving Lucinda free, said, "Thou hast
vanquished, O beautiful Dorothea! thou hast van-
quished me; for it is not possible to resist or deny so
many united truths." Lucinda, through her former
trance and weakness, as Don Fernando left her, was like
to fall, if Cardenio, who stood behind Don Fernando
all the while lest he should be known, shaking off
\all fear and endangering his person, had not started
forward to stay her from falling; and, clasping her
sweetly between his arms, he said, "If pitiful Heaven
be pleased, and would have thee now at last take some
ease, my loyal, constant, and beautiful lady, I presume
that thou canst not possess it more securely than
between these arms which do now receive thee, as
whilom they did when fortune was pleased that I might
call thee mine own." And then Lucinda, first severing
her eyelids, beheld Cardenio, and having first taken
notice of him by his voice, and confirmed it again by
her sight, like one quite distracted, without further
regarding modest respects, she cast both her arms about
his neck, and, joining her face to his, said, "Yea, thou
indeed art my lord; thou, the true owner of this poor
captive, howsoever adverse fortune shall thwart it, or
this life, which is only sustained and lives by thine, be

DON QUIXOTE.
145
ever so much threatened." This was a marvellous
spectacle to Don Fernando, and all the rest of the
beholders, which did universally admire at this so
unexpected an event. And Dorothea, perceiving Don
Fernando to change colour, as one resolving to take
revenge on Cardenio, for he had set hand to his sword,
which she conjecturing, did with marvellous expedition
kneel, and, catching hold on his legs, kissing them, she
strained them with so loving embracements as he could
not stir out of the place, and then, with her eyes over-
flown with tears, said unto him, "What meanest thou
to do, my only refuge in this unexpected trance? Thou
hast here thine own spouse at thy feet, and her whom
thou wouldst fain possess is between her own husband's
arms. Judge, then, whether it become thee, or is a
thing possible, to dissolve that which Heaven hath knit,
or whether it be anywise laudable to endeavour to raise
nd equal to thyself her who, contemning all dangers
and inconveniences, and confirmed in faith and con-
stancy, doth in thy presence bathe her eyes with
amorous liquor of her true love's face and bosom. I
desire thee for God's sake, and by thine own worths
I request thee, that this so notorious a verity may not
only assuage thy choler, but also diminish it in such
sort, as thou mayest quietly and peaceably permit those
two lovers to enjoy their desires without any encum-
brance all the time that Heaven shall grant it to them ;
and herein thou shalt show the generosity of thy
magnanimous and noble breast, and give the world to
understand how reason prevaileth in thee, and domi-
neereth over passion." All the time that Dorothea
spoke thus to Don Fernando, although Cardenio held
Lucinda between his arms, yet did he never take his
eyes off Don Fernando, with resolution that if he did
see him once stir in his prejudice, he would labour both
II.
K
146
THE HISTORY OF
**
to defend himself and offend his adversary and all those
who should join with him to do him any harm, as much
as he could, although it were with the rest of his life.
But Don Fernando's friends, the curate and barber, that
were present and saw all that was passed, repaired in
the mean season, without omitting the good Sancho
Panza, and all of them together compassed Don
Fernando, entreating him to have regard of the beauti-
ful Dorothea's tears, and it being true (as they believed
it was) that she had said, he should not permit her to
remain defrauded of her so just and lawful hopes,
assuring him that it was not by chance, but rather by
the particular providence and disposition of the heavens,
that they had all met together so unexpectedly; and
that he should remember, as master curate said very
well, that only death could sever Lucinda from her
Cardenio; and that although the edge of a sword
might divide and part them asunder, yet in that case
they would account their death most happy; and that,
in irremediless events, it was highest prudence, by
straining and overcoming himself, to show a generous
mind, and that he might conquer his own will, by per-
mitting these two to enjoy that good which Heaven
had already granted to them; and that he should turn
his eyes to behold the beauty of Dorothea, and he
should see that few or none could for feature paragon
with her, and much less excel her; and that he should
confer her humility and extreme love which she bore
to him with her other endowments: and principally,
that if he gloried in the titles of nobility or Christianity,
he could not do any other than accomplish the promise
that he had passed to her; and that by fulfilling it he
should please God and satisfy discreet persons, which
know very well how it is a special prerogative of beauty,
though it be in an humble and mean subject, if it be
DON QUIXOTE.
147
consorted with modesty and virtue, to exalt and equal
itself to any dignity, without disparagement of him
which doth help to raise or unite it to himself; and
when the strong laws of delight are accomplished (so
that there intercur no sin in the acting thereof), he is
not to be condemned which doth follow them. Finally,
they added to these reasons others so many and forcible,
that the valorous breast of Don Fernando (as com-
monly all those that are warmed and nourished by
noble blood are wont) was mollified, and permitted it-
self to be vanquished by that truth which he could
not deny though he would. And the token that he gave
of his being overcome, was to stoop down and embrace
Dorothea, saying unto her, "Arise, lady; for it is not
just that she be prostrate at my feet whose image I
have erected in my mind. And if I have not hitherto
given demonstrations of what I now aver, it hath
perhaps befallen through the disposition of Heaven, to
the end I might, by noting the constancy and faith
wherewithal thou dost affect me, know after how to
value and esteem thee according unto thy merits. And
that which in recompense thereof I do entreat of thee
is, that thou wilt excuse in me mine ill manner of
proceeding and exceeding carelessness in repaying thy
good-will; for the very occasion and violent passions
that made me to accept thee as mine, the very same
did also impel me again not to be thine; and for the
more verifying of mine assertion, do but once behold
the eyes of the now contented Lucinda, and thou mayest
read in them a thousand excuses for mine error; and
seeing she hath found and obtained her heart's desire,
and I have in thee also gotten what is most convenient-
for I wish she may live securely and joyfully many
and happy years with her Cardenio: for I will pray
the same, that it will license me to enjoy my beloved
148
THE HISTORY OF
Dorothea." And saying so, he embraced her again, and
joined his face to hers with so lovely motion, as it
constrained him to hold watch over his tears, lest
violently bursting forth, they should give doubtless
arguments of his fervent love and remorse.
Cardenio, Lucinda, and almost all the rest could not
do so, for the greater number of them shed so many
tears, some for their private contentment, and others
for their friends, as it seemed that some grievous and
heavy misfortune had betided them all; even very
Sancho Panza wept, although he excused it afterward,
saying that he wept only because that he saw that
Dorothea was not the Queen Micomicona, as he had
imagined, of whom he hoped to have received so great
gifts and favours. The admiration and tears joined,
endured in them all for a pretty space; and presently
after, Cardenio and Lucinda went and kneeled to Don
Fernando, yielding him thanks for the favour that he
had done to them, with so courteous compliments as
he knew not what to answer, and therefore lifted them
up, and embraced them with very great affection and
kindness, and presently after he demanded of Dorothea
how she came to that place, so far from her own dwell-
ing. And she recounted unto him all that she had
told to Cardenio; whereat Don Fernando and those
which came with him took so great delight, as they
could have wished that her story had continued a
longer time in the telling than it did-so great was
Dorothea's grace in setting out her misfortunes. And
as soon as she had ended, Don Fernando told all that
had befallen him in the city, after that he had found
the scroll in Lucinda's bosom, wherein she declared
Cardenio to be her husband, and that he therefore
could not marry her; and also how he attempted to
kill her, and would have done it, were it not that her
DON QUIXOTE.
149
parents hindered him; and that he therefore departed
out of the house, full of shame and despite, with resolu-
tion to revenge himself more commodiously; and how
he understood the next day following, how Lucinda
was secretly departed from her father's house, and
gone nobody knew where, but that he finally learned
within a few months after, that she had entered into a
certain monastery, with intention to remain there all
the days of her life, if she could not pass them with
Cardenio; and that as soon as he had learned that,
choosing those three gentlemen for his associates, he
came to the place where she was, but would not speak
to her, fearing lest that, as soon as they knew of his
being there, they would increase the guards of the
monastery; and therefore expected until he found on a
day the gates of the monastery open, and leaving two
of his fellows to keep the door, he with the other
entered into the abbey in Lucinda's search, whom they
found talking with a nun in the cloister; and, snatching
her away ere she could retire herself, they brought her
to a certain village, where they disguised themselves in
that sort they were; for so it was requisite for to bring
her away: all which they did with the more facility,
that the monastery was seated abroad in the fields, a
good way from any village. He likewise told that, as
soon as Lucinda saw herself in his power, she fell into
a swoon; and that, after she had returned to herself,
she never did any other thing but weep and sigh,
without speaking a word; and that in that manner,
accompanied with silence and tears, they had arrived
to that inn, which was to him as grateful as an arrival
to heaven, wherein all earthly mishaps are concluded
and finished.
150
TIJE HISTORY OF
CHAPTER X.
WHEREIN IS PROSECUTED THE HISTORY OF THE FAMOUS
PRINCESS MICOMICONA, WITH OTHER DELIGHTFUL
ADVENTURES.
SANCHO gave ear to all this with no small grief of mind,
seeing that all the hopes of his lordship vanished away
like smoke, and that the fair Princess Micomicona was
turned into Dorothea, and the giant into Don Fernando,
and that his master slept so soundly, and careless of all
that had happened. Dorothea could not yet assure
herself whether the happiness that she possessed was a
dream or no. Cardenio was in the very same taking,
and also Lucinda's thoughts ran the same race.
Don Fernando yielded many thanks to Heaven for
having dealt with him so propitiously, and unwinding
him out of the intricate labyrinth, wherein straying, he
was at the point to have at once lost his soul and credit.
And finally, as many as were in the inn were very glad
and joyful of the success of so thwart, intricate, and
desperate affairs. The curate compounded and ordered
all things through his discretion, and congratulated
every one of the good he obtained. But she that kept
greatest jubilee and joy was the hostess, for the promise
that Cardenio and the curate had made, to pay her the
damages and harms committed by Don Quixote; only
Sancho, as we have said, was afflicted, unfortunate, and
sorrowful. And thus he entered with melancholy
DON QUIXOTE.
151
semblance to his lord, who did but then awake, and
said unto him,—
"Well and securely may you sleep, sir knight of
the heavy countenance, as long as it shall please your-
self, without troubling yourself with any care of kill-
ing any giant, or of restoring the queen to her kingdom ;
for all is concluded and done already." "I believe
thee very easily," replied Don Quixote; "for I have
had the monstrousest and most terrible battle with that
giant that ever I think to have all the days of my life
with any; and yet with one thwart blow-thwack I
overthrew his head to the ground, and there issued so
much blood as the streams thereof ran along the earth
as if they were of water." "As if they were of red
wine, you might better have said," replied Sancho
know
Panza; “for I would let you to understand, if you
it not already, that the dead giant is a bored wine-bag,
and the blood six-and-thirty gallons of red wine, which
it contained in its belly. The head that was slashed
off so neatly is the whore my mother; and let the
devil take all away for me!" "And what is this thou
sayest, madman?” quoth Don Quixote. “Art thou în
thy right wits?" "Get up, sir," quoth Sancho, "and
you yourself shall see the fair stuff you have made, and
what we have to pay; and you shall behold the queen
transformed into a particular lady, called Dorothea,
with other successes, which if you may once conceive
them 'aright will strike you into admiration.”
would marvel at nothing," quoth Don Quixote; "for if
thou beest well remembered, I told thee the other time
that we were here, how all that succeeded in this place
was done by enchantment. And what wonder, then, if
now the like should eftsoons befall?" "I could easily
be induced to believe all," replied Sancho, "if my
canvassing in the coverlet were of that nature. But
"I
152
THE HISTORY OF
indeed it was not, but most real and certain. And I
saw well how the innkeeper that is here yet this very
day alive, held one end of the coverlet, and did toss me
up towards heaven with very good grace and strength,
no less merrily than lightly. And where the notice of
parties intercurs, I do believe, although I am a simple
man and a sinner, that there is no kind of enchantment,
but rather much trouble, bruising, and misfortune."
"Well, God will remedy all," said Don Quixote.
"And give me mine apparel; for I will get up and go
forth, and see those successes and transformations
which thou speakest of." Sancho gave him his clothes;
and whilst he was a-making of him ready, the curate
recounted to Don Fernando and to the rest Don
Quixote's mad pranks, and the guile he had used to
bring him away out of the Poor Rock, wherein he
imagined that he lived exiled through the disdain of
his lady. He told them, moreover, all the other adven-
tures which Sancho had discovered, whereat they did
laugh not a little, and wonder withal, because it seemed
to them all to be one of the extravagantest kinds of
madness that ever befel a distracted brain. The curate
also added, that seeing the good success of the Lady
Dorothea did impeach the further prosecuting of their
design, that it was requisite to invent and find some
other way how to carry him home to his own village.
Cardenio offered himself to prosecute the adventure,
and Lucinda should represent Dorothea's person.
"No," quoth Don Fernando, "it shall not be so; for I
will have Dorothea to prosecute her own invention :
for so that the village of this good gentleman be not
very far off from hence, I will be very glad to procure
his remedy." "It is no more than two days' journey
from hence," said the curate. "Well, though it were
more,” replied Don Fernando, "I would be pleased to
DON QUIXOTE.
153
travel them, in exchange of doing so good a work."
Don Quixote sallied out at this time completely armed
with Mambrino's helmet (although with a great hole in
it) on his head, his target on his arm, and leaned on
his trunk or javelin. His strange countenance and
gait amazed Don Fernando and his companions very
much, seeing his ill-favoured visage so withered and
yellow, the inequality and unsuitability of his arms,
and his grave manner of proceeding; and stood all
silent to see what he would; who, casting his eyes on
the beautiful Dorothea, with very great gravity and
staidness, said,-
"I am informed, beautiful lady, by this my squire,
that your greatness is annihilated, and your being
destroyed; for of a queen and mighty princess which
you were wont to be, you are now become a particular
damsel; which if it hath been done by particular
order of the magical king your father, dreading that I
would not be able to give you the necessary and
requisite help for your restitution, I say that he
neither knew nor doth know the one half of the enter-
prise, and that he was very little acquainted with
histories of chivalry; for if he had read them, or
passed them over with so great attention and leisure
as I have done, and read them, he should have found
at every other step, how other knights of a great deal
less fame than myself have ended more desperate
adventures, seeing it is not so great a matter to kill
a giant, be he ever so arrogant; for it is not many
hours since I myself fought with one, and what ensued
I will not say, lest they should tell me that I do lie ;
but time, the detector of all things, will disclose it,
when we do least think thereof.”
:
"Thou foughtest with two wine-bags, and not with
a giant," quoth the host at this season. But Don

156
THE HISTORY OF
let me entreat you to say no more of this, and seeing
my lady the princess says she will go away to-morrow,
seeing it is now too late to depart to-day, let it be so
agreed on, and we will spend this night in pleasant
discourses, until the approach of the ensuing day,
wherein we will all accompany and attend on the
worthy knight Sir Don Quixote, because we would be
eye-witnesses of the valorous and unmatchable feats of
arms which he shall do in the pursuit of this weighty
enterprise which he hath taken upon him." "I am he
that will serve and accompany you, good my lord,"
replied Don Quixote;. " and I do highly gratify the
honour that is done me, and the good opinion that is
held of me, the which I will endeavour to verify and
approve, or it shall cost me my life, or more, if more
it might cost me."
Many other words of compliment and gratification
passed between Don Quixote and Don Fernando, but
a certain passenger imposed silence to them all, by his
arrival to the inn in that very season, who by his attire
showed that he was a Christian newly returned from
among the Moors, for he was apparelled with a short-
skirted cassock of blue cloth, sleeves reaching down
half the arm, and without a collar; his breeches were
likewise of blue linen, and he wore a bonnet of the
same colour, a pair of date-coloured buskins, and a
Turkish scimitar hanging at his neck in a scarf, which
went athwart his breast. There entered after him,
riding on an ass, a woman clad like a Moor, and her
face covered with a piece of the veil of her head; she
wore on her head a little cap of cloth of gold, and was
covered with a little Turkish mantle from the shoulders
down to the feet. The man was of strong and comely
making, of the age of forty years or thereabouts; his
face was somewhat tanned, he had long mustachios and
DON QUIXOTE.
157
a very handsome beard; to conclude, his making was
such as, if he were well attired, men would take him
to be a person of quality and good birth. He demanded
a chamber as soon as he had entered, and being
answered that there was no one vacant in the inn, he
seemed to be grieved, and coming to her which in her
attire denoted herself to be a Moor, he took her down
from her ass. Lucinda, Dorothea, the hostess, her
daughter, and Maritornes, allured to behold the new
and strange attire of the Moor, compassed her about;
and Dorothea, who was always most gracious, courteous,
and discreet, deeming that both she and he that had
brought her were discontented for the want of a lodg-
ing, she said, “Lady, be not grieved for the trouble
you are here like to endure for want of means to
refresh yourself, seeing it is an universal vice of all
inns to be defective herein; yet notwithstanding, if it
shall please you to pass away the time among us
(pointing to Lucinda), "perhaps you have met in the
discourse of your travels other worse places of enter-
tainment than this shall prove." The disguised lady
made none answer, nor other thing than arising from
the place wherein she sat, and setting both her arms
across on her bosom, she inclined her head and bowed
her body, in sign that she rendered them thanks: by
her silence they doubtlessly conjectured her to be a
Moor, and that she could not speak the Castilian
tongue. On this the captive arrived, who was other-
wise employed until then, and, seeing that they all had
environed her that came with him, and that she made
no answer to their speech, he said, "Ladies, this maiden
scarce understands my tongue yet, nor doth she know
any other than that of her own country, and therefore
she hath not, nor can make any answer to your
demands." "We demand nothing of her," quoth
""
:
158
THE HISTORY OF
:
Lucinda, "but only do make her an offer of our com
panies for this night, and part of the room where we
ourselves are to be accommodated, where she shall
be cherished up as much as the commodity of this
place, and the obligation wherein we be tied to show
courtesies to strangers that may want it, do bind us;
especially she being a woman to whom we may do this
service." "Sweet lady, I kiss your hands both for her
and myself,” replied the captive; "and I do highly
prize, as it deserveth, the favour you have proffered,
which in such an occasion, and offered by such persons
as you seem to be, doth very plainly show how great
it is." "Tell me, good sir," quoth Dorothea, "whether
is this lady a Christian or a Moor? for by her attire
and silence she makes us suspect that she is that we
would not wish she were." "A Moor she is in attire
and body," answered the captive; "but in mind she is
a very fervent Christian, for she hath very expressly
desired to become one." "Then she is not yet bap-
tized?” said Lucinda. "There hath been no opportunity
offered to us," quoth the captive, "to christen her,
since she departed from Algiers, which is her town and
country; and since that time she was not in any so
imminent a danger of death as might oblige her to be
baptized before she were first instructed in all the
ceremonies which our holy mother, the Church, com-
mandeth; but I hope shortly (if it shall please God)
to see her baptized with that decency which her quality
and calling deserves, which is greater than her attire
or mine makes show of."
These words inflamed all the hearers with a great
desire to know who the Moor and her captive were,
yet none of tliem would at that time entreat him to
satisfy their longing, because the season rather invited
them to take some order how they might rest after
DON QUIXOTE.
159
their travels, than to demand of them the discourse of
their lives. Dorothea, then, taking her by the hand,
caused her to sit down by herself, and prayed her to
take off the veil from her face. She instantly beheld
the captive, as if she demanded of him what they said,
and he in the Arabical language told her how they
desired her to discover her face, and bade her to do it;
which presently she did, and discovered so beautiful
a visage as Dorothea esteemed her to be fairer than
Lucinda, and Lucinda prized her to excel Dorothea;
and all the beholders perceived that if any one could
surpass them both in beauty, it was the Moor; and
there were some that thought she excelled them both
in some respects. And as beauty hath evermore the
prerogative and grace to reconcile men's minds and
attract their wills to it, so all of them forthwith
dedicated their desires to serve and make much of the
lovely Moor. Don Fernando demanded of the captive
how she was called, and he answered that her name
was Lela Zoraida; and as soon as she heard him, and
understood what they had demanded, she suddenly
answered with anguish, but yet with a very good
grace, "No, not Zoraida, but Maria, Maria," giving
them to understand that she was called Maria, and not
Zoraida.
These words, and the great effect and vehemency
wherewithal the Moor delivered them, extorted more
than one tear from the hearers, especially from the
women, who are naturally tender-hearted and com-
passive. Lucinda embraced her then with great love, and
said, "Ay, ay, Maria, Maria." To which she answered,
"Ay, ay, Maria, Zoraida mancange; " that is, "and not
Zoraida." By this it was grown some four of the clock
in the afternoon; and by order of those which were
Don Fernando's companions, the innkeeper had pro-

160
THE HISTORY OF
vided for them as good a beaver as the inn could in
any wise afford unto them. Therefore, it being the
hour, they sat down all together at a long table (for
there was never a square or round one in all the house),
and they gave the first and principal end (although he
refused it as much as he could) to Don Quixote, who
commanded that the Lady Micomicona should sit at
his elbow, seeing he was her champion. Presently
were placed Lucinda and Zoraida, and Don Fernando
and Cardenio rignt over against them, and after the
captive and other gentlemen, and on the other side the
curate and barber. And thus they made their drink-
ing with very great recreation, which was the more aug-
mented to see Don Quixote leaving of his meat, and,
moved by the like spirit of that which had made him
once before talk so much to the goatherds, begin to
offer them an occasion of speech in this manner :—
"Truly, good sirs, if it be well considered, those
which profess the order of knighthood do see many
great and unexpected things. If it be not so, say what
mortal man alive is there that, entering in at this castle
gate, and seeing of us all in the manner we be now
present here, can judge or believe that we are those
which we be? Who is it that can say that this lady
which sits here at my sleeve is the great queen that
we all know her to be, and that I am that knight of
the heavy countenance that am so much blabbed of
abroad by the mouth of fame? therefore it cannot be
now doubted, but that this art and exercise excelleth
all the others which ever human wit, the underminer
of nature, invented; and it is the more to be prized,
by how much it exposeth itself, more than other trades,
to dangers and inconveniences. Away with those that
shall affirm learning to surpass arms; for I will say
unto them, be they what they list, that they know not

DON QUIXOTE.
161
1
what they say; for the reason which such men do
most urge, and to which they do most rely, is, that the
travails of the spirit do far exceed those of the body;
and that the use of arms are only exercised by the
body, as if it were an office fit for porters, for which
nothing were requisite but bodily forces; or as if in
that which we that profess it do call arms, were not
included the acts of fortitude which require deep
understanding to execute them; or as if the warrior's
mind did not labour as well as his body, who had a
great army to lead and command, or the defence of a
besieged city; if not, see if he can arrive by his
corporal strength to know or sound the intent of his
enemy, the designs, stratagems, and difficulties, how
to prevent imminent dangers, all these being operations
of the understanding wherein the body hath no
meddling at all. It being therefore so, that the exer-
cise of arms requires spirit as well as those of learning,
let us now examine which of the two spirits, that of
the scholar or soldier, do take most pains: and this
may be best understood by the end to which both of
them are addressed; for that intention is most to be
esteemed which hath for object the most noble end.
The end and conclusion of learning is-I speak not
now of divinity, whose scope is to lead and address
souls to heaven; for to an end so much without end
as this, no other may be compared-I mean of human
sciences or arts to maintain distributive justice in his
perfection, and give to every one that which is his own ;
to endeavour and cause good laws to be religiously
observed-an end most certainly generous, high, and
worthy of great praise, but not of so much as that to
which the exercise of arms is annexed, which hath for
his object and end peace, which is the greatest good
men can desire in this life: and therefore the first good
II.
L

162
THE HISTORY OF
news that ever the world had or men received, were
those which the angels brought on that night which
was our day, when they sang in the skies, 'Glory be in
the heights, and peace on earth to men of good minds.'
And the salvation which the best Master that ever was
on earth or in heaven taught to His disciples and
favourites was, that when they entered into any house
they should say, 'Peace be to this house;' and many
other times He said, 'I give unto you My peace; I
leave My peace unto you; peace be amongst you.' It
is a good, as precious as a jewel, and a gift given, and
left by such a hand; a jewel, without which neither
on earth nor in heaven can there be any perfect good.
This peace is the true end of war; for arms and war
are one and the selfsame things. This truth being
therefore presupposed, that the end of war is peace, and
that herein doth excel the end of learning, let us
descend to the corporal labours of the scholar, and to
those of him which professeth arms, and consider
which of them are more toilsome."
Don Quixote did prosecute his discourse in such sort,
and with so pleasing terms, as he had almost induced
his audience to esteem him to be at that time at least
exempt from his frenzy; and therefore, by reason that
the greater number of them were gentlemen, to whom
the use of arms is in a manner essential and proper,
they did willingly listen to him; and therefore he
continued on with his discourse in this manner :—
"I say, then, that the pains of the student are
commonly these: principally poverty (not that I would
maintain that all students are poor, but that I may put
the case in greatest extremity it can have), and by saying
that he may be poor, methinks there may be no greater
aggravation of his misery; for he that is poor is destitute
of
every good thing; and this poverty is suffered by him

DON QUIXOTE.
163
sundry ways, sometimes by hunger, other times by
cold or nakedness, and many times by all of them
together; yet it is never so extreme but that he doth
eat, although it be somewhat later than the custom, or
of the scraps and reversion of the rich man; and the
greatest misery of the student is that which they term
to live by sops and pottage: and though they want
fire of their own, yet may they have recourse to their
neighbour's chimney, which if it do not warm, yet will
it weaken the cold and finally, they sleep at night
under a roof. I will not descend to other trifles-to
wit, the want of shirts and shoes, the bareness of their
clothes, or the overloading of their stomachs with meat
when good fortune lends them as good a meal-for by
this way, which
which I have deciphered so rough and diffi-
cult, stumbling here, falling there; getting up again on
the other side, and refalling on this, they attained the
degree which they have desired so much; which many
having compassed, as we have seen, which having passed
through these difficulties, and sailed by Scylla and
Charybdis (borne away flying, in a manner, by favour-
able fortune), they command and govern all the world
from a chair, turning their hunger into satiety, their
nakedness into pomp, and their sleeping on a mat
into a sweet repose among hollands and damask-a
reward justly merited by their virtue. But their
labours, confronted and compared to those of the
militant soldier, remain very far behind, as I will
presently declare.”
164
THE HISTORY OF

CHAPTER XI.
TREATING OF THE CURIOUS DISCOURSE MADE BY DON
QUIXOTE UPON THE EXERCISES OF ARMS AND
LETTERS.
•
DON QUIXOTE, continuing his discourse, said, "Seeing
we begin in the student with poverty and her parts, let
us examine whether the soldier be richer? Certainly we
shall find that no man can exceed the soldier in poverty
itself; for he is tied to his wretched pay, which comes
either late or never; or else to his own shifts, with
notable danger of his life and conscience. And his
nakedness is ofttimes so much, as many times a leather
jerkin gashed serves him at once for a shirt and orna-
ment. And in the midst of winter he hath sundry
times no other defence or help to resist the inclemencies
of the air in the midst of the open fields than the
breath of his mouth, which I verily believe doth
against nature come out cold, by reason it sallies from
an empty place; expect there till the night fall, that
he may repair all these discommodities by the easiness
of his bed, the which, if it be not through his own
default, shall never offend in narrowness; for he may
measure out for it on the earth as many foot as he
pleaseth, and tumble himself up and down it without
endangering the wrinkling of his sheets. Let after all
this the day and hour arrive wherein he is to receive
the degree of his profession,-let, I say, a day of battle
arrive; for there they will set on his head the cap of


DON QUIXOTE.
165
his dignity, made of lint to cure the wound of some
bullet that hath passed through and through his
temples, or hath maimed an arm or a leg. And when
this doth not befall, but that Heaven doth piously keep
and preserve him whole and sound, he shall perhaps
abide still in the same poverty wherein he was at the
first; and that it be requisite that one and another
battle do succeed, and he come off ever a victor, to the
end that he may prosper and be at the last advanced.
But such miracles are but few times wrought; and say,
good sirs, if you have noted it, how few are those which
the wars reward, in respect of the others that it hath
destroyed? You must answer, without question, that
there can be no comparison made between them, nor
can the dead be reduced to any number; but all the
living, and such as are advanced, may be counted easily
with three arithmetical figures: all which falls out
contrary in learned men, for all of them have where-
withal to entertain and maintain themselves by skirts-
I will say nothing of sleeves. So that although the
soldier's labour is greater, yet is his reward much less.
But to this may be answered, that it is easier to reward
two hundred thousand learned men than thirty
thousand soldiers; for they may be advanced by giving
unto them offices, which must of necessity be bestowed
on men of their profession; but soldiers cannot be
recompensed otherwise than by the lord's substance and
wealth whom they serve. And yet this objection and
impossibility doth fortify much more my affection.
"But leaving this apart, which is a labyrinth of very
difficult issue, let us return to the pre-eminence of
arms over learning, which is a matter hitherto depend-
ing, so many are the reasons that every one allegeth
for himself; and among those which I myself have
repeated, then learning doth argue thus for itself, that

166
THE HISTORY OF
·
arms without it cannot be long maintained, forasmuch
as the war hath also laws, and is subject to them, and
that the laws are contained under the title of learning,
and belong to learned men.
"To this objection arms do make answer: that the
laws cannot be sustained without them, for common-
wealths are defended by arms, and kingdoms preserved,
cities fenced, highways made safe, the seas freed from
pirates; and, to be brief, if it were not for them,
commonwealths, kingdoms, monarchies, cities, and
ways by sea and land, would be subject to the rigour
and confusion which attendeth on the war all the time
that it endureth, and is licensed to practise his preroga-
tives and violence; and it is a known truth, that it
which cost most, is or ought to be most accounted of.
That one may become eminent in learning, it costs him
time, watchings, hunger, nakedness, headaches, rawness
of stomach, and other such inconveniences as I have
partly mentioned already; but that one may arrive by
true terms to be a good soldier, it costs him all that it
costs the student, in so exceeding a degree as admits
no comparison, for he is at every step in jeopardy to
lose his life. And what fear of necessity or poverty
may befall or molest a student so fiercely as it doth a
soldier, who, seeing himself at the siege of some im-
pregnable place, and standing sentinel in some ravelin
or half-moon, feels the enemies undermining near to
the place where he is, and yet dares not to depart or
abandon his stand, upon any occasion whatsoever, or
shun the danger which so nearly threatens him? but
that which he only may do, is to advise his captain of
that which passeth, to the end he may remedy it by
some countermine, whilst he must stand still, fearing
and expecting when he shall suddenly fly up to the
clouds without wings, and after descend to the depths

DON QUIXOTE.
167
against his will. And if this appear to be but a small
danger, let us weigh whether the grappling of two
galleys, the one with the other in the midst of the
spacious main, may be compared, or do surpass it, the
which nailed and grappled fast the one to the other,
the soldier hath no more room in them than two foot
broad of a plank in the battlings, and notwithstanding,
although he clearly see laid before him so many ministers
of death, for all the pieces of artillery that are planted
on the adverse side do threaten him, and are not
distant from his body the length of a lance; and seeing
that if he slipped ever so little aside, he should fall into
the deeps, doth yet nevertheless, with undaunted
heart, borne away on the wings of honour, which
spurreth him onward, oppose himself as a mark to all
their shot, and strives to pass by that so narrow a way
into the enemy's vessel. And what is most to be
admired is to behold how scarce is one fallen into that
place, from whence he shall never after arise until the
world's end, when another takes possession of the same
place; and if he do likewise tumble into the sea, which
gapes like an enemy for him also, another and another
will succeed unto him, without giving any respite to
the times of their death, valour, and boldness, which is
the greatest that may be found among all the trances of
warfare. Those blessed ages were fortunate which
wanted the dreadful fury of the devilish and murdering
pieces of ordnance, to whose inventor I am verily
persuaded that they render in hell an eternal guerdon
for his diabolical invention, by which he hath given
power to an infamous, base, vile, and dastardly arm to
bereave the most valorous knight of life; and that,
without knowing how or from whence, in the midst of
the stomach and courage that inflames and animates
valorous minds, there arrives a wandering bullet (shot

168
THE HISTORY OF
off, perhaps, by him that was afraid, and fled at the very
blaze of the powder, as he discharged the accursed
engine), and cuts off and finisheth in a moment the
thoughts and life of him who merited to enjoy it many
ages.
"And whilst I consider this, I am about to say that
it grieves me to have ever undertaken the exercise of a
knight-errant in this our detestable age; for although
no danger can affright me, yet notwithstanding I live
in jealousy to think how powder and lead might
deprive me of the power to make myself famous and
renowned by the strength of mine arm and the edge of
my sword throughout the face of the earth. But let
Heaven dispose as it pleaseth; for so much the more
shall I be esteemed, if I can compass my pretensions,
by how much the dangers were greater to which I
opposed myself, than those achieved in foregoing times
by knights-adventurers."
Don Quixote made all this prolix speech whilst the
rest of his company did eat, wholly forgetting to taste
one bit, although Sancho Panza did now and then put
him in remembrance of his victuals, saying that he
should have leisure enough after to speak as much as
he could desire. In those that heard was again renewed
a kind of compassion, to see a man of so good a wit as
he seemed to be, and of so good discourse in all the
other matters which he took in hand, to remain so
clearly devoid of it when any occasion of speech were
offered treating of his accursed chivalry. The curate
applauded his discourse, affirming that he produced
very good reasons for all that he had spoken in the
favour of arms; and that he himself (although he was
learned and graduated) was likewise of his opinion.
The beaver being ended, and the table-cloths taken
away, whilst Maritornes did help her mistress and her
DON QUIXOTE.
169
daughter to make ready the room where Don Quixote
had slept for the gentlewomen, wherein they alone
might retire themselves that night, Don Fernando
entreated the captive to recount unto them the history
of his life, forasmuch as he suspected that it must have
been rare and delightful, as he gathered by the tokens
he gave by coming into the lovely Zoraida's company.
To which the captive replied, that he would accomplish
his desire with a very good will, and that only he feared
that the discourse would not prove so savoury as they
expected; but yet for all that he would tell it, because
he would not disobey him. The curate and all the
rest thanked him for his promise, and turned to request
him again to begin his discourse; and he perceiving
so many to solicit him, said that. prayers were not
requisite when commandments were of force.
"And
therefore I desire you," quoth he, "to be attentive, and
you shall hear a true discourse, to which perhaps no
feigned invention may be compared for variety or
delight." The rest, animated by these his words, did.
accommodate themselves with very great silence; and
he, beholding their silence and expectation of his
history, with a modest and pleasing voice, began in this
manner.
172
THE HISTORY OF
difficult thing to compass; and although the war is
not wont to enrich a man, yet it adds unto him great
worth and renown. Within these eight days I do
mean to give you all your portions in money, without
defrauding you of a mite, as you shall see in effect.
Therefore, tell me now whether you mean to follow
mine opinion and device in this which I have pro-
posed?' And then he commanded me, by reason that
I was the eldest, to make him an answer.
"I, after I had entreated him not to make away his
goods, but to spend and dispose of them as he listed,
seeing we were both young and able enough to gain
more, at last I concluded that I would accomplish his
will, and that mine was to follow the wars, therein
serving God and my king together. The second
brother made the same offer, and, employing his por-
tion in commodities, would venture to the Indies. The
youngest, and as I deem the discreetest, said that
either he would follow the Church, or go at the least
to Salamanca to finish his already commenced studies.
And as soon as we had ended the agreement and
election of our vocations, my father embraced us all,
and afterwards performed unto us, in as short a time
as he had mentioned, all that he promised; giving
unto each of us a portion, amounting, if I do well
remember, to three thousand ducats apiece in money ;
for an uncle of ours bought all the goods, and paid
ready money, because he would not have them made
away from our own family and lineage. We all took
our leave of our good father in one day; and in that
instant, it seeming to me a great inhumanity to leave
my father so old and with so little means, I dealt so
with him as I constrained him to take back again
two thousand ducats of the three he had given me,
forasmuch as the rest was sufficient to furnish me in
DON QUIXOTE.
173
very good sort with all things requisite for a soldier.
My brothers, moved by mine example, did each of
them give him a thousand crowns; so that my father
remained with four thousand crowns in money, and
three in goods, as they were valued, which goods he
would not sell, but keep them still in stock. Finally,
we bade him (and our said uncle) farewell, not without
much feeling and many tears on both sides; and they
charged us that we would from time to time acquaint
them with our successes, whether prosperous or adverse.
We promised to perform it; and then, embracing us,
and giving us his blessing, one departed towards
Salamanca, another to Seville, and myself to Alicant.
“I arrived prosperously at Genoa, and from thence
went to Milan, where I did accommodate myself with
arms and other braveries used by soldiers, and departed
from thence to settle myself in Piedmont; and being in
my way towards the city of Alexandria de la Paglia,
I heard news that the great Duke of Alva did pass
towards Flanders; wherefore, changing my purpose,
I went with him, and served him in all the expeditions
he made. I was present at the beheading of the Earls
of Egmont and Hornes, and obtained at last to be
ensign to a famous captain of Guadalajara, called
Diego de Urbina. Within a while after mine arrival
to Flanders, the news were divulged of the league that
Pius V., the pope of famous memory, had made with
the Venetians and the King of Spain, against our
common enemy the Turk, who had gained by force the
famous island of Cyprus much about the same time,
which island belonged to the state of Venice, and was
an unfortunate and lamentable loss. It was also cer-
tainly known that the most noble Don John of Austria,
our good King Don Philip's natural brother, did come
down for general of this league, and the great provision
176
THE HISTORY OF
the famous pirate Barbarossa his son was captain; it
was surprised by the captain-galley of Naples, called the
She-Wolf, that was commanded by the thunderbolt of
war, the father of soldiers-that fortunate and never
overthrown Don Alvaro de Bazan, the Marquis of
Santa Cruz. And here I will not forget to recount
what befel at the taking of the Prize. This son of
Barbarossa's was so cruel, and used his slaves so ill,
that as soon as they that were rowing perceived the
She-Wolf to approach them, and that she had over-
taken them, they cast away their oars all at one time,
and laying hands on their captain that stood on the
poop [Estanderil, p. 442], crying to them to row with
more speed, and passing him from one bank to another,
from the poop to the prow, they took so many bits
out of him, as he had scarce passed beyond the mast
when his soul was already wafted to hell; such was
the cruelty wherewithal he entreated them, and so great
the hate they also bore towards him. We returned the
next year after to Constantinople, being that of seventy-
three, and there we learned how Don John had gained
Tunis, and, taking that kingdom away from the Turks,
had, by installing Muley Hamet therein, cut away all
Muley Hameda's hopes to reign again there, who was
the most cruel and valiant Moor that ever lived.
"The Great Turk was very much grieved for this loss;
and therefore, using the sagacity wherewithal all his
race were endued, he made peace with the Venetians,
which wished for it much more than he did himself.
And the year after of seventy-and-four, he assaulted
the fortress of Goleta, and the other fortress that Don
John had raised near unto Tunis. And in all these
occasions I was present, tied to the oar without any
hope of liberty, at leastwise by ransom, being resolved
never to signify by letter my misfortunes to my father.
DON QUIXOTE.
177
The Goleta was lost, in fine, and also the fortress, before
which two places lay in siege seventy-five thousand
Turks, and more than four hundred thousand Moors,
and other Saracens of all the other parts of Africa,
being furnished with such abundance of munition and
warlike engines, and so many pioneers as were able to
cover Goleta and the fortress, if every one did cast but
his handful of earth upon them. Thus was Goleta,
accounted until then impregnable, first lost, the which
did not happen through default of valour in the
defendants, who in defence thereof did all they could
or ought to have done, but because experience showed
the facility wherewithal trenches might be raised in
that desert sand; for though water had been found in
it within two spans' depth, the Turks could not find it
in the depth of two yards; and therefore, filling many
sacks full of sand, they raised their trenches so high as
they did surmount the walls of the sconce, and did so
gall the defendants from them with their shot as no
one could stand to make any defence. It was a common
opinion that our men should not immure themselves
within Goleta, but expect the enemy in the champaign
at their disembarking; but those that gave this out
spake widely, as men very little acquainted with the
like affairs; for if in Goleta and the fortress there
were scarce seven thousand soldiers, how could so few
a number, were they ever so resolute, make a sally, and
remain in the forts against so great a number of
enemies? or how is it possible that the forces which
are not seconded and supplied should not be overcome,
specially being besieged by many and obstinate enemies,
and those in their own country? But many others
esteemed, and so did I likewise among the rest, that
Almighty God did a particular grace and favour unto
Spain in that manner, permitting to be destroyed the
IL
M
178
THE HISTORY OF
-
stop and cloak of all wickedness, and the sponge and
moth of innumerable sums of money spent there un-
profitably, without serving to any other end than to
preserve the memory of being gained by the Emperor
Charles the Fifth, as if it had been requisite for the
keeping of it eternal (as it is, and shall be ever) that
those stones should sustain it. The fortress was also
won; but the Turks were constrained to gain it span
by span, for the soldiers which defended it fought so
manfully and resolutely, as the number of the enemies
slain in two-and-twenty general assaults which they
gave unto it, did pass five-and-twenty thousand.
Never a one was taken prisoner but three hundred
which survived their fellows-a certain and manifest
token of their valour and strength, and how well they
had defended themselves and kept their fortresses with
great magnanimity. A little fort or turret that stood
in the midst of the place, under the command of Don
John Zanoguera, a Valencian gentleman and famous
soldier, was yielded upon composition; and Don Pedro
de Puerto Carrero, general of Goleta, was taken prisoner,
who omitted no diligence possible to defend the place,
but yet was so grieved to have lost it as he died for
very grief on the way towards Constantinople, whither
they carried him captive. The general likewise of the
fort, called Gabriel Cerbellon, being a gentleman of
Milan, and a great engineer, and most resolute soldier,
was taken; and there died; in both the places many
persons of worth, among which Pagan de Oria was one,
a knight of the Order of Saint John, of a most noble
disposition, as the exceeding liberality which he used
towards his brother, the famous John Andrea de Oria,
clearly demonstrates; and that which rendered his
death more deplorable was, that he was slain by
certain Saracens (which he trusted, perceiving how the
DON QUIXOTE.
179
fort was lost), who had offered to convey him thence in
the habit of a Moor to Tabarca, which is a little haven
or creek possessed by the Genoese that fish for coral
in that coast. These Saracens cut off his head and
brought it to the general of the Turkish army, who
did accomplish in them the Spanish proverb, "That
although the treason pleaseth, yet is the traitor hated,'
and so it is reported that he commanded those to be
hanged that had brought him the present, because they
had not brought it alive.
"Among the Christians that were lost in the fort
there was one, called Don Pedro de Aguilar, born in
Andalusia, in some town whose name I have forgotten;
he had been ancient in the fortress, and was a soldier
of great account, and of a rare understanding, and
specially had a particular grace in poetry. This I say
because his fortune brought him to be slave to my
patron, even into the very same galley and bench
whereon I sat. This gentleman made two sonnets in
form of epitaphs, the one for the Goleta, the other for
the fort; and I will repeat them, because I remember
them very well, and do believe that they will be rather
grateful than anything disgustful to the audience."
As soon as ever the captive named Don Pedro de
Aguilar, Don Fernando beheld his comrades, and they
all three did smile. And when he began to talk of the
sonnets, one of them said, "Before you pass further, I
beseech you, good sir, let me entreat you to tell me what
became of that Don Pedro de Aguilar whom you have
named."
"That which I know of that affair," answered the
captive, "is that, after he had been two years in
Constantinople, he fled away in the attire of an
Armenian with a Greek spy, and I cannot tell whether
he recovered his liberty or no, although I suppose he
130
THE HISTORY OF ·
did, for within a year after I saw the Greek in Con-
stantinople, but I had not the opportunity to demand
of him the success of that voyage."
"He came then into Spain," quoth the gentleman ;
"for that same Don Pedro is my brother, and dwells
now at home in our own town, very well, rich married,
and a father of three sons."
"God be thanked," quoth the captive, "for the
infinite favour He hath showed unto him; for in
mine opinion there is not on earth any contentment
able to be compared to that of recovering a man's lost
liberty."
"I do moreover," said the gentleman, "know the
sonnets which my brother composed."
"I pray you then, good sir," quoth the captive,
"repeat them; for perhaps you can say them better
than I.'
"With a very good will," answered the gentleman;
"and that of the Goleta is thus."
DON QUIXOTE. :
281
CHAPTER XIII.
WHEREIN IS PROSECUTED THE HISTORY OF THE CAPTIVE.
"A SONNET.
"O happy souls, which from this mortal vale
Freed and exempted, through the good you wrought,
Safe from the harms that here did you assail,
By your deserts to highest heaven were brought,
Which here inflamed by wrath, and noble thought,
Showed how much your forces did avail:
When both your own and foreign bloods you taught,
From sandy shores, into the deeps to trail.
Your lives before your valour's end deceased
In your tired arms, which, though they were a-dying
And vanquish'd, yet on victory have seized.
And this your life, from servile thraldom flying,
Ending, acquires, between the sword and wall,
Heaven's glory there, fame here on earth, for all.'"
"I have it even in the very same manner," quoth
the captive.
"Well, then,” said the gentleman, "that of the fort
is thus, if I do not forget it :-
"A SONNET.
"From midst the barren earth, here overthrown,
In these sad clods, which on the ground do lie,
Three thousand soldiers' holy souls are flown,
And to a happier mansion gone on high:
Here, when they did in vain the vigour try
Of their strong arms, to cost of many a one,
After the most, through extreme toil, did die,
The cruel sword a few did light upon.
+
182
THE HISTORY OF
And this same plot eternally hath been,
With thousand doleful memories replete,
As well this age, as in foregoing time.
But from his cruel bosom Heaven ne'er yet
Received sincerer souls than were the last,
Nor earth so valiant bodies aye possess'd."
The sonnets were not misliked; and the captive was
greatly recreated with the news which he received of
his companion, and, prosecuting his history, he said
“The Goleta and the fort being rendered, the. Turks
gave order to dismantle Goleta; for the fort was left
in such sort as there remained nothing up that might
be overthrown and to do it with more brevity and
less labour, they undermined it in three places, but
that which seemed least strong could not be blown up
by any of them, which was the old walls; but all that
which had remained afoot of the new fortifications and
works of Fratin, fell down to the ground with great
facility. And this being ended, the navy returned
triumphant and victorious to Constantinople, where,
within a few months afterward, my lord Uchali died,
whom they called Uchali Fartax, which signifies in the
Turkish language, the Scald or Scurvy Runagate, for he
was such. And it is a custom among the Turks to give
one another nicknames, either of the defects or per-
fections and virtues which they have; and the reason
hereof is, that among them all they have but four
lineages that have surnames, and these do contend with
that of Ottoman's, for nobility of blood; and all the
rest, as I have said, do take denomination sometime
from the blemishes of the body, and sometime from the
virtues of the mind. And this scurvy fellow did row
fourteen years, being the Great Turk's slave, and did
renounce his faith, being four-and-thirty years old, for
despite, and because he might be revenged on a Turk
<
DON QUIXOTE.
183
that gave him a cuff on the face as he rowed; and his
valour was so great, as without ascending by the dis-
honourable means and ways usually taken by the
greatest minions about the Great Turk, he came first to
be King of Algiers, and after to be general of the sea,
which is the third most noble charge and dignity of
all the Turkish empire. He was born in Calabria, and
was a good moral man, and used with great humanity
his slaves, whereof he had above three thousand, which
were after his death divided, as he had left in his
testament, between the Great Turk (who is ever an
inheritor to every dead man, and hath a portion among
the deceased his children) and his runagates. I fell to
the lot of a Venetian runagate, who being a ship-boy in
a certain vessel, was taken by Uchali, who loved him
so tenderly as he was one of the dearest youths he had,
and he became after the most cruel runagate that ever
lived. He was called Azanaga, and came to be very
rich, and King of Algiers. With him I came from
Constantinople somewhat contented in mind, because I
should be nearer unto Spain; not for that I meant to
write unto any one of my unfortunate success, but only
to see whether fortune would prove more favourable to
me in Algiers than at Constantinople, where I had
attempted a thousand ways to escape, but none of them
sorted to any good effect. And I thought to search out
in Algiers some other means to compass that which I
so greedily desired, for the hope of attaining liberty
some time had never abandoned me; and when in the
contriving I thought, or put my designs in practice,
and that the success did not answer mine expectation,
presently without forsaking me, it forged and sought
out for another hope that might sustain me, although
it were debile and weak.
"With this did I pass away my life, shut up in a
184
THE HISTORY OF
prison or house, which the Turks call baths, wherein
they do enclose the captive Christians, as well those that
belong to the king as other particular men's, and those
which they call of the Almazen, which is as much to
say, as slaves of the council, who are deputed to serve
the city in the public works and other affairs thereof;
and these of all other captives do with most difficulty
attain to liberty; for, by reason they belong to the
commonalty, and have no particular master, there is
none with whom a man may treat of their redemption,
although they should have the price of their ransom.
To these baths, as I have said, some particular men
carry their captives to be kept, chiefly if they be to be
ransomed; for there they have them at their ease and
secure, until they be redeemed. The king's captives of
ransom, also, do not go forth to labour with the other
poor crew, if it be not when the paying of their ransom
is deferred; for then, to the end they may make them
write for money more earnestly, they make them labour
and go to fetch wood with the rest, which is no small
toil and trouble. I then was one of those of ransom ;
for as soon as it was known how I was a captain, not-
withstanding that I told them of my little possibility
and want of means, all could not prevail to dissuade
them from consorting me with the multitude of gentle-
men, and those of ransom. They put on me then a
chain, rather to be a token that I was there for my
ransom than to keep me the better with it. And so I
passed away my time there with many other gentlemen
and men of mark, held and kept in there for their
ransom. And although both hunger and nakedness
did vex us now and then, or rather evermore, yet
nothing did afflict us so much as to hear and see every
moment the cruelties that my master used towards
Christians. Every day he hanged up one; he set this
DON QUIXOTE.
185
man on a stake, and would cut off the other's ears, and
that for so little occasion, or wholly without it, as the
very Turks themselves perceived that he did it not for
any other cause but because he had a will to do it, and
that it was his natural inclination to be a homicide of
all human kind. Only one Spanish soldier, called such
a one of Saavedra, was in his good grace, who although
he did sundry things that will remain in the memory
of that nation for many years, and all to the end to get
his liberty, yet he never struck him, nor commanded
him to be strucken, nor said as much as an evil word
unto him; and yet we all feared that he should be
broached on a stake for the least of many things which
he did, and himself did also dread it more than once;
and if it were not that time denieth me leisure to do it,
I would recount unto you things done by this soldier,
which might both entertain and astonish you much
more than the relation of my life.
"There were over the square court of our prison
certain windows that looked into it, and belonged to a
certain rich and principal Moor; the which windows
(as ordinarily are all the Moors' windows) rather seemed
to be holes than windows, and even these were also
very closely covered and shut fast with linen coverings.
It therefore befel that, standing one day upon the
battlements of our prison with other three companions,
trying which of us could leap best in his shackles to
pass away the time, and being alone (for all the other
Christians were gone abroad to labour), I lifted up by
chance mine eyes, and I saw thrust out at one of those
so close shut windows a cane, and a linen tied at the
end thereof, and the cane was moved and wagged up
and down, as if it had made signs that we should come
and take it. We looked upon it, and one of my com-
panions went under the cane, to see whether they

188
THE HISTORY OF
window was shut incontinently. All of us were
marvellously astonished, yet joyful at that which had
befallen us; and by reason that none of us understood
the Arabian tongue, the desire that we had to under-
stand the contents of the letter was surpassing great,
but greater the difficulty to find out some trusty person
that might read it. In the end I resolved to trust in
this affair a runagate of Murcia, who did profess him-
self to be my very great friend, and having, by my
liberality and other good turns done secretly, obliged
him to be secret in the affair wherein I would use him—
for some runagates are accustomed, when they have an
intention to return into the Christian countries, to bring
with them testimonies of the most principal captives,
wherein they inform, and in the amplest manner they
may, how the bearer is an honest man, and that he hath
ever done many good turns to the Christians, and that
he hath himself a desire to escape by the first commodity.
Some runagates there are which procure those testi-
monies sincerely, and with a good intention; others
take the benefit of them either by chance or industry,
who, intending to go and rob into the countries of
Christians, if by chance they be astray or taken,
bring forth their testimonies, and say that by those
papers may be collected the purpose wherewithal they
came, that is, to remain in Christian countries, and that
therefore they came abroad a-pirating with the other
Turks; and by this means they escape that first brunt,
and are reconciled again to the Church, without receiv-
ing any harm at all; and when they espy their time,
do return again into Barbary, to be such as they were
before. Others there are which procure those writings
with a pure intention, and do after stay in Christian
countries. Well, this my friend was a runagate of this
last kind, who had the testimonies of all my com-
· DON QUIXOTE.`
189
panions, wherein we did commend him as amply as we
could devise. And certainly if the Moors had found
those papers about him, they would have burnt him for
it. I understand how he could speak the Arabian
tongue very perfectly, and not only that alone, but also
write it withal; yet before I would wholly break my
mind to him, I requested him to read me that scroll
which I had found by chance in a hole of my cabin.
He opened it, and stood a good while beholding and
construing thereof, murmuring somewhat between his
teeth. I demanded therefore of him whether he under-
stood it. And he answered that he did very well,
and that if I desired to have it translated verbatim
I should bring unto him pen and ink, to the end he
might do it more completely. We presently gave unto
him that which he asked, and he did translate it by
little and little; and having finished it, he said, ‘All
that is here in Spanish, is punctually, without omitting
a letter, the contents of the Moorish paper. And here
you must note that where it says Lela Marien, it means
our Lady the blessed Virgin Mary.' We read the paper,
whereof the contents were these which ensue :-
"When I was a child, my father had a certain
Christian woman captive, that taught me in mine own
tongue all the Christian religion, and told me many
things of Lela Marien. The Christian died, and I
know she went not to the fire, but to Allah; for she
appeared to me twice after her death, and bade me go
to the Christian country to see Lela Marien, who loved
me much. I know not how I may go. I have seen
many Christians through this window, and none of
them hath seemed to me a gentleman but thyself. I
am very beautiful and young, and I have a great deal
of riches to carry with me. See thou whether thou
canst contrive the way how we may depart, and thou
192
THE HISTORY OF
perceive by this paper; so that you may securely, and
without any dread, advise us of all that you shall think
good. And as concerning that which you say, that you
will become my wife after we arrive to the Christian
countries, I do promise you the same, as I am a good
Christian; and you shall understand that the Christians
do accomplish their words far better than do the Moors.
Allah and Marien his mother preserve you, my dearest
lady!'
"The letter being written and enclosed, I waited
two days, that the baths might be free of concourse, as
it was wont, which as soon as it befel, I went up to
my accustomed place of the battlements, to see whether
the cane appeared; which was presently after thrust
out at the window. And as soon as I perceived it,
although I could not note who it was that set it, I
showed my paper, to give them warning to set on the
thread; but it was already hanging thereon; to the
which I tied the letter, and within a while after began
to appear our star, with the white flag of peace,
and
the knotted linen; which they let fall, and I took up;
and I found therein, in divers sorts of money and gold,
more than fifty ducats, which redoubled our joys more
than fifty times, and confirmed the hope we conceived
of attaining liberty. The very same night our runagate
returned to us, and told how he had learned that the
very same Moor which we were informed of before,
called Aguimorato, dwelt there, and was excessive rich,
and had one only daughter, the heir of all his goods;
of whom the common opinion throughout the city was,
that she was the fairest woman of all Barbary; and
that many of the viceroys that came there had de-
manded her to wife, but she would never condescend to
any motion of marriage; and that he likewise had
understood that she had sometimes a Christian captive,
DON QUIXOTE.
193
which now was deceased: all which agreed with the
contents of the letter. We presently entered in council
with the runagate about the means we were to use to
fetch away the Moor, and come all of us to Christian
lands; and in the end we concluded to attend, for that
time, the second advice of Zoraida (for so was she then
called, who now means to name herself Maria), foras-
much as we clearly perceived that it was she, and none
other, that could minister to us the means to remove
all these difficulties. After we had rested on this
resolution, the runagate bid us be of good courage, for
he would engage his life, or set us at liberty. Four
days after, the baths were troubled with people, which
was an occasion that the cane appeared not all that
while; but that impediment being removed, and the
accustomed solitude returned, the cane did again appear,
with a linen hanging thereat so grossly impregned as
it promised to be delivered of a most happy burden.
Both cane and linen bent themselves to me, and in
them I found another paper, and a hundred ducats in
gold, besides other small money. The runagate was
present, and we gave him the letter to read, the effect
whereof was this:-
"I know not, good sir, what order to give for our
going into Spain, nor hath Lela Marien told me any-
thing concerning it, although I have demanded her
counsel. That which at present I conceive may be
done is, that I will through this window give unto you
great store of money, wherewith you may redeem
yourself and your friends. And let one of you go into
the Christian's country and buy a barque, and after
return for his fellows, and he shall find me in my
father's garden, which is at the gate of Babazon, near to
the sea-coast, where I mean to stay all the summer,
with my father and my servants; from whence you
•
·
II.
N
194
THE HISTORY OF
may take me out boldly by night, and carry me to the
barque. And see well that thou wilt be my husband;
for if thou wilt not, I will demand of Marien to
chastise thee: and if thou darest trust nobody to go
for the vessel, redeem thyself and go, for I know thou
wilt rather return than another, seeing thou art a
gentleman and a Christian. Learn out the garden, and
when I see thee walk there where thou now art, I will
make account that the bath is empty, and will give thee
great store of money. Allah preserve thee, my dear
friend!'
"These were the contents of the second letter, which
being heard by us all, every one offered to be himself
the ransomed person, and promised to go and return
with all punctuality, and among the rest I also made a
proffer of myself; to all which resolutions the runagate
opposed himself, saying that he would consent in no
wise that any one of us should be freed until we were
all together delivered; for experience had taught him
how evil ransomed men were wont to keep those
promises which they passed in the times of their
thraldom; for many times certain principal captives
had made that kind of trial, redeeming of some one or
other that should go to Valencia or Majorca, with
money to freight a barque or frigate, and return for
him that had ransomed them, and did never return
again; for the recovered liberty, and the fear of ad-
venturing to lose it again concurring, did blot out of
their memory all the other obligations of the world.
And to confirm the truth which he averred, he briefly
recounted unto us an accident which befel much about
the same time to certain Christian gentlemen, the
strangest as I suppose that ever happened in those
quarters, wherein do succeed every other day events
full of wonder and admiration; and therefore concluded,
DON QUIXOTE.
195
that what ought and might be done was, that they
would give unto him to buy a barque such money as
they meant to employ in the ransom of a captive, and
he would buy it there in Algiers, under pretext of
becoming a merchant and sailor in Tetuan and that
coast. And being once owner of a barque, he would
easily devise how to have them out of the baths and
embark them all: how much more, if the Moorish
lady did as she promised, give them money enough to
ransom them all, was it a most easy thing, they being
free, to embark themselves at mid-day. But the
greatest difficulty in this affair was, that the Moors use
not to permit any runagate to buy any barque or other
small vessel, but only great vessels of war; for they
suspect that he that buys a barque, specially if he be a
Spaniard, does it for no other end but to run away to
Christian countries. And yet he knew how to facilitate
that inconvenience, by inducing a Tagarin Moor to
become his partner of the barque and the gains that
should be gotten by the commodities thereof, and with
this colour he would become lord of it himself, and
therewithal accounted the matter ended. And although
that myself and my comrades held it the better course
to send unto Majorca for one, as the Moorish lady said,
yet durst we not contradict him, fearful that if we did
not what he would have us to do he would discover us
and endanger our lives, if he did once detect Zoraida's
practices, for the safeguard of whose life we would all
of us most willingly adventure our own; and there-
fore we determined to put ourselves into God's and the
runagate's hands. And so we answered at the same
instant to Zoraida, telling her that we would accomplish
all that she had admonished us, because she had adver-
tised us as well as if Lela Marien had told her what she
should say, and that the dilating or shortening of the
196
THE HISTORY OF
!
affair did consist only in herself. I did offer myself
anew to become her husband; and with this the day
ensuing wherein the bath was also free, she sent me
down at divers times by the cane two thousand ducats
and a letter, wherein she said that she would go to her
father's garden the next Juma, that is, the Friday follow-
ing, and that before she went away she would give us
more money; and that if it were not enough, we should
advise her, and she would give unto us as much as we
would demand; for her father had so much treasure
as he would never perceive it; how much more, seeing
she had and kept the keys of all. We gave five hundred
crowns presently to the runagate to buy a barque, and
with eight hundred I redeemed myself, giving the
money to a Valencian merchant which was at that
season in Algiers, who did ransom me of the king,
taking me forth on his word, which he passed to pay
my ransom at the arrival of the first ship that should
come from Valencia; for if he had delivered the
money instantly, it would have given occasion to the
king to suspect that my ransom was many days before
in Algiers, and that the merchant had kept it silently
to make his benefit thereof. Finally, my master was
so cavillous as I durst not in any wise pay him presently.
·
"The Thursday before the Friday of the beautiful
Zoraida's departure towards the garden, she gave unto
us other two thousand ducats, and did likewise advise
us of her going away, entreating me, that as soon as I
had ransomed myself, I should learn the way to the
garden, and take occasion howsoever to go to it, and see
her. I answered her briefly that I would do so, and
prayed her that she would carefully commend our
proceedings to Lela Marien with those prayers which
the captive had taught her. This being done, order
was also given for the ransoming of my three com-
DON QUIXOTE.
-197
panions, to facilitate our issue out of the baths, and
also that they seeing me free, and themselves undelivered,
might not be troubled or persuaded by the devil to do
anything in prejudice of Zoraida; for although that
they, being the men of that quality they were, might
assure me from this fear, I would not, for all that,
adventure the matter; and therefore I caused them to
be ransomed by the same means that I was redeemed
myself, giving all the money to the merchant, that he
might with the more security pass his word for us;
to whom yet we never did discover our practice and
secret, by reason of the imminent danger of the discovery
thereof."
T
198
THE HISTORY OF
CHAPTER XIV.
WHEREIN THE CAPTIVE PROSECUTETH THE PLEASANT
NARRATION OF HIS LIFE.
"FIFTEEN days were not fully expired when the runa-
gate had bought him a very good barque, able to hold
thirty persons or more; and for the better colour and
assurance of his business, he made a voyage to a place
called Sargel, which is thirty leagues distant from Algiers
toward the side of Oran, and is a great place of traffic
for dry figs. He made this voyage twice or thrice in
company with the Tagarino of whom we made men-
tion; and the name of Tagarins is in Barbary given to
the Moors of Aragon, Granada, and Mudajares. And
in the kingdom of Fez those Mudajares are called
Elches, and are the nation which that king doth most
employ in warlike affairs. You shall therefore under-
stand that every time he passed by with his barque,
he did cast anchor in a little creek, twice the shot of a
crossbow from the garden wherein Zoraida attended ;
and there the runagate would, in very good earnest,
exercise himself with the Moors that rowed, either to
fly, or else to assault one another in jest, as he meant
to do after in good earnest; and would now and then
go to Zoraida's garden and demand fruits, which
her father would bestow upon him, without knowing
what he was; and although he desired to have spoken
with Zoraida, as he told me afterward himself, and
have informed her how it was he that was to carry her
DON QUIXOTE.
199
away, by my direction, into the land of Christians,
and that she should therefore live cheerful and secure,
yet was it never possible, forasmuch as the women of
that nation do not suffer themselves to be viewed by
any Moor or Turk, if he be not their husband, or that
their parents command them, yet do they haunte and
communicate themselves to Christian captives freely,
and that sometimes more than is convenient. And truly
it would have grieved me that he should have spoken
to her, for perhaps it would have perplexed her extra-
ordinarily, to see her affair committed to the trust of a
runagate; but God, who did otherwise dispose it, did
not concur with this good desire of our runagate, who,
seeing how safely he went and returned from Sargel,
and that he sounded when and where he pleased, and
that the Tagarino, his partner, did only what he liked,
and that I was ransomed, and nothing else wanting but
to find out some Christian that would row, he bade
me bethink myself what men I would bring away with
me beside those that I had ransomed, and that I
should warn them to be ready against the next Friday,
wherein he was resolved that we should depart.
Seeing this, I spake to twelve Spaniards, very lusty
rowers, and those that could with most liberty get
out of the city; and it was not a little matter to find
so many there at that time, for there were twenty
galleys abroad a-robbing, which had carried all the
other rowers with them, and these were left behind,
because their master did keep at home that summer to
finish a galley that was on the stocks a-making. To
these I said nothing else, but only warned them that
the Friday ensuing, in the evening, they should closely
steal out by one and one, and go towards Aguimorato's
garden, and there expect me until I came unto them.
I gave this advice to every one of them apart, with
200
THE HISTORY OF
•
:
order also, that although they saw any other Christians
there, they should tell them nothing else but that I had
commanded them to expect me in that place.
"This diligence being used, yet wanted there another,
which was the most expedient of all, to wit, to advise
Zoraida of the terms wherein our affairs did stand, to
the end she might be likewise ready and prepared, and
not affrighted, though we did assault her before the
time that she could imagine the barque of the Christians
to be come to fetch her; and therefore I resolved to go
myself into the garden, and see whether I might speak
with her, And taking the occasion to go and gather
some herbs, I went unto it the day before our depart-
ure, and the first person with whom I encountered was
her father, who demanded of me, in a language which
in all Barbary and Constantinople is usually spoken by
the Moors to their captives, and is neither Arabian,
Spanish, nor of any other nation, but rather a mixture
of all languages, wherewith all of us understand one
another; he, I say, in that kind of speech, demanded
of me what I sought for in that his garden, and to
whom I did belong. I answered that I was one Arnaute
Mami his slave (and this because I was very certainly in-
formed that he was his entire friend), and that I came
thither to gather of all sorts of herbs to make a salad.
He consequently asked of me whether I was a man of
ransom or no, and how much my master demanded for
me. And being in those questions and demands, the
beautiful Zoraida descended from the house into the
garden, who had espied me a good while before. And
as the Moorish women do not greatly estrange them-
selves from the sight of Christians, nor are in their
behaviour or conversation with them anything squeam-
ish, as we have said already, she did not greatly fear to
approach the place where her father talked with me,
DON QUIXOTE.
201
but rather her father perceiving that she came on slowly,
did call, and commanded her to draw near.
"It were a thing impossible for me to recount the
great beauty and gallant disposition, or the bravery and
riches of attire wherein my beloved Zoraida then
showed herself to mine eyes. I will only say this, that
there hung more pearls at her ears, superlative fair
neck, and hair, than she hath hairs on her head; about
the wrists of her legs, which were naked, after the
manner of her country, she wore two carcaxes (for so
the manacles or bracelets of the feet are called in the
Moresco tongue) of the finest gold, wherein were en-
chased so many diamonds, that, as she told me after,
her father valued them at twenty thousand crowns;
and those about the wrists of her hands were of
equal esteem. Her pearls were many, and those most
orient; for all the chief bravery and ornament of
the Moorish ladies consists in the adorning of them-
selves with pearls and pearl-seed, by reason whereof
there is more pearls and pearl-seed to be found among
the Moors than among all other nations of the world.
And Zoraida's father had the fame to have many, and
those the very best that were in Algiers; and also above
two hundred thousand ducats of Spanish gold, of all
which was she the lady who now is mine. And if with
all this ornament she could then seem fair, by the relics
that have remained unto her among so many labours,
may be easily guessed what she would have been in
the time of prosperity; for all of us do know that the
beauty of some women hath limited days and seasons,
and requireth certain accidents either to diminish or
increase it; and it is a thing natural to the passions of
the mind, either to raise or abase it, but most commonly
they wholly destroy it. To be brief, I say that she
arrived to the place where we discoursed at that time,
202
THE HISTORY OF
most richly attired, and beautiful beyond measure, or
I at least deemed her the fairest that I had ever beheld
until then; and herewithal, remembering the obligation
wherein she had tied me, thought that some deity had
presented itself to my view, being come from heaven
to the earth for my recreation and relief.
"As soon as she was arrived, her father told her in
her own language how I was his friend Arnaute Mami
his captive, and that I came there to gather a salad;
then she, taking the speech, demanded in that medley
of tongues of which I have spoken, whether I was a
gentleman, and what the reason was why I redeemed
not myself. I made answer that I was already ran-
somed, and by the ransom might be conjectured in
how much my master valued me, seeing he had for my
liberty a thousand and five hundred coltamis. To this
she answered, 'In good sooth, if thou wert my father's,
I would cause him not to give thee for twice as much
more; for you Christians are great liars, and do make
every one of yourselves poor men, to defraud the
Moors of their due ransom.' 'It may well be so,
madam,' quoth I; 'but I have, for my part, used all
truth in this affair with my master, and do, and will
use truth with as many persons as I shall ever have
occasion to treat with in this world.'
"And when dost thou go away?' quoth Zoraida.
'To-morrow, as I believe,' quoth I; 'for there is a
French vessel here which sets forth to-morrow, and I
mean to depart in her.' 'Were it not better,' replied
Zoraida, 'to expect until vessels come out of Spain, and
go away with them, than with those of France, which
are not your friends?' 'No,' quoth I; 'although if it
were true, as the news run, that there comes a vessel
from Spain, I would attend it; but yet it is more
certain that I shall depart to-morrow; for the desire
DON QUIXOTE.
203
I have to see myself at home in my country, and with
those persons whom I love, is so great as it will not
permit me to expect any other commodity that fore-
slows itself, be it never so good.' 'Thou art doubt-
lessly married in thy country,' said Zoraida, and
therefore desirest to go see thy wife?' 'I am not
married,' quoth I; 'but I have passed my word to
marry as soon as I am there safely arrived.' 'And is she
beautiful to whom thou hast passed it?' quoth Zoraida.
'So beautiful,' said I, 'as, to endear it and tell you
the truth, she is very like unto yourself.' Hereat her
father laughed very heartily, and said, 'In good earnest,
Christian, she must be very fair that may compare with
my daughter, who is the most beautiful of all this
kingdom; and if thou wilt not believe me, look on her
well, and thou shalt see that I tell thee but the truth.'
He himself, as most perfect in the tongue, did serve for
the interpreter of most of our speeches; for although
she could speak that illegitimate language which is
there in use, yet did she manifest her mind more by
signs than by words.
"Whilst thus we reasoned of many matters, there
came running towards us a certain Moor, and told his
master how four Turks had leaped over the garden
walls, and were gathering the fruits, although they were
not yet ripe. The old man and his daughter Zoraida
started hereat; for it is an universal and natural de-
fect in the Moors to fear the Turks, but specially the
soldiers of that nation, who are commonly so insolent,
and have such command over the Moors that are their
subjects, as they do use them worse than if they were
their slaves. Therefore Zoraida's father said unto her,
'Daughter, retire thyself into the house, and keep thy-
self in, whilst I go speak to those dogs. And thou,
Christian, go and seek out thine herbs, and depart in
204
THE HISTORY OF
a good hour; and I pray Allah to conduct thee safely
to thy country.' I inclined myself to him, and he
departed to search out the Turks, leaving me alone
with Zoraida, who began to make ado as if she went
whither her father had commanded her, But scarce
was he covered among the trees of the garden, when
she returned to me, with her eyes full of tears, said,
'Amexi, Christiano? amexi?' that is, 'Goest thou away,
Christian? goest thou away?' I answered, 'Yes, lady,
that I do; but I will never depart without thee.
Expect me the next Friday, and be not affrighted when
thou shalt see us; for we will go to the Christian
country then without all doubt.' This I said to her in
such sort as she understood all my words very well;
and, casting her arm over my neck, she began to travel
with languishing steps towards the house; and fortune
would (which might have been very ill, if Heaven had
not rectified it) that as we walked together in that
manner and form, her father (who did by this return,
after he had caused the Turks to depart) espied us;
and we saw also very well how he had perceived us;
wherefore Zoraida, who is very discreet, would not
take away her arm from my neck, but rather drew
nearer unto me, and laid her head on my breast, and
bowed her knees a little, with evident token that she
swooned; and I likewise made as though I did
sustain her up by force. Her father came running over
towards us, and, seeing his daughter in that state,
demanded the cause of her; but, seeing she made no
answer, he himself said, 'She doubtlessly is dismayed
by the sudden affright she took at the entrance of those
dogs; and, taking her away from me, he bowed her to
his own breast; and she, breathing out a sigh, with her
eyes yet full of tears, said again, 'Amexi, Christiano;
amexi,'-'Go away, Christian; go away.' To which her
·
+
DON QUIXOTE.
205
father replied, 'There is no cause, daughter, why the
Christian should go away; for he hath done thee no
harm, and the Turks are already departed.' 'Sir, they
have affrighted her,' quoth I, 'as you have said; but
yet since she hath commanded me to go away, I will
not offend her; therefore, rest in peace; for I will
return, if it please you to give me leave, for herbs to
this garden when it is needful; for my master says
none better are to be found for salads in any garden
than you have in this.' 'Come as oft as thou wilt,'
said Aguimorato; for my daughter says not this in
respect that thou or any other Christian hath offended
her, but that, meaning to say that the Turks should
go away, she bade thee to depart, or else she spake it
because it is time for thee to gather thine herbs.'
.
“With this I took leave of both, and she seemed at
the instant of my departure to have had her heart
torn away from her as she departed with her father ;
and I, under colour of seeking herbs, went about all
the garden at my leisure, and viewed all the salleys
and the entrances thereof, the strength of the house,
and the commodities that might be offered to facilitate
our enterprise. This being done, I came home, and
made a relation to the runagate and my other fellows
of all that had passed, and did long infinitely to see
the hour wherein I might, without any affright or
danger, possess that happiness which fortune, in the
fair and lovely Zoraida, offered unto me. In fine, the
time passed over, and the so much desired day and
term arrived; and, every one of us following the
order which, with mature consideration and long dis-
course, we had agreed on, we found the good success
we desired; for the very Friday following the day
wherein I had spoken with Zoraida in the garden,
Morenago (for go was the runagate called) near night
206
THE HISTORY OF
cast anchor almost right before the place wherein
the beautiful Zoraida remained. The Christians,
also, that were to row were ready, and hidden in
sundry places thereabouts. All were suspended, and
resolutely expected my coming, desirous to set upon
the barque that was before their face; for they knew
not of the agreement that was between me and the
runagate, but rather made full account that they were
to gain their liberty by force of arms, and killing the
Moors that came in that vessel.
"It therefore befel that, as soon as I and my
fellows appeared, all the rest that were hidden, and
espied us, made forthwith over towards us. This was
at an hour when the city gates were shut, and never a
body abroad among all those fields. And when we
were all together, we were in doubt whether it would
be best first to go and fetch Zoraida, or to imprison and
stone the Tagarin Moors that rowed in the frigate.
And being in this doubt, the runagate came to us,
asking upon what we stayed, for it was now high time
to be going away, and all his Moors were wretchless,
and the greater number of them asleep. We told him
then the cause of our stay. And he answered that it
was of most importance first to subject the vessel,
which might be done with very great facility, and
without any peril; and that we might go after for
Zoraida. His opinion liked us all very well; and there-
fore, without lingering any longer, he leading the way,
we came to the vessel, and he himself leaping in first of
all, set hand to his falchion, and said in Moresco, ‘Let
none of you that is here stir himself, if he love his life.'
And saying so, all the rest of the Christians entered.
The Moors, which were of little spirit, hearing their
master say so, were marvellously amazed, and, without
daring any one of them to set hand to their arms,
DON QUIXOTE.
207
which were but a few at all, they suffered themselves
very quietly to be taken and bound by the Christians,
which did it very dexterously, threatening them that
if they did let slip the least outcry, they should
presently be all put to the sword. This being finished,
and the half of our people remaining in their guard,
we that were left, conducted also by the runagate, went
towards Aguimorato's garden. The door thereof did,
by very good hap, open with as little noise as if it had
had no lock at all; whereupon we went with great
quietness and silence towards the house, unseen or
espied of any.
"The beautiful Zoraida was the while expecting us at
a window, and as soon as she saw people approach, de-
manded, with a low voice, whether we were Nazarenes,
as if she would say or ask whether we were Christians.
I answered that we were, and willed her to come down.
As soon as she knew me, she stayed not a minute, but
without answering any word came down in an instant,
and, opening the door, showed herself to us all, more
beautiful and richly attired than I am able in any sort
to express. As soon as I saw her, I took her by the
hand and kissed it; the same did the runagate, and
my two comrades; and all the rest, which knew not
the matter, did as they had seen us do before them;
for it seemed ¹at we did no more but give her thanks,
and acknowledge her the auctress of all our liberties.
The runagate demanded of her, in her own language,
whether her father were in the garden or no. She
answered that he was, and that he slept. 'Then will
it be requisite,' quoth the runagate, 'to rouse him, and
bear him and all the other things of worth in this
garden away with us.' 'That shall not be so,' quoth
she; for I will have no man to touch my father; and
in this house there is nothing of value, but that which
208
THE HISTORY OF
I mean to carry away with myself, which is so much
as will be sufficient to cheer and enrich you all; as, if
you will stay but a while, you shall perceive.'
"And saying so, she entered again into the house,
promising to return to us speedily, and bade us stand
still without making any noise. I demanded of the
runagate what speech had passed between them,
and he told me all she had said; and I answered him
again, that I would not have Zoraida's will transgressed
in any sort. By this time she returned laden with a
little casket full of gold, so that she was scarce able
to bear it. And her father, in the mean season, by bad
fortune, awaked, and heard the noise that was beneath
in his garden; and, looking out at a window, he per-
ceived that they were all Christians that were in it,
and therefore cried out, in a loud and unmeasurable
manner, in the Arabian tongue, 'Christians, Christians !
thieves, thieves!' by which cries we were all of us
strucken into very great fear and confusion. But the
runagate, seeing the peril wherein we were, and how
nearly it concerned him to come off from that enter-
prise before he were discovered, ran up very speedily
to the place where Aguimorato stood, and some of our
fellows accompanied him (for I durst not abandon
Zoraida, who had fallen between mine arms all
amazed); and in conclusion, those which had mounted,
behaved themselves so well, as they brought Aguimorato
down in a trice, having tied his hands, and set a gag in
his mouth, which hindered his speech, threatening him
that if he did speak but a word it should cost him his
life.
"When his daughter saw him she covered her eyes,
because she would not behold him; and he marvelled,
wholly ignoring with how good a will she came away
with us. But then, considering that nothing was so
DON QUIXOTE.
209
requisite as our legs, we did with all velocity and
diligence get into the frigate; for our companions did
perplexedly expect our return, half afraid that some
disgrace had befallen us. Scarce were two hours of the
night overrun, when we were all embarked; and then
we unmanacled Zoraida's father's hands, and took the
cloth out of his mouth. But the runagate did again
admonish him that, as he tendered his life, he should
not speak one word. He, beholding his daughter
likewise there, began to sigh very feelingly, but chiefly
perceiving me to hold her so straitly embraced, and
that she made no resistance, nor did complain or seem
coy, but stood quiet; but yet for all that he kept
silence, fearing lest they should put the runagate's
menaces in execution. Zoraida, seeing herself now
safe within the barque, and that we were ready to row
away, looking on her father and the other Moors that
were tied therein, she entreated the runagate to tell
me how she desired me to do her the favour to set
those Moors and her father at liberty; for she would
rather cast herself into the sea than see her father, who
had loved her so dearly, carried away captive before
her eyes, and that also by her occasion. The runagate
told me her mind, and I answered how I was very well
pleased it should be so. But he replied that it was
in no sort expedient, by reason that if they were
landed there, they would presently raise the country
and put the whole city into a tumult, and cause certain
light frigates to be manned and sent out in our pur-
suit, and lay both sea and land for us in such sort as
it would be impossible for us to escape; but what was
at the present possible to be done, was to give them
liberty at the first Christian country whereat we
happened to arrive.
"All of us agreed to this opinion; and Zoraida also
II.
0
210
THE HISTORY OF
.
ì
(to whom reason was given of the motives we had, not
to free them forthwith, and accomplish her will therein)
remained satisfied; and therefore presently, with joyful
silence and cheerful diligence, every one of our lusty
rowers seizing upon his oar, we began, after we had
commended ourselves unto Almighty God, to launch
forth, and address our course towards the isles of
Majorca, which is the nearest Christian country; but
by reason that the wind blew somewhat from the
mountains, and that the sea began to be rough, it was
not possible to continue that course, and so we were
forced to approach the shore, and go by little and little
towards Oran, not without great grief and anguish, for
fear to be espied by the town of Sargel, which is on
that coast, and falls some seventy leagues beyond
Algiers. And we did likewise fear to meet in that
passage some galliot of those which come ordinarily
with merchandise from Tetuan, although every one of
us for himself, and for all together, did presume that
if we encountered a galliot of merchandise, so it were
not a pirate, that not only we would not be lost, but
rather would take the vessel, that therein we might
with more security finish our voyage. Zoraida, whilst
thus we sailed, went with her head between my hands,
because she would not look on her father; and I felt
her, how she was still invoking of Lela Marien to
assist us. And having sailed about some thirty leagues,
the morning overtook us about some three musket-shot
from land, in a place that seemed to be desert, and free
from all access of those that might discover us; and yet
for all that, we got by might and main somewhat
farther into the seas that now was become a little
calmer; and having entered some two leagues into the
main, order was given that they should row by turns,
whilst they did refresh themselves and take a little
DON QUIXOTE.
211
sustenance, for the barque was very well furnished with
victuals, although those which did row refused the
offer, saying that then it was no time to repose, and
that they should set those that did not row to dinner,
for they would not yet in any sort let go their oars.
It being done as they had said, the wind did rise so
much as it made us, abandoning our oars, to set sail,
and direct our boat towards Oran, being unable to take
any other course. All was done with very great speed;
and so we made by the sail more than eight miles an
hour, free from all other fear than that of encountering
some vessel of war. We gave the Moors, our prisoners,
their dinner, and the runagate comforted them, say-
ing that they went not as prisoners, for they should
receive their liberty upon the first commodity that
were proffered. The same was likewise said of
Zoraida's father, who returned them this answer: ‘I
would easily expect and believe any other thing, O
Christians, of your liberality and honourable manner
of proceeding; but do not think that I am so simple
as once to imagine that you will give me my liberty,
for you did never expose yourself to the danger of
despoiling me thereof with intention to return it me so
prodigally again, especially knowing, as you do, who
I am, and the profit you may reap by giving me it
again; to which profit, if you will put a name, and tell
me how much would you demand, I do even from
hence offer unto you all that which you will seek for
me, and for that unfortunate daughter of mine; or if
you will not deliver me, I will give you it for her
alone, who is the greatest and the best part of my soul.'
And saying so, he began to weep so bitterly as he
moved us all to compassion, and forced Zoraida to look
upon him, who, seeing him weep, was so strangely
moved as, arising from my feet, she went and embraced
212
THE HISTORY OF
her father; and, laying her face upon his, they began
together so tender a lamentation as many of us that
were in the barque were forced to keep them company.
But when her father noted her to be so richly adorned,
and with so many jewels on, he asked her in his own
language, 'How haps this, daughter, that yesternight
late, before this terrible disaster befel us wherein
we are plunged, I saw thee attired in thine ordinary
household array, and that now, without having had
any leisure to apparel thyself, or having given thee
any glad tidings, for whose solemnising thou oughtest
to adorn and publish thyself, I do view thee thus clad
in the richest attire which I could bestow upon thee
when our fortune was most favourable? Answer me
to this, for thou hast suspended and astonished me
more than the very disgrace itself wherein I am.'
"All that the Moor said to his daughter the runagate
declared unto us; and she did not answer a word to
him. But when he saw the little coffer lie at one side
of the barque, wherein she was wont to keep her jewels,
and that he knew very well he had left at Algiers, and
not brought to the garden, he was much more amazed,
and demanded of her how that coffer was come into
our possession, and what things she had there within
it. To which the runagate, without attending that
Zoraida should answer him, said, 'Sir, do not trouble
yourself by demanding so many things of your daughter
Zoraida, for with one that I will say I shall satisfy
them all; and therefore you shall understand that
she is a Christian, and hath been the file that cut off
our chains, and is the liberty itself of our captivity;
and she goeth along with us of her own free will, as
content (if mine imagination do not wrong me) to see
herself in this state, as he is that cometh out of
darkness to the light, from death unto life, and out of
DON QUIXOTE.
213
pain into glory.' 'Is it true, daughter, which this man
says?' quoth the Moor. 'It is,' answered Zoraida.
That thou in effect art a Christian,' replied the old
man, 'and she that hath put her father into his enemy's
hands?' To which Zoraida answered, 'I am she that
is a Christian, but not she that hath brought thee to
this pass; for my desire did never so estrange itself
from thee as to abandon or harm thee, but only
endeavoured to do myself good.' 'And what good hast
thou done thyself, daughter?' 'Demand that,' said
she, ‘of Lela Marien, for she can therein inform thee
better than I can.'
"Scarce had the Moor heard her say so, when, with
incredible haste, he threw himself headlong into the
sea, wherein he had been questionlessly drowned, if the
long apparel he wore on had not kept him up a while
above the water. Zoraida cried out to us to save him;
and so we all presently ran, and, laying hold on a part
of his Turkish robe, drew him up half drowned, and
wholly devoid of feeling; whereat Zoraida was so
grieved, that she lamented him as dolefully as if he had
been dead. There we laid him with his mouth down-
ward, and he avoided a great quantity of water, and
after the space of two hours returned to himself again.
And in the meantime, the wind also turning, it did
drive us towards the coast, so that we were constrained to
keep ourselves by very force of arms from striking
upon it; and our good fortune directing us, we arrived
to a little creek at the side of a certain cape or pro-
montory, called by the Moors the Cape of the Cava
Rumia, which in our language signifies 'the ill Christian
woman.' And the Moors hold it for a tradition, that
in the very same place was the Cava buried, for whom
Spain was lost, and conquered by the Moors; for Cava
in their language signifies an ill woman, and Rumia a
214
THE HISTORY OF
Christian. Yea, and they hold it for a sign of mis-
fortune to arrive or cast anchor there, when mere
necessity drives them thither, without which they
never approach it yet did it not prove to us the
shelter of an ill woman, but the secure haven of our
safety. We sent our sentinels ashore, and never let
the oars slip out of our hands. We did likewise eat
of the runagate's provision, and heartily besought
Almighty God and Our Lady to assist and favour us
with a happy end to so lucky a beginning. And we
agreed, upon Zoraida's entreaty, to set her father and
the other Moors that we had tied a-land in that place
for she was of so tender and compassionate a mind as
she could in no wise brook to see her father tied in
her presence, or her countrymen borne away captives.
Wherefore we made her a promise that we would, at
our departure, let them all go away, seeing we incurred
no danger by leaving them in so desolate a region.
Our prayers were not so vain but that they found
gentle acceptance in Heaven, which presently changed
the wind and appeased the sea, inviting us cheerfully
to return to it again, and prosecute our commenced
voyage.
(c.
1
Seeing that the weather was favourable, we loosed
the Moors, and set them all a-land one by one; and
coming to disembark Zoraida's father, who was
by that time wholly come to himself, he said, “For
what do you conjecture, Christians, that this bad
woman is glad that you give me liberty? Do you
think that she doth it for pity that she takes of me?
No, truly; but she doth it only to remove the hindrance
my presence gave her when she would execute her
unlawful desires. Nor ought you to believe that she
is moved to change religion by reason that she under-
stands yours to be better than her own, but only

DON QUIXOTE.
215
=
because she knows licentiousness to be more publicly
and freely practised in your country than among us.'
And then, turning to Zoraida, whom I and another
Christian held fast by both the arms, lest she should do
some desperate fact, he said, 'O infamous girl, and ill-
advised maiden! where dost thou run thus blinded
and distracted, in the power of those dogs, our natural
enemies? Cursed be the hour wherein I engendered
thee! and cursed the delights and pleasures wherein
thou wast nousled !' I perceiving that he was not like
to make an end of his execrations so soon as I could
wish, had him set on shore, and thence he prosecuted
his maledictions and plaints, praying unto Mahomet
that he would intercede with Allah that we might be
all destroyed, confounded, and cast away. And when
we could hear his words no longer, by reason that we
set sail, we perceived his works, that were, to pluck
his beard, tear his hair, and cast himself on the
ground; but once he did lift up his voice so high, as
that we heard him say, 'Return, beloved daughter,
return to the land; for I do pardon thee all that thou
hast done and deliver that money to those men, for
it is now their own; and return thou to comfort thy
sad and desolate father, who will forsake his life on
these desolate sands, if thou dost abandon him."
"Zoraida heard him say all this, and lamented
thereat, but knew not how to speak, or answer him
any other thing but this: 'Father mine, I pray Allah
that Lela Marien, who hath been the cause of my
becoming a Christian, may likewise comfort thee in
thy sorrow. Allah knows well that I could do none
other than I did, and that these Christians do owe me
nothing for my good-will, seeing that though I had not
come away with them, but remained at my house, yet
had it been impossible (such was the haste wherewithal

216
THE HISTORY OF
my soul pressed me) not to have executed this my
purpose, which seems to me to be as good as thou, O
beloved father, dost account it wicked.' She said this
in a time that neither her father could hear her, nor
we behold him; and therefore, after I had comforted
Zoraida, we did thenceforth only attend our voyage,
which was so much holpen by the favourable wind as
we made full account to be the next day on the coast
of Spain. But as good very seldom, or rather never,
betides a man thoroughly and wholly, without being
accompanied or followed by some evil which troubles
and assaults it, our fortune would, or rather the
maledictions of the Moor poured on his daughter (for
the curses of any father whatsoever are to be feared),
that being engulfed three hours within night, and
going before the wind with a full sail, and our oars set
up, because the prosperous wind had rid us of the
labour of rowing, we saw near unto us, by the light of
the moon that shined very clearly, a round vessel
which, with all her sails spread, did cross before us
into the sea, and that so nearly, as we were fain to
strike down our sail, that we might avoid the shock she
was like to give us; and those that were in her had
on the other side laboured also what they might to
turn her out of our way, standing all of them on the
hatches to demand of us what we were, from whence
we came, and whither we did sail. But by reason
that they spake French, the runagate bade us not to
speak a word, saying, 'Let none answer; for these are
French pirates, which make their booty of everybody.'
For this cause none of us answered; and, being passed
a little forward, and that the ship remained in the lee
of us, they suddenly shot off two pieces of artillery,
and as I think, both of them had chain bullets, for
with the one they cut our mast asunder, and over-
DON QUIXOTE.
217
threw it and the sail into the sea, and instantly after
they discharged another. The bullet alighting in our
barque, did pierce it through and through, without
doing any other hurt; but we, seeing that our vessel
began to sink, began all to cry out, and request them
to succour us, and prayed them that they would take
us into their vessel, for we were a-drowning. Then
they came amain, and, casting out their cock-boat, there
entered into it as good as a dozen Frenchmen, well
appointed, with their arquebuses and matches lighted,
and so approached unto us; and, perceiving how few
we were, and that the barque did sink, they received
us into their boat, saying, that because we had used
the discourtesy of not making them answer, that mis-
fortune had befallen us. Our runagate about this
time took the coffer wherein Zoraida's treasures were
kept, and threw it into the sea, unperceived of any.
"In conclusion, we went all of us into the great ves-
sel with the Frenchmen, who, after they had informed
themselves of all that which they desired to know, as
if they were our capital enemies, they afterward
despoiled us of all that ever we had about us; and of
Zoraida they took all, even unto her very bracelets
that she wore on her ankles. But the wrong they did
to Zoraida did not afflict me so much as the fear
I conceived that, after they had taken away from her
her most rich and precious jewels, they would also de-
prive her of the jewel of most prize, and which she
valued most. But the desires of that nation extend
themselves no further than to the gain of money; and
their avarice in this is never thoroughly satisfied, and
at that time was so great, as they would have taken
from us the very habits of slaves that we brought from
Barbary, if they had found them to have been worth
anything. And some there were of opinion among
220
THE HISTORY OF
standing, to enter into the land, seeing that we could
not choose but discover ere long somebody who might
give us notice of the place where we were. And that
which afflicted me most of all was to see Zoraida go
afoot through those rugged places; for although I did
sometimes carry her on my shoulders, yet did the toil
I took more weary her than the repose she got could
ease her, and therefore would never after the first time
suffer me to take that pains again, and so she went ever
after afoot with great patience and tokens of joy, I
holding her still by the hand. And having travelled
little less than a quarter of a league, we heard the noise
of a little bell, an infallible argument that near at
hand there was some cattle; whereupon, all of us
looking very wistly to see whether anybody appeared,
perceived under a cork tree a young shepherd, who
very quietly and carelessly was carving of a stick
with a knife. We called to him, and he leaped up
lightly on foot, and, as we afterwards learned, the first
that he got sight of were the runagate and Zoraida ;
whom he seeing apparelled in the Moresco habit, thought
that all the people of Barbary had been at his heels;
and therefore, running very swiftly into the wood, he
cried all along, with marvellous loudness, 'Moors! Moors
are in the land! Moors! Moors! Arm! arm!' These
outcries struck us anew into a great perplexity, and
scarce did we know what we should do; but consider-
ing how the shepherd's alarm would cause all the
country to rise up, and that the horsemen that kept the
coast would presently come to see what it was, we all
agreed that the runagate should put off his Turkish
attire, and put on a captive's cassock, which one of the
company gave unto him forthwith, although the giver
remained after in his shirt. And thus committing the
affair unto Almighty God, we followed on by the same
DON QUIXOTE.
221
way which we saw the shepherd had taken, always ex-
pecting when the horsemen of the coast would fall upon
us. And we were not deceived in our expectation, for
within two hours after, having issued out of those woods
into a plain, we discovered about some fifty horsemen,
which came running towards us as swiftly as their
horses could drive; and, having perceived them, we
stood still, and stayed until they came to us, and saw
instead of the Moors they sought for, so many poor
Christians, and remained somewhat ashamed thereat;
and one of them demanded whether we were the
occasion that a shepherd had given the alarm. 'Yes,'
quoth I; and as I was about to inform what I was, and
of all our adventure, and from whence we came, one of
the Christians that came with us did take notice of the
horseman who had spoken unto us; and so, interrupt-
ing my speech, he said, 'Sirs, let God be praised which
hath brought us to so good a place as this is; for, if I
be not deceived, the earth which we tread is of Velez-
Malaga; and, if the years of my captivity have not
confounded my memory, you likewise, sir, that demand
what we be, are Peter of Bostamente, mine uncle.' As
soon as ever the Christian captive had spoken those
words, the horseman, leaping off his horse, ran and
embraced him, saying, 'O nephew, as dear to me as
my soul and life! now I do know thee very well, and
many a day since have I wept for thee, thinking thou
wast dead; and so hath my sister, thy mother, and all
the rest of thy friends which do live yét; and God hath
been pleased to preserve their lives, that they may
enjoy the pleasure to behold thee once again. We
knew very well that thou wert in Algiers; and, by
the signs and tokens of thy clothes, and that of all the
rest here of thy companions, I surmise that your escape
hath been miraculous?' 'Indeed it was so,' replied the
222
THE HISTORY OF
captive; and we shall have time, I hope, to recount
unto you the manner.'
"As soon as the horsemen had understood that we
were Christian captives, they alighted off their horses,
and every one of them invited us to mount upon his
own, to carry us to the city of Velez-Malaga, which was
yet a league and a half from that place; and some of
them went to the place where we had left the boat, to
bring it to the city; whom we informed first of the
place where it lay: others did mount us up on horse-
back behind themselves, and Zoraida rode behind the
captive's uncle. All the people issued to receive us,
being premonished of our arrival by some one that
had ridden before. They did not wonder to see captives
freed, nor Moors captived there, being an ordinary
thing in those parts; but that whereat they wondered
was the surpassing beauty of Zoraida, which at that
season and instant was in her prime, as well through the
warmth she had gotten by her travel, as also through
the joy she conceived to see herself in Christian lands,
secure from all fear of being surprised or lost; and
these things called out to her face such colours as, if it
be not that affection might then have deceived me, I
durst aver that a more beautiful than she was the
world could not afford, at least among those which
I had ever beheld.
"We went directly to the church to give thanks
unto Almighty God for the benefit received; and as soon
as Zoraida entered into it, she said there were faces in
it that resembled very much that of Lela Marien. We
told her that they were her images; and the runagate,
as well as the brevity of the time permitted, instructed
her what they signified, to the end she should do them
reverence, as if every one of them were truly that same
Lela Marien which had spoken unto her. She, who had
•
DON QUIXOTE.
223
a very good understanding and an easy and clear con-
ceit, comprehended presently all that was told unto
her concerning images. From thence they carried us,
and divided us among different houses of the city; but
the Christian that came with us carried the runagate,
Zoraida, and me to the house of his parents, which
were indifferently accommodated and stored with the
goods of fortune, and did entertain me with as great
love and kindness as if I were their own son. We re-
mained six days in Velez, in which time the runagate,
having made an information of all that which might
concern him, he went to the city of Granada, to be re-
conciled, by the holy Inquisition's means, to the bosom
of our holy mother the Church. The rest of the freed
captives took every one the way that he pleased; and
Zoraida and I remained behind, with those ducats only
which the Frenchman's courtesy was pleased to bestow
on Zoraida; and with part of that sum I bought her
this beast whereon she rides; I myself serving her
hitherto as her father and her squire, and not as her
spouse. We travel with intention to see if my father
be yet living, or any of my brothers have had more
prosperous hap than myself; although, seeing Heaven
hath made me Zoraida's consort, methinks no other
good fortune could arrive, were it never so great, that
I would hold in so high estimation. The patience
wherewithal she bears the incommodities usually
annexed unto poverty, and the desires she shows to
become a Christian, is such and so great, as it strikes
me into an admiration, and doth move me to serve her
all the days of my life; although that the delight
which I take to see myself hers, and she mine, is oft-
times interrupted, and almost dissolved, by the fear
which I have that I shall not find in mine own country
some little corner wherein I may entertain her, and
224
THE HISTORY OF
that time and death have wrought such alteration in
the goods and lives of my father and brothers, as I shall
scarce find any one at home that knows me. I have
no more, good sirs, to tell you of my life's history, than
which, whether it be pleasing and rare, or no, your
clear conceits are to judge. As for myself, I daresay
that, if it had been possible, I would have told it
with more brevity; fearing it might be tedious unto
you, I purposely omitted many delightful circum-
stances thereof."
"
DON QUIXOTE.
225
CHAPTER XV.
WHICH SPEAKS OF THAT WHICH AFTER BEFEL IN THE
INN, AND OF SUNDRY OTHER THINGS WORTHY TO
BE KNOWN.
THE captive having said this, held his peace; and Don
Fernando replied to him thus: "Truly, captain, the
manner wherewithal you have recounted this marvel-
lous success hath been such as it may be paragoned to
the novelty and strangeness of the event itself. And
so great is the delight we have taken in the hearing
thereof, as I do believe that although we had spent the
time from hence till to-morrow in listening to it, yet
should we be glad to hear it told over once again.”
And saying so, Cardenio and all the rest did offer
themselves and their means to his service, as much as
lay in them, with so cordial and friendly words as the
captive remained thoroughly satisfied with their good
wits; but specially Don Fernando offered, that if he
would return with him, he would cause the marquis
his brother to be Zoraida her godfather in baptism;
and that he, for his part, would so accommodate him
with all things necessary, as he might enter into the
town with the decency and authority due to his person.
The captive did gratify his large offers very courteously,
but would not accept any of them at that time. By
this the night drew on, and about the fall thereof there
arrived at the inn a coach, with some men a-horse-
back, and asked for lodging; to whom the hostess
II.
P
226
THE HISTORY OF
answered that in all the inn there was not a span free,
the number of her guests was already so many. "Well,
although that be so," quoth one of the horsemen that
had entered, "yet must there be a place found for
Master Justice who comes in this coach." At this name
the hostess was afraid, and said, "Sir, the misfortune
is that I have no beds; but if Master Justice brings
one with him, as it is probable he doth, let him enter
in boldly, and I and my husband will leave our own
chamber to accommodate his worship." "So be it,"
quoth the squire; and by this time alighted out of the
coach a man whose attire did presently denote his
dignity and office, for his long gown and his great
and large sleeves did show that he was a judge, as the
serving-men affirmed. He led a young maiden by the
hand, of about some sixteen years old, apparelled in
riding attire ; but she was therewithal of so disposed,
beautiful, and cheerful a countenance, as her presence
did strike them all into admiration; so as if they had
not seen Dorothea, Lucinda, and Zoraida, which were
then in the inn, they would hardly have believed that
this damsel's beauty might anywhere have been
matched.
Don Quixote was present at the judge's and the
gentlewoman's entry; and so, as soon as he had seen him,
he said, "Sir, you may boldly enter and take your
ease in this castle, which although it be but little and
ill accommodated, yet there is no narrowness nor dis-
commodity in the world but makes place for arms and
learning, and specially if the arms and letters bring
beauty for their guide and leader, as your learning doth,
conducted by this lovely damsel, to whom ought not
only castles to open and manifest themselves, but also
rocks to part and divide their cliffs, and mountains to
bow their ambitious crests, to give and make her a
DON QUIXOTE.
227
lodging. Enter therefore, I say, worshipful sir, into
this paradise, wherein you shall find stars and suns to
accompany this sky which you bring along with you.
Here shall you find arms in their height, and beauty
in her prime." The judge marvelled greatly at Don
Quixote's speech, whom he began to behold very
earnestly, and wondered no less at his shape than at
his words; and knowing not what answer he might
return him. He was diverted, on the other side, by
the sudden approach of the three ladies, Lucinda,
Dorothea, and Zoraida, which stood before him; for,
having heard of the arrival of new guests, and also
being informed by the hostess of the young lady's
beauty, they were come forth to see and entertain her.
But Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the curate did give
him more complete and courtly entertainment than the
rusty knight. In effect, the judge was marvellously
amazed at that which he saw and heard in that inn:
and the fair guests thereof bade the beautiful maiden
welcome. The judge perceived very well that the
guests of the inn were all men of account; but Don
Quixote's feature, visage, and behaviour did set him out
of all bias, being not able to conjecture what he might
be. And after some court-like intercourses passed, and
the commodities of the inn examined, they all agreed
again, as they had done before, that all the women
should enter into Don Quixote's room, and the men
remain without in their guard: and so the judge was
content that the damsel, who was his daughter, should
also go with those ladies, which she did with a very
good will; and, with a part of the innkeeper's narrow
bed, and half of that which the judge had brought with
him, they made shift to pass over that night the best
they could.
The captive, who from the instant that he had first
228
THE HISTORY OF
seen the judge, did greatly suspect that he was his
brother, and demanded of one of his servants how he
was called, and where he was born. The other
answered how he was called the licentiate, John Perez
of Viedma, and, as he had heard, he was born in a village
of the mountains of Leon. With this relation, and the
rest that he had noted, he finally confirmed his opinion
that it was the brother who, following his father's
advice, had dedicated himself to his studies; and, full
of joy and contentment, calling aside Don Fernando,
Cardenio, and the curate, he certified them of all that
passed, and that the judge was his brother. The
serving-man told him likewise how he went towards
the Indies, where he had his place and office in the
courts of Mexico; and also that the young gentle-
woman was his daughter, of whose birth her mother
had died, and he ever after remained a widower, and
very rich by her dowry and portion that she had left
to her daughter. He demanded of them advice how
he might discover himself to his brother, or first know
whether, after he had detected himself, he would receive
him with a good countenance and affection, and not be
ashamed to acknowledge him for his brother, seeing
him in so poor an estate. "Leave the trial of that
experience to me," quoth the curate, "and the rather
because there is no occasion why you, sir captain,
should not be kindly entertained by him; for the
prudence, worths, and good countenance of your
brother give manifest tokens that he is nothing
arrogant." "For all that," said the captain, "I would
not make myself known on the sudden, but would
use some pretty ambages to bring him acquainted with
me."
"I say unto you," quoth the curate, "that I will
trace the matter in such sort as we will all rest
satisfied."
DON QUIXOTE.
229
Supper was by this made ready, and all of them sat
down to the table, the captive excepted and ladies,
which supped together within the room; and about the
midst of supper the curate said, "Master Justice, I have
had in times past a comrade of your very surname in
Constantinople, where I was sometime captive, who
was one of the most valiant soldiers and captains that
might be found among all the Spanish foot; but he
was as unfortunate as he was valorous and resolute."
"And how was that captain called, good sir?" quoth the
judge. "His name was," replied master curate, "Ruy
Perez Viedma, and he was born in a village of the
mountains of Leon; and he recounted unto me an
occurrence happened between his father, him, and his
other brethren, which, if I had not been told by a man
of such credit and reputation as he was, I would have
esteemed for one of these fables which old wives are
wont to rehearse by the fireside in winter; for he
said to me that his father had divided his goods among
his three sons, and gave them withal certain precepts,
better than those of Cato; and I know well that the
choice which he made to follow the war had such
happy success, as within a few years, through his
forwardness and valour, without the help of any other
arm, he was advanced to a company of foot, and made a
captain, and was in the way and course of becoming one
day a colonel; but fortune was contrary to him, for
even there where he was most to expect her favour, he
lost it, with the loss of his liberty, in that most happy
journey wherein so many recovered it, to wit, in the
battle of Lepanto. I lost mine in Goleta; and after, by
different success, we became companions in Constan-
tinople, from whence we went to Algiers, where did
befall him one of the most notable adventures that ever
happened in the world;" and there the curate, with
230
THE HISTORY OF
sufficient brevity, recounted all that had happened
between the captain and Zoraida; to all which the
judge was so attentive, as in all his life he never
listened to any cause so attentively as then. And the
curate only arrived to the point wherein the French-
men spoiled the Christians that came in the barque, and
the necessity wherein his companion and the beautiful
Zoraida remained; of whom he had not learned any-
thing after, nor knew not what became of them, or
whether they came into Spain, or were carried away
by the Frenchmen into France.
The captain stood listening somewhat aloof off to
all the curate's words, and noted the while the motions
and gestures of his brother; who, seeing that the
curate had now made an end of his speech, breathing
forth a great sigh, and his eyes being filled with tears,
he said, "Oh, sir, if you had known the news which
you have told me, and how nearly they touch me in
some points, whereby I am constrained to manifest
these tears, which violently break forth in despite of
my discretion and calling, you would hold me excused
for this excess. That captain of whom you spoke is
my eldest brother, who, as one stronger and of more
noble thoughts than I or my younger brother, made
election of the honourable military calling, one of the
three estates which our father proposed to us, even as
your comrade informed, when, as you thought, he
related a fable. I followed my book, by which God
and my diligence raised me to the state you see. My
younger brother is in Peru, and with that which he
hath sent to my father and myself, hath bountifully
recompensed the portion he carried, and given to him
sufficient to satisfy his liberal disposition, and to me
wherewithal to continue my studies with the decency
and authority needful to advance me to the rank which

DON QUIXOTE.
231
now I possess. My father lives yet, but dying through
desire to learn somewhat of his eldest son, and doth
daily importune God with incessant prayers that
death may not shut his eyes until he may once again
see him alive. I only marvel not a little, considering
his discretion, that among all his labours, afflictions, or
prosperous successes, he hath been so careless in giving
his father notice of his proceedings; for if either he or
any one of us had known of his captivity, he should
not have needed to expect the miracle of the cane for
his ransom. But that which troubles me most of all is
to think whether these Frenchmen have restored him
again to liberty, or else slain him, that they might
conceal their robbery the better; all which will be an
occasion to me to prosecute my voyage, not with the
joy wherewithal I began it, but rather with melancholy
and sorrow. Oh, dear brother, I would I might know
now where thou art, that I myself might go and search
thee out, and free thee from thy pains, although it
were with the hazard of mine own. Oh, who is he that
could carry news to our old father that thou wert but
alive, although thou wert hidden in the most abstruse
dungeons of Barbary? for his riches, my brother's, and
mine, would fetch thee from thence. O beautiful and
bountiful Zoraida! who might be able to recompense
thee for the good thou hast done to my brother? How
happy were he that might be present at thy spiritual
birth and baptism, and at thy nuptials, which would
be so grateful to us all." These and many other such
words did the judge deliver, so full of compassion for
the news that he had received of his brother, as all
that heard him kept him company in showing signs
of compassion for his sorrow.
The curate therefore, perceiving the happy success
whereto his design and the captain's desire had sorted,

232
THE HISTORY OF
would hold the company sad no longer; and therefore,
arising from the table, and entering into the room
wherein Zoraida was, he took her by the hand, and
after her followed Lucinda, Dorothea, and the judge
his daughter. The captain stood still to see what the
curate would do, who, taking him fast by the other
hand, marched over with them both towards the judge
and the other gentlemen, and said, "Suppress your
tears, Master Justice, and glut your desire with all that
good which it may desire, seeing you have here before
you your good brother and your loving sister-in-law.
This man whom you view here is the Captain Viedma,
and this the beautiful Moor which hath done so much
for him. The Frenchmen which I told you of have
reduced them to the poverty you see, to the end that
you may show the liberality of your noble breast."
Then did the captain draw near to embrace his
brother; but he held him off a while with his arms,
to note whether it was he or no; but when he once
knew him, he embraced him so lovingly, and with
such abundance of tears, as did attract the like
from all the beholders. The words that the brothers
spoke one to another, or the feeling affection which
they showed, can hardly be conceived, and therefore
much less written by any one whatsoever. There they
did briefly recount the one to the other their suc
cesses; there did they show the true love and affec-
tion of brothers in his prime; there did the judge
embrace Zoraida; there he made her an offer of all
that was his; there did he also cause his daughter to
embrace her; there the beautiful Christian and the
most beautiful Moor renewed the tears of them all;
there Don Quixote was attentive, without speaking a
word, pondering of these rare occurrences, and attribut-
ing them to the chimeras which he imagined to be
:

DON QUIXOTE.
233
incident to chivalry; and there they agreed that the
captain and Zoraida should return with their brother
to Seville, and thence advise their father of his finding
and liberty, that he, as well as he might, should come
to Seville to the baptism and marriage of Zoraida,
because the judge could not possibly return, or dis-
continue his journey, in respect that the Indian fleet
was to depart within a month from Seville towards
New Spain.
Every one, in conclusion, was joyful and glad at the
captive's good success; and two parts of the night being
well-nigh spent, they all agreed to repose themselves a
while. Don Quixote offered himself to watch and
guard the castle whilst they slept, lest they should be
assaulted by some giant or other miscreant, desirous
to rob the great treasure of beauty that was therein
immured and kept. Those that knew him rendered
unto him infinite thanks, and withal informed the
judge of his extravagant humour, whereat he was not
a little recreated; only Sancho Panza did fret, because
they went so slowly to sleep, and he alone was best
accommodated of them all, by lying down on his
beast's furniture, which cost him dearly, as shall be
after recounted. The ladies being withdrawn into
their chamber, and every one laying himself down
where best he might, Don Quixote sallied out of the
inn, to be sentinel of the castle, as he had promised.
And a little before day it happened that so sweet and
tuneable a voice touched the ladies' ears, as it obliged
them all to listen unto it very attentively, but chiefly
Dorothea, who first awaked, and by whose side the
young gentlewoman, Donna Clara of Viedma (for so the
judge's daughter was called), slept. None of them could
imagine who it was that sung so well without the help
of any instrument. Sometimes it seemed that he sung
234
THE HISTORY OF
in the yard, others that it was in the stable. And
being thus in suspense, Cardenio came to the chamber
door, and said, "Whosoever is not asleep, let them give
ear, and they shall hear the voice of a lackey that so
chants as it likewise enchants." "Sir," quoth Dorothea,
"we hear him very well." With this Cardenio departed;
and Dorothea, using all the attention possible, heard
that his song was this following.

DON QUIXOTE.
235
CHAPTER XVI.
WHEREIN IS RECOUNTED THE HISTORY OF THE LACKEY,
WITH OTHER STRANGE ADVENTURES BEFALLEN IN
THE INN.
"I AM a mariner to love,
Which in his depths profound
Still sails, and yet no hope can prove
Of coming aye to th' ground.
"I following go a glist'ring star,
Which I aloof descry,
Much more resplendent than those are
That Palinure did spy.
"I know not where my course to bend,
And so confusedly,
To see it only I pretend
Careful and carelessly.
"Her too impertinent regard,
And too much modesty,
The clouds are which mine eyes have barred
From their deserved fee.

"O clear and soul-reviving star!
Whose sight doth try my trust,
If thou thy light from me debar,
Instantly die I must."
The singer arriving to this point of his song, Dorothea
imagined that it would not be amiss to let Donna Clara
hear so excellent a voice, and therefore she jogged her
236
THE HISTORY OF
a little on the one and other side, until she had awaked
her, and then said, "Pardon me, child, for thus inter-
rupting your sweet repose, seeing I do it to the end you
may joy, by hearing one of the best voices that perhaps
you ever heard in your life." Clara awaked at the first
drowsily, and did not well understand what Dorothea
said, and therefore demanding of her what she said,
she told it her again; whereupon Donna Clara was also
attentive; but scarce had she heard two verses repeated
by the early musician, when a marvellous trembling
invaded her, even as if she had then suffered the grievous
fit of a quartan ague. Wherefore, embracing Dorothea
very straitly, she said, "Alas, dear lady! why did you
awake me, seeing the greatest hap that fortune could
in this instant have given me, was to have mine eyes and
ears so shut as I might neither see nor hear that unfor-
tunate musician." "What is that you say, child?”
quoth Dorothea. "Did you not hear one say that the
musician is but a horse-boy?" "He is no horse-boy,"
quoth Clara, "but a lord of many towns, and he that
hath such firm possession of my soul, as if he himself will
not reject it, he shall never be deprived of the dominion
thereof." Dorothea greatly wondered at the passionate
words of the young girl, whereby it seemed to her that
she far surpassed the discretion which so tender years
did promise, and therefore she replied to her, saying,
"You speak so obscurely, Lady Clara, as I cannot
understand you; expound yourself more clearly, and
tell me what is that you say of souls and towns, and
of this musician whose voice hath altered you so much.
But do not say anything to me now, for I would not
lose, by listening to your talk, the pleasure I take
to hear him sing; for methinks he resumes his music
with new verses, and in another tune." "In a good
hour," quoth Donna Clara; and then, because she

DON QUIXOTE.
237
herself would not hear him, she stopped her ears with
her fingers; whereat Dorothea did also marvel, but
being attentive to the music, she heard the lackey pro-
secute his song in this manner :-
"O sweet and constant hope,
That break'st impossibilities and briers,
And firmly runn'st the scope
Which thou thyself dost forge to thy desires!
Be not dismay'd to see
At ev'ry step thyself nigh death to be..
'Sluggards do not deserve
The glory of triumphs or victory ;
Good hap doth never serve
Those which resist not fortune manfully,
But weakly fall to ground,
And in soft sloth their senses all confound.
"That love his glories hold
At a high rate, it reason is and just;
No precious stones nor gold
May be at all compared with love's gust;
And 'tis a thing most clear,
Nothing is worth esteem that cost not dear.
"An amorous persistence
Obtaineth ofttimes things impossible;
And so though I resistance
Find of my soul's desires, in her stern will,
I hope time shall be given,
When I from earth may reach her glorious heaven."
Here the voice ended, and Donna Clara's sighs began ;
all which inflamed Dorothea's desire to know the cause
of so sweet a song and so sad a plaint; and therefore
she eftsoons required her to tell her now what she was
about to have said before. Then Clara, timorous lest
Lucinda should overhear her, embracing Dorothea
very nearly, laid her mouth so closely to Dorothea's
238
THE HISTORY OF
ear, as she might speak securely without being under-
stood by any other, and said, "He that sings is, dear
lady, a gentleman's son of the kingdom of Aragon,
whose father is lord of two towns, and dwelled right
before my father's house at the court; and although
the windows of our house were in winter covered with
sear-cloth, and in summer with lattice, I know not
how it happened, but this gentleman, who went to the
school, espied me; and whether it was at the church,
or elsewhere, I am not certain. Finally, he fell in love
with me, and did acquaint me with his affection from
his own windows, that were opposite to mine, with so
many tokens and such abundance of tears, as I most
forcibly believed, and also affected him, without
knowing how much he loved me. Among the signs
that he would make me, one was, to join the one hand
to the other, giving me thereby to understand that he
would marry me; and although I would be very glad
that it might be so, yet as one alone, and without a
mother, I knew not to whom I might communicate
the affair, and did therefore let it rest without affording
him any other favour, unless it were, when my
father
and his were gone abroad, by lifting up the lattice or
sear-cloth only a little, and permitting him to behold
me; for which favour he would show such signs of joy
as a man would deem him to be reft of his wits.
"The time of my father's departure arriving, and he
hearing of it, but not from me (for I could never tell
it to him), he fell sick, as far as I could understand,
for grief; and therefore I could never see him all the
day of our departure, to bid him farewell at least with
mine eyes; but after we had travelled two days, just
as we entered into an inn in a village, a day's journey
from hence, I saw him at the lodging door, apparelled
so properly like a lackey, as if I had not borne about
DON QUIXOTE.
239
me his portraiture in my soul, it had been impossible
to know him. I knew him, and wondered, and was
glad withal; and he beheld me, unwitting my father,
from whose presence he still hides himself when he
crosses the ways before me as I travel, or after we
arrive at any inn. And because that I know what he
is, and do consider the pains he takes by coming thus
afoot for my sake, and that with so great toil, I die
for sorrow; and where he puts his feet, I also put mine
eyes. I know not with what intention he comes, nor
how he could possibly thus escape from his father, who
loves him beyond measure, both because he hath none
other heir, and because the young gentleman also
deserves it, as you will perceive when you see him;
and I dare affirm besides, that all that which he says
he composes extempore, and without any study; for I
have heard that he is a fine student, and a great poet;
and every time that I see him, or do hear him sing, I
start and tremble like an aspen leaf, for fear that my
father should know him, and thereby come to have
notice of our mutual affections. I have never spoken
one word to him in my life, and yet I do nevertheless
love him so much, as without him I shall not be able
to live. And this is all, dear lady, that I am able to
say unto you of the musician whose voice hath pleased
you so well, as by it alone you might conjecture that
he is not a horse-boy, as you said, but rather a lord of
souls and towns, as I affirmed."
"Speak no more, Lady Clara," quoth Dorothea at
that season, kissing her a thousand times; "speak no
more, I say, but have patience until it be daylight; for
I hope in God so to direct your affairs, as that they shall
have the fortunate success that so honest beginning de-
serves." "Alas, madam!" quoth Donna Clara, "what
end may be expected, seeing his father is so noble and
240
THE HISTORY OF
:
rich, as he would scarce deem me worthy to be his
son's servant, how much less his spouse? And for me
to marry myself unknown to my father, I would not
do it for all the world. I desire no other thing but
that the young gentleman would return home again
and leave me alone; perhaps by not seeing him, and
the great distance of the way which we are to travel,
my pain, which now so much presseth me, will be
somewhat allayed; although I daresay that this remedy;
which now I have imagined, would avail me but little ;
for I know not whence with the vengeance, or by what
way this affection which I bear him got into me,
seeing both I and he are so young as we be, for I
believe we are much of an age, and I am not yet full
sixteen, nor shall be, as my father says, until Michael-
mas next." Dorothea could not contain her laughter,
hearing how childishly Donna Clara spoke; to whom
she said, "Lady, let us repose again, and sleep that
little part of the night which remains; and when God
sends daylight, we will prosper, or my hands shall fail
me." With this they held their peace, and all the inn
was drowned in profound silence; only the innkeeper's
daughter and Maritornes were not asleep, but know-
ing very well Don Quixote's peccant humour, and that
he was armed and on horseback without the inn
keeping guard, both of them consorted together, and
agreed to be someway merry with him, or at least to
pass over some time in hearing him speak ravingly.
It is therefore to be understood that there was not
in all the inn any window which looked out into the
field, but one hole in a barn, out of which they were
wont to cast their straw. To this hole came the two
demi-damsels, and saw Don Quixote mounted and
leaning on his javelin, and breathing forth ever and
anon so doleful and deep sighs, as it seemed his soul
DON QUIXOTE.
241
was plucked away by every one of them; and they
noted besides how he said, with a soft and amorous
voice, "O my Lady Dulcinea of Toboso! the sun of all
beauty, the end and quintessence of discretion, the
treasury of sweet countenance and carriage, the store-
house of honesty, and finally, the idea of all that
which is profitable, modest, or delightful in the world!
and what might thy ladyship be doing at this present?
Hast thou perhaps thy mind now upon thy captive
knight, that most wittingly exposeth himself to so
many dangers for thy sake? Give unto me tidings of
her, O thou luminary of the three faces! Peradventure
thou dost now with envy enough behold her, either
walking through some gallery of her sumptuous palaces,
or leaning on some bay-window, and thinking how
(saving her honour and greatness) she shall mitigate
and assuage the torture which this mine oppressed
heart endures for her love, what glory she shall give
for my pains, what quiet to my cares, what life to
my death, and what guerdon to my services. And
thou, sun, which art, as I believe, by this time saddling
of thy horses to get away early and go out to see my
mistress, I request thee, as soon as thou shalt see her,
to salute her in my behalf; but beware that when thou
lookest on her and dost greet her, that thou do not kiss
her on the face; for if thou dost, I become more
jealous of thee than ever thou wast of the swift ingrate
which made thee run and sweat so much through the
plains of Thessaly or the brinks of Peneus; for I
have forgotten through which of them thou rannest
so jealous and enamoured."
To this point arrived Don Quixote, when the inn-
keeper's daughter began to call him softly unto her,
and say,
"Sir knight, approach a little hitherward, if
you please;" at which voice Don Quixote turned his
II.
Q
242
THE HISTORY OF
head, and saw by the light of the moon which shined
then very clearly, that he was called to from the hole,
which he accounted to be a fair window full of iron
bars, and those costly gilded with gold, well befitting
so rich a castle as he imagined that inn to be; and
presently in a moment he forged to his own fancy, that
once again, as he had done before, the beautiful damsel,
daughter to the lady of that castle, overcome by his
love, did return to solicit him; and with this
thought, because he would not show himself dis-
courteous and ungrateful, he turned Rozinante about
and came over to the hole; and then, having beheld
the two wenches, he said, "I take pity on you, beautiful
lady, that you have placed your amorous thoughts in a
place whence it is not possible to have any correspond-
ence answerable to the desert of your high worth and
beauty, whereof you are in no sort to condemn this
miserable knight-errant, whom love hath wholly dis-
abled to surrender his will to be any other than to her
whom at the first sight he made absolute mistress of
his soul. Pardon me therefore, good lady, and retire
yourself to your chamber, and make me not, by any
further insinuation of your desires, more unthankful
and discourteous than I would be; and if, through the
love that you bear me, you find in me any other thing
wherewithal I may serve and pleasure you, so that it
be not love itself, demand it boldly; for I do swear
unto you by mine absence yet, sweetest enemy, to
bestow it upon you incontinently, yea, though it be a
lock of Medusa's hairs, which are all of snakes, or the
very sunbeams enclosed in a vial of glass."
"My lady needs none of those things, sir knight,"
answered Maritornes. "What doth she then want,
discreet matron?" quoth Don Quixote. "Only one of
your fair hands," said Maritornes, "that therewithal
DON QUIXOTE.
243
she may disburden herself of some part of those violent
desires which compelled her to come to this window,
with so great danger of her honour; for if her lord
and father knew of her coming, the least slice he would
take off her should be at the least an ear." "I would
fain once see that," quoth Don Quixote; "but I am
sure he will beware how he do it, if he have no list to
make the most disastrous end that ever father made
in this world, for having laid violent hands on the deli-
cate limbs of his amorous daughter." Maritornes verily
persuaded herself that Don Quixote would give up his
hand as he was requested, and having already contrived
in her mind what she would do, descended with all
haste from the hole, and, going into the stable, fetched
out Sancho Panza his ass's halter, and returned again
with very great speed, just as Don Quixote (standing
up on Rozinante's saddle, that he might the better
reach the barred windows, whereat he imagined the
wounded damsel remained) did, stretching up his hand,
say unto her, "Hold, lady, the hand, or as I may
better say, the executioner of earthly miscreants; hold,
I
say, that hand, which no other woman ever touched
before, not even she herself that hath entire possession
of my whole body, nor do I give it to you to the end
you should kiss it, but that you may behold the con-
texture of the sinews, the knitting of the muscles, and
the spaciosity and breadth of the veins, whereby you
may collect how great ought the force of that arm to
be whereunto such a hand is knit." "We shall see
that presently," quoth Maritornes; and then, making
a running knot on the halter, she cast it on the wrist
of his hand, and then descending from the hole, she
tied the other end of the halter very fast to the lock
of the barn door. Don Quixote, feeling the roughness
of the halter about his wrists, said, "It rather seems
244
THE HISTORY OF
that you grate my hand than that you cherish it; but
yet I pray you not to handle it so roughly, seeing it is
in no fault of the evil which my will doth unto you;
nor is it comely that you should revenge or disburden
the whole bulk of your indignation on so small a part:
remember that those which love well do not take so
cruel revenge." But nobody gave ear to these words
of Don Quixote's; for as soon as Maritornes had tied
him, she and the other, almost burst for laughter, ran
away, and left him tied in such manner as it was im-
possible for him to loose himself.
He stood, as we have recounted, on Rozinante his
saddle, having all his arm thrust in at the hole, and
fastened by the wrist to the lock, and was in very great
doubt and fear that if Rozinante budged never so
little on any side he should fall and hang by the arm ;
and therefore he durst not once use the least motion
of the world, although he might well have expected,
from Rozinante's patience and mild spirit, that if he
were suffered, he would stand still a whole age without
stirring himself. In fine, Don Quixote seeing himself
tied, and that the ladies were departed, began straight
to imagine that all that had been done by way of
enchantment, as the last time, when in the very same
castle the enchanted Moor (the carrier) had so fairly
belaboured him; and then to himself did he execrate
his own want of discretion and discourse, seeing that
having escaped out of that castle so evil dight the first
time, he would after adventure to enter into it the
second; for it was generally observed by knights-
errant that when they had once tried an adventure,
and could not finish it, it was a token that it was not
reserved for them, but for some other; and therefore
would never prove it again. Yet for all this he drew
forward his arm to see if he might deliver himself; but
DON QUIXOTE. ·
245
•
he was so well bound as all his endeavours proved vain;
It is true that he drew it very warily, lest Rozinante
should stir; and although he would fain have sat and
settled himself in the saddle, yet could he do no other
but stand, or leave the arm behind. There was many
a wish for Amadis his sword, against which no en-
chantment whatsoever could prevail; there succeeded
the malediction of his fates; there the exaggerating of
the want that the world should have of his presence
all the while he abode enchanted (as he infallibly
believed he was) in that place; there he anew re-
membered his beloved Lady Dulcinea of Toboso; there
did he call oft enough on his good squire Sancho Panza,
who, entombed in the bowels of sleep, and stretched
along on the pannel of his ass, did dream at that instant
but little of the mother that bore him; there he
invoked the wise men Lirgandeo and Alquife to help
him. And finally, the morning did also there overtake
him so full of despair and confusion as he roared like
a bull; for he had no hope that by daylight any cure
could be found for his care, which he deemed would
be everlasting, because he fully accounted himself
enchanted; and was the more induced to think so,
because he saw that Rozinante did not move little nor
much; and therefore he supposed that both he and his
horse should abide in that state without eating, drink-
ing, or sleeping, until that either the malignant influence
of the stars were past, or some greater enchanter had
disenchanted him.
But he deceived himself much in his belief; for
scarce did the day begin to peep, when there arrived
four horsemen to the inn-door, very well appointed,
and having snaphances hanging at the pommel of their
saddles. They called at the inn-door (which yet stood
shut), and knocked very hard, which being perceived
246
THE HISTORY OF
by Don Quixote, from the place where he stood sentinel;
he said, with a very loud and arrogant voice, "Knights,
or squires, or whatsoever else ye be, you are not to
knock any more at the gates of that castle, seeing it is
evident, that at such hours as this, either they which
are within do repose them, or else are not wont to open
fortresses until Phoebus hath spread his beams over the
earth; therefore stand back, and expect till it be clear
day, and then we will see whether it be just or no
that they open their gates unto you.” "What a devil,
what castle or fortress is this," quoth one of them,
"that it should bind us to use all those circumstances?
If thou beest the innkeeper, command that the door
be opened; for we are travellers, that will tarry no
longer than to bait our horses and away, for we ride
in post haste." "Doth it seem to you, gentlemen,"
quoth Don Quixote, "that I look like an innkeeper?”
"I know not what thou lookest like," answered the
other; "but well I know that thou speakest madly, in
calling this inn a castle.” "It is a castle,” replied Don
Quixote, "yea, and that one of the best in this province,
and it hath people within it which have had a sceptre
in hand, and a crown on their head." "It were better
said quite contrary," replied the traveller, "the sceptre
on the head, and the crown in the hand; but perhaps
(and so it may well be) there is some company of
players within, who do very usually hold the sceptres
and wear those crowns whereof thou talkest; for in
such a paltry inn as this is, and where I hear so little
noise, I cannot believe any one to be lodged worthy
to wear a crown or bear a sceptre." "Thou knowest
but little of the world,” replied Don Quixote, “seeing
thou dost so much ignore the chances that are wont
to befall in chivalry." The fellows of him that enter-
tained this prolix dialogue with Don Quixote waxed
DON QUIXOTE.
247
weary to hear them speak idly so long together, and
therefore turned again to knock with great fury at the
door, and that in such sort as they not only waked
the innkeeper, but also all the guests, and so he arose
to demand their pleasure.
In the meanwhile it happened that one of the horses
whereon they rode drew near to smell Rozinante, that,
melancholy and sadly, with his ears cast down, did
sustain without moving his outstretched lord; and he
being indeed of flesh and blood, although he resembled
a block of wood, could not choose but feel it, and turn
to smell him again who had thus come to cherish and
entertain him; and scarce had he stirred but a thought
from thence, when Don Quixote's feet, that were joined,
slipt asunder, and, tumbling from the saddle, had
doubtlessly fallen to the ground, had he not remained
hanging by the arm; a thing that caused him to endure
so much pain, as he verily believed that either his
wrist was a-cutting, or his arm a-tearing off from his
body; and he hung so near to the ground as he touched
it with the tops of his toes, all which turned to his
prejudice; for, having felt the little which he wanted
to the setting of his feet wholly on the earth, he
laboured and drew all that he might to reach it; much
like unto those that get the strappado, with the con-
dition to touch or not to touch, who are themselves a
cause to increase their own torture, by the earnestness
wherewith they stretch themselves, deceived by the
hope they have to touch the ground if they can stretch
themselves but a little farther.
218
THE HISTORY OF
CHAPTER XVII.
WHEREIN ARE PROSECUTED THE WONDERFUL
ADVENTURES OF THE INN.
So many were the outcries which Don Quixote made,
as the innkeeper opened the door very hastily and
affrighted, to see who it was that so roared; and those
that stood without did also the same. Maritornes, whom
the cries had also awaked, imagining straight what it
might be, went into the barn, and, unperceived of any,
loosed the halter that sustained Don Quixote, and
forthwith he fell to the ground in the presence of the
innkeeper and the travellers, who, coming towards him,
demanded the occasion why he did so unmeasureably
roar. He, without making any answer, took off the
halter from his wrist, and, getting up, he leaped upon
Rozinante, embraced his target, set his lance into the
rest, and, wheeling about a good part of the field,
returned with a half-gallop, saying, "Whosoever shall
dare to affirm that I have not been with just title
enchanted, if my lady the Princess Micomicona will
give me leave to do it, I say that he lies, and I do
presently challenge him to combat." The new travellers
were amazed at Don Quixote's words; but the host
removed that wonder by informing them what he was,
and that they should make no account of his words, for
the man was bereft of his wits. Then they demanded
of the innkeeper if there had arrived to his inn a
young stripling of some fifteen years old or thereabouts,
DON QUIXOTE.
249
apparelled like a horse-boy, and having such and such
marks and tokens; and then gave the very signs of
Donna Clara's lover. The host made answer, that there
were so many people in his inn as he had taken no
notice of him for whom they demanded. But one of
them having seen the coach wherein the judge came,
said, "Questionlessly he must be here; for this is the
coach that they say he hath followed. Let, therefore,
one of us remain at the door, and the rest enter to seek
him out; yea, and it will not be from the purpose if
one of us ride about without the inn, lest he should
make an escape from us by the walls of the yard." "We
will do so," said another of them. And thus two of
then entered into the house, one stayed at the door, and
the other did compass the inn about. The innkeeper
beheld all, but could never judge aright the reason why
they used all this diligence, although he easily believed
that they sought for the youth whose marks they had
told unto him.
By this the day was grown clear, and as well by reason
thereof, as through the outcries of Don Quixote, all the
strangers were awake, and did get up, especially both-
the ladies, Clara and Dorothea; for the one through
fear to have her lover so near, and the other with desire
to see him, could sleep but very little all that night.
·Don Quixote perceiving that none of the four travellers
made any account of him, or answered his challenge,
was ready to burst with wrath and despite; and if he
could any wise have found that it was tolerated by the
statutes of chivalry that a knight-errant might have
lawfully undertaken any enterprise, having plight his
word and faith not to attempt any until he had finished
that which he had first promised, he would have assailed
them all, and made them maugre their teeth to have
answered him. But because it seemed to him not so
250
THE HISTORY OF
expedient nor honourable to begin any new adventure
until he had installed Micomicona in her kingdom, he
was forced to be quiet, expecting to see whereunto the
endeavours and diligence of those four travellers tended:
the one whereof found out the youth, that he searched,
asleep by another lackey, little dreaming that anybody
did look for him, and much less would find him out
thus. The man drew him by the arm, and said,
"Truly, Don Louis, the habit that you wear answers
very well your calling; and the bed whereon you lie
the care and tenderness wherewith your mother did
nurse you." The youth hereat rubbed his drowsy eyes,
and beheld very leisurely him that did hold him fast,
and knew him forthwith to be one of his father's
servants, whereat he was so amazed as he could not
speak a word for a great while. And the serving-man
continuing his speech, said, "Here is nothing else to be
done, Lord Louis, but that you be patient and depart
again with us towards home, if you be not pleased to
have your father and my lord depart out of this world
to the other; for no less may be expected from the woe
wherein he rests for your absence.” Why, how did
my father know," said Don Louis, "that I came this way,
and in this habit?" "A student," answered the other,
"to whom you betrayed your intention, did discover it,
moved through the compassion he took to hear your
father's lamentations when he found you missing. And
so he despatched four of his men in your search; and
we are all at your service, more joyful than may be
imagined for the good despatch wherewithal we shall
return, and carry you to his sight which doth love you
so much."
"That shall be as I please or Heaven will
dispose," said Don Louis. "What would you please,
or what should Heaven dispose of, other than that you
agree to return? For certainly you shall not do the
DON QUIXOTE.
251
All these
contrary, nor is it possible you should."
reasons that passed between them both did the lackey
that lay by Don Louis hear; and, arising from thence, he
went and told all that passed to Don Fernando, Car-
denio, and all the rest that were gotten up: to whom
he told how the man gave the title of Don to the boy,
and recounted the speech he used, and how he would
have him return to his father's house, which the youth
refused to do. Whereupon, and knowing already what
a good voice the heavens had given him, they greatly
desired to be more particularly informed what he was,
and intended also to help him, if any violence were
offered unto him, and therefore went unto the place
where he was, and stood contending with his servant.
Dorothea issued by this out of her chamber, and in
her company Donna Clara, all perplexed. Dorothea,
calling Cardenio aside, told unto him succinctly all the
history of the musician and Donna Clara. And he
rehearsed to her again all that passed of the serving-
men's arrival that came in his pursuit, which he did
not speak so low but that Donna Clara overheard him,
whereat she endured such alteration as she had fallen
to the ground, if Dorothea, running towards her, had
not held her up. Cardenio entreated Dorothea to
return with the other to her chamber, and he would
endeavour to bring the matter to some good pass, which
they presently performed. The four that were come in
Don Louis his search were by this all of them entered
into the inn, and had compassed him about, persuading
him that he would, cutting off all delays, return to
comfort his father. He answered that he could not do
it in any sort until he had finished an adventure,
which imported him no less than his life, his honour,
and his soul. The servants urged him then, saying,
that they would in no sort go back without him, and
252
THE HISTORY OF
therefore would carry him home, whether he would or
no. "That shall not you do," quoth Don Louis, "if it
be not that you carry me home dead." And in this
season all the other gentlemen were come into the
contention, but chiefly Cardenio, Don Fernando, and
his comrades, the judge, the curate, and the barber, and
Don Quixote; for now it seemed to him needless to
guard the castle any more. Cardenio, who knew
already the history of the youth, demanded of those
that would carry him away, what reason did move
them to seek to take that lad away against his will.
"We are moved unto it," answered one of them, "by
this reason, that we shall thereby save his father's life,
who for his absence is like to lose it." To this said
Don Louis, "It is to no end to make relation of mine
affairs here. I am free, and will return if I please; and
if not, no one shall constrain me to do it perforce."
"Reason shall constrain you, good sir, to do it," quoth
the man; "and when that cannot prevail with you, it
shall with us, to put that in execution for which we be
come and are bound to do." "Let us know this affair
from the beginning," said the judge to those men.
"Sir," quoth one of them, who knew him very well,
as his master's next neighbour, "Master Justice, doth
not your worship know this gentleman who is your
neighbour's son, and hath absented himself from his
father's house, in an habit so indecent and discrepant
from his calling, as you may perceive?" The judge be-
held him then somewhat more attentively, knew him,
and, embracing of him, said, "What toys are these, Don
Louis; or what cause hath been of efficacy sufficient
to move you to come away in this manner and attire,
which answers your calling so ill?" The tears stuck
then in the young gentleman's eye, and he could not
answer a word to the judge, who bade the four serving-
·
4
DON QUIXOTE.
253
men appease themselves, for all things should be done
to their satisfaction; and then, taking Don Louis apart,
he entreated him to tell him the occasion of that his
departure.
And whilst he made this and other demands to the
gentleman, they heard a great noise at the inn-door;
the cause whereof was, that two guests which had lain
there that night, seeing all the people busied to learn
the cause of the four horsemen's coming, had thought
to have made an escape scot-free, without defraying
their expenses; but the innkeeper, who attended his
own affairs with more diligence than other men's, did
stay them at their going forth, and demanded his
money, upbraiding their dishonest resolution with such
words as moved them to return him an answer with
their fists, which they did so roundly as the poor host
was compelled to raise the cry and demand succour.
The hostess and her daughter could see no man so free
from occupation as Don Quixote; to whom the daughter
said, "I request you, sir knight, by the virtue that
God hath given you, to succour my poor father, whom
two bad men are grinding like corn." To this Don
Quixote answered very leisurely, and with great gravity,
“Beautiful damsel, your petition cannot prevail at this
time, forasmuch as I am hindered from undertaking
any other adventure until I have finished one wherein
my promise hath engaged me, and all that I can now
do in your service is, that which I shall say now unto
you: run unto your father, and bid him continue and
maintain his conflict manfully, the best that he may,
until I demand licence of the Princess Micomicona to
help him out of his distress; for if she will give it unto
me, you may make full account that he is delivered."
“Sinner that I am," quoth Maritornes, who was by,
and heard what he said, "before you shall be able to
254
THE HISTORY OF
obtain that licence of which you speak, my master will
be departed to the other world.” "Work you so, lady,”
quoth Don Quixote, "that I may have the licence; for
so that I may have it, it will make no great matter
whether he be in the other world or no, for even from
thence would I bring him back again, in despite of
the other world itself, if it durst contradict me ; or at
least I will take such a revenge of those that do send
him to the other world, as you shall remain more than
contented." And so, without replying any more, he
went and fell on his knees before Dorothea, demanding
of her, in knightly and errant phrases, that she would
deign to license him to go and succour the constable of
that castle, who was then plunged in a deep distress.
The princess did grant him leave very willingly; and
he presently, buckling on his target, and laying hold
on his sword, ran to the inn-door, where yet the two
guests stood handsomely tugging the innkeeper. But
as soon as he arrived, he stopped and stood still,
although Maritornes and the hostess demanded of
him twice or thrice the cause of his restiness in not
assisting her lord and husband. "I stay," quoth Don
Quixote, "because, according to the laws of arms, it is
not permitted to me to lay hand to my sword against
squire-like men that are not dubbed knights. But call
to me here my squire Sancho, for this defence and
revenge concerns him as his duty." This passed at the
inn-door, where fists and blows were interchangeably
given and taken in the best sort, although to the inn-
keeper's cost, and to the rage and grief of Maritornes,
the hostess, and her daughter, who were like to run
wood, beholding Don Quixote's cowardice, and the
mischief their master, husband, and father endured.
But here let us leave them; for there shall not want
one to succour him; or if not, let him suffer, and all
DON QUIXOTE.
255
those that wittingly undertake things beyond their
power and force; and let us turn backward to hear
that which Don Louis answered the judge, whom we
left somewhat apart with him, demanding the cause of
his coming afoot, and in so base array; to which the
youth, wringing him hard by the hands, as an argu-
ment that some extraordinary grief pinched his heart,
and shedding many tears, answered in this manner :-
"I know not what else I may tell you, dear sir, but
that from the instant that Heaven made us neighbours,
and that I saw Donna Clara, your daughter and my
lady, I made her commandress of my will; and if yours,
my true lord and father, do not hinder it, she shall
be my spouse this very day. For her sake have I aban-
doned my father's house, and for her I donned this
attire, to follow her wheresoever she went, as the arrow
doth the mark, or the mariner the north star. She is
as yet no further acquainted with my desires, than as
much as she might understand sometimes by the tears
which she saw mine eyes distil afar off. Now, sir,
you know the riches and nobility of my descent, and
how I am my father's sole heir, and if it seem unto you
that these be conditions whereupon you may venture to
make me thoroughly happy, accept of me presently for
your son-in-law; for if my father, borne away by other
his designs, shall not like so well of this good which I
have sought out for myself, yet time hath more force to
undo and change the affairs than men's will.” Here
the amorous gentleman held his peace, and the judge
remained astonished as well at the grace and discretion
wherewith Don Louis had discovered his affections
unto him, as also to see himself in such a pass, that as
he knew not what course he might best take in so
sudden and unexpected a matter; and therefore ho
answered no other thing at that time, but only bade
256
THE HISTORY OF
him to settle his mind, and entertain the time with
his servants, and deal with them to expect that day,
because he might have leisure to consider what might
be most convenient for all. Don Louis did kiss his
hands perforce, and did bathe them with tears, a thing
able to move a heart of marble, and much more the
judge's, who (as a wise man) did presently perceive
how beneficial and honourable was that preferment
for his daughter; although he could have wished, if it
had been possible, to effect it with the consent of
Don Louis his father, who he knew did purpose to
have his son made a nobleman of title.
་
By this time the innkeeper and his guests had agreed,
having paid him all that they owed, more by Don
Quixote's persuasion and good reasons than by any
menaces; and Don Louis his servants expected the
end of the judge, his discourse, and his resolution;
when the devil (who never sleeps) would have it, at
that very time entered into the inn the barber from
whom Don Quixote took away the helmet of Mambrino,
and Sancho Panza the furniture of the ass, whereof he
made an exchange for his own; which barber, leading
his beast to the stable, saw Sancho Panza, who was
mending some part of the pannel; and as soon as
he had eyed him, he knew him, and presently set
upon Sancho, saying, "Ah, sir thief, have I found you
here, with all the furniture whereof you robbed me?"
Sancho, that saw himself thus assaulted unexpectedly,
and had heard the disgraceful terms which the other
used, laying fast hold on the pannel with the one
hand, gave the barber such a buffet with the other,
as he bathed all his teeth in blood. But yet, for all
that, the barber held fast his grip of the pannel, and
therewithal cried out so loud, as all those that were in
the house came to the noise and conflict; and he said,
DON QUIXOTE.
257
"I call for the king and justice, for this thief and
robber by the highways goeth about to kill me,
because I seek to recover mine own goods."
"Thou
liest," quoth Sancho, "for I am not a robber by the
highways; for my lord Don Quixote won those spoils
in a good war." By this time Don Quixote himself
was come thither, not a little proud to see how
well his squire defended himself, and offended his
adversary; and therefore he accounted him from
thenceforth to be a man of valour, and purposed
in his mind to dub him knight on the first occasion
that should be offered, because he thought that the
order of knighthood would be well employed by him.
Among other things that the barber said in the
discourse of his contention, this was one: "Sirs, this
pannel is as certainly mine as the death which I owe
unto God, and I know it as well as if I had bred it;
and there is my ass in the stable, who will not permit
me to tell a lie; or otherwise, do but try the pannel on
him, and if it fit him not justly I am content to remain
infamous. And I can say more, that the very day
wherein they took my pannel from me, they robbed
me likewise of a new brazen basin, which was never
used, and cost me a crown." Here Don Quixote could
no longer contain himself from speaking; and so,
thrusting himself between them two, and putting them
asunder, and causing the pannel to be laid publicly
on the ground until the truth were decided, he said,
"To the end that you may perceive the clear and
manifest error wherein this good squire lives, see how
he calls that a basin which is, was, and shall be, the
helmet of Mambrino, which I took away perforce from
him in fair war, and made myself lord thereof in a law-
ful and warlike manner. About the pannel I will not
contend; for that which I can say therein is, that my
II.
R
258
THE HISTORY OF
squire Sancho demanded leave of me to take away the
furniture of this vanquished coward's horse, that he
might adorn his own withal. I gave him authority
to do it, and he took them. And for his converting
thereof from a horse's furniture into a pannel, I can
give none other reason than the ordinary one, to wit,
that such transformations are usually seen in the
successes of chivalry; for confirmation whereof, friend
Sancho, run speedily and bring me out the helmet
which this good man avoucheth to be a basin." "By
my faith, sir," quoth Sancho, "if we have no better
proof of our intention than that which you say, I say
that the helmet of Mambrino is as arrant a basin as
this good man's furniture is a pannel." "Do what I
command,” said Don Quixote: "I cannot believe that
all the things in this castle will be guided by enchant-
ment." Sancho went for the basin, and brought it: and
as soon as Don Quixote saw it, he took it in his hands,
and said, “See, sirs, with what face can this impudent
squire affirm that this is a basin, and not the helmet that
I have mentioned? and I swear to you all, by the order
of knighthood which I profess, that this is the very
same helmet which I won from him, without having
added or taken anything from it.”
"That it is, ques-
tionless," quoth Sancho; "for since the time that my
lord won it until now, he never fought but one battle
with it, when he delivered the unlucky chained men ;
and but for this basin-helmet, he had not escaped so
free as he did, so thick a shower of stones rained all
the time of that conflict."

DON QUIXOTE.
259
CHAPTER XVIII.
WHEREIN ARE DECIDED THE CONTROVERSIES OF THE
HELMET OF MAMBRINO AND OF THE PANNEL, WITH
OTHER STRANGE AND MOST TRUE ADVENTURES.
"He
"GOOD sirs," quoth the barber, "what do you think of
that which is affirmed by these gentlemen, who yet
contend that this is not a basin, but a helmet?"
that denies it," quoth Don Quixote, "I will make him
know that he lies, if he be a knight; and if he be but a
squire, that he lies and lies again a thousand times." Our
barber, who was also present, as one that knew Don
Quixote's humour very well, would fortify his folly
and make the jest pass yet a little further, to the end
that they all might laugh; and therefore, speaking to
the other barber, he said, "Sir barber, or what else you
please, know that I am also of your occupation, and
have had my writ of examination and approbation in
that trade more than these thirty years, and am one
that knows very well all the instruments of barbery
whatsoever; and have been besides, in my youthful
days, a soldier; and do therefore likewise know what is
a helmet, and what a morion, and what a close castle,
and other things touching warfare-I mean all the kind
of arms that a soldier ought to have; and therefore I
say (still submitting myself to the better opinion) that
this piece which is laid here before us, and which this
good knight holds in his hand, not only is not a barber's
basin, but also is so far from being one as is white

260
THE HISTORY OF
from black, or verity from untruth; yet do I withal
affirm that although it is an helmet, yet it is not a
complete helmet." "No, truly," quoth Don Quixote,
"for it wants the half, to wit, the nether part and the
beaver." "It is very true," quoth the curate, who
very well understood his friend the barber his inten-
tion; and the same did Cardenio, Don Fernando, and
the rest of his fellows confirm; yea, and even the
judge himself, had not Don Louis his affair perplexed
his thoughts, would, for his part, have holpen the jest
well forward; but the earnestness of that affair held
his mind so busied, as he little or nothing attended
the pastime. "Lord have mercy upon me!" quoth the
other barber, then half beside himself; "and is it
possible that so many honourable men should say that
this is no basin, but a helmet? This is a thing able to
strike admiration into a whole university, how discreet
soever it were. It is enough; if this basin must needs
be a helmet, the pannel must also be a horse's furniture,
as this gentleman says." "To me it seems a pannel,"
quoth Don Quixote; "but, as I have said, I will not
meddle with it, nor determine whether it be a pannel
or the caparison of a horse.”
:
“Therein is nothing else to be done," said the curate,
"but that Sir Don Quixote say it once; for in these
matters of chivalry, all these noblemen and myself do
give unto him the prick and the prize." "I swear unto
you by my Jove, good sirs," quoth Don Quixote, “that
so many and so strange are the things which have
befallen me in this castle, these two times that I have
lodged therein, as I dare àvouch nothing affirmatively
of anything that shall be demanded of me concerning
the things contained in it; for I do infallibly imagine
that all the adventures which pass in it are guided by
enchantment. The first time, I was very much vexed
DON QUIXOTE.
261
by an enchanted Moor that was in it, and Sancho
himself sped not very well with the Moor's followers;
and yesternight I stood hanging almost two hours'
space by this arm, without knowing how, or how
that disgrace befel me; so that for me to meddle
now in so confused and difficult a matter, as to deliver
mine opinion, were to pass a rash judgment. So that
they which say that this is a basin and no helmet, I have
already made answer; but whether this be a pannel or
furniture, I dare pronounce no definitive sentence, but
only remit it to your discreet opinions: perhaps because
you are not dubbed knights as I am, the enchantments of
this place will have no power over you, and your under-
standings shall be free and able to judge of the things
in this castle really and truly, and not as they seem
unto me." "Doubtless," quoth Don Fernando, “Don
Quixote says very well that the definition of this case
belongs unto us; and therefore, and because we may
proceed in it upon the better and more solid grounds,
I will secretly take the suffrages of all those gentlemen,
and afterwards make a clear and full relation of what
shall come of them.”
To those that knew Don Quixote his humour, this
was a matter of marvellous laughter and sport; but to
such as were not acquainted therewithal, it seemed the
greatest folly of the world, especially to Don Louis and
his four servants, and with other three passengers that
had arrived by chance to the inn, and seemed to be
troopers of the holy brotherhood, as indeed they were.
But he that was most of all beside himself for wrath
was the barber whose basin they had transformed
before his own face into the helmet of Mambrino, and
whose pannel he made full account should likewise be
turned into the rich furniture and equipage of a great
horse. All of them laughed heartily to see Don Fernando
-
262
THE HISTORY OF
go up and down, taking the suffrages of this man and
that, and rounding every one of them in the ear, that
they might declare in secret whether that was a pannel
or a furniture for which such deadly contention had
passed. After that he had taken the suffrages of so
many as knew Don Quixote, he said very loudly,
"The truth is, good fellow, that I grow weary of
demanding so many opinions; for I can no sooner
demand of any man what I desire to know, but they
forthwith answer me, how it is mere madness to affirm
that this is the pannel of an ass, but rather the furni-
ture of a horse, yea, and of a chief horse of service;
and therefore you must have patience; for in despite
both of you and of your ass, and notwithstanding your
weak allegations and worse proofs, it is, and will con-
tinue, the furniture of a great horse." "Let me never
enjoy a place in heaven," quoth the barber, "if you
all be not deceived; and so may my soul appear before
God, as it appears to me to be a pannel, and no horse
furniture. But the law carries it away, and so fare-
well it. And yet surely I am not drunk; for unless it
be by sinning, my fast hath not been broken this day."
The follies which the barber uttered stirred no less
laughter among them than did the roarings of Don
Quixote, who then spoke in this manner: "Here is now
no more to be done, but that every man take up his
own goods, and to whom God hath given them, let
St. Peter give his blessing." Then said one of the four
serving-men, "If this were not a jest premeditated, and
made of purpose, I could not persuade myself that men
of so good understanding as all these are, or seem to be,
should dare to say and affirm that this is not a basin,
nor that a pannel; but seeing that they aver it so
constantly, I have cause to suspect that it cannot be
without a great deal of mystery, to affirm a thing so
+
DON QUIXOTE.
263
contrary to that which very truth itself, and experience,
demonstrates unto us; for I do vow" (and, saying so,
he rapped out a round oath or two) "that as many as are
in the world should never make me believe that this is
no basin, nor that no pannel of a he-ass."
"It might as
well be of a she-ass," quoth the curate. "That comes
all but to one," replied the other; "for the question
consists not therein, but whether it be a pannel or not,
as you do avouch.” Then one of the troopers of the
holy brotherhood, who had listened to their disputa-
tion, and was grown full of choler to hear such an error
maintained, said, “It is as very a pannel, as my father
is my father; and he that hath said, or shall say the
contrary, is, I believe, turned into a grape."
"Thou
liest like a clownish knave!" quoth Don Quixote; and,
lifting up his javelin, which he always held in his
hand, he discharged such a blow at the trooper's pate,
as if he had not avoided, it would have thrown him to
the ground. The javelin was broken by the force of
the fall into splinters; and the other troopers, seeing
their fellow misused, cried out for help and assistance
for that holy brotherhood. The innkeeper, who also
was one of the same fraternity, ran in for his rod of
justice and his sword, and then stood by his fellows.
Don Louis's four servants compassed him about, lest
he should attempt to escape whilst the tumult endured.
The barber, seeing all the house turned upside down,
laid hand again upon his pannel, and the same did
Sancho.
Don Quixote set hand to his sword, and assaulted the
troopers.
Don Louis cried to his serving-men that
they should leave him, and go to help Don Quixote,
Cardenio, and Don Fernando; for all of them took
Don Quixote's part. The curate cried out, the hostess
shrieked, her daughter squeaked, Maritornes howled,
י

264
THE HISTORY OF
Dorothea stood confused, Lucinda amazed, and Donna
Clara dismayed; the barber battered Sancho, and
Sancho pounded him again. Don Louis, on whom
one of his serving-men had presumed to lay hands,
and hold him by the arm, gave him such a pash on
the mouth as he broke his teeth, and then the judge
took him into his own protection. Don Fernando had
gotten one of the troopers under his feet, where he
stood belabouring him at pleasure. The innkeeper
renewed his outcry, and reinforced his voice, demand-
ing aid for the holy brotherhood. So that all the inn
seemed nothing else but plaints, cries, screeches,
confusions, fears, dreads, disgraces, slashes, buffets,
blows, spurnings, and effusion of blood.
In the midst of this chaos and labyrinth of things,
Don Quixote began to imagine and fancy to himself
that he was at that very time plunged up to the ears in
the discord and conflict of King Agramante his camp ;
and therefore he said, with a voice that made all the
inn to tremble, "All of you, hold your hands; all of you,
put up your swords; all of you, be quiet and listen to
me, if any of you desire to continue alive." That great
and monstrous voice made them all stand still; there-
upon he thus proceeded: "Did not I tell you, sirs,
that this castle was enchanted, and that some legion
of devils did inhabit it? In confirmation whereof,
I would have you but to note with your own eyes
how the very discord of King Agramante's camp is
transferred hither, and passed over among us. Look
how there they fight for the sword, here for the horse,
yonder for the eagle, beyond for the helmet; and all of
us fight, and none of us know for what. Come there-
fore, you Master Justice, and you master curate, and
let the one represent King Agramante, and the other
King Sobrino, and make peace and atonement among
DON QUIXOTE.
265
us; for I swear by almighty Jove, that it is great
wrong and pity that so many noblemen as we are
here should be slain for so slight causes."
The troopers, which did not understand Don Quixote's
manner of speech, and saw themselves very ill-handled
by Don Fernando and Cardenio, would in no wise be
pacified. But the barber was content, by reason that
in the conflict both his beard and his pannel had been
torn in pieces. Sancho to his master's voice was quickly
obedient, as became a dutiful servant. Don Louis his
four serving-men stood also quiet, seeing how little was
gained in being other; only the innkeeper persisted as
before, affirming that punishment was due unto the
insolences of that madman, who every foot con-
founded and disquieted his inn. Finally, the rumour
was pacified for that time; the pannel remained for
a horse furniture until the day of judgment, the
basin for a helmet, and the inn for a castle-in Don
Quixote's imagination. All the broils being now
appeased, and all men accorded by the judge's and
curate's persuasions, then began Don Louis his
servants again to urge him to depart with them,
and whilst he and they debated the matter, the judge
communicated the whole to Don Fernando, Cardenio,
and the curate, desiring to know their opinions con-
cerning that affair, and telling them all that Don Louis
had said to him; whereupon they agreed that Don
Fernando should tell the serving-men what he himself
was, and how it was his pleasure that Don Louis should
go with him to Andalusia, where he should be cherished
and accounted of by the marquis his brother, according
unto his calling and deserts; for he knew well Don
Louis his resolution to be such, as he would not return
into his father's presence at that time, although they
tore him into pieces. Don Fernando his quality and
266
THE HISTORY OF
Don Louis his intention being understood by the four,
they agreed among themselves that three of them should
go back to bear the tidings of all that had passed to his
father, and the other should abide there to attend on
him, and never to leave him until they returned to
fetch him home, or knew what else his father would
command: and in this sort was that monstrous bulk
of division and contention reduced to some form by
the authority of Agramante and the wisdom of King
Sobrino.
But the enemy of concord and the adversary of
peace finding his projects to be thus eluded and
condemned, and seeing the little fruit he had gotten
by setting them all by the ears, resolved once again to
try his wits, and stir up new discords and troubles,
which befel in this manner. The troopers were
quieted, having understood the calling of those with
whom they had contended, and retired themselves from
the brawl, knowing that howsoever the cause succeeded,
they themselves should have still the worst end of the
staff. But one of them, who was the very same whom
Don Fernando had buffeted so well, remembered how
among many other warrants that he had to apprehend
malefactors, he had one for Don Quixote, whom the
holy brotherhood had commanded to be apprehended
for freeing of the galley slaves (a disaster which Sancho
had beforehand with very great reason feared): as
soon as he remembered it, he would needs try whether
the signs that were given him of Don Quixote did
agree with his person; and so, taking out of his bosom
a scroll of parchment wherein they were written, he
presently found out that which he looked for; and,
reading it a while very leisurely, as one that was
himself no great clerk, at every other word he looked
on Don Quixote, and confronted the marks of his
DON QUIXOTE.
267
warrant with those of Don Quixote's face, and found
that he was infallibly the man that was therein
mentioned. And scarce was he persuaded that it was
he, when, folding up his parchment, and holding the
warrant in his left hand, he laid hold on Don Quixote's
collar with the right, so strongly as he could hardly
breathe, and cried out aloud, saying, "Aid for the
holy brotherhood! and that you may perceive how I
am in good earnest, read that warrant, wherein you
shall find that this robber by the highway side is to be
apprehended." The curate took the warrant, and
perceived very well that the trooper said true, and
that the marks agreed very near with Don Quixote's;
who, seeing himself so abused by that base rascal, as he
accounted him, his choler being mounted to her height,
and all the bones of his body crashing for wrath, he
seized as well as he could with both his hands on the
trooper's throat, and that in such sort, as if he had not
been speedily succoured by his fellows, he had there
left his life ere Don Quixote would have abandoned
his grip.
The innkeeper, who of force was to assist his fellow
in office, forthwith repaired unto his aid. The hostess,
seeing her husband re-enter into contentions and
brabbles, raised a new cry, whose burden was borne by
her daughter and Maritornes, asking succour of Heaven
and those that were present. Sancho, seeing all that
passed, said, “By the Lord, all that my master hath
said of the enchantments of this castle is true; for it
is not possible for a man to live quietly in it one
hour together."
Don Fernando parted the trooper and Don Quixote,
and, with the goodwill of both, unfastened their holds.
But yet the troopers for all this desisted not to require
their prisoner, and withal, that they should help to get
268
THE HISTORY OF
him tied and absolutely rendered unto their wills; for
so it was requisite for the king and the holy brother-
hood, in whose name they did again demand their help
and assistance for the arresting of that public robber
and spoiler of people in common paths and highways.
Don Quixote laughed to hear them speak so idly, as
he imagined, and said, with very great gravity, "Come
hither, you filthy, base extractions of the dunghill!
dare you term the loosening of the enchained, the freeing
of prisoners, the assisting of the wretched, the raising
of such as are fallen, and the supplying of those that
are in want,—dare you, I say, term these things robbing
on the highway? O infamous brood! worthy, for your
base and vile conceit, that Heaven should never com-
municate with you the valour included in the exercise
of chivalry, we give you to understand the sin and error
wherein you are, by not adoring the very shadow, how
much more the assistance of a knight-errant? Come
hither, O you that be no troopers, but thieves in troop,
and robbers of highways by permission of the holy
brotherhood! come hither, I say, and tell me, who
was that jolt-head that did subscribe or ratify a
warrant for the attaching of such a knight as I am?
Who was he that knows not how knights-errant are
exempted from all tribunals? and how that their
sword is the law, their valour the bench, and their
wills the statutes of their courts? I say again, what
madman was he that knows not how that no privilege
of gentry enjoys so many pre-eminences, immunities,
and exemptions as that which a knight-errant acquires
the day wherein he is dubbed and undertakes the
rigorous exercise of arms? What knight-errant did
ever pay tribute, subsidy, tallage, carriage, or passage
over water? What tailor ever had money for making
his clothes? What constable ever lodged him in
DON QUIXOTE.
269
castle, that made him after to pay for the shot? What
king hath not placed him at his own table? What
damsel hath not fallen in love with him, and permitted
him to use her as he liked? And finally, what knight-
errant was there ever, is, or ever shall be in the world,
which hath not the courage himself alone to give four
hundred blows with a cudgel to four hundred troopers
that shall presume to stand before him in hostile
manner?"
270
THE HISTORY OF
CHAPTER XIX.
܀
IN WHICH IS FINISHED THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF
THE TROOPERS, AND THE GREAT FEROCITY OF OUR
KNIGHT, DON QUIXOTE, AND HOW HE WAS ENCHANTED.
WHILST Don Quixote said this, the curate laboured to
persuade the troopers how the knight was distracted,
as they themselves might collect by his works and
words, and therefore it would be to no end to prosecute
their design any further, seeing that although they did
apprehend and carry him away he would be presently
delivered again as a madman. To this, he that had
the warrant made answer, that it concerned him not
to determine whether he was mad or no, but only to
obey and execute his superior's command; and that
being once prisoner, they might deliver him three
hundred times and if it were their good pleasure.
"For all that," quoth the curate, "you may not carry
him with you at this time; nor, as I suppose, will he
suffer himself to be taken." To be brief, the curate
said so much, and Don Quixote played so many mad
pranks, as the troopers themselves would have proved
greater fools than he if they had not manifestly dis-
cerned his defect of judgment; and therefore they
held it to be the best course to let him alone, yea, and
be compounders of peace and amity between Sancho
Panza and the barber, which still continued their most
rancorous and deadly contention. Finally, they, as the
officers of justice, did mediate the cause, and were
DON QUIXOTE.
271
arbiters thereof in such sort, as both the parties
remained, though not wholly contented, yet in some
sort satisfied, for they only made them exchange their
pannels, but not their girths or headstalls.
As touching Mambrino's helmet, the curate did
unawares to Don Quixote give to the barber eight
reals by it, and the barber gave back unto him an
acquittance of the receipt thereof, and an everlasting
release of all actions concerning it. These two discords,
which were the most principal and of most consequence,
being thus accorded, it only rested that three of Don
Louis his serving-men would be content to return
home, and leave the fourth to accompany his master
whither Don Fernando pleased to carry him. And
as good hap and better fortune had already begun to
break lances, and facilitate difficulties, in the favour of
the lovers and worthy persons of the inn, so did it
resolve to proceed forward, and give a prosperous
success unto all; for the serving-men were content to
do whatsoever their master would have them: whereat
Donna Clara was so cheerful, as no one beheld her face
in that season but might read therein the inward
contentment of her mind. Zoraida, although she did
not very well understand all the successes of the things
she had seen, yet was she interchangeably grieved and
cheered according to the shows made by the rest, but
chiefly by her Spaniard, on whom her eyes were always
fixed, and all the affects of her mind depended. The
innkeeper, who did not forget the recompense made
by the curate to the barber, demanded of him Don
Quixote's expenses, and satisfaction for the danıage he
had done to his wine-bags, and the loss of his wine,
swearing that neither Rozinante nor Sancho his ass
should depart out of the inn until he were paid the
very last farthing. All was quietly ended by the
272
THE HISTORY OF
curate; and Don Fernando paid the whole sum,
although the judge had also most liberally offered to
do it; and all of them remained afterwards in such
quietness and peace, as the inn did no longer resemble
the discorded camp of Agramante, as Don Quixote
termed it, but rather enjoyed the very peace and
tranquillity of the Emperor Octavius's time; for all
which the common opinion was, that thanks were
justly due to the sincere proceeding and great elo-
quence of master curate, and to the incomparable
liberality and goodness of Don Fernando. Don Quixote,
perceiving himself free, and delivered from so many
difficulties and brabbles wherewithal as well he as his
esquire had been perplexed, held it high time to
prosecute his commenced voyage, and bring to an
end the great adventure unto which he was called and
chosen. Therefore, with resolute determination to
depart, he went and cast himself on his knees before
Dorothea, who, not permitting him to speak until he
arose, he to obey her stood up, and said, "It is a
common proverb, beautiful lady, that 'diligence is the
mother of good hap'; and in many and grave affairs
experience hath showed that the solicitude and sore of
the suitor oft brings a doubtful matter to a certain and
happy end; but this truth appears in nothing more
clearly than in matters of war, wherein celerity and
expedition prevent the enemy's designs, and obtain the
victory before an adversary can put himself in defence.
All this I say, high and worthy lady, because it seems
to me that our abode in this castle is nothing profitable,
and may therewithal turn so far to our hindrance as
we may palpably feel it one day; for who knows but
that your enemy, the giant, hath learned by spies, or
other secret intelligence and means, how I mean to
come and destroy him, and (opportunity favouring his
DON QUIXOTE.
273
designs) that he may have fortified himself in some
inexpugnable castle or fortress, against the strength
whereof neither mine industry nor the force of mine
invincible arm can much prevail. Wherefore, dear
lady, let us prevent, as I have said, by our diligence,
and let us presently depart unto the place whereunto
we are called by our good fortune, which shall be
deferred no longer than I am absent from your
highness's foe." Here he held his peace, and did
expect, with great gravity, the beautiful princess's
answer, who, with debonnaire countenance, and a style
accommodated unto Don Quixote, returned him this
answer: "I do gratify and thank, sir knight, the
desire you show to assist me in this my great need,
which denotes very clearly the great care you have to
favour orphans and distressed wights; and I beseech
God that your good desires and mine may be accom-
plished, to the end that you may see how there are
some thankful women
on earth. As touching my
departure, let it be forthwith, for I have none other
will than that which is yours; therefore you may
dispose of me at your own pleasure; for she that hath
once committed the defence of her person unto you,
and hath put into your hands the restitution of her
estate, ought not to seek to do any other thing than
that which your wisdom shall ordain." "In the name
of God," quoth Don Quixote, "seeing that your high-
ness doth so humble yourself unto me, I will not lose
the occasion of exalting it, and installing it again in
the throne of your inheritance. Let our departure be
incontinent; for my desires, and the way, and that
which they call the danger that is in delay, do spur
me on. And seeing that Heaven never created, nor
hell ever beheld, any man that could affright me or
make a coward of me, go therefore, Sancho, and saddle
II.
8
274
THE HISTORY OF
Rozinante, and empannel thine ass, and make ready
the queen's palfrey, and let us take leave of the
constable and those other lords, and depart away from
hence instantly."
Then Sancho, who was present at all this, wagging
of his head, said, "O my lord, my lord! how much more
knavery (be it spoken with the pardon of all honest
kerchiefs) is there in the little village than is talked
of!" "What ill can there be in any village, or in all
the cities of the world, able to impair my credit, thou
villain?" "If thou be angry," quoth Sancho, "I will
hold my tongue, and omit to say that which, by the
duty of a good squire and of an honest servant, I am
bound to tell you." Say what thou wilt," quoth Don
Quixote, "so thy words be not addressed to make me
afraid; for if thou beest frighted, thou doest only like
thyself; and if I be devoid of terror, I also do that
which I ought." "It is not that which I mean," quoth
Sancho, "but that I do hold, for most sure and certain,
that this lady which calls herself queen of the great
kingdom of Micomicon, is no more a queen than my
mother; for if she were what she says, she would not,
at every corner and at every turning of a hand, be
billing as she is with one that is in this good company."
Dorothea blushed at Sancho's words; for it was true,
indeed, that her spouse, Don Fernando, would now and
then privately steal from her lips some part of the
reward which his desires did merit (which Sancho
espying, it seemed to him that that kind of wanton
familiarity was more proper to courtesans than be-
coming the queen of so great a kingdom), and yet she
neither could nor would reply unto him, but let him
continue his speech, as followeth: "This I do say,
good my lord," quoth he, "to this end: that if, after
we have run many ways and courses, and endured bad
DON QUIXOTE.
275
nights and worse days, he that is in this inn sporting
himself, shall come to gather the fruit of our labours,
there is no reason to hasten me thus to saddle Rozinante,
or empannel the ass, or make ready the palfrey, seeing
it would be better that we stayed still, and that every
whore spun, and we fell to our victuals."
O God! how great was the fury that inflamed Don
Quixote when he heard his squire speak so respectlessly!
I say it was so great that, with a shaking voice, a falter-
ing tongue, and the fire sparkling out of his eyes, he
said, "O villanous peasant! rash, unmannerly, ignorant,
rude, blasphemous, bold murmurer and detractor! hast
thou presumed to speak such words in my presence,
and in that of these noble ladies? and hast thou dared
to entertain such rash and dishonest surmises into thy
confused imagination? Depart out of my sight, thou
monster of nature, storehouse of untruths, armoury of
falsehood, sink of roguery, inventor of villany, publisher
of ravings, and the enemy of that decency which is to
be used towards royal persons! Away, villain! and
never appear before me, under pain of mine indigna-
tion!" And, saying so, he bended his brows, filled up
his cheeks, looked about him on every side, and struck
a great blow with his right foot on the ground-all
manifest tokens of the rage which inwardly fretted
him. At which words and furious gestures, poor
Sancho remained so greatly affrighted, as he could
have wished in that instant that the earth, opening
under his feet, would swallow him up, and knew not
what to do, but turn his back, and get him out of his
lord's most furious presence. But the discreet Dorothea,
who was now so well schooled in Don Quixote's humour,
to mitigate his ire, said unto him, "Be not offended,
good sir knight of the sad face, at the idle words
which your good squire hath spoken; for perhaps he
276
THE HISTORY OF
hath not said them without some ground; nor of his
good understanding and Christian mind can it be
suspected that he would wittingly slander or accuse
anybody falsely; and therefore we must believe,
without all doubt, that as in this castle, as you yourself
have said, sir knight, all things are represented, and
succeed by manner of enchantment; I say it might
befall that Sancho may have seen, by diabolical
illusion, that which he says he beheld, so much to the
prejudice of my reputation."
"I vow by the omnipotent Jove," quoth Don Quixote,
"that your highness hath hit the very prick, and that
some wicked vision appeared to this sinner, my man
Sancho, that made him to see that which otherwise
were impossible to be seen by any other way than that
of enchantment; for I know very well the great
goodness and simplicity of that poor wretch is such
as he knows not how to invent a lie on anybody
living." "It is even so, and so it shall be," quoth Don
Fernando; "and therefore, good sir Don Quixote, you
must pardon him, and reduce him again to the bosom
of your good grace, sicut erat in principio, and before
the like visions did distract his sense." Don Quixote
answered that he did willingly pardon him. And
therefore the curate went for Sancho, who returned
very humbly, and, kneeling down on his knees, de-
manded his lord's hand, which he gave unto him; and
after that he had permitted him to kiss it, he gave him
his blessing, saying, "Now thou shalt finally know,
Sancho, that which I have told thee divers times, how
that all the things of this castle are made by way of
enchantment." "So do I verily believe," said Sancho,
"except that of the canvassing in the blanket, which
really succeeded by an ordinary and natural way."
"Do not believe that," said Don Quixote; "for if it
DON QUIXOTE.
277
were so, I would both then, and also now, have taken
a dire revenge; but neither then nor now could I ever
see any on whom I might revenge that thine injury."
All of them desired greatly to know what that accident
of the blanket was; and then the innkeeper recounted
it, point by point, the flights that Sancho Panza made,
whereat they all did laugh not a little; and Sancho
would have been ashamed no less, if his lord had not
anew persuaded him that it was a mere enchantment.
And yet Sancho's madness was never so great as to
believe that it was not a real truth verily befallen him,
without any colour or mixture of fraud or illusion,
but that he was tossed by persons of flesh, blood, and
bone, and not by dreamed and imagined shadows or
spirits, as his lord believed, and so constantly affirmed.
Two days were now expired when all that noble
company had sojourned in the inn; and then, it seem-
ing unto them high time to depart, they devised how,
without putting Dorothea and Don Fernando to the
pains to turn back with Don Quixote to his village,
under pretence of restoring the Queen Micomicona, the
curate and barber might carry him back as they desired,
and endeavour to have him cured of his folly in his
own house. And their invention was this: they agreed
with one, who by chance passed by that way with a team
of oxen, to carry him in this order following: They
made a thing like a cage, of timber, so big as that Don
Quixote might sit or lie in it at his ease; and presently
after, Don Fernando and his fellows, with Don Louis his
servants, the troopers, and the innkeeper, did all of
them, by master curate's direction, cover their faces,
and disguise themselves, every one as he might best,
so that they might seem to Don Quixote other people
than such as he had seen in the castle. And this being
done, they entered with very great silence into the
278
THE HISTORY OF
place where he slept, and took his rest after the
related conflicts; and, approaching him who slept
securely, not fearing any such accident, and laying
hold on him very strongly, they tied his hands and
his feet very strongly, so that when he started out of
his sleep he could not stir himself, nor do any other
thing than admire and wonder at those strange shapes
that he saw standing before him; and presently he fell
into the conceit which his continual and distracted
imagination had already suggested unto him, believing
that all those strange figures were the spirits and
shadows of that enchanted castle, and that he himself
was now without doubt enchanted, seeing he could
neither move nor defend himself. All this succeeded
just as the curate, who plotted the jest, made full
account it would. Only Sancho, among all those that
were present, was in his right sense and shape; and
although he wanted but little to be sick of his lord's
disease, yet for all that he knew all those counterfeit
ghosts; but he would not once unfold his lips, until
he might see the end of that surprisal and imprison-
ment of his master; who likewise spoke never a word,
but only looked to see what would be the period of his
disgrace; which was that, bringing him to the cage,
they shut him within, and afterwards nailed the bars
thereof so well as they could not be easily broken.
They presently mounted him upon their shoulders ;
and as he issued out at the chamber door, they heard
as dreadful a voice as the barber could devise (not he
of the pannel, but the other), which said "O knight of
the sad countenance! be not grieved at the imprison-
ment whereinto thou art led; for so it must be, that
thereby the adventure, into which thy great force and
valour hath thrust thee, may be the more speedily
ended; and ended it will be when the furious Manche-
DON QUIXOTE.
279
gan lion and the white Tobosian dove shall be united
in one; and after they have humbled their lofty crest
unto the soft yoke of wedlock, from whose wonderful
comfort shall issue to the light of the orb fierce whelps,
which shall imitate the raunching paws of their valor-
ous father. And this shall be before the pursuer of
the fugitive nymph do, with his swift and natural
course, make two turns in visitation of the glittering
images. And thou, O the most noble and obedient
squire that ever had sword at a girdle, beard on a
face, or dent in a nose! let it not dismay or discontent
thee to see carried away before thy eyes the flower of
all chivalry-errant; for very speedily, if it please the
Framer of the world, thou shalt see thyself so exalted
and ennobled as thou shalt scarce know thyself. Nor
shalt thou be defrauded of the promises made unto
thee by thy noble lord; and I do assure thee, from
the wise Mentironiana, that thy wages shall be paid
thee, as thou shalt quickly see in effect. And therefore
follow the steps of the valorous and enchanted knight;
for it is necessary that thou go to the place where
you both shall stay. And because I am not permitted
to say more, farewell; for I do return, I well know
whither." Towards the end of this prophecy he lifted
up his voice, and afterwards lessened it, with so slender
an accent that even those which were acquainted with
the jest almost believed what they had heard.
Don Quixote was very much comforted by the
prophecy; for he presently apprehended the whole.
sense thereof, and perceived how he was promised in
marriage his beloved Dulcinca of Toboso, from whose
happy womb should sally the whelps, which were his
sons, to the eternal glory of the Mancha. And, believ-
ing all this most firmly, he elevated his voice, and,
breathing forth a great sigh, thus said: "O thou,

280
THE HISTORY OF
whatsoever thou beest, which hath prognosticated so
great good to me, I desire thee to request, in my name,
the wise man who hath charge to record mine acts,
that he permit me not to perish in this prison, to which
they now do carry me, before the accomplishment of
so joyful and incomparable promises as now have been
made unto me; for, so that this may befall, I will
account the pains of my prison a glory, and the chains
that environ me an ease; and will not esteem this bed
whereon I am laid a hard field of battle, but a soft
tick and a most fortunate lodging. And, as concerning
the consolation of my squire Sancho Panza, I trust in
his goodness and honest proceeding, that he will not
abandon me in good or bad fortune; for though it
should fall out, through his or my hard hap, that I shall
not be able to bestow on him an island, or other
equivalent thing, as I have promised, his wages at least
cannot be lost; for in my testament, which is made
already, I have set down what he is to have, though
not conformably to his many good services, yet accord-
ing to my possibility." Sancho Panza bowed his head
with great reverence, and kissed both his hands, for
one alone he could not, by reason they were bound
together; and presently those visions did lift up the
cage and accommodate it on the team of oxen.
DON QUIXOTE.
281
CHAPTER XX.
WHEREIN IS PROSECUTED THE MANNER OF DON
QUIXOTE'S ENCHANTMENT, WITH OTHER FAMOUS
OCCURRENCES.
WHEN Don Quixote saw himself to be encaged after
that manner, and placed in the cart, he said, "I have
read many and very grave histories of knights-errant,
but I never read, saw, nor heard that they were wont
to carry knights-errant enchanted after this manner,
and with the leisure that those slothful and heavy
beasts do threaten; for they were ever accustomed to
be carried in the air with wonderful speed, shut in
some dusky and obscure cloud, or in some fiery
chariot, or on some hippogriff, or some other such
like beast; but that they carry me now on a team of
oxen, I protest it drives me into a great amazement;
but perhaps both chivalry, and the enchantments of
these our times, do follow a course different from those
of former ages; and peradventure it may also be, that
as I am a new knight in the world, and the first that
hath again revived the now neglected and forgotten
exercise of arms, so have they also newly invented
other kinds of enchantments, and other manners of
carrying away enchanted knights. What dost thou
think of this, son Sancho?" "I know not," quoth
Sancho, "what to think, because I am not so well seen
in scriptures-errant as you are; but for all this I
durst affirm and swear, that these visions which go up
282
THE HISTORY OF
and down in this place are not altogether catholic."
"Catholics! my father!" quoth Don Quixote; "how can
they be catholics, when they be all devils, which have
assumed phantastical bodies to come and put me into
this state? And if thou wilt prove the truth hereof,
do but touch and feel them, and thou shalt find them
to have no bodies but of air, and that they consist of
nothing but an outward appearance." "Now, by my
faith, sir," quoth Sancho, "I have already touched
them, and find this devil that goeth there so busily
up and down, both plump and soft-fleshed; and that
he hath besides another property very different from
that which I have heard say devils have; for it is
said that they smell all of brimstone and other filthy
things, but one may feel, at least half a league off, the
amber that this devil smells of." Sancho spoke this
of Don Fernando, who belike, as lords of his rank arė
wont, had his attire perfumed with amber.
"Marvel not thereat, friend Sancho," quoth Don
Quixote; "for the devils are very crafty, and although
they bring smells or perfumes about them, yet they
themselves smell nothing, because they are spirits; or if
they do smell aught, it is not good, but evil and stink-
ing savours: the reason is, for that as they do always
bear, wheresoever they be, their hell about them, and
can receive no kind of ease of their torments, and good
smells be things that delight and please, it is not
possible that they can smell any good thing; and if it
seem to thee that that devil whom thou dost mention
smells of amber, either thou art deceived, or he would
deceive thee, by making thee to think that he is no
devil." All these discourses passed between the master
and the man, the whilst Don Fernando and Cardenio,
fearing lest Sancho should find out the deceit whereto
he was already come very near, resolved to hasten the
DON QUIXOTE.
283
knight's departure; and therefore, calling the innkeeper
aside, they commanded him to saddle Rozinante, and
empannel Sancho's beast, which he did with all expedi
tion. And the curate agreed with the troopers for so
much a day, to accompany him unto his village.
Cardenio hanged, at the pommel of Rozinante's saddle,
the target on the one side, and on the other the basin
and by signs he commanded Sancho to get up on his
ass, and to lead Rozinante along by the bridle, and after-
wards placed on either side of the cart two troopers,
with their firelocks.
But before the cart departed, the hostess, her daughter,
and Maritornes came out to bid Don Quixote farewell,
feigning that they wept for sorrow of his disaster; to.
whom Don Quixote said, "My good ladies, do not weep;
for all these mischances are incident to those as profess
that which I do, and if these calamities had not befallen
me, I would never have accounted myself for a famous
knight-errant; for the like chances never happen to
knights of little name or renown, because there is
none in the world that makes any mention of them;
but they often befall to the valorous, who have
emulators of their virtue and valour, both many
princes and many other knights, that strive by indirect
means to destroy them. But for all that, virtue is so
potent, as by herself alone, in despite of all the necro-
mancy that ever the first inventor thereof, Zoroaster,
knew, she will come off victorious from every danger,
and will shine in the world as the sun doth in heaven.
Pardon me, fair ladies, if by any carelessness I have
done you any displeasure, for with my will and know-
ledge I never wronged any. And pray unto God for
me, that He will please to deliver me out of this prison,
whereinto some ill-meaning enchanter hath thrust me;
for if I once may see myself at liberty again, I will

284
THE HISTORY OF
never forget the favours which you have done me in
this castle, but greatly acknowledge and recompense
them as they deserve." Whilst the ladies of the castle
were thus entertained by Don Quixote, the curate and
barber took leave of Don Fernando and his companions,
of the captain and his brother, and of all the contented
ladies, specially of Dorothea and Lucinda. All of them
embraced, and promised to acquaint one another with
their succeeding fortunes; Don Fernando entreating the
curate to write unto him what became of Don Quixote,
assuring him that no affair he could inform him of
should please him better than that, and that he would,
in lieu thereof, acquaint him with all occurrences which
he thought would delight him, either concerning his
own marriage or Zoraida's baptism, or the success of
Don Louis, and Lucinda's return into her house.
The curate offered willingly to accomplish to a hair
all that he had commanded him; and so they returned
once again to embrace one another, and to renew their
mutual and complimentary offers. The innkeeper came
also to the curate, and gave him certain papers, saying
that he had found them within one of the linings of
the wallet wherein the Tale of the Curious-Impertinent
was had, and that, since the owner did not return to
fetch it, he bade him take them all with him; for,
seeing he could not read, he would keep them no
longer. Master curate yielded him many thanks; and
then, opening them, found in the beginning thereof
these words, The Tale of Riconete and Cortadillo, by
which he understood that it was some history, and
collected that it must be a good one, seeing that of the
Curious-Impertinent, contrived perhaps by the same
author, had proved so well; and therefore he laid it up,
with an intention to read it as soon as he had oppor-
tunity. Then he mounted on horseback with his friend
DON QUIXOTE.
285
the barber; and both of them, putting on their masks,
that they might not quickly be known by Don Quixote,
they travelled after the team, which held on in this
order: first went the cart, guided by the carter; on
both sides thereof the troopers rode, with their fire-
locks; then followed Sancho upon his ass, leading
Rozinante by the bridle; and last of all came the curate
and barber, upon their mighty mules, and with their
faces covered; all in a grave posture, and with an
alderman-like pace, and travelling no faster than the
slow steps of the heavy oxen permitted them. Don
Quixote sat with his hands tied, his legs stretched out,
and leaning against the bar of the cage, with such a
silence and patience as he rather seemed a statue than
a man. In this quiet and leisurely manner they
travelled for the space of two leagues, when, arriving
to a valley, it seemed to their conductor a fit place to
repose and bait his oxen; and, acquainting the curate
with his purpose, the barber was of opinion that they
should yet go on a little farther, because he knew that
there lay behind a little mountain, which was within
their view, a certain vale, much better furnished with
grass than that wherein he meant to abide. The
barber's opinion was allowed; and therefore they
continued on their travel: when the curate, looking
by chance behind him, saw coming after them six or
seven men on horseback, and very well appointed, who
quickly got ground of them; for they came not the
lazy and phlegmatic pace of oxen, but as men that were
mounted on canons' mules, and pricked forward with a
desire to pass over the heat of the day in their inn,
which was not much more than a league from thence.
Finally, those diligent travellers overtook our slothful
ones, and saluted them courteously; and one of them,
that was a canon of Toledo and master of the rest,
286
THE HISTORY OF
noting the orderly procession of the cart, troopers,
Sancho, Rozinante, the curate and barber, but chiefly
the encaged Don Quixote, he could not forbear to
demand what meant the carriage of that man in so
strange a manner, although he did already conjecture,
by observation of the troopers, that he was some notable
robber, or other delinquent, the punishment of whom
belonged to the holy brotherhood. One of the troopers,
to whom the demand was made, did answer in this
manner : "Sir, we know not wherefore this knight is
carried in this form; and therefore let he himself, who
best may, tell you the reason thereof."
Don Quixote had overheard their discourse, and
said, “If, gentlemen, you be conversant and skilful
in matters of chivalry, I will communicate my misfor-
tunes with you; but if you be not, I have no reason
to trouble myself to recount them." The curate and
barber, seeing the travellers in talk with Don Quixote,
drew near to make answer for him in such sort that
their invention might not be discovered; the whilst
the canon replied to the knight, and said, "Truly,
brother, I am better acquainted with books of knight-
hood than with Villalpando's Logic; and therefore,
if all the difficulty rest only in that, you may safely
communicate whatsoever you will with me."
God's name be it," quoth Don Quixote; "you shall
therefore understand, sir knight, that I am carried
away enchanted in this cage, through the envy and
fraud of wicked magicians; for virtue is much more
persecuted of the wicked than honoured of the good.
I am a knight-errant; but none of those whose names
are not recorded in the books of fame, but one of
those who, in despite of envy itself, and of all the
magicians of Persia, the Brahmins of India, or of the
gymnosophists of Ethiopia, shall hang his name in
"A

DON QUIXOTE.
287
the temple of eternity, that it may serve as a model
and pattern to ensuing ages, wherein knights-errant
may view the steps which they are to follow, if they
mean to aspire to the top and honourable height of
arms."
"The knight sir Don Quixote saith true,"
quoth the curate, speaking to the travellers, "that he
is carried away in this chariot enchanted, not through
his own default or sins, but through the malignant
treachery of those to whom virtue is loathsome and
valour odious. This is, good sir, the knight of the sad
countenance (if you have at any time heard speak of
him), whose valorous acts shall remain ensculped in
stubborn brass and time-surviving marble, though
envy and malice do labour never so much to obscure
them."
When the canon heard the imprisoned man and the
three speak thus in one tenor, he was about to bless
himself for wonder, and could not conjecture what
had befallen him; and into no less admiration were
they brought that came with him. But Sancho Panza
having in the meantime approached to hear their
speech, to plaster up the matter, added: "Now, sirs,
whether you will love me well or ill for what I shall
say, the very truth of the matter is, that my lord, Don
Quixote, is as much enchanted as my mother, and no
more; for his judgment is yet whole and sound-he
eats and drinks, and doth his necessities as other men
do, and as he himself did yesterday and other days
before they encaged him: all which being so, how can
you make me believe that he goeth enchanted? for I
have heard many persons avouch that enchanted
persons neither eat, nor drink, nor speak; and yet
my lord, if he be not thwarted, will talk more than
twenty barristers." And then, turning towards the
curate, he said, "O master curate, master curate, do

288
THE HISTORY OF
you think that I do not know you? And think you
that I do not suppose, yea, and presage whereto these
new enchantments are addressed? Well, know then
that I know you well, although you cover your face
never so much, and that I understand your meaning,
how deeply soever you smother your drifts. But in
fine, where emulation and envy reign, virtue cannot
live; where pinching sways, liberality goes by. A
pox take the devil! for, but for your reverence, my
lord had e'er this time been wedded to the Princess
Micomicona, and I myself had been created an earl
at least; for no less might be expected either from the
bounty of my lord or the greatness of my deserts. But
now I perceive that to be true which is commonly
said, 'that the wheel of fortune turns about more
swiftly than that of a mill,' and that they which were
yesterday on the top thereof, lie to-day all along on
the ground. I am chiefly grieved for my wife and chil-
dren; for whereas they ought and might hope to see their
father come in at his gates made a governor or viceroy
of some isle or kingdom, they shall now see him return
unto them no better than a poor horse-boy. All which
I have urged so much, master curate, only to intimate
to your paternity how you ought to have remorse, and
make a scruple of conscience, of treating my dear lord
as you do; and look to it well, that God do not one
day demand at your hands, in the other life, amends
for the prison whereinto you carry him, and that you
be not answerable for all the succours and good deeds
which he would have afforded the world in this time
of his captivity."
"Snuff me those candles," quoth the barber, hearing
him speak so. "What, Sancho! art thou also of thy
master's fraternity? I swear by the Lord, I begin to
see that thou art very like to keep him company in the

DON QUIXOTE.
289
cage, and that thou shalt be as deeply enchanted as he,
for the portion which thou hast of humour and chivalry.
Thou wast in an ill hour begotten with child by his
promises, and in a worse did the isle, which thou so
greatly longest for, sink into thy pate." "I am not
with child by anybody," said Sancho; “ nor am I a man
of humour, to let anybody get me with child, no, though
it were the king himself; and although I be poor, yet
am I a Christian, and owe nothing to any one; and if I
desire islands, others there are that desire worse things,
and every one is the son of his own works; and under
the name of a man I may become pope, how much
more the governor of an island, and chiefly seeing my
lord may gain so many as he may want men to bestow
them on? And therefore, master barber, you should
take heed how you speak; for all consists not in
trimming of beards; and there is some difference
between Peter and Peter. I say it, because all of us
know one another, and no man shall unperceived put a
false dye upon me. As concerning my lord's enchant-
ment, God knows the truth; and therefore let it rest
as it is, seeing it is the worse for the stirring in." The
barber would not reply unto Sancho, lest that, with his
simplicities, he should discover what the curate and
himself did labour so much to conceal. And the
curate, doubting the same, had entreated the canon to
prick on a little forward, and he would unfold to him
the mystery of the encaged knight, with other matters
of delight. The canon did so, and, taking his men along
with them, was very attentive to all that he rehearsed
of the condition, life, madness, and fashion of Don
Quixote. There did he briefly acquaint him with the
original cause of his distraction, and all the progress of
his adventures, until his shutting up in that cage; and
their own design in carrying him home to his country,
'
II.
T

290
THE HISTORY OF
to try whether they might by any means find out a
remedy for his frenzy. The canon and his men again
admired to hear so strange a history as that of Don
Quixote; and as soon as the curate had ended his
relation, the canon said :—
"Verily, master curate, I do find by experience that
those books which are instituted of chivalry or knight-
hood are very prejudicial to well-governed common-
wealths; and although, borne away by an idle and
curious desire, I have read the beginning of almost as
many as are imprinted of that subject, yet could I
never endure myself to finish and read any one of
them through; for methinks that somewhat, more or
less, they all import one thing, and this hath no more
than that, nor the other more than his fellow. And
in mine opinion, this kind of writing and invention
falls within the compass of the fables called Milesia,
which are wandering and idle tales, whose only scope
is delight, and not instruction; quite contrary to the
project of those called Fabula Apologa, which delight
and instruct together. And though that the principal
end of such books be recreation, yet cannot I perceive
how they can yield it, seeing they be forced with so
many and so proportionless untruths; for the delight
that the mind conceives must proceed from the beauty
and conformity which it sees or contemplates in such
things as the sight or imagination represents unto it,
and all things that are deformed and discordant must
produce the contrary effect. Now, then, what beauty
can there be, or what proportion between the parts
and the whole, or the whole and the parts, in a book
or fable wherein a youth of sixteen years of age gives a
blow to a giant as great as a tower, and with that blow
divides him in two as easily as if he were a pellet of
sugar? And when they describe a battle, after that they
DON QUIXOTE.
291
have told us how there were at least a million of men
on the adverse side, yet if the knight of the book be
against them, we must of force, and whether we will or
no, understand that the said knight obtained the victory
through the invincible strength of his arm. What, then,
shall we say of the facility wherewithal the inheritrix
of a kingdom or empire falls between the arms of those
errant and unknown knights? What understanding,
if it be not altogether barren or barbarous, can delight
itself, reading how a great tower full of knights doth
pass through the sea as fast as a ship with the most
prosperous wind? and that going to bed a man is in
Lombardy, and the next morning finds himself in
Prester John's country, among the Indians, or in some
other region which never was discovered by Ptolemy,
nor seen by Marco Polo? And if I should be an-
swered, that the inventors of such books do write them
as fables, and therefore are not bound unto any respect
of circumstances or observation of truth, I would reply,
that an untruth is so much the more pleasing by how
much the nearer it resembles a truth, and so much the
more grateful by how much the more it is doubtful
and possible; for lying fables must be suited unto the
reader's understanding, and so written as that, facili-
tating impossible things, levelling untrue things, and
holding the mind in suspense, they may ravish with
more delight, and entertain such manners, as pleasure
and wonder may step by step walk together: all which
things he that writes not likelihoods shall never be able
to perform. And as touching imitation (wherein con-
sists the perfection of that which is written), I have
not seen in any books of knighthood an entire bulk
of a fable so proportioned in all the members thereof,
as that the middle may answer the beginning, and the
end the beginning and middle; but rather they have
292
THE HISTORY OF
composed them of so many members, as it more pro-
bably seems that the authors intended to frame chimeras
or monsters than to deliver proportionate figures, most
harsh in their style, incredible in exploits, impudent
in love matters, absurd in compliments, prolix in
battles, fond in discourses, uncertain and senseless in
voyages; and finally, devoid of all discretion, art, and
ingenious disposition: and therefore they deserve, as
most idle and frivolous things, to be banished out of
all Christian commonwealths."
Mäster curate did listen to the canon with very
great attention; and he seemed unto him to be a man
of good understanding, and that he had great reason
for what he had alleged; and therefore said that, in
respect they did concur in opinions, and that he had an
old grudge to the vanity of such books, he had likewise
fired all Don Quixote's library, consisting of many books
of that subject. And then he recounted to him the
search and inquisition he had made of them; and
which he had condemned, and which reserved: whereat
the canon laughed heartily, and said that, "notwith-
standing all the evil he had spoken of such books, yet
did he find one good in them, to wit, the subject they
offered a good wit to work upon and show itself in
them; for they displayed a large and open plain,
through which the pen might run without let or
encumbrances, describing of shipwrecks, tempests,
encounters, and battles; delineating a valorous captain
with all the properties required in him-as wisdom
to frustrate the designs of his enemy, eloquence to
persuade or dissuade his soldiers, ripeness in advice,
promptness in execution, as much valour in attending
as in assaulting of an enemy; deciphering now a
lamentable and tragical success, then a joyful and
unexpected event; there a most beautiful, honest, and
DON QUIXOTE.
293
discreet lady, here a valiant, courteous, and Christian
knight; there an unmeasureable, barbarous braggart,
here a gentle, valorous, and wise prince; representing
the goodness and loyalty of subjects, the magnificence
and bounty of lords. Sometimes he may show himself
an astrologer, sometimes a cosmographer, sometimes
a musician, sometimes a statist, and sometimes, if he
please, he may have occasion to show himself a necro-
mancer. There may he demonstrate the subtlety of
Ulysses, the piety of Æneas, the valour of Achilles, the
misfortune of Hector, the treachery of Sinon, the amity
of Euryalus, the liberality of Alexander, the resolu-
tion of Cæsar, the clemency and truth of Trajan, the
fidelity of Zopyrus, the prudence of Cato, and finally,
all those parts that make a worthy man perfect; one
whiles by placing them all in one subject, another
by distributing them among many; and this being
done, and set out in a pleasing style and a witty fashion,
that approacheth as near as is possible unto the truth,
will questionless remain a work of many fair drafts,
which being accomplished will represent such beauty
and perfection as shall fully attain to the best end
aimed at in all writing; that is, as I have said, jointly
to instruct and delight: for the irregularity and
liberality of those books given to the author, the means
to show himself an epic, lyric, tragedian, and comedian,
with all other things which the most graceful and
pleasant sciences of poetry and oratory include in
themselves; for epics may be as well written in prose
as in verse."
294
THE HISTORY OF
CHAPTER XXI.
WHEREIN THE CANON PROSECUTES HIS DISCOURSE UPON
BOOKS OF CHIVALRY, AND MANY OTHER THINGS
WORTHY OF HIS WIT.
"SIR, you say very true," quoth the curate; "and for
this very reason are they which have hitherto invented
such books the more worthy of reprehension, because
they neither heeded the good discourse, the art, nor
the rules by which they might have guided themselves,
and by that means have grown as famous for their
prose as be the two princes of the Greek and Latin
poetry for their verse." "I have, for my part," quoth
the canon, "at least attempted to write a book of
chivalry, observing therein all the points by me
mentioned; and in truth I have written above a
hundred sheets thereof; and to the end that I might
try whether they were correspondent to my estimation,
I did communicate them both with certain skilful and
wise men, that are marvellously affected to that subject,
and with some ignorant persons that only delight to
hear fanatical inventions, and I have found in them
all a great approbation of my labours; yet would I not
for all that prosecute the work, as well because it
seemed unfit for my profession, as also because I find the
number of the ignorant to exceed that of the judicious;
and though more good come to a man by the praise of
a few wise men, than hurt by the scoffs of a number of
fools, yet would I not willingly subject myself to the

DON QUIXOTE.
295
confused judgment of the senseless vulgar, who
commonly give themselves most unto the reading of
such books. But that which most of all rid my hands,
yea, and my memory, of all desire to end it, was this
argument, drawn from our modern comedies, and thus
made to myself: If those (as well the fictions as
historical ones) are all, or the most part of them,
notorious fopperies, and things without either head or
foot, and yet are by the vulgar heard with such delight,
and held and approved for good; and both the authors
that compose them, and actors that represent them, say
that they must be such as they be for to please the
people's humours, and not more conformable to reason
or truth; and that because those wherein decorum is
observed, and the fable followed according to the rules
of art, serve only for three or four discreet men (if so
many may be found at a play) which do attend unto
them, and all the rest of the auditors remain fasting,
by reason they cannot conceive the artificial contexture
thereof; therefore is it better for them to gain good
money and means by many than bare opinion or
applause by a few. The very same would be the end
of my book, after I had used all possible industry to
observe the aforesaid precept; and I should remain
only for a need, and as the tailor that dwells in a corner,
without trade or estimation.
"And although I have sundry times endeavoured to
persuade the players that their opinion was erroneous
herein, and that they would attract more people and
acquire greater fame by acting artificial comedies than
those irregular and methodical plays then used, yet
are they so wedded to their opinion, as no reason can
woo nor demonstration win them from it. I remember
how, dealing upon a day with one of those obstinate
fellows, I said unto him, 'Do not you remember how

296
THE HISTORY OF
a few years ago were represented in Spain three
tragedies, written by a famous poet of our kingdom,
which were such as delighted, yea, and amazed all the
auditors, as well the learned as the simple, the exact
as the slight ones, and that the players got more by
those three alone than by thirty of the best that were
penned or acted since that time? You mean, without
question,' quoth the actor, answering me, 'Isabella,
Phyllis, and Alexandra?' 'The very same,' quoth I;
'and note whether in them were not rightly observed
all the rules and precepts of art; and yet thereby they
neither wanted any part of their dignity nor the appro-
bation of all the world; so that I infer the fault not to
be in the vulgar that covet idle toys, but rather in those
which know not how to pen or act any other thing;
for no such fond stuff was in the comedy of Ingratitude
Revenged, nor found in Numantia, nor perceived in that
of The Amorous Merchant, and much less in The Favour-
able Enemy, nor in some others made by judicious poets,
which both redounded to their infinite fame and re-
nown, and yielded unto these actors abundant gain.'
To these I added other reasons, wherewith I left him,
in mine opinion, somewhat perplexed, but not satisfied,
or desirous to forego his erroneous opinion."
“Truly, master canon," quoth the curate, "you have
touched a matter that hath roused an ancient rancour
and heart-burning of mine against the comedies now
in request, the which is equal to the grudge that I bear
to books of knighthood; for, seeing the comedy, as
Tully affirms, ought to be a mirror of man's life, a
pattern of manners, and an image of truth, those that
are now exhibited are mirrors of vanity, patterns of
folly, and images of voluptuousness. For what greater
absurdity can be in such a subject, than to see a child
come out in the first scene of the first act in his
•
DON QUIXOTE.
297
swaddling clouts, and issue in the second already grown
a man, yea, a bearded man? And what greater vanity
than to present before us a valiant old man and a
young coward? a layman become a divine? a page
a councillor? a king a scoundrel? and a princess a
scour-kettle? What should I say of the little care had
of the due observation of time for the succeeding of
that they represent, other than that I myself have seen
comedies whose first act began in Europe, the second
in Asia, and the third ended in Africa; and truly, if
there had been a fourth, it would questionless have
finished in America, and by consequence, we should
have seen a round walk about the four parts of the
world. And feigning an exploit performed in the
time of King Pepin or of Charlemagne, they make the
principal actors thereof either Heraclius the emperor
that entered into Jerusalem bearing of the holy cross,
or Godfrey of Bouillon that recovered the Holy Land;
many years, yea, and ages having occurred between the
times of the one and the other: yea, and the comedy
being grounded on a fiction, to attribute unto it the
verities of a history, and mingle it and patch it up
with pieces of others having relation to different persons
and times; and this with no plausible invention, or
draft resembling the truth, but rather with palpable,
gross, and inexcusable errors. And which is worse,
some gulls are found to affirm that all perfection con-
sists herein, and that they are too dainty that look for
any other.
"Now, if we would pass further, to examine the divine
comedies that treat of God, or the lives of saints, what
a multitude of false miracles do the composers devise!
what a bulk of matters apocryphal and ill-understood,
attributing to one saint the miracles done by another;
yea, and in human comedies they presume to do

.300
THE HISTORY OF
that could understand them; and by this means would
good comedies be written, and the thing intended by
them most easily attained to, viz. entertainment of the
people, the good opinion of Spanish wits, the profit and
security of the players, and the saving of the care that
is now employed in chastising their rashness. And if
the same charge were given to this man, or to some
other, to examine the books of knighthood which
should be made hereafter, some of them doubtless would
be put forth adorned with that perfection whereof you
spoke but now, enriching our language with the pleas-
ing and precious treasure of eloquence, and being an
occasion that the old books would become obscure in
the bright presence of those new ones published, for
the honest recreation not only of the idler sort, but
also of those that have more serious occupations; for
it is not possible for the bow to continue still bent,
nor can our human and frail nature sustain itself long
without some help of lawful recreation."
The canon and curate had arrived to this point of
their discourse, when the barber, spurring on and over-
taking them, said to the curate, "This is the place I
lately told you was fit to pass over the heat of the day
in, while the oxen baited amidst the fresh and abund-
ant pastures." "It likes me very well," quoth the
curate; and telling the canon what he meant to do, he
also was pleased to remain with them, as well invited
by the prospect of a beautiful valley which offered
itself to their view, as also to enjoy the curate's conver-
sation, towards whom he began to bear a marvellous
affection; and lastly, with the desires he had to be
thoroughly acquainted with Don Quixote's adventures.
Therefore he gave order to some of his men that they
should ride to the inn, which was hard by, and bring
from thence what meat they could find, sufficient to
.
1
DON QUIXOTE.
301
satisfy them all, because he meant likewise to pass the
hot time of the day in that place. To which one of
his men did answer, that their sumpter mule was by
that time, as he thought, in the inn, so copiously
furnished with provision of meat, that, as he supposed,
they needed not buy anything there but barley for
their mules. "If it be so," quoth the canon, "let our
mules be carried thither, and the sumpter one returned
hither."
Whilst this passed, Sancho, being free from the
continual presence of the curate and barber, whom he
held as suspected persons, thought it a fit time to speak
with his lord, and therefore drew near to the cage
wherein he sat, and said to him in this manner: "Sir,
that I may discharge my conscience, I will reveal unto
you all that hath passed in this affair of your enchant-
ment, which briefly is, that those two which ride
with their faces covered, are the curate of our village
and the barber, and as I imagine they both are the
plotters of this your kind of carrying away, for mere
emulation that they see you surpass them both in
achieving of famous acts: this truth being presupposed,
it follows that you are not enchanted, but beguiled
and made a fool; for the proof whereof I will but
demand of you one question, and if you do answer me
according to my expectation, as I believe you will, you
shall feel the deceit with your own hands, and perceive
how you are not enchanted, but rather have your wits
turned upside-down."
"Son Sancho, demand what thou wilt," quoth Don
Quixote, "and I will satisfy thee, and answer directly
to thy desire; but as touching thy averment that those
which go along with us be the curate and barber, our
gossips and old acquaintance, it may well befall that
they seem to be such, but that they are so really, and
302
THE HISTORY OF
in effect, I would not have thee believe in any manner;
for that which thou art to believe and shouldest
understand in this matter is, that if they be like those
our friends, as thou sayest, it must needs be that those
which have enchanted me have assumed their semblance
and likeness (for it is an easy thing for magicians to put
on any shape they please) thereby to give thee occasion
to think that which thou dost, to drive thee into such
a labyrinth of imaginations as thou shalt not after-
wards know how to sally out, although thou hadst
the assistance of Theseus' clue; and withal to make me
waver in mine understanding, to the end I may not
conjecture from whence this charm is derived unto me;
for if thou on the one side dost affirm that the barber
and curate of our village do accompany me, and I on
the other side find myself encaged, and am so assured
of mine own force that no human strength, be it not
supernatural, is able thus to encage me, what wouldest.
thou have me to say or think, but that the manner of
mine enchantment exceeds as many as ever I read
throughout all the histories entreating of knights-errant
which have been enchanted? Wherefore thou mayest
very well appease and quiet thyself in that point of
believing them to be those thou sayest; for they are
those as much as I am a Turk: and, as touching thy
desire to demand somewhat of me, speak; for I will
answer thee, although thou puttest me questions until
to-morrow morning."
"Our Lady assist me!" quoth Sancho, as loud as he
could, "and is it possible that you are so brain-sick
and hard-headed as you cannot perceive that I affirm
the very pure truth, and that malice hath a greater
stroke in this your disgrace and employment than any
enchantments? But seeing it is so, I will prove
evidently that you are not enchanted; if not, tell me,
DON QUIXOTE.
303
as God shall deliver you out of this tempest, and as you
shall see yourself, when you least think of it, in my
Lady Dulcinea's arms.' “Make an end of conjuring
me," said Don Quixote, "and ask me what question
thou wilt; for I have already told thee that I will
answer with all punctuality." "That is it I demand,"
quoth Sancho; "and the thing I would know is, that
you tell me, without adding or diminishing aught,
but with all truth used or looked for of all those which
profess the exercise of arms as you do, under the title
of knights-errant." "I say," answered Don Quixote,
"that I will not lie a jot; make therefore a beginning
or an end of these demands, for in good sooth thou
dost weary me with so many salutations, petitions, and
preventions." Sancho replied, "I say that I am secure
of the bounty and truth of my lord; and therefore,
because it makes to the purpose in our affair, I do, with
all respect, demand whether your worship, since your
encagement and, as you imagine, enchantment in that
coop, have not had a desire to make greater or less
water, as men are wont to say?" "I do not under-
stand, good Sancho, that phrase of making water; and
therefore explicate thyself, if thou wouldest have me
to answer thee directly." "And is it possible,” replied
he, "that your worship understands not what it is to
make great or little waters? then go to some school,
and learn it of the boys, and know that I would say,
'Have you had a desire to do that which cannot be
undone?'" "Oh, now, now I understand thee, Sancho.
Yes, very many times; yea, and even now I have.
Wherefore, I pray thee, deliver me from the extremity
thereof; for I promise thee I am not altogether so
clean as I would be."
304
THE HISTORY OF
CHAPTER XXII.
WHEREIN THE DISCREET DISCOURSE THAT PASSED BE-
TWEEN SANCHO PANZA AND HIS LORD DON
QUIXOTE IS EXPRESSED.
"HA," quoth Sancho, "have I caught you at last?
This is that which I desired to know, as much as my
soul or life. Come now, sir, and tell me, can you deny
that which is wont to be said, when a body is ill-disposed,
"I know not what ails such a one: for he neither eats
nor drinks nor sleeps, nor answers directly to that
which is demanded him, so as it seems that he is en-
chanted' By which may be collected, that such as
neither eat, drink, sleep, nor do the other natural things
you wot of, are enchanted; but not those which have a
desire as you have, and eat meat when they get it, and
drink drink when it is given them, and answer to all
that is propounded unto them.” "Thou sayest true,
Sancho," quoth Don Quixote; "but I have told thee
already that there are divers sorts of enchantments,
and perhaps they change with the times from one kind
into another, and that now the enchanted use to do
all that which I do, although they did not so in times
past; and therefore there is no disputing or drawing of
conclusions against the customs of the time. I know,
and do verily persuade myself, that I am enchanted,
and that is sufficient for the discharge of my conscience,
which would be greatly burdened if I thought that I
were not enchanted, and yet permitted myself to be
DON QUIXOTE.
305
borne away in this cage idly, and like a coward with-
holding the succour I might give to many distressed
and needy persons, which even at this hour be like
enough to have extreme want of mine aid and assistance."
"Yet say I, notwithstanding," replied Sancho, "that for
more abundant satisfaction, your worship might do well
to attempt the getting out of this prison, the which I
do oblige myself with all my power to facilitate, yea,
and to get out, and then you may recount eftsoons on
the good Rozinante, who also seems enchanted, so sad
and melancholy he goes. And this being done, we may
again assay the fortune of seeking adventures, which, if
it have no good success, we have time enough to return
to our cage; wherein I promise, by the faith of a good
and loyal squire, to shut up myself together with you,
if
you shall prove so unfortunate, or I so foolish, as not
to bring our designs to a good issue." "I am content
to do what thou sayest, brother Sancho," replied Don
Quixote; "and when thou seest opportunity offered to
free me, I will be ruled by thee in everything; but yet
thou shalt see how far thou art over-wrought in the
knowledge thou wilt seem to have of my disgrace."
The knight-errant and the ill-errant squire beguiled
the time in these discourses, until they arrived to the
place where the canon, curate, and barber expected
them. And then, Sancho alighting, and helping to
take down the cage, the wainman unyoked his oxen,
permitting them to take the benefit of pasture in that
green and pleasant valley, whose verdure invited not
such to enjoy it as were enchanted like Don Quixote,
but rather such heedful and discreet persons as was his
man, who entreated the curate to license his lord to
come out but a little while, for otherwise the prison
would not be so cleanly as the presence of so worthy
a knight as his lord was required. The curate under-
II.
U
306
THE HISTORY OF
1
stood his meaning, and answered that he would satisfy
his requests very willingly, but that he feared when
he saw himself at liberty, he would play them some
prank or other, and go whither nobody should ever
set eye on him after. "I will be his surety that he
shall not fly away," quoth Sancho. "And I also,"
quoth the canon, "if he will but promise me, as he is
a knight, that he will not depart from us without our
consent." "I give my word that I will not," quoth
Don Quixote, who heard all that they had said, "and
the rather because that enchanted bodies have not free
will to dispose of themselves as they list; for he that
enchanted them may make them unable to stir from
one place in three days; and if they make an escape,
he can compel them to return flying; and therefore,
since it was so, they might securely set him at liberty,
especially seeing it would redound so much to all their
benefits; for if they did not free him, or get farther
off, he protested that he could not forbear to offend their
noses." The canon took his hand (although it were
bound), and the Don gave his faith and word that he
would not depart, and then they gave him liberty; where-
at he infinitely rejoiced, especially seeing himself out of
the cage. The first thing that he did after was to
stretch all his body, and then he went towards Rozin-
ante, and, striking him twice or thrice on the buttocks,
he said, "I hope yet in God and His blessed mother, O
flower and mirror of horses! that we two shall see our-
selves very soon in that state which our hearts desire ;
thou with thy lord on thy back, and I mounted on thee,
and exercising the function for which God sent me into
this world." And, saying so, Don Quixote with his
squire Sancho retired himself somewhat from the com-
pany, and came back soon after a little more lightened,
but greatly desiring to execute his squire's designs.
DON QUIXOTE.
307
The canon beheld him very earnestly, and with
admiration, wondering to see the strangeness of his
fond humour, and how that he showed, in whatsoever
he uttered, a very good understanding, and only left
the stirrups (as is said before) when any mention was
made of chivalry; and therefore, moved to compassion,
after they were all laid down along upon the grass,
expecting their dinner, he said unto him, "Gentleman,
is it possible that the idle and unsavoury lecture of
books of knighthood hath so much distracted your wit
as thus to believe that you are carried away enchanted,
with other things of that kind, as much wide from.
truth as untruths can be from verity itself? Or how
is it possible that any human understanding can frame
itself to believe that in this world there have been
such an infinity of Amadises, such a crew of famous
knights, so many emperors of Trapisonda, such a number
of Florismartes of Hircania; so many palfreys, damsels-
errant, serpents, robbers, giants, battles, unheard-of
adventures, sundry kinds of enchantments, such im-
measureable encounters, such bravery of apparel, such
a multitude of enamoured and valiant princesses, so
many squires, earls, witty dwarfs, viragoes, love-letters,
amorous dalliances; and finally, so many, so unreason-
able, and impossible adventures as are contained in the
books of knighthood?
"Thus much I dare avouch of myself, that when I
read them, as long as I do not think that they are all
but toys and untruths, they delight me; but when I
ponder seriously what they are, I throw the very best
of them against the walls, yea, and would throw them
into the fire if they were near me, or in my hands,
having well deserved that severity, as false impostors
and seducers of common sense, as broachers of new
sects and of uncouth courses of life, as those that give
308
THE HISTORY OF
occasion to the ignorant vulgar to believe in such
exorbitant untruths as are contained in them; yea,
and are withal so presumptuous, as to dare to con-
found the wits of the most discreet and best descended
gentlemen; as we may clearly perceive by that they
have done to yourself, whom they have brought to such
terms as it is necessary to shut you up in a cage and
carry you on a team of oxen, even as one carries a lion
or tiger from place to place, to gain a living by the
showing of him. Therefore, good Sir Don Quixote,
take compassion of yourself, and return into the bosom
of discretion, and learn to employ the most happy
talent of understanding and abundance of wit, where-
with bountiful Heaven hath enriched you, to some
other course of study, which may redound to the profit
of your soul; and advancement of your credit and
estate. And if, borne away by your natural disposition,
you will yet persist in the reading of warlike and
knightly discourses, read in the Holy Scripture the
Book of Judges, for there you shall find surpassing feats
and deeds, as true as valorous. Portugal had a
Viriathus; Rome a Cæsar; Carthage a Hannibal;
Greece an Alexander; Castile an Earl Fernan Gon-
zalez; Valencia a Cid; Andalusia a Gonzalo Hernandez;
Estremadura a Diego Garcia de Paredes; Xerez a Garcia
Perez de Vargas; Toledo a Garcilaso de la Vega; Seville
a Don Manuel de Leon: the discourses of whose
valorous acts may entertain, teach, delight, and make
to wonder the most sublime wit that shall read them.
Yea, this were indeed a study fit for your sharp under-
standing, my dear Sir Don Quixote, for by this you
should become learned in histories, enamoured of virtue,
instructed in goodness, bettered in manners, valiant
without rashness, bold without cowardice; and all
this to God's honour, your own profit, and renown of
DON QUIXOTE:
309
the Mancha, from whence, as I have learned, you
deduce your beginning and progeny."
Don Quixote listened with all attention unto the
canon's admonition, and perceiving that he was come
to an end of them, after he had looked upon him a
good while he said, "Methinks, gentleman, that the
scope of your discourse hath been addressed to persuade
me that there never were any knights-errant in the
world, and that all the books of chivalry are false,
lying, hurtful, and unprofitable to the commonwealth,
and that I have done ill to read them, worse to believe
in them, and worst of all to follow them, by having
thus taken on me the most austere profession of wan-
dering knighthood, whereof they entreat; denying,
moreover, that there were ever any Amadises, either
of Gaul or Greece; or any of all the other knights
wherewith such books are stuffed."
"All is just as you have said," quoth the canon:
whereto Don Quixote replied thus, "You also added, that
such books had done me much hurt, seeing they had
turned my judgment, and immured me up in this cage,
and that it were better for me to make some amend-
ment, and alter my study, reading other that are more
authentic, and delight and instruct much better."
"It is very true," answered the canon.
"Why, then," quoth Don Quixote, "I find, by mine
accounts, that the enchanted and senseless man is
yourself, seeing you have bent yourself to speak so
many blasphemies against a thing so true, so current,
and of such request in the world, as he that should
deny it, as you do, merits the same punishment which
as you say you give to those books when the reading
thereof offends you; for to go about to make men
believe that Amadis never lived, nor any other of
those knights wherewith histories are fully replenished,
310
THE HISTORY OF
;
would be none other than to persuade them that the
sun lightens not, the earth sustains not, nor the ice
makes anything cold. See what wit is there in the
world so profound, that can induce another to believe
that the history of Guy of Burgundy and the Princes
Floripes was not true? Nor that of Fierabras, with
the Bridge of Mantible, which befel in Charlemagne's
time, and is, I swear, as true as that it is day at this
instant? And if it be a lie, so must it be also that ever
there was an Hector, Achilles, or the war of Troy; the
Twelve Peers of France; or King Arthur of Britain,
who goes yet about the world in the shape of a crow,
and is every foot expected in his kingdom. And they
will as well presume to say that the History of Guarino
Mezquino and of the quest of the Holy San Greal be
lies and that for the love between Sir Tristram and
La Bella Ysoude, and between Queen Guenevor and
Sir Lancelot Dulake, we have no sufficient authority;
and yet there be certain persons alive which almost
remember that they have seen the Lady Queintanonina,
who was one of the best skinkers of wine that ever
Great Britain had; and this is so certain, as I re-
member that one of my grandmothers of my father's
side was wont to say unto me, when she saw my
matron, with a long and reverend kerchief or veil,
My boy, that woman resembles very much Lady
Queintanonina.' From which I argue, that either she
knew her herself, or at the least had seen some
portraiture of hers. Who can, moreover, deny the
certainty of the history of Peter of Provence and the
beautiful Magalona, seeing that, until this very day,
one may behold, in the king's armoury, the pin where-
with he guided and turned anyway he listed the horse
of wood whereupon he rode through the air, which
pin is a little bigger than the thill of a cart; and
DON QUIXOTE.
311
near unto it is also seen Babieca his saddle; and in
Roncesvalles there yet hangs Orlando's horn, which is as
big as a very great joist, whence is inferred that there
were Twelve Peers, that there was a Pierres of Provence,
that also there were Cids, and other such knights as
those which the world terms adventurers. If not, let
them also tell me, that the valiant Lusitanian, John de
Melo, was no knight-errant, who went to Burgundy,
and in the city of Ras fought with the famous lord of
Charni, called Mosen Pierres, and after with Mosen
Henry of Ramestan, in the city of Basilea, and bore
away the victory in both the conflicts, to his eternal
fanie and that there were no such curres as the
adventures and single combats begun and ended in
Burgundy by the valiant Spaniards, Pedro Garba and
Guttierre Quixada (from whom I myself am lineally
descended), who overcame the Earl of Saint Paul's sons.
They may also aver unto me that Don Fernando de
Guevarra went not to seek adventures in Germany,
where he fought with Micer George, a knight of the
Duke of Austria his house. Let them likewise
affirm that the jousts of Suerò de Quinonnes were
but jests; as also the enterprise of Mosen Louis de
Falses against Don Gonzalo de Guzman, a gentleman
of Castile, with many other renowned acts, done as
well by Christian knights of this kingdom as of other
foreign lands, which are all so authentic and true, as
that I am compelled to reiterate what I said before,
which is, that whosoever denies them is defective of
reason and good discourse."
Full of admiration remained the good canon to
hear the composition and medley that Don Quixote
made of truths and fictions together, and at the great
notice he had of all things that might anyway concern
his knighthood-errant; and therefore he shaped him
!
312
THE HISTORY OF
this answer: "I cannot deny, Sir Don Quixote, but that
some part of that which you have said is true, especially
touching those Spanish adventurers of whom you have
spoken, and will likewise grant you that there were
Twelve Peers of France, but I will not believe that
they have accomplished all that which the Archbishop
Turpin hath left written of them; for the bare truth
of the affair is, that they were certain noblemen chosen
out by the kings of France, whom they called peers,
because they were all equal in valour, quality, and
worth; or if they were not, it was at least presumed
that they were; and they were not much unlike the
military orders of Saint James or Calatrava, were in
request, wherein is presupposed that such as are of the
profession are, or ought to be, valorous and well-
descended gentlemen: and as now they say a knight
of Saint John or Alcantara, so in those times they said
a knight of the Twelve Peers, because they were twelve
equals, chosen to be of that military order. That there
was a Cid and a Bernard of Carpio is also doubtless;
that they have done the acts recounted of them I
believe there is very great cause to doubt. As touching
the pin of the good Earl Pierres, and that it is by
Babieca his saddle in the king's armoury, I confess
that my sin hath made me so ignorant, or blind, that
although I have viewed the saddle very well, yet could
I never get a sight of that pin, how great soever you
affirm it to be."
Well, it is there without question," quoth Don
Quixote; "and for the greater confirmation thereof,.
they say it is laid up in a case of neat's leather to keep
it from rusting." "That may very well so be," said
the canon; "yet by the orders that I have received, I
do not remember that ever I saw it: and although I
should grant it to be there, yet do I not therefore
DON QUIXOTE.
313
oblige myself to believe the histories of all the
Amadises, nor those of the other rabblement of knights
which books do mention unto us; nor is it reason that
so honourable a man, adorned with so many good parts
and endowed with such a wit as you are, should believe
that so many and so strange follies as are written in
the raving books of chivalry can be true."

314
THE HISTORY OF
CHAPTER XXIII.
OF THE DISCREET CONTENTION BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE
AND THE CANON, WITH OTHER ACCIDENTS.
"that
"THAT were a jest indeed," quoth Don Quixote,
books which are printed with the king's licence and
approbation of those to whom their examination was
committed, and that are read with universal delight
and acceptance, and celebrated by great and little, rich
and poor, learned and ignorant, plebeians and gentle-
men, and finally, by all kind of persons of what state
or condition soever, should be so lying and fabulous,
specially seeing they have such probability of truth,
seeing they describe unto us the father, mother,
country, kinsfolk, age, town, and acts of such a knight
or knights, and that so exactly, point by point, and
day by day. Hold your peace, and never speak again
such a blasphemy, and believe me; for I do sincerely
counsel you, what you, as a discreet man, ought to do
herein; and if not, read them but once, and you shall
see what delight you shall receive thereby : if not, tell
me, what greater pleasure can there be than to behold,
as one would say, even here and before our eyes, a
great lake of pitch boiling hot, and many serpents,
snakes, lizards, and other kinds of cruel and dreadful
beasts swimming athwart it, and in every part of it,
and that there issues out of the lake a most lamentable
voice, saying, 'O thou knight, whatsoever thou art,
which dost behold the fearful lake, if thou desirest to
DON QUIXOTE.
315
obtain the good concealed under these horrid and
black waters, show the valour of thy strong breast, and
throw thyself into the midst of this sable and inflamed
liquor; for if thou dost not so, thou shalt not be
worthy to discover the great wonders hidden in the
seven castles of the seven fates, which are seated under
these gloomy waves:' and that scarce hath the knight
heard the fearful voice, when, without entering into
any new discourses, or once considering the danger
whereinto he thrusts himself, yea, or easing himself
of the weight of his ponderous armour, but only com-
mending himself unto God and his lady mistress, he
plunges into the midst of that burning puddle, and
when he neither cares nor knows what may befall him,
he finds himself in the midst of flourishing fields, with
which the very Elysian plains can in no sort be com-
pared. There it seems to him that the element is
more transparent, and that the sun shines with a
clearer light than in our orb; there offers itself to his
greedy and curious eye a most pleasing forest, re-
plenished with so green and well-spread trees as the
verdure thereof both joys and quickens the sight,
whilst the ears are entertained by the harmonious
though artless songs of infinite and enamelled birds,
which traverse the intricate boughs of that shady
habitation; here he discovers a small stream, whose
fresh waters, resembling liquid crystal, slide over the
small sands and white little stones, resembling sifted
gold wherein oriental pearls are enchased; there he
discerns an artificial fountain, wrought of motley jasper
and smooth marble; and hard by it another, rudely
and negligently framed, wherein the sundry cockle-
shells, with the wreathed white and yellow houses of
the periwinkle and snail intermingled, and placed after
a disorderly manner (having now and then pieces of
**
316
THE HISTORY OF
1
clear crystal and counterfeit emeralds mingled among
them), do make a work of so graceful variety, as art
imitating nature doth herein seem to surpass her.
“Suddenly he discovers a strong castle or goodly
palace, whose walls are of beaten gold, the pinnacles
of diamonds, the gates of jacinths; finally, it is of
so exquisite workmanship, as although the materials
whereof it is built are no worse than diamonds,
carbuncles, rubies, emeralds, pearls, and gold, yet is the
architecture thereof of more estimation and value than
they; and is there any more to be seen, after the seeing
hereof, than to see sally out at the castle gates a goodly
troop of lovely damsels, whose brave and costly attire,
if I should attempt to describe, as it is laid down in
histories, we should never make an end? And she
that seems the chiefest of all, to take presently our
bold knight, that threw himself into the boiling lake,
by the hand, and carry him into the rich castle or
palace without speaking a word, and cause him to strip
himself as naked as he was when his mother bore him,
and bathe him in very temperate waters, and afterwards
anoint him all over with precious ointments, and put
on him a shirt of most fine, odoriferous, and perfumed
sendall; and then another damsel to come suddenly, and
cast on his back a rich mantle, which they say is wont
to be worth, at the very least, a rich city, yea, and more.
Then what a sport it is, when they tell us after, that
after this he is carried into another hall, where he
finds the tables covered so orderly as he rests amazed!
what, to see cast on his hands water distilled all of
amber, and most fragrant flowers! what, to see him
seated in a chair of ivory! what, to see him served
by all the damsels with marvellous silence! what, the
setting before him such variety of acates, and those so
excellently dressed, as his appetite knows not to which
DON QUIXOΤΕ.
317
of them it shall first address his hand! what, to hear
the music which sounds whilst he is at dinner, without
knowing who makes it, or whence it comes ! And
after that dinner is ended, and the tables taken away,
the knight to remain leaning on a chair, and perhaps
picking of his teeth, as the custom is, and on a sudden
to enter at the hall door another much more beautiful
damsel than any of the former, and to sit by his side,
and begin to recount unto him what castle that is, and
how she is enchanted therein, with many other things
that amazed the knight and amazed the readers. I
will not enlarge myself any more in this matter, seeing
that you may collect out of that which I have said, that
any part that is read of any book of a knight-errant
will delight and astonish him that shall peruse it with
attention. And therefore, I pray you, believe me, and,
as I have said already, read those kind of books, and
you shall find that they will exile all the melancholy
that shall trouble you, and rectify your disposition, if
by fortune it be depraved. For I dare affirm of myself,
that since I am became a knight-errant, I am valiant,
courteous, liberal, well-mannered, generous, gentle, bold,
mild, patient, and an endurer of labours, imprisonments,
and enchantments. And although it be but so little a
while since I was shut up in a cage like a madman, yet
do I hope, by the valour of mine arm (Heaven concur-
ring, and fortune not crossing me), to see myself within
a few days the king of some kingdoms, wherein I may
show the bounty and liberality included within my
breast; for in good truth, sir, a poor man is made
unable to manifest the virtue of liberality toward any
other, although he virtually possess it himself in a most
eminent degree; and the will to gratify which, only
consisting of will, is a dead thing, as faith without works:
for which cause I do wish that fortune would quickly
318
THE HISTORY OF
present me some occasion whereby I might make
myself an emperor, that I may discover the desire I
have to do good unto my friends, but especially to this
my poor squire Sancho Panza, who is one of the
honestest men in the world, on whom I would fain
bestow the earldom which I promised him many days
past, but that I fear me he will not be able to govern
his estate."
Sancho, overhearing those last words of his master's,
said, "Labour you, Sir Don Quixote, to get me that
earldom as often promised by you, as much longed for by
me; and I promise you that I will not want sufficiency
to govern it; and though I should, yet have I heard
say that there are men in the world who take lordships
to farm, paying the lord so much by the year, and
undertaking the care of the government thereof, whilst
the lord himself, with outstretched legs, doth live at
his ease, enjoying the rents they bring him, and caring
for nothing else; and so will I do, and will not stand
wracking it to the utmost, but presently desist from all
administration, and live merrily upon my rent, like a
young duke, and so let the world wag and go how it
will." "That, friend Sancho, is to be understood,"
quoth the canon, "of enjoying the revenues; but as
concerning the administration of justice, the lord of
the seigniory is bound to look to it: in that is required.
a sufficiency and ability to govern, and above all a
good intention to deal justly and determine rightly;
for if this be wanting when we begin, our means and
ends will always be subject to error; and therefore is
God wont as well to further the good designs of the
simple, as to disfavour the bad ones of those that be
wittily wicked."
I understand not those philosophies," quoth Sancho
Panza; "but this I know well, that I would I had as
DON QUIXOTE.
319
speedily the earldom as I could tell how to govern it;
for I have as much soul as another, and as much body
as he that hath most; and I would be as absolute a
king in my estate as any one would be in his; and
being such, I would do what I liked; and doing what
I liked, I would take my pleasure; and taking my
pleasure, I would be content; and when one is content,
he hath no more to desire; and having no more to
desire, the matter were ended: and then, come the
estate when it will, or farewell it, and let us behold
ourselves, as one blind man said to another."
"They
are no bad philosophies which thou comest out with,
kind Sancho," quoth the canon; "but yet for all that,
there is much to be said concerning this matter of
earldoms." To that Don Quixote replied, "I know not
what more may be said, only I govern myself by the
example of Amadis de Gaul, who made his squire earl of
the firm island; and therefore I may without scruple of
conscience make Sancho Panza an earl; for he is one
of the best squires that ever knight-errant had." The
canon abode amazed at the well-compacted and orderly
ravings of Don Quixote; at the manner wherewith he
had deciphered the adventure of the knight of the
lake; at the impression which his lying books had
made into him; and finally, he wondered at the
simplicity of Sancho Panza, who so earnestly desired
to be made earl of the county his lord had promised
him.
By this time the canon's serving-men, which had
gone to the inn for the sumpter mule, were returned;
and, making their table of a carpet and of the green
grass of that meadow, they sat down under the shadow
of the trees, and did eat there, to the end that the
wainman might not lose the commodity of the pasture,
as we have said before. And as they sat at dinner,
320
THE HISTORY OF
2
they suddenly heard the sound of a little bell issuing
from among the briers and brambles that were at hand;
and instantly after they saw come out of the thicket a
very fair she-goat, whose hide was powdered all over
with black, white, and brown spots: after her followed
a goatherd, crying unto her, and in his language
bidding her stay or return to the fold; but the fugitive
goat, all affrighted and fearful, ran towards the com-
pany, and, as it were, seeking in her dumb manner
to be protected, strayed near unto them. Then did the
goat-herd arrive; and, laying hold of her horns (as if
she had been capable of his reprehension), said unto
her, "O ye wanton ape, ye spotted elf! how come ye
to halt with me of late days? What wolves do scare
you, daughter? Will you not tell me, fair, what the
matter is? But what can it be other than that you are
a female, and therefore can never be quiet? A foul
evil take your conditions, and all theirs whom you so
much resemble ! Turn back, love, turn back; and
though you be not so content withal, yet shall you at
least be more safe in your own fold, and among the
rest of your fellows; for if you that should guide and
direct them go thus distracted and wandering, what
then must they do? What will become of them?"
The goatherd's words did not a little delight the
hearers, but principally the canon, who said unto him,
"I pray thee, good fellow, take thy rest here a while,
and do not hasten that goat so much to her fold; for,
seeing she is a female, as thou sayest, she will follow
her natural instinct, how much soever thou opposest
thyself unto it. Take therefore that bit, and drink a
draught wherewithal thou mayest temper thy choler,
and the goat will rest her the whilst." And, saying so,
he gave him the hinder quarter of a cold rabbit;
which he receiving, rendered him many thanks, and,
DON QUIXOTE.
321
drinking a draught of wine, did pacify himself, and
said presently after, "I would not have you, my
masters, account me simple, although I spoke to this
beast in so earnest a fashion; for in truth the words
which I used unto her were not without some mystery.
I am indeed rustic, and yet not so much but that I
know how to converse with men and with beasts."
"I believe that easily," quoth the curate; "for I know
already, by experience, that the woods breed learned
men, and sheep-cotes contain philosophers." "At the
least, sir," replied the goatherd, "they have among
them experienced men; and that you may give the
more credit to this truth, and, as it were, touch it with
your own hands (although, till I be bidden, I may seem
to invite myself), I will, if you please to hear me but a
while, relate unto you a very true accident, which shall
make good what this gentleman" (pointing to the curate)
"and myself have affirmed." To this Don Quixote
answered, “Because the case doth seem to have in it
some shadow of knightly adventures I will, for my
part, listen unto thee with a very good will; and I
presume that all these gentlemen will do the like, so
great is their discretion and desire to know any curious
novelty which amaze, delight, and entertain the senses,
as I do certainly believe thy history will. Therefore
begin it, friend, and all of us will lend our ears unto
it." "I except mine," quoth Sancho; "for I will go
with this pasty unto that little stream, where I mean
to fill myself for three days; for I have heard my lord
Don Quixote say that a knight-errant's squire must eat
when he can, and always as much as he can, because that
oftentimes they enter by chance into some wood so
intricate as they cannot get out of it again in five
or six days, and if a man's paunch be not then well
stuffed, or his wallet well stored, he may there remain,
II.
X
322
THE HISTORY OF
and be turned, as many times it happens, into a
mummy."
“Thou art in the right of it, Sancho," quoth Don
Quixote; "go, therefore, where thou wilt, and eat
what thou mayest; for I am already satisfied, and only
want refection for my mind, which now I will give it
by listening to this good fellow." "The same will we
also give unto ours," quoth the canon, who therewithal
entreated the goatherd to keep promise, and begin his
tale. Then he, stroking once or twice his pretty goat
(which he yet held fast by the horns), said thus, "Lie
down, pied fool, by me; for we shall have time enough
to return home again." It seemed that the goat under-
stood him; for as soon as her master sat down, she
quietly stretched herself along by him, and, looking
him in the face, did give to understand that she was
attentive to what he was saying; and then he began
his history in this manner.
:
DON QUIXOTE.
323
CHAPTER XXIV.
【ELATING THAT WHICH THE GOATHERD TOLD TO THOSE
THAT CARRIED AWAY DON QUIXOTE.
“THERE is a village distant some three leagues from this
valley, which, albeit it be little, is one of the richest of
this commark: therein some time did dwell a wealthy
farmer of good respect, and so good, as although reputa-
tion and riches are commonly joined together, yet that
which he had was rather got him by his virtue than
by any wealth he possessed; but that which did most
accumulate his happiness (as he himself was wont to
say) was, that he had a daughter of so accomplished
beauty, so rare discretion, comeliness, and virtue, that
as many as knew and beheld her admired to see the
passing endowments wherewith Heaven and nature had
enriched her. Being a child she was fair; and, increas-
ing daily in feature, she was at the age of sixteen most
beautiful: the fame whereof extended itself over all
the bordering villages. But why say I the bordering
villages alone, if it spread itself over the farthest cities,
yea, and entered into the king's palace, and into the
ears of all kind of people, so that they came from all
parts to behold her, as a rare thing and pattern of
miracles? Her father did carefully keep her, and she
likewise heeded herself; for there is neither guard,
lock, nor bolt able to keep a maiden better than is her
own wariness and care. The wealth of the father and
worth of the daughter moved divers, as well of his own
324
THE HISTORY OF
village as strangers, to demand her to wife; but he (as
one whom the disposal of so rich a jewel most nearly
concerned) was much perplexed, and unable to deter-
mine on whom, among such an infinite number of
importunate wooers, he might bestow her. Among
others that bore this goodwill towards her, I myself
was one to whom they gave many and very great hopes
of good success; the knowledge that her father had of
me, my birth in the same village, my descent honest,
and blood untainted, flourishing in years, very rich in
goods, and no less in gifts of the mind. Another of the
same village and qualities was also a suitor unto her;
which was an occasion to hold her in suspense, and
put his will in the balance, deeming, as he did, that she
might be bestowed on either of us two. And that he
might be rid of that doubt, he resolved to tell it to
Leandra (for so do they call the rich maid which hath
brought me to extreme misery), noting discreetly that,
seeing we both were equals, it would not be amiss to
leave in his dear daughter's power the making choice of
whether she liked best: a thing worthy to be noted by
all those parents that would have their children marry ;
wherein my meaning is not that they should permit
them to make a bad or base choice, but that they
propound certain good ones, and refer to their liking
which of them they will take. I know not what was
the liking of Leandra, but only know this that the
father posted us off, by alleging the over-green years of
his daughter, and using general terms, which neither
obliged him nor discharged us. My rival was called
Anselmo, and myself Eugenio, that you may also
have some knowledge of the persons which were actors
in this tragedy, whose conclusion is yet depending, but
threatens much future disaster.
"About the very same time there arrived to our
1

UNIL
OF
AR
Co
"He would sit on a bench under a poplar tree."
MICH
DON QUIXOTE.
325
village one Vincent de la Rosa, son to a poor labourer
of the same place, which Vincent returned as then from
Italy and divers other countries, wherein he had been
a soldier; for, being of some twelve years of age, a
certain captain, that with his company passed along by
our village, did carry him away with him; and the
youth, after a dozen years more, came back again attired
like a soldier, and painted with a hundred colours, full
of a thousand devices of crystal, five steel chains. To-
day he would put on some gay thing, the next day
some other, but all of them slight painted, of little
weight, and less worth. The clownish people, which are
naturally malicious, and if they have but ever so little
idleness or leisure become malice itself, did note and
reckon up all his braveries and jewels, and found that
he had but three suits of apparel of different colours,
with garters and stockings answerable to them; but he
used so many disguisements, varieties, transformations,
and inventions, which they, as if they had not counted
them all, some one would have sworn that he had made
show of more than ten suits of apparel, and more than
twenty plumes of feathers; and let not that which I
tell you of the apparel be counted impertinent, or from
the matter, for it makes a principal part in the history.
He would sit on a bench that stood under a great
poplar-tree in the midst of the market-place, and there
would hold us all with gaping mouths, listening to the
gallant adventures and resolute acts he recounted unto
us.
There was no land in all the world whose soil he
had not trodden on, no battle wherein he had not been
present; he had slain more Moors than the kingdoms
of Morocco and Tunis contained, and undertaken more
single combats, as he said, than ever did either Gante,
Luna, or Diego Garcia de Paredes, and a thousand
others whom he named; and yet he still came away
326
THE HISTORY OF
with the victory, without having ever left one drop of
blood. On the other side, he would show us signs of
wounds, which, although they could not be discerned,
yet would he persuade us that they were the marks of
bullets which he received in divers skirmishes and
wars. Finally, he would 'thou' his equals, and those
which knew him very well, with marvellous arrogancy;
and said that his arm was his father, his works his
lineage, and that beside his being a soldier he owed
not a whit to the king. To these his arrogancies was
annexed some superficial skill in music, for he could
scratch a little on a guitar, and some would say that
he made it speak; but his many graces made not a stop
there, for he had likewise some shadows of poetry, and
so would make a ballad of a league and a-half long
upon every toy that happened in the village.
"This soldier, therefore, whom I have deciphered,
this Vincent de la Rosa, this braggart, this musician,
this poet, eyed and beheld many times by Leandra,
from a certain window of her house that looked into
the market-place; and the golden show of his attire
enamoured her, and his ditties enchanted her; for he
would give twenty copies of every one he composed.
The report of his worthy acts, beautified by himself,
came also unto her ears; and finally (for so it is likely
the devil had ordered the matter) she became in love
with him before he presumed to think once of soliciting
her. And, as in love adventures no one is accomplished
with more facility than that which is favoured by the
woman's desire, Leandra and Vincent made a short and
easy agreement; and ere any one of her suitors could
once suspect her desires, she had fully satisfied them,
abandoned her dear and loving father's house (for her
mother lives not), and running away from the village
with the soldier, who departed with more triumph from
DON QUIXOTE.
327
that enterprise than from all the others which he had
arrogated to himself. The accident amazed all the
town; yea, and all those to whom the rumour thereof
arrived were astonished, Anselmo amazed, her father
sorrowful, her kinsfolk ashamed, the ministers of
justice careful, and the troopers ready to make pursuit.
All the ways were laid, and the woods and every other
place nearly searched; and at the end of three days they
found the lustful Leandra hidden in a cave within a
wood, naked in her smock, and despoiled of a great sum
of money and many precious jewels which she had
brought away with her. They returned her to her
doleful father's presence, where, asking how she became
so despoiled, she presently confessed that Vincent de
la Rosa had deceived her; for, having passed his word
to make her his wife, he persuaded her to leave her
father's house, and made her believe that he would
carry her to the richest and most delightful city of the
world, which was Naples; and that she, through in-
discretion and his fraud, had given credit to his words,
and, robbing her father, stole away with him the very
same night that she was missed; and that he carried
her to a very rough thicket, and shut her up in that
cave wherein they found her. She also recounted how
the soldier, without touching her honour, had robbed
her of all that she carried, and, leaving her in that
cave, was fled away; which success struck us into greater
admiration than all the rest, for we could hardly be
induced to believe the young gallant's continency; but
she did so earnestly protest it as it did not a little
comfort her comfortless father, who made no reckoning
of the riches he had lost, seeing his daughter had yet
reserved that jewel which, being once gone, could never
again be recovered. The same day that Leandra
appeared, she also vanished out of our sights, being
328
THE HISTORY OF
conveyed away by her father, and shut up in a nunnery
at a certain town not far off, hoping that time would
obliterate some part of the bad opinion already con-
ceived of his daughter's facility. Leandra her youth
served to excuse her error, at least with those which
gained nothing by her being good or ill; but such as
knew her discretion and great wit did not attribute
her sin to ignorance, but rather to her too much light-
ness, and the natural infirmity of that sex, which for
the most part is inconsiderate and slippery. Leandra
being shut up, Anselmo's eyes lost their light, or at
least beheld not anything that could delight them;
and mine remained in darkness without light that
could address them to any pleasing object, in Leandra's
absence. Our griefs increased, our patience dimin-
ished; we cursed the soldier's ornaments, and abhorred
her father's want of looking to her. To be brief,
Anselmo and myself resolved to abandon the village
and come to this valley, where, he feeding a great
flock of sheep of his own, and I as copious a herd of
goats of mine, we pass our lives among these trees,
giving vent to our passions, either by singing together
the beautiful Leandra's praises or dispraises, or by sigh-
ing alone, and alone communicating our quarrelsome
complaints with Heaven. Many others of Leandra's
suitors have since, by our example, come to these
intricate woods, where they use our very exercise; and
they are so many as it seems that this place is converted
into the pastoral Arcadia; it is full of shepherds and
sheepfolds, and there is no one part thereof wherein the
name of the beautiful Leandra resoundeth not. There
one doth curse her, and termeth her humours inconstant
and dishonest; another condemns her of being so facile
and light; some one absolves and pardons her; another
condemns and despises her, and celebrates her beauty;

DON QUIXOTE.
329
another execrates her disposition; and finally, all
blame, but yet adore her; and the raving distraction
of them all doth so far extend itself, as some one com-
plains of disdain that never spoke word unto her, and
some one laments and feels the enraged fits of jealousy
though she never ministered any occasion thereof; for,
as I have said, her sin was known before her desires.
There is no cleft of a rock, no bank of a stream, nor
shadow of a tree, without some shepherd or other, that
breathes out his misfortunes to the silent air. The
echo repeats Leandra's name wheresoever it can be
formed; the woods resound Leandra; the brooks do
murmur Leandra; and Leandra holds us all perplexed
and enchanted, hoping without hope, and fearing with-
out knowledge what we fear.
“And among all this flock of frantic men, none shows
more or less judgment than my companion, Anselmo,
who, having so many other titles under which he might
plain him, only complains of absence, and doth to
the sound of a rebec (which he handles admirably well)
sing certain doleful verses, which fully discover the
excellency of his conceit. I follow a more easy and, in
mine opinion, a more certain way-to wit, I rail on the
lightness of women, on their inconstancy, double-dealing,
dead promises, cracked trust, and the small discretion
they show in placing of their affections; and this, sir,
was the occasion of the words and reasons I lately used
to this goat, whom I do esteem but little because she is
a female, although she be otherwise the best of all my
herd. And this is the history which I promised to tell
you, wherein, if I have been prolix, I will be altogether
as large in doing you any service; for I have here at
hand my cabin, and therein store of fresh milk and
savoury cheese, with many sorts of excellent fruit, no
less agreeable to the sight than pleasing to the taste."

330
THE HISTORY OF
CHAPTER XXV.
OF THE FALLING OUT OF DON QUIXOTE AND THE GOAT-
HERD; WITH THE ADVENTURE OF THE DISCIPLIN-
ANTS, TO WHICH THE KNIGHT GAVE END TO HIS
COST.
THE goatherd's tale bred a general delight in all the
hearers, but specially in the canon, who did exactly
note the manner wherewithal he delivered it, as
different from the style or discourse of a rude goatherd,
and approaching to the discretion of a perfect courtier;
and therefore he said that the curate had spoken very
judiciously in affirming that the woods bred learned
men. All of them made bountiful tenders of their
friendship and service to Eugenio, but he that enlarged
himself more than the rest was Don Quixote, who said
unto him, "Certes, friend goatherd, if I were at this
time able to undertake any adventure, I would presently
set forward, and fall in hand with it to do you a good
turn; and I would take Leandra out of the monastery
(wherein, without doubt, she is restrained against her
will), in despite of the lady abbess, and all those that
should take her part; and would put her into your hands,
to the end you might dispose of her at your pleasure,
yet still observing the laws of knighthood, which com-
mand that no man do any wrong and offer violence
unto a damsel. Yet I hope in our Lord God, that the
skill of a malicious enchanter shall not be of such force,
but that the science of a better-meaning wizarḍ shall
DON QUIXOTE.
331
prevail against him; and whensoever that shall befall,
I do promise you my help and favour, as I am bound,
by my profession, which chiefly consists in assisting
the weak and distressed."
The goatherd beheld him, and, seeing the knight so
ill arrayed, and of so evil-favoured a countenance, he
wondered, and questioned the barber, who sat near to
him, thus: "I pray you, sir, who is this man of so
"Who else
strange a figure, and that speaks so oddly?"
should he be," answered the barber, "but the famous
Don Quixote of the Mancha, the righter of wrongs,
the redresser of injuries, the protector of damsels, the
affrighter of giants, and the overcomer of battles?”
"That which you say of this man," answered the
goatherd, "is very like that which in books of chivalry
is written of knights-errant, who did all those things
which you apply to this man; and yet I believe that
either you jest, or else that this gentleman's head is
void of brains."
"Thou art a great villain," said Don Quixote, "and
thou art he whose pate wants brains; for mine is fuller
than the very, very whore's that bore thee;" and, saying
So, and snatching up a loaf of bread that stood by him,
he raught the goatherd so furious a blow withal, as it
beat his nose flat to his face; but the other, who was
not acquainted with such jests, and saw how ill he was
handled, without having respect to the carpet, napkins,
or those that were eating, he leaped upon Don Quixote,
and, taking hold of his collar with both the hands,
would certainly have strangled him, if Sancho Panza
had not arrived at that very instant, and, taking him
fast behind, had not thrown him back on the table,
crushing dishes, breaking glasses, and shedding and
overthrowing all that did lie upon it. Don Quixote,
seeing himself free, returned to get upon the goatherd,

332
THE HISTORY OF
who, all besmeared with blood, and trampled to pieces
under Sancho's feet, groped here and there, grovelling
as he was, for some knife or other, to take a bloody
revenge withal, but the canon and curate prevented
his purpose; and yet, by the barber's assistance, he got
under him Don Quixote, on whom he rained such a
shower of buffets, as he poured as much blood from the
poor knight's face as had done from his own. The
canon and curate were ready to burst for laughter; the
troopers danced for sport; every one hissed, as men
use to do when dogs fall out, and quarrel together;
only Sancho Panza was wood, because he could not get
from one of the canon's serving-men, who withheld him
from going to help his master. In conclusion, all being
very merry save the two buffetants, that tugged one
another extremely, they heard the sound of a trumpet,
so doleful as it made them turn their faces towards
that part from whence it seemed to come. But he that
was most troubled at the noise thereof was Don Quixote,
who, although he was under the goatherd full sore
against his will, and by him exceedingly bruised and
battered, yet said unto him, "Brother devil (for it is
impossible that thou canst be any other, seeing that
thou hast had valour and strength to subject my forces),
I pray thee, let us make truce for one only hour; for the
dolorous sound of that trumpet, which toucheth our ears,
doth, methinks, invite me to some new adventure." The
goatherd, who was weary of buffeting, and being beaten,
left him off incontinently; and Don Quixote stood up,
and turned himself towards the place from whence he
imagined the noise to proceed; and presently he espied,
descending from a certain height, many men apparelled
in white, like disciplinants. The matter indeed was,
that the clouds had that year denied to bestow their
dew on the earth, and therefore they did institute

AR
Co
"He espied many men descending, apparelled in white."
UNIL
MICH
OF
2
DON QUIXOTE.
333
rogations, processions, and disciplines throughout all
that country, to desire Almighty God to open the hands
of His mercy, and to bestow some rain upon them;
and to this effect, the people of a village near unto
that place, came in procession to a devout hermitage,
built upon one of the hills that environed that valley.
Don Quixote, noting the strange attire of the dis-
ciplinants, without any calling to memory how he had
often seen the like before, did forthwith imagine that
it was some new adventure, and that the trial thereof
only appertained to him, as to a knight-errant; and
this his presumption was fortified the more, by believ-
ing that an image which they carried, all covered over
with black, was some principal lady whom those mis-
creants and discourteous knights did bear away perforce.
And as soon as this fell into his brain, he leaped lightly
towards Rozinante, that went feeding up and down the
plains, and taking the bridle and buckler from the
pommel of the saddle, he bridled him in a trice;
and, taking his sword from Sancho, got instantly upon
his horse, and then, embracing his target, said in a
loud voice to all those that were present: "You shall
now see, O valorous company, how important a thing
it is to have in the world such knights as profess the
order of chivalry-errant. Now, I say, you shall discern,
by the freeing of that good lady, who is there carried
captive away, whether knights-adventurers are to be
held in esteem;" and, saying so, he struck Rozinante
with his heels (for spurs he had none), and making
him to gallop (for it is not read in any part of this
true history that Rozinante ever went full speed),
he posted to encounter the disciplinants, although
the curate, canon, and barber did what they might
to withhold him; but all was not possible, and
much less could he be detained by these outcries of
334
THE HISTORY OF
.
Sancho, saying, "Whither do you go, Sir Don Quixote?
What devils do ye bear in your breast, that incite you
to run thus against the Catholic faith? See, sir, unfor-
tunate that I am! how that is a procession of disciplin-
ants, and that the lady whom they bear is the blessed
image of the immaculate Virgin. Look, sir, what you
do;
for at this time it may well be said that you are
not you know what." But Sancho laboured in vain; for
his lord rode with so greedy a desire to encounter the
white men, and deliver the mourning lady, as he heard
not a word, and although he had, yet would he not
then have returned back at the king's commandment.
Being come at last near to the procession, and stopping
Rozinante (who had already a great desire to rest him-
self a while), he said, with a troubled and hoarse voice,
"O you that cover your faces, perhaps because you are
not good men, give ear and listen to what I shall say."
The first that stood at this alarm were those which
carried the image; and one of the four priests which
sung the litanies, beholding the strange shape of Don
Quixote, the leanness of Rozinante, and other circum-
stances worthy of laughter, which he noted in our
knight, returned him quickly this answer: "Good sir, if
you would say anything to us, say it instantly; for these
honest men, as you see, are toiled extremely, and there-
fore we cannot, nor is it reason we should, stand linger-
ing to hear anything, if it be not so brief as it may be
delivered in two words." "I will say it in one,” said
Don Quixote, "and it is this: that you do forthwith
give liberty to that beautiful lady, whose tears and
pitiful semblance clearly denote that you carry her
away against her will, and have done her some notable
injury; and I, who was born to right such wrongs, will
not permit her to pass one step forward, until she be
wholly possessed of the freedom she doth so much
DON QUIXOTE.
335
1
desire and deserve." All those that overheard Don
Quixote gathered by his words that he was some dis-
tracted man, and therefore began to laugh very heartily,
which laughing seemed to add gunpowder to his choler;
for, laying his hand on his sword, without any more
words, he presently assaulted the image-carriers; one
whereof, leaving the charge of the burden to his fellows,
came out to encounter the knight with a wooden fork
(whereon he supported the bier whensoever they made
a stand), and receiving upon it a great blow which
Don Quixote discharged at him, it parted the fork in
two; and yet he with the piece that remained in his
hand, returned the knight such a thwack upon the
shoulder, on the sword side, as his target not being able
to make resistance against that rustic force, poor Don
Quixote was overthrown to the ground, and extremely
bruised.
Sancho Panza, who had followed him puffing and
blowing as fast as he could, seeing him overthrown,
cried to his adversary that he should strike no more;
for he was a poor enchanted knight, that had never all
the days of his life done any man harm; but that
which detained the swain was not Sancho's outcries,
but to see that Don Quixote stirred neither hand nor
foot; and therefore, believing that he had slain him,
he tucked up his coat to his girdle as soon as he could,
and fled away through the fields like a deer. In the
meanwhile Don Quixote's companions did hasten to
the place where he lay, when those of the procession
seeing them (but principally the troopers of the holy
brotherhood, with their crossbows) run towards them,
did fear some disastrous success; and therefore they
gathered together in a troop about the image, and,
lifting up their hoods and laying fast hold on their
whips, and the priests on their tapers, they awaited
C
336
THE HISTORY OF
the assault, with resolution both to defend themselves,
and offend the assailants if they might. But fortune
disposed the matter better than they expected; for
Sancho did nothing else than throw himself on his
lord's body, making over him the most dolorous and
ridiculous lamentation of the world, and believing that
he was dead. The curate was known by the other
curate that came in the procession, and their acquaint-
ance appeased the conceived fear of the two squadrons.
The first curate, in two words, told the other what
Don Quixote was; and therefore he, and all the crew
of the disciplinants, went over to see whether the poor
knight were dead or alive; and then might hear
Sancho Panza, with the tears in his eyes, bewailing
him in this manner: "O flower of chivalry, who hast
with one blow alone ended the career of thy so well
bestowed peers! O renown of this lineage, the honour
and glory of all the Mancha! yea, and of all the world
beside! which, seeing it wanteth thee, shall remain
full of miscreants, secure from being punished for their
misdeeds Û liberal beyond all Alexanders, seeing
thou hast given me only for eight months' service the
best island that the sea doth compass or engirt! O
humbler of the proud, and stately to the humbled, under-
taker of perils, endurer of affronts, enamoured without
cause, imitator of good men, whip of the evil, enemy
of the wicked, and, in conclusion, knight-errant, than
which no greater thing may be said!
"}
Don Quixote was called again to himself by Sancho
his outcries, and then the first word that ever he spake
was: "He that lives absented from thee, most sweet
Dulcinea, is subject to greater miseries than this!
Help me, friend Sancho, to get up into the enchanted
chariot again; for I am not in plight to oppress
Rozinante's saddle, having this shoulder broken all
DON QUIXOTE.
337
•
into pieces."
"That I will do with a very good will,
my dear lord,” replied the squire; “and let us return
to my village with those gentlemen, which desire your
welfare so much; and there we will take order for
some other voyage, which may be more profitable and
famous than this hath been." "Thou speakest reason-
able, Sancho," quoth Don Quixote; "and it will be a
great wisdom to let overpass the cross aspect of those
planets that reign at this present." The canon, curate,
and barber commended his resolution; and so, having
taken delight enough in Sancho Panza's simplicity,
they placed Don Quixote, as before, in the team. The
processioners returning into their former order, did
prosecute their way. The goatherd took leave of
them all. The troopers would not ride any farther;
and therefore the curate satisfied them for the pains
they had taken. The canon entreated the curate to
let him understand all that succeeded of Don Quixote,
to wit, whether he amended of his frenzy or grew
more distracted; and then he took leave to continue
his journey. Lastly, all of them departed; the curate,
barber, Don Quixote, Sancho Panza, and the good
Rozinante only remaining behind. Then the wain-
man yoked his oxen, and accommodated the knight on
a bottle of hay, and afterwards followed on in his
wonted slow manner, that way which the curate
directed. At the end of two days they arrived to Don
Quixote's village, into which they entered about noon.
This befel on a Sunday, when all the people were in
the market-sted, through the middle whereof Don
Quixote's cart did pass all of them drew near to see
what came in it, and when they knew their country-
man they were marvellously astonished; the whilst
a little boy ran home before, to tell the old wife and
the knight's niece that their lord and uncle was
II.
Y
338
THE HISTORY OF
.
returned, very lean, pale, disfigured, and stretched all
along on a bundle of hay.
It would have moved one to compassion to have
heard the lamentations and outcries then raised by the
two good women, the blows they gave themselves, and
the curses and execrations which they poured out
against all books of knighthood; all which was again
renewed when they saw Don Quixote himself entered
in at their doors. At the news of this his arrival,
Sancho Panza's wife repaired. also to get some tidings
of her goodman; for she had learned that he was gone
away with the knight, to serve him as his squire; and
as soon as ever she saw her husband, the question she
asked him was, whether the ass were in health or no?
Sancho answered that he was come in better health
than his master. "God be thanked," quoth she, "who
hath done me so great a favour; but tell me now,
friend, what profit hast thou reaped by this thy squire-
ship? What petticoat hast thou brought me home?
What shoes for thy little boys?" "I bring none of
these things, good wife," quoth Sancho; "although I
bring other things of more moment and estimation."
“I am very glad of that," quoth his wife: "show me
those things of more moment and estimation, good
friend; for I would fain see them, to the end that this
heart of mine may be cheered, which hath been so
swollen and sorrowful all the time of thine absence."
"Thou shalt see them at home," quoth Sancho, "and
therefore rest satisfied for this time; for and it please
God that we travel once again to seek adventures,
thou shalt see me shortly after an earl or governor of
an island, and that not of every ordinary one neither,
but of one of the best in the world." "I pray God,
"❝I
husband, it may be so," replied she, "for we have very
great need of it. But what means that island? for
DON QUIXOTE.
339
I understand not the word.” 'Honey is not made for
the ass's mouth," quoth Sancho; "wife, thou shalt know
it in good time, yea, and shalt wonder to hear the
title of ladyship given thee by all thy vassals." "What
is that thou speakest, Sancho, of lordships, islands, and
vassals?" answered Joan Panza (for so was she called,
although her husband and she were not kinsfolk, but
by reason that in the Mancha the wives are usually
called after their husband's surname). "Do not busy
thyself, Joan," quoth Sancho, "to know these things
on such a sudden; let it suffice that I tell thee the
truth, and therewithal sew up thy mouth. I will only
say thus much unto thee, as it were by the way, that
there is nothing in the world so pleasant as for an
honest man to be the squire of a knight-errant that
seeks adventures. It is very true that the greatest
number of adventures found out succeeded not to a
man's satisfaction so much as he would desire; for of a
hundred that are encountered, the ninety-and-nine are
wont to be cross and untoward ones. I know it by
experience, for I have come away myself out of some
of them well canvassed, and out of others well beaten.
But yet, for all that, it is a fine thing to expect events,
traverse groves, search woods, tread on rocks, visit
castles, and lodge in inns at a man's pleasure, without
paying the devil a cross.".
All these discourses passed between Sancho Panza
and his wife Joan Panza whilst the old woman and
Don Quixote's niece did receive him, put off his clothes,
and lay him down in his ancient bed: he looked upon
them very earnestly, and could not conjecture where
he was. The curate charged the niece to cherish her
uncle very carefully, and that they should look well
that he made not the third escape, relating at large all
the ado that they had to bring him home. Here both
340
THE HISTORY OF
2
the women renewed their exclamations; their execra-
tions of all books of knighthood here came to be
reiterated; here they besought Heaven to throw down,
into the very centre of the bottomless pit the authors
of so many lies and ravings; finally, they remained
perplexed and timorous that they should lose again
their master and uncle, as soon as he was anything
recovered : and it befel joust as they suspected; but the
author of this history, although he have with all
diligence and curiosity inquired after the acts achieved
by Don Quixote in his third sally to seek adventures,
yet could he never attain, at least by authentic
writings, to any notice of them: only fame hath left
in the memories of the Mancha, that Don Quixote
after his third escape was at Saragossa, and present at
certain famous jousts made in that city, and that
therein befel him events most worthy of his valour
and good wit; but of his end he could find nothing,
nor ever should have known aught, if good fortune
had not offered to his view an old physician, who had
in his custody a leaden box, which, as he affirmed, was
found in the ruins of an old hermitage as it was a-
repairing; in which box were certain scrolls of parch-
ment written with Gothical characters, but containing
Castilian verses, which comprehended many of his
acts, and specified Dulcinea of Toboso her beauty,
deciphered Rozinante, and entreated of Sancho Panza's
fidelity, as also of Don Quixote's sepulchre, with
sundry epitaphs and elogies of his life and manners;
and those that could be read and copied out thoroughly
were those that are here set down by the faithful
author of this new and unmatched relation; which
author demands of the readers no other guerdon in
regard of his huge travel spent in the search of all the
old records of the Mancha, for the bringing thereof
DON QUIXOTE.
341
unto light, but that they will deign to afford it as
much credit as discreet men are wont to give unto
books of knighthood, which are of so great reputation
now-a-days in the world; for herewith he will rest
most fully contented and satisfied, and withal en-
couraged to publish and seek out for other discourses,
if not altogether so true as this, at least of as great
both invention and recreation. The first words written
in the scroll of parchment, that was found in the
leaden box, were these.
THE ACADEMICS OF ARGAMASILLA, A TOWN OF THE
MANCHA, ON THE LIFE AND DEATH OF THE
VALOROUS DON QUIXOTE OF THE MANCHA: HỌC
SCRIPSERUNT.
AN EPITAPH OF MONICONGO, THE ACADEMIC OF ARGAMA-
SILLA, TO DON QUIXOTE'S SEPULCHRE.
THE clatt'ring thunderbolt that did adorn
The Mancha, with more spoils than Jason Crete ;
The wit, whose weathercock was sharp as thorn,
When somewhat flatter it to be was meet;
The arm which did his power so much dilate,
As it Gaeta and Cathay did retch;
The dreadfull'st muse, and eke discreetest, that
In brazen sheets did praises ever stretch;
He that the Amadises left behind,
And held the Galaors but in small esteem,
Both for his bravery and his loving mind;
He dumb that made Don Belianis to seem;
And he that far on Rozinante err'd,
Under this frozen stone doth lie interr'd,
342
THE HISTORY OF
PANIAGANDO, AN ACADEMIC OF ARGAMASILLA, IN
PRAISE OF DULCINEA OF TOBOSO.
SONNET.
SHE which you view, with triple face and sheen,
High-breasted and courageous, like a man,
Is tall Dulcinea, of Toboso queen ;
Of great Quixote well-beloved than.
He, for her sake, treads th' one and th' other side
Of the brown mountain, and the famous fields
Of Montiel and Aranjuez so wide,
On foot, all tired, loaden with spear and shield
(The fault was Rozinante's). O hard star!
That this Manchegan dame and worthy knight,
In tender years, when people strongest are,
She lost by death the glimpse of beauty bright;
And he, although in marble richly done,
Yet love's wrath and deceits she could not shun.
CAPRICHIOSO, THE MOST INGENIOUS ACADEMIC OF
ARGAMASILLA, IN PRAISE OF ROZINANTE, DON
QUIXOTE HIS STEED.
SONNET.
INTO the proud erected diamond stock,
Which Mars with bloody plants so often bored,
Half wood with valour, the Manchegan stuck
His wav'ring standard; and his arms restored:
For them thereon he hung, and his bright sword,
Wherewith he hacks, rents, parts, and overthrows
(New prowesses), to which art must afford
New styles on this new Palatine to gloze.
And if Gaul much her Amadis doth prize,
Whose brave descendants have illustred Greece,
And filled it full of trophies and of fame:
DON QUIXOTE.
343
Much more Bellona's court doth solemnise
Quixote, whose like in Gaul or Grecia is;
So honoured none as in Mancha his name.
Let no oblivion his glory stain,
Seeing in swiftness Rozinante his steed
Even Bayard doth, and Briliador exceed.
BURLADOR, ACADEMIC OF ARGAMASILLA,
TO SANCHO PANZA,
SONNET.
THIS Sancho Panza is of body little;
But yet, O miracle! in valour great;
The simplest squire, and, sooth to say, least subtle
That in this world, I swear, lived ever yet.
From being an earl, he scarce was a thread's breadth,
Had not at once conspired to cross his guerdon
The malice of the times, and men misled,
Which scarce, an ass encount'ring, would him pardon.
Upon the like he rode: Oh, give me leave
To tell how this meek squire after the horse
Mild Rozinante, and his lord, did drive!
Oh, then, vain hopes of men! what thing is worse?
Which proves us, desired ease to lend,
Yet do at last in smokes our glories end.
CHACHIDIABLO, ACADEMIC OF ARGAMASILLA, ON
DON QUIXOTE HIS TOMB.
AN EPITAPH.
THE worthy knight lies there,
Well bruised, but evil-andant,
Who, borne on Rozinante,
Rode ways both far and near.
Sancho, his faithful squire,
Panza yclept also,
Lieth beside him too;
In his trade without peer.
344
DON QUIXOTE.
TIQUITOC, ACADEMIC OF ARGAMASILLA, ON DULCINEA
OF TOBOSO'S SEPULCHRE.
AN EPITAPH.
DULCINEA here beneath
Lies, though of flesh so round,
To dust and ashes ground
By foul and ugly death.
She was of gentle breath,
And somewhat like a dame,
Being great Quixote's flame,
And her town's glory, eath.
These were the verses that could be read. As for the
rest, in respect that they were half consumed and eaten
away by time, they were delivered to a scholar, that he
might by conjectures declare their meaning; and we
have had intelligence that he hath done it, with the
cost of many nights' watching and other great pains,
and that he means to publish them, and also gives hope
of a third sally made by Don Quixote.
!
END OF VOL II.


TWO WEEK BOOK
2


-་་-བ་ན
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
3 9015 06269 2135
བ ཉ,,