\\\E UNIVER5/A 
 ^ * 
 
 c* 
 
 I 
 
 $UIBRARY0/ 
 
 iV**5^i i^*^S 
 
 is." 1 ^^^ 5? & * ^ *%> ^ '* "^ ^-^ *4?" 
 ^/UONV-SOl^ ^BAINniV^ ^OJIWO-JO^ ^OJIWD-JO^ 
 
 '<. Hs 
 
 5c <? 
 
 nn ,_. 
 
 .^EUNIVERS/A. vvlOSANCE% 
 
 V f-m. *~* ^ .^^ 
 
 ^.OFCAllFOfi^ 
 w
 
 .^M-UBRARYQc. ^E-UNIVERJ/A 
 -^ '
 
 SANCH0S AM<3>i 
 
 lane Jf.
 
 THE, . 
 
 LIFE AND EXPLOITS 
 
 OF THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN 
 
 SON. QUIXOTE 
 
 DE LA MANCHA. 
 
 IKAN'SLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL SPANISH 
 OF 
 
 MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA, 
 
 BIT 
 
 CHARLES JARVIS, ESQ, 
 
 NOW CAREFULLY REVISED AND CORRECTED. 
 
 TO WHICH IS PREFIXED 
 
 A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES, 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 "" < >*"" ' 
 LONDON: 
 
 BY w. LEWIS, PATERNOSTER-ROVT ; 
 FOR S. A. AND H. ODDY, OXFORD-STREET. 
 
 1809,
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SECOND VOLUME. 
 
 CHAP. i. 
 
 OF what passed between the priest, the barber, and Don Quix- 
 ote, concerning his indisposition --------- 1 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Which treats of the notable quarrel between Sancho Panza and 
 Don Quixote's niece and housekeeper, with other pleasant oc- 
 currences -....-.-------.--14 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of the pleasant conversation which passed between Don Quixote, 
 Sancho Panza, and the Bachelor Sampson Carrasco - - - - 20 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Wherein Sancho Panza answers the Bachelor Sampson Carrasco's 
 doubts and questions, with other incidents worthy to be known 
 and recited .------------.--29 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Of the wise and pleasant discourse which passed between Sancho 
 Fanza and his wife Teresa Panza -..-.-..-35 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 Of what passed between Don Quixote, his niece, and house- 
 keeper ; and is one of the most important chapters of the whole 
 history ------------- ..... 43 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Of what passed between Don Quixote and his squire, with other 
 most famous occurrences ----.-...--.49 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 Wherein is related what befel Don Quixote as he was going to 
 visit his Lady Dulcinea del Toboso -.-.-....53 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 Which contains what will be found in it -------- 66 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Wherein is related the cunning used by Sancho in enchanting the 
 Lady Dulcinea, with other events as ridiculous as true - - - 71 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 Of the strange adventure which befel the valorous Don Quixote, 
 . with the wain, or cart, of the parliament of death - - - - 81 
 
 a 2
 
 ir ' CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 Of the strange adventure which .befel the valorous Don Quixote, 
 with the brave Knight of the Looking-glasses 89 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 "Wherein is continued the adventure of the Knight of the Wood ; 
 with the wise> new, and pleasant, dialogue betweten tfee two 
 squires ----_,-----*------ 96 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 In which is continued tfce adventure of the Kuight of the Wood 103 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 Giving an account who the Knight t>f the Looking-glasses aWd 
 his squire were --- --------..--.116 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 Of what beTel Don Quixote with a discreet gentleman of La 
 Mancha - - - - * 119 
 
 CHAP. XVII. 
 
 Wherein is sel forth the last and highest point at which the 
 unheard-of courage of Don Qnixote ever did or could arrive ; 
 with the happy conclusion of the adventure of the lions - - 130 
 
 CHAP. XVIII. 
 
 Of what befel Don Quixote in the castle or house of the Knight of 
 the Green Hiding-coat; with other extravagant matters - - 141 
 
 CHAP. XIX. 
 
 Wherein is related the adventure of the enamoured Shepherd, 
 with other truly pleasant accidents ---.--"-- - 151 
 
 CHAP. XX. 
 
 Giving an account of the wedding of Camacho the rich, with the 
 adventure of Basilius the poor .......... 160 
 
 CHAP. XXI. 
 
 fa which is continued the history ofCamacho's wedding, with 
 other delightful accidents - -170 
 
 CHAP. XXII. 
 
 Wherein is related the grand adventure of the cave of Montesi- 
 nos, lying in the heart of La Mancha ; to which the valorous 
 Don Quixote gave a happy conclusion - 178 
 
 CHAP. XXIII. 
 
 Of the WotHterftrl 'things Which the unexampled Ddn Quixote fle 
 la Mancba ckxiarcdhe had seen in fhe deep vav o
 
 CONTENTS. v 
 
 TAGS. 
 
 the greatness and impossibility of which makes this adventure 
 pass for apmrryphal ------ .-.-.- w . 187 
 
 CHAP. XXIV. 
 
 In which are recounted a thousand iitipcttirienvrt's necessary to 
 the ri^ht understanding of this grand hrelery ------ 199 
 
 CHAP. XXV. 
 
 Wherein is begun the braying adventure, with the pleasant one 
 of the puppet-player, aiid the memorable divinations of the 
 divining ape ---------- ------ ^yg 
 
 CHAP. XXVI. 
 
 Wherein is contained the pleasant adventure of the puppet'-player, 
 with sundry other matters in truth sufficiently good - - - 218 
 
 CHAP. XXVII. 
 
 Wherein is related who Master Peter and his ape were; with the 
 ill success Don Quixote had m the braying adventure, which 
 he finished not as he wished and intended ------- 224 
 
 CHAP. XXVIII. 
 
 Of things which, Benengeli says, he who. reads them will know, 
 if he reads them with attention ---'-.----- 235 
 
 CHAP. XXIX. 
 Of the famous adventure of the enchanted. bark - - - - -242 
 
 CHAP. XXX; 
 Of what befel Don Quixote with a fair huntress ------ 243 
 
 CHAP. XXXI. 
 Wbich'treats of many and great thiqgB -------- 255 
 
 CHAP. XXXII.- 
 
 Of the answer Don Quixote gave to his reprover, wiit other 
 grave and pleasant event* ------------ -265 
 
 CHAP. XXXIH. 
 
 Of the reKshing conversatioa which passed between *he duchess, 
 her damsels, ad Sache Panza ; worthy to be read and re- 
 marked -------.-281 
 
 CHAP. XXXIV. 
 
 Giving an account of the method prescribed for disenchanting the 
 peerless Uulciuea del Toboso ; which is one of the most famous 
 adventures of this book --------.... 289 
 
 CHAP. XXXV. 
 
 Wherein is continued the account of the method prescribed to 
 Don Quixote for the disenchanting Dulcinca, with other won- 
 derful events . - - - "-- 298
 
 ?i CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGI 
 
 CHAP. XXXVI. 
 
 Wherein is related the strange and never-imagined adventure of 
 the afflicted matron, alias the Countess of Trifaldi, with a let- 
 ter written bj Saucho Panza to his wife Teresa Panza ... 306 
 CHAP. XXXVII. 
 
 In which is continued the famous adventure of the afflicted ma- 
 tron 313 
 
 CHAP. XXXVIII. 
 la which an account is given of the afflicted matron's misfortune 315 
 
 CHAP. XXXIX. 
 Wherein Trifaldi continues her stupendous and memorable history 323 
 
 CHAP. XL. 
 
 Of matters relating and appertaining to this adventure, and to 
 this memorable history ............ 326 
 
 CHAP. XLI. 
 
 Of the arrival of Clavileno with the conclusion of this prolix 
 adventure ----------------- 333 
 
 CHAP. XLII. 
 
 Of tlie instructions Don Quixote gave Sancho Panza before he 
 went to govern the island ; with other matters well considered 345 
 
 CHAP.-XLIII. 
 Of the second instructions Don Quixote gave Sancho Panza - -351 
 
 CHAP. XLIV. 
 
 How Sancho Panza was carried to his government, and of the 
 strange adventure which befel Don Quixote in the castle .- -'358 
 
 "CHAP. XLV. 
 
 How the great Sancho Panza took possession of his island, and 
 of the manner of his beginning to govern it ------ 369 
 
 CHAP. XLVI. 
 
 Of the dreadful bell-ringing and cattish consternation Don Quix- 
 ote was put into in the progress of the enamoured Altisidora's 
 amour ------------------ 377 
 
 CI7AP. XLYII. 
 Giving a farther account of Sancho's behaviour in his government 38C 
 
 CHAP. XLVIII. 
 
 Of what befel Don Quixote with Donna Rodriguez, the duchess's 
 Duenna, together with other accidents worthy to be written, 
 and had in eternal remembrance ----...... 397
 
 CONTEXTS. vii 
 
 PACB 
 
 CHAP. XLIX. 
 
 Of what befel Sancho Panza as he was going the round of hi 
 island .--- - 402 
 
 CHAP. L. 
 
 la which is declared who were the enchanters and executioner* 
 that whipped the Duenna, and pinched and scratched Don 
 Quixote ; with the success of the page, who carried the letter 
 to Teresa Panza, Sancho's wife ---..--.--415 
 
 CHAP. LI. 
 
 Of the progress of Sancho Panza's government, with other enter- 
 taining events ------.-------- 426 
 
 CHAP. LII. 
 
 la which is related the adventure o c the second afflicted or dis- 
 tressed matron, otherwise called Donna Rodriguez - - - - 436 
 
 CHAP. LIII. 
 
 Of the toilsome end and conclusion of Sancho Panza's govern- 
 ment ------.-.---__.... 44.4 
 
 CHAP. LIV. 
 Which treats of matters relating to this history, and to no other 45 1 
 
 CHAP. LV. 
 
 Of what befel Sancho in the way, and other matters, which yoa 
 have only to see --------*-----. 469 
 
 CHAP. LVI. 
 
 Of the prodigious and never-seen battle between Don Quixote de 
 la Mancha .and the Lackey Tosilos, in defence of the Duenna 
 Donna Rodriguez's daughter ----------- 43$ 
 
 CHAP. LVIL 
 
 Which relates how Don Quixote took his leave of the duke, and 
 of what befel him with the witty and wanton Altisidora, one 
 of the duchess's waiting women ---------- 474 
 
 CHAP. LVI1I. 
 
 Showing how adventures crowded so fast upon Don Quixote, that 
 they trod upon one another's heels --------- 479 
 
 CHAP. LIX. 
 
 Wherein is related an extraordinary accident which befel Don 
 Quixote, and which may pass for an adventure ----- 492 
 
 CHAP. LX. 
 Of what befel Don Quixote in his way to Barcelona - - - -501 
 
 CHAP. LXI. 
 
 Of what befel Don Quixote at his entrance into Barcelona ; with 
 other event* more true than- ingenious --------515
 
 >iii CONTEXTS. 
 
 PACE 
 
 CHAP. LMT. 
 
 Whith tf*altf lh* adventure of the enchanted head, witfi other 
 trif.c* that must not be omitted ..------- 519 
 
 CHAP. LXIII. 
 
 Of th* nnhiefcy accident which befel Saacho Panaa in visiting Hie 
 gaHies, sad tHe strange adventure of the beautiful Morisca - - 532 
 
 CHAP. LXIV. 
 
 Treating of the adrenture, which gave Don Quixote more sorrow 
 than uny which had hitherto befallen him ------- 54-V 
 
 CHAP. txr. 
 
 In which an account is given who the Knight of the White Moon 
 was, with the liberty of Don Gre-orio, and other accidents - - 495 
 
 CHAP. LXVI. 
 
 Treating of matters, which be who reads will see; and he who hears 
 them read, wiU hear .-.----------555 
 
 CHAP- LXVI I. 
 
 Of the resolulion Don Quixote took to turn Shepherd, and lead 
 a rural life, till the ycnr of his promise should be expired ; with 
 other accidents truly pleasant and good -- -----561 
 
 CHAP. LXV1II. 
 pf the bristled adventure which befel Don Quixote - - - . 5C7 
 
 CHAP. LX1X. 
 
 Of the ncuest and strnngeit adventure of all that befel Don 
 Quixote in the whole course of this grand history ... - 573 
 
 CHAP. LXX. 
 
 Which follows the sixty-ninth, and treats of malices indispensably 
 necessary to the perspicuity of this history -,.--- 5"9 
 
 CHAP. LXX I. 
 
 Of what befel Don Quixote wilh his Squire Sancho, in the way to 
 hi* village -- -----.._...--- jg? 
 
 CHAP. LXXII. 
 How Don Quixote and Sancbo arrived at their village - - - - 594 
 
 CHAP. LXXIII. 
 
 Of the omens Don Quixote met wilh at the entrance into his vil- 
 lage, vilh other accidents, which adorn and illustrate this 
 great history ---------------- COO 
 
 CHAP. I.XXIV. 
 How Don Quixote fell sick, made Iiis will, nnd died ... - fv\">
 
 THE 
 
 LIFE AND EXPLOITS 
 
 Of the ingenious Gentleman 
 
 DON QUIXOTE 
 
 DE LA MANCHA. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Of what passed between the Priest, the Barber, and 
 Don Quixote, concerning his Indisposition. 
 
 CID HAMETEBENENGELI relates, in the second part of 
 this history, and third sally of Don Quixote, that the 
 priest and the barber were almost a whole month without 
 seeing him, lest they should renew and bring back to his 
 mind the remembrance of things past. Yet they did not 
 therefore forbear visiting his niece and his housekeeper, 
 charging them to take care and make much of him, and 
 to give him comforting things to eat, such as are proper 
 for the heart and brain, from whence, in all appearance, 
 his disorder proceeded. They said, they did so, and 
 would continue so to do with all possible care and good- 
 will ; for they perceived that their master was ever and 
 anon discovering signs of being in his right mind; at 
 VOL. ii. B
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 which (lie priest and the barber were greatly pleased, 
 thinking they had hit upon the right course, in bring- 
 ing him home enchanted upon the ox -waggon, as is re- 
 lated in the last chapter of the first part of this no less 
 great than exact history. They resolved therefore to visit 
 him, and make trial of his amendment ; though they 
 reckoned it almost impossible he should be cured ; and 
 agreed between them not to touch in the least upon the 
 subject of knight-errantry, for fear of again opening a 
 wound that was yet so tender. 
 
 In short, they made him a visit, and found him sitting 
 on his bed, clad in a waistcoat of green baize, with a red 
 Toledo bonnet on his head, and so lean and shriveled, 
 that he seemed as if .he was reduced to a mere mummy. 
 They were received by him with much kindness: they 
 inquired after his health ; and he gave them an account 
 of it and of himself with much judgment, and in very 
 elegant expressions. In the course of their conversa- 
 tion, they fell upon matters of state and forms of go- 
 vernment, correcting this abuse and condemning that, 
 reforming one custom and banishing another ; each of 
 the three setting up himself for a new legislator, a mo- 
 dem Lycurgus or Solon ; and in such manner did they 
 new-model the commonwealth, that one would have 
 thought they had clapped it into a forge, and taken 
 it out quite altered from what it was before. Don Quixote 
 delivered himself with so much good sense on all the 
 subjects they touched upon, that the two examiners 
 undoubtedly believed he was entirely well and in his 
 perfect senses. The niece and the housekeeper were 
 present at the conversation ; and, seeing their master 
 give such proofs of a sound mind, thought they could 
 ne\ IT sufficiently thank heaven. But the priest, chan- 
 ging his former purpose of not touching upon matters 
 of chivalry, was now resolved to make a thorough ex-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 3 
 
 pcriment, wliether Don Quixote was perfectly reco- 
 vered or not : and so, from one thing to another, he came 
 at length to tell him some news lately brought from court ; 
 and, among other things, said, it was given out for certain, 
 that the Turk was coming down with a powerful fleet, and 
 that it was not known Avhat his design was, nor where so 
 great a storm would burst ; that all Christendom was 
 alarmed at it, as it used to be almost every year ; and that 
 the king had already provided for the security of the 
 coasts of Naples and Sicily, and of the island of Malta. 
 To this Don Quixote replied : " His majesty has done 
 like a most prudent warrior, in providing in time for the 
 defence of his dominions, that the enemy may not surprise 
 him; but, if my counsel might be taken, I would advise 
 him to make use of a precaution, which his majesty is at 
 present very far from thinking of." Scarcely had the 
 priest heard this, when he said within himself: '* God 
 defend thee, poor Don Quixote ! for methinks thou art 
 falling headlong from the top of thy madness down to the 
 profound abyss of thy folly." But the barber, who had 
 already made the same reflection as the priest had done, 
 asked Don Quixote what precaution it was, that he thought 
 so proper to be taken ; for, perhaps, it was such as might 
 be put into the list of the many impertinent admonitions 
 usually given to princes. il Mine, goodman shaver," an- 
 swered Don Quixote, u shall not be impertinent, but to 
 the purpose." u I meant no harm," replied the barber; 
 <c but only that experience has shown, that all or most of 
 the pieces of advice people give his majesty, are either 
 impracticable or absurd, or to the prejudice of the king or 
 kingdom." " True," answered Don Quixote; " but 
 mine is neither impracticable nor absurd, but the most 
 easy, the most just, the most feasible and expeditious, that 
 can enter into the imagination of any projector." 
 " Signer Don Quixote," added the priest, " you keep us
 
 4 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 too long in suspense." " I have no mind," replied Don 
 Quixote, " it should be told here now, and to-morrow 
 by daybreak get to the ears of the lords of the privy- 
 council, and so somebody else should run away with the 
 thanks and the reward of my labour." u I give you my 
 word," said the barber, " both here and before God, that 
 I will not reveal what your worship shall say, either to 
 king or rook 1 , nor to any man upon earth ; an oath which 
 1 learned from the romance of the priest, in the preface 
 whereof he tells the king of the thief that robbed him of 
 the hundred pistoles and his ambling mule." u I know 
 not the history," said Don Quixote ; " but I presume the 
 oath is a good one, because I am persuaded master barber 
 is an honest man."- " Though he were not," said the 
 priest, " I will make it good, and cngageforhim, that, as 
 to this business, he will talk no more of it than a dumb 
 man, under what penalty you shall think fit." "And 
 who will be bound for your reverence, master priest ?" 
 said Don Quixote. " My profession," answered the 
 priest, " which obliges me to keep a secret J' " Body 
 of me then," said Don Quixote, u is there any thing 
 more to be done, but that his majesty cause proclama- 
 tion to be made, that all the knights-errant, who are 
 now wandering about Spain, do on a certain day repair 
 to court? for, should there come but half a dozen, 
 there may happen to be among them one, who may 
 be able alone to destroy the whole power of the Turk. 
 Pray, gentlemen, be attentive, and go along with me. 
 Is it a new thing for a knight-errant singly to defeat 
 an army of two hundred thousand men, as if they had 
 all but one throat, or were made of sugar-paste ? Pray 
 tell me, how many histories are full of these wonders ! 
 How unlucky is it for me, I will not say for any one 
 else, that the famous Don Belianis, or some one of the 
 numerous race of Amadis dc Gaul, is not now in
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 5 
 
 being! For, wore any of them alive at this day, and 
 were to confront the Turk, in good faith, I would not 
 farm his winnings. But God will provide for his people, 
 and send somebody or other, if not as strong as the former 
 knights-errant, at least -not inferior to them in courage: 
 God knows my meaning ; I say no more." u Alas!" cried 
 the niece at this instant, " nia} r I perish, if my uncle has 
 not a mind to turn knight-errant again!" Upon which 
 Don Quixote said, " A knight-errant I will live and die ; 
 and let the Turk come, down or up, when he pleases, and 
 as powerful as he can ; I say again, God knows my mean- 
 ing." Here the barber said: " I beg leave, gentlemen, 
 to tell a short story of what happened once in Seville : 
 for .it comes in so pat to the present purpose, that I must 
 needs tell it." Don Quixote and the priest gave him 
 kave, and the rest lent him their attention : and he be- 
 gan thus : 
 
 " A certain man was put by his relations into the mad- 
 house of Seville, for having lost his wits. He had taken 
 his degrees in the canon-law in the university of Ossuna; 
 and, had he taken them in that of Salamanca, most people 
 think he would nevertheless have been mad. This gra- 
 duate, after some years confinement, took it into his head 
 that he was in his right senses and perfect understanding : 
 and with this conceit he w rote to the archbishop, beseech- 
 ing him, with great earnestness, and seeming good rea- 
 sons, that lie would be pleased to send and deliver him 
 from that miserable confinement in which he lived : since, 
 through the mercy of God, he had recovered his lost 
 senses : adding, that his relations, that they might enjoy 
 part of his. estate, kept him still there, and, in spite of 
 truth, would have him be mad till his dying day. 
 The archbishop, prevailed upon by his many letters, all 
 penned with sense and judgment, ordered one of his 
 chaplains to inform himself from the rector of the mad-
 
 6 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 house, whether what the licentiate had written to him was 
 true, and also to talk with the madman, and, if it ap- 
 peared that he was in his senses, to take him out and set 
 him at liberty. The chaplain did so, and the rector 
 assured him the man was still mad ; for, though he some- 
 times talked like a man of excellent sense, he would in 
 the end break out into such distracted flights, as more 
 than counterbalanced his former rational discourse ; as 
 lie might experience by conversing with him. The chap- 
 lain resolved to make the trial, and accordingly talked 
 above an hour with the madman, who, in all that time, 
 never returned a disjointed or extravagant answer : on 
 the contrary, he spoke with such sobriety, and so much 
 to the purpose, that the chaplain was forced to believe he 
 was in his right mind. Among other things, he said, that 
 the rector misrepresented him, for the sake of the pre- 
 sents his relations sent him, that he might say he 
 was still mad, and had only some lucid intervals : for his 
 great estate was the greatest enemy he had in his misfor- 
 tune, since, to enjoy that, his enemies had recourse to 
 fraud, and pretended to doubt of the mercy of God to- 
 ward him, in restoring him from the condition of a brute 
 to that of a man. In short, he talked in such a manner, 
 that he made the rector to be suspected, his relations 
 thought covetous and unnatural, and himself so discreet, 
 that the chaplain determined to carry him away with him, 
 that the archbishop himself mi-; ht see, and lay his finger 
 upon the truth of this business. The good chaplain, pos- 
 sessed with this opinion, desired the rector to order the 
 clothes to be given him which he wore when he was brought 
 in. The rector again desired him to take care what he did, 
 since, without ail doubt, the licentiate was still mad. But the 
 precautions and remonstrances of the rector availed no- 
 thing towards hindering the chaplain from carrying him 
 away. The rector, seeing it was by order of the arch-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 7 
 
 bishop, obeyed. They put the licentiate on his clothes, 
 which were fresh and decent. And now, finding himself 
 stripped of his madman's weeds, and habited like a ra- 
 tional creature, he begged of the chaplain, that he would, 
 for charity's sake, permit him to take leave of the mad- 
 men his companions. The chaplain said, he would bear 
 him company, and take a view of the lunatics confined in 
 that house. So up stairs they went, and with them some 
 other persons, who happened to be present. And the li- 
 centiate, approaching a kind of cage, in which lay one 
 that was outrageously mad, though at that time he was 
 still and quiet, said to him, c Have you any service, dear 
 brother, to command me ? I am returning to my own 
 house; God having been pleased, of his infinite good- 
 ness and mercy, without any desert of mine, to restore 
 me to my senses. I am now sound and well ; for with 
 God nothing is impossible. Put great trust and confi- 
 dence in him : for, since he has restored me to my for- 
 mer state, he will also restore you if you trust in him. 
 I will take care to send you some refreshing victuals ; and 
 be sure to eat of them : for I must needs tell you, I find, 
 having experienced it myself, that all our distractions 
 proceed from our stomachs being empty, and our brains 
 filled with wind. Take heart, take heart; for despond- 
 ency under misfortunes impairs our health, and hastens 
 our death.' All this discourse of the licentiate's was 
 overheard by another madman,who was in an opposite cell : 
 and raising himself up from an old mat, whereon he had 
 thrown himself stark-naked, he demanded aloud, who 
 it was that was going away recovered and in his senses ? 
 * It is I, brother,' answered the licentiate, ' that am go- 
 ing ; for I need stay no longer here, and am infinitely 
 thankful to heaven for having bestowed so great a bless- 
 ing upon me.' c Take heed, licentiate, what you say, 
 let not the devil delude you,' replied the madman : f stir
 
 8 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 not a foot, but keep where you are, and you will spare 
 yourself the trouble of being brought back.' < I know,' 
 replied the licentiate, ' that I am perfectly well, and shall 
 have no more occasion to visit the station-churches 2 .' ' You 
 well !' said the madman ; * we shall soon see that ; fare- 
 well ! but I swear by Jupiter, whose majesty I repre- 
 sent upon earth, thut, for this offence alone, which Se- 
 ville is now committing, in carrying you out of this house, 
 and judging you to be in your senses, I am determined 
 to inflict such a signal punishment on this city, that the 
 memory thereof shall endure for ever and ever, amen. 
 -Know you not, little crazed licentiate, that I can do it, 
 since, as I say, I am thundering Jupiter, who hold in my 
 hands the flaming bolts, witli which I can, as formerly, 
 threaten and destroy the world ? But in one thing only 
 will I chastise this ignorant people; and that is, there 
 shall no rain fall on this town, or in all its district, for 
 three whole years, reckoning from the day and hour in 
 which this threatening is denounced. You at liberty ! 
 you recovered and in your senses ! and I a madman ! 
 I distempered and in bonds ! I will no more rain than 
 I will hang myself.' All the bystanders were very 
 attentive to the madman's discourse : but our licentiate, 
 turning himself to our chaplain, and holding him by 
 both hands, said to him : ( Be in no pain, good sir, nor 
 make any account of what this madman has said ; for, 
 if he is Jupiter and will not rain, I, who am Neptune, 
 the father and god of the waters, will rain as often as I 
 please, and whenever there shall be occasion.* To which 
 the chaplain answered : * However, Signor Neptune, it 
 will not be convenient at present to provoke Signor Ju- 
 piter ; therefore pray stay where you are ; for, some 
 other time, when we have a better opportunity and 
 more leisure, we will come for you.' The rector and 
 the bystanders laughed; which put the chaplain half
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 9 
 
 out of countenance. They disrobed the licentiate, who 
 remained where he was; and there is an end of the 
 story." 
 
 " This then, master barber," said Don Quixote, "is 
 the story, which comes in here so pat, that you could 
 not forbear telling it ? Ah ! signor cut-beard, signor 
 cut-beard ! he must be blind indeed, who cannot see 
 through a sieve. Is it possible you should be ignorant, 
 that comparisons made between understanding and un- 
 derstanding, valour and valour, beauty and beauty, and 
 family and family, are always odious and ill taken ? I ? 
 master barber, am not Neptune, god of the waters; nor 
 do I set myself up for a wise man, being really not so : all 
 I aim at is, to convince the world of its error in not re- 
 viving those happy times, in which the order of 
 knight-errantry flourished. But this our degenerate age 
 deserves not to enjoy so great a blessing as that which 
 former ages could boast, when knights-errant took upon 
 themselves the defence of kingdoms, the protection of 
 orphans, the relief of damsels, the chastisement of the 
 haughty, and the reward of the humble. Most of the 
 knights now in fashion make a rustling rather in damasks, 
 brocades, and other rich stuffs, than in coats of mail. 
 You have now no knight that will lie in the open field, 
 exposed to the rigour of the heavens, in complete armour 
 from head to foot : no one now, that, without stirring his 
 feet out of his stirrups, and leaning upon his lance, takes 
 a short nap, like the knights-errant of old times : no one 
 now, that, issuing out of this forest, ascends that moun- 
 tain, and from thence traverses a barren and desert shore 
 of the sea, which is most commonly stormy and tempes- 
 tuous ; where, finding on the beach a small skiff, without 
 oars, sail, mast, or any kind of tackle, he boldly throws 
 himself into it, exposing himself to the implacable bil- 
 lows of the profound sea, which now mount him up to the 
 
 VOX,, II. C
 
 JO DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 skies, and then cast him down to the abyss r and he, 
 opposing his courage to the irresistible hurricane, when 
 he least dreams of it, finds himself above three thousand 
 leagues from the place where he embarked ; and, leaping 
 on the anknown and remote shore, encounters accidents 
 worthy to be written-, not on parchment, but brass. But 
 now, sloth triumphs over diligence, idleness over labour, 
 ?iee over virtue, arrogance over bravery, and the theory 
 over the practice of arms, which only lived and flourished 
 ia those golden ages, and in those knights-errant. For,, 
 pray tell me, who was more civil and more valiant Uiar* 
 the famous Amadis de Gaul ? Who more discreet than 
 Palmerin of England ? Who more affable and obliging 
 than Tirante the White ? \Vho more gallant than Li- 
 suarteof Greece ? W r ho gave or received more cuts and 
 slashes than Don Belianis? Who was more intrepid than- 
 Perion of Gaul ? Who more enterprising than Felix- 
 mnrte of ITyrcania ? Who more sincere than Esplan- 
 dian ? Who more daring than Don Cirongilio of Thrace ? 
 Who more brave than Rodamonte? Who more pru- 
 dent than King SobrinoT Who more intrepid than 
 Reynaldo ? Wno more invincible than Orlando ? and 
 who more courteous than Kkgero>, from whom, according 
 to Turpin's Cosmography, are descended the present dukes 
 of Fcrrara ? All these, and others that I conld name, mas- 
 ter priest,, were knights-arrant, and the light and glory of 
 Chivalry. New these, or such as these, are the men I 
 would advise his majesty to employ ; by which means he 
 would be sure to be well served, and would save a vast 
 expense, and the Turk might go tear his beard for very 
 madness : and so I will stay at home, since the chaplain 
 does not fetch me out ; and if Jupiter, as the barber has- 
 said, will not rain, here am I, who will rain, whenever I 
 think proper. I say all this, to let goodman x bason see 
 that I understand him."
 
 DON QUIXOTE. II 
 
 ei In truth, Signor Don Quixote," said the barber, " I 
 meant no harm in what I said : so help me God, as my 
 intention was good, therefore your worship ought not to 
 take it ill." " Whether I ought to take it ill or no," 
 said Don Quixote, " is best known to myself." " Well," 
 said the priest, " I have hardly spoken a word yet, and 
 I would willingly get rid of a scruple, which gnaws and 
 disturbs my conscience, occasioned by what Signor Don 
 Quixote has just now said." " You have leave, master 
 priest, for greater matters," answered Don Quixote, u and 
 so you may out with your scruple : for there is no pleasure 
 in going /with a scrupulous conscience." " With this 
 licence, then," answered the priest, " my scruple, I 
 say, is, that I can by no means persuade myself, that 
 the multitude of knights-errant, your worship has men- 
 tioned, were really and truly persons of flesh and blood 
 in this world ; on the contrary, I imagine, that it is all 
 fiction, fable, and a lie, and dreams told by men awake, 
 or, to speak more properly, half asleep." " This is 
 another error," answered Don Quixote, iL into which 
 many have fallen, who do not believe there were ever 
 any such knights in the world ; and I have frequently, in 
 company with divers persons, and upon sundry occa- 
 sions, endeavoured to confute this common mistake. 
 Sometimes I have failed ia my design, and sometimes 
 succeeded, supporting it on the shoulders of a truth, 
 which is so certain, that I can almost say, these eyes of 
 mine have seen Amadis de Gaul, who was tall of stature, 
 of a fair complexion, with a well-set beard, though black; 
 his aspect between mild and stern ; a man of few words, 
 not easily provoked, and soon pacified. And in like 
 manner as I have described Amadis, I fancy I could 
 paint and delineate all the knights-errant that are found 
 in all the histories in the world. For apprehending, as 
 I do, that they were such as their histories represent
 
 12 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 them, one may, by the exploits they performed and 
 their dispositions, give a good philosophical guess at 
 their features, their complexions, and their statures." 
 '* Pray, good Signer Don Quixote," said the barber, 
 <c how big, think you, might the giant Morgante be ?" 
 " As to the business of giants," answered Don Quixote, 
 " it is a controverted point, whether there really have 
 been such in the world or not : but the Holy Scripture, 
 which cannot deviate a tittle from the truth, shows us 
 there have been such, giving us the history of that huge 
 Philistine Goliath, who was seven cubits and a half 
 high, which is a prodigious stature. Besides, in the 
 island of Sicily there have been found thigh-bones and 
 shoulder-bones so large, that their size demonstrates, 
 that those to whom thoy belonged were giants, and as 
 big as large steeples, as geometry evinces beyond all 
 doubt. But for all that, I cannot say with certainty 
 how big Morgante was, though I fancy he could not be 
 extremely tall : and I am inclined to this opinion by 
 finding in the story, in which his achievements are par- 
 ticularly mentioned, that he often slept under a roof ; 
 and, since he found a house large enough to hold him, 
 it is plain, he was not himself of an unmeasureable big- 
 ness." " That is true," replied the priest ; who, being 
 delighted to hear him talk so wildly and extravagantly, 
 asked him what he thought of the faces of Reynaldo of 
 Mental van, Orlando, and the rest of the twelve peers 
 of France, since they were all knights-errant. " Of 
 Reynaldo," answered Don Quixote, ll I dare boldly 
 affirm, he was broad-faced, of a ruddy complexion, 
 large rolling eyes, punctilious, choleric to an extreme, 
 and a friend to rogues and profligate fellows. Of Rol- 
 dan, or Rotolando, or Orlando, for histories give hint 
 all these names, I am of opinion, and assert, that he 
 was of a middling stature, broad-shouldered, bandy-*
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 13 
 
 legged, brown-complexioned, carroty-bearded, hairj'- 
 bodied, of a threatening aspect, sparing of speech, yet 
 very civil and well-bred." " If Orlando," replied the 
 priest, " was no finer a gentleman than yon have de- 
 scribed him, no wonder that Madam Angelica the Fair 
 disdained and forsook him for the gaiety, sprightliness, 
 and good-humour, of the downy-chinned little Moor, 
 with whom she had an affair ; and she acted discreetly 
 in preferring the softness of Medoro to the roughness of 
 Orlando." " That Angelica, master priest," replied 
 Don Quixote, " was a light, gossiping, wanton, hussy, 
 and left the world as full of her impertinencies, as of 
 the fame of her beauty. She undervalued a thousand 
 gentlemen, a thousand valiant and wise men, and took- 
 up with a paltry beardless page, with no other estate or 
 reputation than what the affection he preserved for his 
 friend could give him. Even the great extollcr of her 
 beauty, the famous Ariosto, either not daring or not 
 caring to celebrate what befel this lady after her pitiful 
 intrigue, the subject not being over-modest, left her 
 with these verses : 
 
 How he became Cathaya's noble king 
 In loftier strains another bard may sing. 
 
 And, without doubt, this was a kind of prophecy ; for 
 poets are also called V cites , that is to say, diviners*. 
 And this truth is plainly seen : for, since that time, a 
 famous Andalusianpoet has bewailed and sung her tears ; 
 and another famous and singular Castilian poet*, has 
 celebrated her beauty." 
 
 " Pray tell me, Signer Don Quixote," cried the bar- 
 ber at this instant, " has no poet written a satire upon 
 this Lady Angelica, among so many who have sung 
 her praises ?" u I verily believe," answered Don Quix- 
 ote, " that, if Sacripante or Orlando had been poets, 
 they would long ago have paid her off; for it is peculiar
 
 14 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 ami natural to poets, disdained or rejected by their false 
 mistresses, or such as were feigned in effect by those, 
 who chose them to be the sovereign ladies of their thoughts, 
 to revenge themselves by satires and lampoons a venge- 
 ance certainly unworthy a generous spirit. But hitherto 
 I Lave not met with any defamatory verses against the 
 Lady Angelica, though she turned the world upside 
 down," " Strange indeed!" said the priest. But 
 now they heard the housekeeper and niece, who had al- 
 ready quitted the conversation, and were bawling aloud 
 in the court -yard ; and they all ran towards the noise. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Which treats of the notable Quarrel between Sancko 
 JPanza and Don Quixote's Niece and Housekeeper, 
 with other pleasant Occurrences. 
 
 1 HE history relates, that the outcry, which Don Quix- 
 ote, the priest, and the barber, heard, was raised by the 
 niece and the housekeeper, who were defending the door 
 against Sancho Panza, who was striving to get in to sec 
 Don Quixote. " What would this paunch-gutted fellow 
 have in this house?" said they: " got you to your 
 own, brother; for it is you, and no other, by whom our 
 master is seduced and led astray, and carried rambling 
 up and down the highways." To which Sancho replied : 
 " Mistress housekeeper for the devil, it is I that am se- 
 duced and led astray, and carried rambling up and 
 down the highways, and not your master : it was he 
 who led me this dunce, and you deceive yourselves half 
 in half. He inveigled me from home with fair speeches,' 
 promising me an island, which I still hope for." " May
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 15 
 
 the damned islands choke thee, accursed Sancbo !" an- 
 swered the niece; " and pray what are islands? Are 
 they any thing eatable, glutton, cormorant as thou art ?" 
 " They are not to be eaten," replied Sancho, " but 
 governed; and better governments than any four cities, 
 or four justiceships at court." " For all that," said the 
 housekeeper, " you come not in here, sack of mischiefs, 
 bundle of rogueries ! Get you home, and govern there ; 
 go, plough and cart, and cease pretending to islands or 
 islanders." The priest and the barber took a great 
 deal of pleasure in hearing this dialogue between the 
 three. But Don Quixote, fearing lest Sancho should blun- 
 der out some unseasonable follies, and touch upon some 
 points not very much to his credit, called to him, and 
 ordered the women to hold their tongues, and let him in. 
 Sancho entered, and the priest and the barber took their 
 leave of Don Quixote, of whose cure they despaired, 
 perceiving how -bent he was upon his extravagancies, 
 and how intoxicated with the folly of his unhnppy 
 chivalries. And therefore the priest said to the barber, 
 *' You will see, neighbour, when we least think of it, 
 our gentleman take the other flight." 4< I make no 
 doubt of it," answered the barber: " yet I do not so 
 much wonder at the madness of the knight, as at the 
 simplicity of the squire, who is so possessed with the 
 business of the island, that I am persuaded all the de- 
 monstrations in the world cannot beat it out of his nod- 
 dle." " God help them!" said the , priest ; " and let 
 us be upon the watch, and we shall see the drift of this 
 machine of absurdities, of such a knight, and such a 
 squire, who one would think were cast in the same mould ; 
 and, indeed, the madness of the master without the fol- 
 lies of the man would not be worth a farthing." 
 " True," said the barber; "and I should be very glad 
 to know what they tw*o are now talking 1 of."-*-" I lay
 
 16 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 my life," answered the priest, " the niece and the house-* 
 keeper will tell us all by and by ; for they are not of a 
 temper to forbear listening." 
 
 In the mean while, Don Quixote had shut himself up 
 in his chamber with Sancho only, and said to him : " I 
 am very sorry, Sancho, you should say, and stand in it, 
 that it was I who drew you out of your cottage, when 
 you know that I myself stayed not in my own house. We 
 set out together ; we went on together ; and together we 
 performed our travels. We both ran the same fortune 
 and the same chance. If you were once tossed in a blan- 
 ket, I have been thrashed a hundred times : and herein 
 only have I had the advantage of you." " And reason 
 good," answered Sancho ; "for, as your worship holds, 
 misfortunes belong more properly to knights-errant them- 
 selves, than to their squires." " You mistake, San- 
 cho," said Don Quixote ; " for according to the say- 
 ing, Quando caput dolet, <$-c." " I understand no other 
 language than my own," replied Sancho. " I mean," 
 said Don Quixote, " that, when the head aches, all the 
 members ache also ; and therefore I, being your master 
 and lord, am your head, and you are a part of me, as 
 being my servant : and for this reason, the ill that docs 
 or shall affect me, must affect you also ; and so on the 
 contrary." " Indeed," quoth Sancho, " it should be 
 so : but when I, as a limb, was tossed in the blanket, my 
 head stood on t'other side of the pales, beholding me 
 frisking in the air, without feeling any pain at all ; and 
 since the members are bound to grieve at the ills of the 
 head, that also, in requital, ought to do the like for 
 them." " Would you insinuate now," replied Don 
 Quixote, "that I was not grieved when I saw you tossed ? 
 Jf that be your meaning, say no more, nor so much as 
 think it ; for I felt more pain then in my mind than you 
 did in your body.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 17 
 
 " But no more of this at present ; for a time will come, 
 when we may set this matter upon its right bottom. In 
 the mean time, tell me, friend Sancho, what do folks say 
 of me about this town ? What opinion have the com- 
 mon people of me ? What think the gentlemen and the 
 cavaliers ? What is said of my prowess, of my exploits, 
 and of my courtesy ? What discourse is there of the de- 
 sign I have engaged in, to revive and restore to the world 
 the long-forgotten order of chivalry ? In short, Sancho, 
 
 I would have you tell me whatever you have heard con- 
 cerning these matters : and this you must do, without 
 adding to the good, or taking from the bad, one tittle : 
 for this is the part of faithful vassals to tell their lords the 
 truth in its native simplicity and proper figure, neither en- 
 larged by adulation, nor diminished out of any other idle 
 regard. And I would have you, Sancho, learn by the way, 
 that, if naked truth could come to the ears of princes, with- 
 out the disguise of flattery, we should see happier days, and 
 former ages would be deemed as iron, in comparison of 
 ours, which would then be esteemed the golden age. 
 Let this advertisement, Sancho, be a caution to you to 
 give me an ingenuous and faithful account of what you 
 know concerning the matters I have inquired about." 
 " That I will, with all my heart, sir," answered Sancho, 
 
 II on condition that your worship shall not be angry at 
 what I say, since you will have me show you the naked 
 truth, without arraying her in any other dress than that 
 in which she appeared to me." "I will in no wise be 
 angry," replied Don Quixote : " you may speak freely, 
 Sancho, and without any circumlocution." 
 
 "First and foremost then," said Sancho, "the com- 
 mon people take your worship for a downright madman 
 and me for no less a fool. The gentlemen say, that, not 
 containing yourself within the bounds of gentility, you 
 have taken upon you the style of Don, and invaded the 
 
 VOL. ji. &
 
 IS DON QUIXOTET. 
 
 dignity of knighthood, with no more than a pal fry 
 vineyard and a couple of acres of land, with a tatter 
 before and another behind. The cavaliers say, they 
 would not have the gentlemen set themselves in opposi- 
 tion to them, especially those gentlemen-esquires, who 
 clout their shoes, and take up the fallen stitches of their 
 black stock ings with green silk.' T " That," said Don 
 Quixote, " is no reflection upon me ; for I always go 
 well clad, and my clothes never patched : a little torn 
 they may be r but more so through the fretting of my 
 armour, than by length of time." w 'As to what concerns 
 your valour, courtesy, achievements, and your under- 
 taking," quoth Sancho, " there are very different opi- 
 nions. Some say, mad but humourous ; others, valiant 
 but unfortunate ; others, courteous but impertinent : 
 and thus they run divisions upon us r till they leave neither 
 your worship nor me a whole bone in our skins." 
 " 1'ake notice, Sancho," said Don Quixote, " that 
 wherever virtue is found in any eminent degree, it is al- 
 ways persecuted. Few or none of the famous men of 
 times past escaped being calumniated by their malicious 
 contemporaries. Julius Caesar, the most courageous, the 
 most prudent, and most valiant, captain, was noted for 
 being ambitious, and somewhat unclean both in his ap- 
 parel ami manners. Alexander, whose exploits gained 
 liim the surname of Great, is said to have had a little 
 smack of the drunkard. Hercules, with all his labours, 
 is censured for being lascivious and effeminate. Don 
 Galaor, brother of Amadis de Gaul, was taxed with being 
 quarrelsome, and his brother with being a whimperer. 
 So that, Saricho, amidst so many calumnies cast on the 
 worthy, mine may very well pass, if they arc no more 
 than those you have mentioned." " Body of my father ! 
 there is the jest," replied Sancho. ' \V 'hat then, is 
 there more yet behind?" said Don Quixote. "The tail
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 10 
 
 remains still to be flayed," quoth Sanclio ; ^ all hitlicrto 
 has been tarts and cheesecakes: but if your worship has a 
 mind to know the very bottom of these calumnies people 
 bestow upon you, I will bring one hither presently, who 
 shall tell you them all, without missing a tittle : for, last 
 night arrived the son of Bartholomew Carrasco, who comes 
 from studying a"t Salamanca, having taken the degree of 
 bachelor; and when I went to bid him welcome home, he 
 told me, that the history of your worship is -already 
 printed in books, under the title of The Ingenious Gen- 
 tleman Don Quixote de la Mancha ; and he says/ it 
 mentions me too by my very name of Sancho Panza, and 
 Hie Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, and several other things 
 which passed between us two only; insomuch that I 
 crossed myself out of pure amazement, to think how the 
 historian, who wrote it, could come to know them." 
 " Depend upon it, Sancho," said Don Quixote, " that 
 the author of this our history must be some sage en- 
 chanter; for nothing is hidden from them that they have 
 a mind to write." " A sage, and an enchanter!" quoth 
 Sancho; " why the bachelor Sampson Carrasco (for 
 that is his name) says, the author of this history is called 
 Cid Hamete Berengena." " This is a Moorish name," 
 answered Don Quixote. " It may be so," replied San- 
 cho; "for I have heard that your Moors, for the most 
 part, are lovers of Berengena's 5 ." "Sancho," said Don 
 Quixote, " you must mistake the surname of that same 
 Cidj which in Arabic signifies a lord 6 . " " It may be so," 
 answered Sancho ; " but if your worship wishes me to 
 bring him hither, I will fly to fetch him." " You will 
 do me a singular pleasure, friend," said Don Quixote; 
 " for I am surprised at what you have told me, and I 
 shall not eat a bit that will do me good till I am in- 
 formed of all." "Then I am going for him," answered 
 
 "
 
 20 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Sancho; and, leaving his master, he went to seek the ba 
 chelor, with whom he returned soon after: and between 
 them there passed a most pleasant conversation. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Of the pleasant Conversation which passed between Don 
 Quixote, Sancho Panza^ and the Bachelor Sampson 
 Carrasco. 
 
 JDON Quixote remained over and above thoughtful, ex- 
 pecting the coming of the bachelor Carrasco, from whom 
 lie hoped to hear some accounts of himself, printed in a 
 book, as Sancho had told him; and could not persuade 
 himself that such a history could be extant, since the 
 blood of the enemies he had slain was still reeking on his 
 sword-blade ; and could people expect his high feats of 
 arms should be already in print ? However, at last he 
 concluded, that some sage, either friend or enemy, by 
 art magic had sent him to the press : if a friend, to ag- 
 grandize and extol them above the most signal achieve- 
 ments of any knight-errant ; if an enemy, to annihilate 
 and sink them below the meanest that ever were written 
 of any squire; "although" (he said to himself) " the 
 feats of squires never were written. But if it should prove 
 true, that such a history was really extant, since it was 
 the history of a knight-errant, it must of necessity be sub- 
 lime, lofty, illustrious, magnificent, and true." Thig 
 thought afforded him some comfort ; but he lost it again 
 upon considering that the author was a Moor, as was plain 
 from the name of Cid, and that no truth could be ex- 
 pected from the Moors, who were all impostors, liarsj 
 and visionaries. He was apprehensive he might treat of
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 1 
 
 his love with some indecency, which might redound to 
 the disparagement and prejudice of the modesty of his 
 lady Dulcinea del Toboso. He wished he might find a 
 faithful representation of his own constancy, and the de- 
 corum he had always inviolably preserved towards her ; 
 slighting, for her sake, queens, empresses, and damsels 
 of all degrees, and bridling the violent impulse of natural 
 desire. Tossed and perplexed with these and a thousand 
 other imaginations, Sancho and Carrasco found him; 
 and Don Quixote received the bachelor with much cour- 
 tesy. 
 
 This bachelor, ttiough his name was Sampson, was 
 none of the biggest, but an arch wag, of a wan complex- 
 ion, but of a very good understanding. He was about 
 twenty-four years of age, round-faced, flat-nosed, and 
 wide-mouthed: all signs of his being of a waggish dispo- 
 sition, and a lover of wit and humour ; as he made ap- 
 pear at seeing Don Quixote, before whom he threw him- 
 self upon his knees, and said to him, " Signer Don 
 Quixote de la Mancha, let me have the honour of kissing 
 your grandeur's hand; for, by the habit of St. Peter, 
 which I wear, though I have yet taken no other degrees 
 towards holy orders but the four first, your worship is one 
 of the most famous knights-errant that have been, or shall 
 be, upon the whole circumference of the earth. A bless- 
 ing light on Cid Hamete Benengeli, who has left us the 
 history of your mighty deeds ! and blessings upon bless- 
 ings light on that virtuoso, who took care to have them 
 translated out of Arabic into our vulgar Castilian, for the 
 universal entertainment of all sorts of people !" Don 
 Quixote made him rise, and said, " It seems, then, it is 
 true that my history is really extant, and that he who 
 composed it was a Moor and a sage." " So true it is, 
 sir," said Sampson, " that I verily believe there are, 
 this very day, about twelve thousand books published of
 
 22 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 that history : witness Portugal, Barcelona, and Valentin, 
 where they have been printed ; and there is a rumour, 
 that it is now printing at Antwerp ; and I foresee that no 
 nation or language will be without a translation of it." 
 Here Don Quixote .said, " One of the things, which 
 ought to afford the highest satisfaction to a virtuous and 
 eminent man, is, to find, while he is living, his good 
 name published and in print, in every body's mouth 
 and in every body's hand: I say, his good name; for if 
 it be the contrary, no death can equal it." "If fame 
 and a good name are to carry it," said the bachelor, 
 " your worship alone bears away the palm from all 
 knights-errant: for the Moor in his language, and the 
 Castilian in his, have taken care to paint to the life that 
 gallant deportment of your worship, that greatness of 
 soul in confronting dangers, that constancy in adversity 
 and patient enduring of mischances, that modesty and 
 continence in love, so very platonic as that between 
 your worship and my lady Douna Dulcinea del To* 
 boso. M 
 
 Sanche here said, " I never heard my lady Dulcinea 
 called Donna before, but only plain Dulcinea del Toboso ; 
 so that here the history is already mistaken." -"That 
 objection is of no importance," answered Carrasco. 
 " No, certainly," replied Don Quixote: " but pray 
 tell me, signor bachelor, which of my exploits are most 
 esteemed in this same history ?" " As to that," answered 
 the bachelor, " there are different opinions, as there are 
 different tastes. Some are for the adventure of the wind- 
 mills, which your worship took for so many Briareus's 
 and giants : others adhere to that of the fulling-hammers: 
 these to the description of the two armies, which after- 
 wards fell out to be two flocks of sheep ; another cries 
 up that of the dead body, which was carrying to be in- 
 terred at Segovia; one says, the setting the galley-slaves
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 23 
 
 at liberty was beyond them all : another, that none can 
 he compared to that of the two Benedictine giants, with 
 the combat of the valorous Biscainer." " Pray tell me, 
 signor bachelor," quoth Sanclio, (( is there among the 
 rest the adventure of the Yangueses, when our good 
 Rozinante had a longing after the forbidden fruit?" 
 " The sage," answered Sampson, " has left nothing at 
 the bottom of the inkhorn ; he inserts and remarks every 
 thing, even to the capers Sancho cut in the blanket.'*- 
 " I cut no capers in the blanket," answ r ered Sancho: " in 
 the air I own I did, and more than I desired." " In my 
 opinion," said Don Quixote, " there is no history in the 
 world that has not its ups and downs, especially those 
 which treat of chivalry ; for such can never be altogether 
 filled with prosperous events." " For all that," replied 
 the bachelor, " some, who have read the history, say, 
 they should have been better pleased, if the authors 
 thereof had forgotten, some of those numberless drub- 
 bings given to Signer Don Quixote in different encoun- 
 ters." il Therein," quoth Sancho, " consists the truth 
 of the history." " They might indeed as well have omit- 
 ted them," said Don Quixote, " since there is no necessity 
 of recording those actions, which do not change nor alter 
 the truth of the story, and especially if they redound to 
 the discredit of the hero. In good faith, ..'Eneas was not 
 altogether so pious as Virgil paints him, nor Ulysses so 
 prudent as Homer describes him." " It is true," re- 
 plied Sampson; " but it is one thing to write as a poet, 
 and another to write as an historian. The poet may say, 
 or sing, not as things were, but as they ought to have 
 been; but the historian must pen them, not as they ought 
 to have been, but as they really were, without adding to 
 or diminishing any thing from the truth." " Well, if 
 it be so, that Signor Moor is in a vein of telling truth,"* 
 quoth Sancho, " there is no doubt, but, among my raas-
 
 s4 DON: QUIXOTE. 
 
 ter's rib-roastingS, mine are to be found also : for they 
 never took measure of bis worship's shoulders, but at the 
 same time they took the dimensions of my whole body : 
 but why should I wonder at that, since, as the self-same 
 master of mine says, the members must partake of the ail- 
 ments of the head ?'V " Sancho, you are a sly wag," an- 
 swered Don Quixote: u in faith, you want not for a 
 memory, when you have a mind to have one." " Though 
 I had never so much a mind to forget the drubs I have re- 
 ceived," quoth Sancho, " the tokens, that are still fresh 
 on my ribs, would not let me." 
 
 " Hold your peace, Sancho," said Don Quixote, 
 " and do not interrupt signor bachelor, whom I entreat 
 to go on, and tell me what is farther said of me in the 
 aforesaid history." " And of me too," quoth Sancho; 
 " for I hear that I am one of the principal parsons in 
 it." "Persons, not parsons, friend Sancho," said Samp- 
 son. u What ! another corrector of hard words!" quoth 
 Sancho; " if this be the trade, we shall never hare 
 done." " Let me die, Sancho," answered the bachelor, 
 " if you are not the second person of the history: nay, 
 there are some who would rather hear you talk than the 
 finest fellow of them all: though there are also some, who 
 say you was a little too credulous in the matter of the 
 government of that island, promised you by Signor Don 
 Quixote here present." " There is still sunshine on the 
 wall," said Don Quixote ; " and, when Sancho is more 
 advanced in age, with the experience that years give, 
 lie will be better qualified to be a governor than he is 
 now."" Before God, sir," quoth Sancho, if I am 
 not fit to govern an island at these years, I shall not 
 know how to govern it at the age of Methusalem. The 
 mischief of it is, that the said island sticks I know not 
 where, and cot in my want of a head-piece to govern 
 ft-" " Recommend it to God, Sancho," said Don Quix-
 
 1)ON QUIXOTE. 25 
 
 bte ; " for all will be well, and perhaps better than you 
 think ; for a leaf stirs not on the tree without the will of 
 God."" That is true," replied Sampson ; " and, if it 
 pleases God, Sancho will not want a thousand islands to 
 govern, much less one."-^ " I have seen governors ere 
 now," quoth Sancho, " who, in my opinion, do not 
 come up to the sole of my shoe ; and yet they are called 
 your lordship, and are served on plate." "Those are 
 not governors of islands," replied Sampson, "but of 
 other governments more manageable ; for those who go- 
 vern islands, must at least understand grammar." 
 " Gramercy for that !" quoth Sancho; "it is all Greek 
 to me, for I know nothing of the matter. But let us leave 
 the business of governments in the hands of God, and let 
 him dispose of me so as I may be most instrumental in 
 his service ; I say, Signor Bachelor Sampson Carrasco, 
 I am infinitely pleased that the author of the history has 
 spoken of me in such a manner, that what he says of me 
 is not at all tiresome ; for, upon the faith of a trusty 
 squire, had he said any thing of me unbecoming an old 
 Christian, as I am, the deaf should have heard it." 
 " That would be working miracles/' answered Sampson* 
 <{ Miracles, or no miracles," quoth Sancho, "let every 
 one take heed how they talk or write of people, and not 
 set down at random the first thing that comes into their 
 imagination." 
 
 " One of the faults people charge upon that history,'* 
 said the bachelor, " is, that the author has inserted in it 
 a novel, entitled, The Curious Impertinent ; not that it 
 is bad in itself or ill written, but for having no relation 
 to that place, nor any thing to do with the story of his 
 worship Signor Don Quixote." "I will lay a wager," 
 replied Sancho, " the son of a bitch has made a jumble 
 of fish and flesh together. " " I aver then," said Don 
 Quixote, " that the author of my history could not be it 
 
 YOL. Ilk
 
 SS DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 sage, but some ignorant pretender, who, at random and 
 without any judgment, has set himself to write it, come 
 of it what would : like Orbaneja, the painter of Ubeda, 
 who, being asked what he painted, answered, " As it 
 may hit." Sometimes he would paint a cock after such 
 a guise, and so preposterously designed, that he was 
 forced to write under it in Gothic characters, 3Dins is a coc& : 
 and thus it will fare with my history ; it will stand in 
 seed of a comment to make it intelligible." u Not at 
 all," answered Sampson ; " for it is so plain, that there 
 is no difficulty in it : children thumb it, boys read it, men 
 understand it, and old folks commend it; in short, it is 
 so tossed about, so conned, and so thoroughly known by 
 all sorts of people, that they no sooner espy a lean scrub- 
 Lorse, than they cry, " Yonder goes Rozinante !" But 
 none are so much addicted to reading it as your pages. 
 There is not a nobleman's anti-chamber in which you will 
 not find a Don Quixote. If one lays it down, another 
 takes it up ; one asks for it, another snatches it : in short, 
 it is the most pleasing and least prejudicial entertainment 
 hitherto published : for there is not so much as the ap- 
 pearance of an immodest word in it, nor a thought that is 
 not entirely Catholic." " To write otherwise," said 
 Don Quixote, " had not been to write truths, but lies ; 
 and historians, who are fond of venting falsehoods, should 
 be burnt, like coiners of false money. For my part, I 
 cannot imagine what moved the author to introduce novels 
 or foreign relations, my own story affording matter 
 enough : but without doubt we may apply the proverb, 
 With hay or with straw*, &c.; for verily, had he con- 
 fined himself to the publishing my thoughts, niy sighs, 
 my tears, my good wishes, and my achievements alone, 
 he might have compiled a volume as big or bigger th:m 
 all the works of Tostatus^. In short, signer bachelor, 
 v hat I mean is, that, in order to the compiling histories ;
 
 DON QUIXOTE, 27 
 
 r books of any kind whatever, a man had need of a 
 great deal of judgment, and a mature understanding : to 
 to talk wittily, and write pleasantly, are the talents of a 
 great genius only. The most difficult character in co- 
 medy is that of the fool, and he must be no simpleton who 
 plays that part. History is a sacred kind of writing, be- 
 cause truth is essential to it ; and where truth is, there 
 God himself is, so far as truth is coneerned : notwith- 
 standing which, there are those, who compose books and 
 toss them out into the world like fritters." 
 
 " There are few books so bad," said the bachelor, 
 <c but there is something good in them." " There is no 
 doubt of that," replied Don Quixote ; ".but it often 
 happens, that they, who have deservedly acquired a 
 good share of reputation by their writings, lessen or lose 
 it entirely by committing them to the press." " The 
 reason of that," said Sampson, " is, that printed works 
 being examined at leisure, the faults thereof are the more 
 easily discovered ; and the greater the fame of the author 
 is, the more strict and severe is the scrutiny. Men fa- 
 mous for their parts, great poets, and celebrated histo- 
 rians, are always envied by those who take a pleasure 
 and make it their particular entertainment to censure 
 other men's writings, without ever having published any 
 of their own." u That is not to be wondered at," said 
 Don Quixote; " for there are many divines who make 
 no figure in the pulpit, and yet are excellent at espying 
 the defects or superfluities of preachers." " All this is 
 very true, Signor Don Quixote," said Carrasco ; " but 1 
 wish such critics would be more merciful and less nice, 
 and not dwell so much upon the motes of that bright sun, 
 the work they censure. For, though aliquando bonu 
 dormitat Homerus, they ought to consider how much he 
 was awake to give his work as much light and leave as 
 little shade as he could : and perhaps those very parts
 
 * 28 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 which some men do not taste, are like moles which 
 sometimes add to the beauty of the face that has them. 
 And therefore I say, that whoever prints a book runs a 
 rery great risk, it being of all impossibilities the most 
 impossible to write such a one as shall satisfy and please 
 all kinds of readers."" That which treats of me," 
 said Don Quixote, " has pleased but a few." " On the 
 Contrary," replied the bachelor, " as stultorum infinitut 
 est numerus, so infinite is the number of those who have 
 been delighted with that history ; though some have taxed 
 the author's memory as faulty or treacherous, in forget-, 
 tingtotellus who the thief was that stole Sancho's Dapple 10 ; 
 which is not related, but only inferred from,what is there 
 written, thathe was stolen : and in a very short time after we 
 find him mounted upon the self- same beast, without hearing 
 how Dapple appeared again. It is also objected, that 
 he has omitted to mention what Sancho did with the hun- 
 dred crowns hjs found in the portmanteau upon the Sable 
 Mountain ; for he never speaks of them more, and many 
 persons would be glad to learn what he did with them, 
 or how he spent them ; for that is one of the most substan- 
 tial points wanting in the work." Sancho answered: 
 fl Master Sampson, I am not now in a condition to tell 
 tales, or to make up accounts ; for I have a qualm come 
 over my stomach, and shall be upon the rack till I hare 
 removed it with a couple of draughts of stale, I have 
 it at home, and my chuck stays for me, As soon as I 
 Lave dined, I will come back and satisfy your worship 
 and the whole world, in whatever they are pleased to 
 ask me, both concerning the loss of Dapple, and what 
 became of the hundred crowns." So, without waiting 
 for an answer, or speaking a word more, he went to his 
 own house. Don Quixote pressed and entreated the 
 bachelor to stay and do penance with him. The ba- 
 chelor accepted of the invitation, and staid. Two pi-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 29 
 
 geons were added to the usual commons, and the conver- 
 sation at table fell upon the subject of chivalry. Car- 
 rasco carried on the humour ; the banquet was ended ; 
 they slept out the heat of the day ; Sancho came back ; 
 and the former discourse was resumed , 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Wherein Sancho Panza anszcers the Bachelor Sampson 
 Carrasco's Doubts and Questions, with other Inci- 
 dents worthy to be knotcn and recited. 
 
 oAXCHO came back to Don Quixote's house, and, 
 resuming the former discourse, in answer to what the ba- 
 chelor Sampson Carrasco desired to be informed of, 
 namely, by whom, when, and how, the ass was stolen, 
 he said : " That very night, when, flying from the 
 holy brotherhood, we entered into the Sable Mountain, 
 after the unlucky adventure of the galley-slaves, and of 
 the dead body that was carrying to Segovia, my master 
 and I got into a thicket, where, he leaning upon his 
 lance, and I sitting upon Dapple, being both of us 
 mauled and fatigued by our late skirmishes, we fell 
 asleep as soundly as if we had had four feather-beds under 
 us ; especially I for my part slept so fast, that the thief, 
 whoever he was, had leisure enough to suspend me on 
 four stakes, which he planted under the four corners of the 
 pannel, and in this manner, leaving me mounted thereon, 
 got Dapple from under me without my feeling it." 
 " That is an easy matter, and no new accident," said 
 Don Quixote ; "for the like happened to Sacripante at 
 the siege of Albraca, where that famous robber Brunelo,
 
 50 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 by this self-same invention, stole his horse from between 
 his legs." " The dawn appeared," continued Sancho, 
 " and scarcely had I stretched myself, when, the stakes giv- 
 ing way, down came I with a confounded squelch to the 
 ground. I looked about for my ass, but saw him not : 
 the tears came into my eyes, and I made such a lamenta- 
 tion, that, if the author of our history has not set it 
 down, he may reckon that he has omitted an excellent 
 thing. At the end of I know not how many days, as I 
 was accompanying the Princess Micomicona, I saw and 
 knew my ass again, and upon him came, in the garb of 
 a gipsy, that cunning rogue and notorious malefactor 
 <jfines de Passamonte, whom my master and I freed from 
 the galley-chain." " The mistake does not lie in this," 
 replied Sampson, " but in the author's making Sancho 
 still ride upon the very same beast, before he gives us 
 any account of his being found again." " To this," said 
 Sancho, " I know not what to answer, unless it be that the 
 historian was mistaken ; or it might be an oversight of 
 the printer." " It must be so without doubt," said 
 Sampson : " but what became of the hundred crowns ; 
 were they sunk ?" " I laid them out," quoth Sancho, 
 <c for the use and behoof of my own person, and those 
 of my wife and children ; and they have been the cause 
 of my wife T s bearing patiently the journies and rambles 
 I have taken in the service of my master Don Quixote : 
 for, had I returned, after so long a time, penny less and 
 without my ass, black would have been my luck. If you 
 would know any thing more of me, here am I, ready 
 to answer the king himself in person : and nobody has 
 any thing to meddle or make, whether I brought or 
 brought not, whether I spent or spent not ; for, if the 
 blows that have been given me in these sallies, were to be 
 paid for in ready money, though~rated only at four ma- 
 ravedis apiece, another hundred crowns would not pay
 
 DON QUIXOTE. SI 
 
 for half of them : and let every man lay Ins hand upon 
 his heart, and let him not be judging white for black, 
 nor black for white ; for every one is as God has made him, 
 and oftentimes a o-reatdeal worse." 
 
 " 
 
 " 1 will take care," said Carrasco, " to inform the au- 
 thor of the history, that, if he reprints the book, he shall* 
 not forget what honest Sancho has told us, which will make 
 the book as good again." " Is there any thing else to bo 
 corrected in that legend, signor bachelor ?" added Don 
 Quixote. " There may be others," answered Carrasco, 
 " but none of equal importance with those already men- 
 tioned." " And, peradventure," said Don Quixote. 
 " the author promises a second part." "lie does," an- 
 swered Sampson, " but says he has not met with it, nor 
 can learn who has it ; and therefore we are in doubt 
 whether it will appear or no : and as well for this reason, 
 as because some people say, that second parts are never 
 good for any thing ; and others, that as there is enough 
 of Don Quixote already, it is believed there will be no 
 second part ; though some, who are more jovial than 
 saturnine, cry, Let its have more Quixotades ; let Don 
 Quixote encounter , and Sancho Pan- a talk ; and, be the 
 rest zchat it zciH, zee shall be contented." li And pray, 
 how stands the author aflected P" demanded Don Quixote. 
 " How !" answered Sampson; " why, as soon as ever he 
 can find the history he is looking for with extraordinary 
 diligence, he will immediately send it to the press, being 
 prompted thereto more by interest than by any motive of 
 praise whatever." To which Sancho said : " Does the 
 author aim at money and profit ? It will be a wonder then 
 if he succeeds, since he will only stitch it away in great 
 haste, like a tailor on Easter-eve ; for works that are done 
 hastily are never finished with that perfection they 
 require. I wish this same Signor Moor would consider 
 a, little what he is about : for I and my master will furnish
 
 32 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 him so abundantly with lime and mortar in matter of ad ven* 
 turcs and variety of accidents, that he may not only com- 
 pile a second part, but a hundred. The good man thinks, 
 without doubt, that we lie sleeping here in straw ; but let 
 him hold up the foot while the smith is shoeing, and he 
 will see on which we halt. What I can say is, that, if this 
 master of mine had taken my counsel, we had ere now been 
 in the field, redressing grievances and righting wrongs, as 
 is the practice and usage of good knights-errant." 
 
 Sancho had scarcely finished this discourse, when the? 
 fceighings of Rozinante reached their ears ; which Don 
 Quixote took for a most happy omen, and resolved to 
 make another sally within three or four days ; and, decla- 
 ring his intention to the bachelor, he asked his advice 
 which way he should begin his journey. The bache- 
 lor replied, he was ot opinion that he should go directly 
 to the kingdom of Arragon and the city of Saragossa, 
 where, hi a few days, there was to be held a most solemn 
 tournament, in honour of the festival of Saint George, in 
 which he might acquire renown above all the Arragonian 
 knights, which would be the same thing as acquiring it 
 above all the knights in the world. He commended his 
 resolution as most honourable and most valorous, and 
 gave him a hint to be more weary in encountering dangers, 
 because his life was not his own, but theirs who stood in 
 need of his aid and succour in their distresses. " This is 
 what I renounce, Signer Sampson," quoth Sancho ; " for 
 my master makes no more of attacking a hundred armed 
 men, than a greedy boy would do half a dozen melons. 
 Body of the world ! signor bachelor, yes, there must be 
 a time to attack, and a time to retreat ; and it must not be 
 always, Saint Jago, and charge! Spain ! n Anil, farther, 
 I have heard say (and, if I remember right, from my mas- 
 ter himself) that the mean of true valour lies between the 
 extremes of cowardice and rashness : and if this be so 2 I
 
 DON QUIXOTE. S3 
 
 would not have him run away, when there is no need of it 
 nor would I have him fall on, when the too great superio- 
 rity requires another thing : but above all things I would 
 let my master know, that, if he will take me with him, it 
 must be upon condition, that he shall battle it all himself, 
 and that I will not be obliged to do any other thing but to 
 look after his clothes and his diet ; to which purpose I will 
 fetch and carry like any spaniel : but to imagine that I will 
 lay hand i.o my sword, though it be against rascally wood- 
 cutters with hooks and hatchets, is to be very much mista- 
 ken. I, Signer Sampson, do not set up for the fame of be- 
 ing valiant, but for that of being the best and faithfullest 
 squire that ever served a knight-errant : and if my lord Don 
 Quixote, in consideration of my many and good services, 
 has a mind to bestow on me some one island of the many his 
 worship says he shall light upon, I shall be much behold- 
 en to him for the favour ; and though he should not give 
 me one, born I am ;. and we must not rely upon one another, 
 but upon God ; and perhaps the bread I shall eat without 
 the government may go down more savourily than that I 
 should eat with it : and how do 1 know but the devil, in 
 one of these governments,may provide me some stumbling- 
 block, that I may fall and dash out my grinders ? Sancho 
 I was born, and Sancho I intend to die : yet, for all that, if 
 fairly and squarely, without much solicitude or much dan- 
 ger, heaven should chance to throw an island, or some 
 such thing, in my way, I am not such a fool neither as 
 to refuse it; for it is a saying, When they give you <z 
 heifer, make haste with the rope ; and zohen good fortune 
 comes, be sure take her in." 
 
 " Brother Sancho," said Carrasco, " you have spoken 
 like any professor : nevertheless trust in God, and Signor 
 Don Quixote, that he will give you, not only an island, 
 but even a kingdom." u One as likely as the other," 
 answered Sancho ; " though I could tell Siffnor Carrasco 
 
 ^ iT 
 
 VOL. II. .F
 
 54 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 thatmyinaster willnotthrow the kingdom he gives me into 
 a bag without a bottom : for I have felt my own pulse, and 
 find ni yself in health enough to rule kingdoms and govern 
 islands, and so much 1 have signified before now to my 
 lord." " Look 3-011, Sancho," said Sampson, " honours 
 change manners ; and it nioy come to pass, when yon arc 
 a governor, that you may not know the very mother that 
 bore you." " That," answered Sancho, " may be the 
 case with those that are born among the mallows, but not 
 with those whose souls, like mine, are covered four inches 
 thick with grease of the old Christian : no ; consider my 
 disposition, whether it is likely to be ungrateful to Any 
 body." u God grant it !" said Don Quixote, " and we 
 shall see when the government comes ; for mcthinks I hav< 
 it already in my eye." 
 
 This said, he desired the bachelor, if he were a poet 
 that he would do him the favour to compose for him som< 
 verses by way of a farewell to his lady Dulcinea de 
 Toboso, and that he would place a letter of her name a 
 the beginning of each verse, in such manner, that at the em 
 of the verses, the first letters taken together might mak< 
 Dulcinea del Toboso. The bachelor answered, thougl 
 he was not of the famous poets of Spain, who were said t< 
 be but three and a half, he would not fail to compose thos 
 verses ; though he was sensible it would be no cas; 
 task, the name consisting of seventeen letters ; for, if h 
 made four stanzas of four verses each, there would be 
 letter too much ; and if he made them of five, which the. 
 call decimas or redondillas, there would be three lettei 
 wanting : nevertheless he would endeavour to sink a lettc 
 as well as he could, so as that the name of Dulcinea di 
 Toboso should be included in the four stanzas." " Let 
 be so by all means," said Don Quixote ; " for, if the nam 
 be not plain and manifest, no woman will believe th 
 rhymes were made for her." They agreed upon this, an
 
 DON QCIXOTE. 3.5 
 
 that they should set out eight days after. Don Quixote 
 enjoined the bachelor to keep it secret, especially from 
 the priest and master Nicholas, and from his niece and 
 housekeeper, that they might not obstruct his honourable 
 tinci valorous purpose. All which Carrasco promised, and 
 took his leave, charging Don Quixote to give him advice 
 of his good or ill success, as opportunity offered : and 
 so they again bid each other farewell, and Sanchq went to 
 provide and put in order what was necessary for the 
 expedition. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Of the wise and pleasant Discourse rc/iich parsed be- 
 tween Sancho Panza and his Wife Teresa Panza. 
 
 \. HE translator of this history, coming to write this 
 fifth chapter, says, he takes it to be apocryphal, be- 
 cause in it Sancho talks m another stile than could be 
 expected from his shallow understanding, and says such 
 subtile things, that he reckons impossible that he should 
 know them ; nevertheless, he would not omit translating 
 them, to comply with the duty of his office, and so went 
 on, saying : 
 
 Sancho came liome so gay and so merry, that his ,wife 
 perceived his joy a bow-shot off, insomuch that slj,e 
 could not but ask him, " What is the matter, friend 
 Sancho, you are so merry?" To which he answered, 
 " Dear wife, if it were God's will, I should be very 
 glad not to be so well pleased as I appcaj to be."; 
 ''Husband," replied she, "I understand youjiot, and 
 know not wh^t you mean by saying, you should be 
 
 F 2
 
 36 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 glad, if it were God's will, you were not so much pleased : 
 now, silly as I am, I cannot guess how one ran take 
 pleasure in not being pleased." " Look you, Teresa," 
 answered Sancho, " I am thus merry because I am re- 
 solved to return to the service of my master Don Quixote, 
 who is determined to make a third sally in quest of ad- 
 ventures ; and I am to accompany him, for so my neces- 
 sity will have it : besides, I am pleased with the hopes 
 of finding the other hundred crowns, like those we have 
 spent : though it grieves me that I must part from you 
 and "my children ; and if God would be pleased to give 
 me bread, dryshod and at home, without dragging me 
 over rough and smooth, and through thick and thin, 
 which he might do at a small expense, and by only 
 willing it so, it is plain my joy would be more firm and 
 solid, since it is now mingled with sorrow for leaving 
 you: so that I said right when 1 said I should be glad, 
 if it were God's will, I were not so well pleased. "- 
 *' Look you, Sancho," replied Teresa, u ever since you 
 have been a member of a knight -errant, you talk in such 
 a roundabout manner, that there is nobody understands 
 you." -" It is enough that God understands me, wife," 
 nnswercd Sancho ; " for he is the understander of all 
 things ; and so much for that : and do you hear, sister, 
 it is convenient you should take more than ordinary- 
 care of Dapple these three days, that he may be in n 
 condition to bear" arms ; double his alhnvance, and get 
 the pack-saddle in order, and the rest of his tackling ; 
 for we are not going to a wedding, but to roam about 
 the world, and to have now and then a bout at girt 
 and take with giants, fiery dragons, and goblins, and to 
 hear hissings, roarings, bellowings, and bleatings ; alt 
 which would be but flowers of lavender if we had not 
 to do with Yangueses and enchanted Moors." ' I be- 
 lieve indeed, husband," replied Teresa, " that your
 
 .B.Itme .tt: 
 
 FitMi.ri;l l<y . f..JK- //. Hi lilt/, if!,,,,.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 37 
 
 squires-errant do not cat their bread for nothing, and 
 therefore I shall not fail to beseech our Lord to deliver 
 you speedily from so much evil hap." " I tell you, 
 wife," answered Sancho, " that, did I not expect ere 
 long to sec myself a governor of an island, I should drop 
 down dead upon the spot." " Not so, my dear hus- 
 band !" answered Teresa. "Let the hen live, though 
 it be with the pip. Live you, and the devil take all the 
 governments in the world. Without a government you 
 came from your mother's womb ; without a government 
 have you lived hitherto ; and without a government 
 will you go or be carried to your grave, whenever it 
 shall please God. How many folks are there in the world 
 that have not a government ! and yet they live for all 
 that, and are reckoned in the number of the people. The 
 best sauce in the world is hunger, and, as that is never 
 Avanting to the poor, they always eat with a relish. But 
 if, perchance, Sancho, you should get a government, 
 do not forget me and your children. Consider that little 
 Sancho is just fifteen years old, and it is fit he should go 
 to school, if so be his uncle the abbot means to breed 
 him up to the church. Consider also, that Mary Sancha 
 your daughter, will not break her heart if we marry 
 her ; for I am mistaken if she has not as much mind to 
 a husband as you have to a government : and indeed, 
 indeed, better a daughter but indifferently married than 
 well kept." 
 
 " In good faith," answered Sancho, "if God be so 
 good to me, that I get any thing like a government, dear 
 wife, I will match Mary Sancha so highly that there 
 will.be no coming near her without calling her .Your 
 Ladyship."" Not so, Sancho, "answered Teresa ; "the 
 best way is to marry her to her equal ; for if, instead of pat* 
 fens, you put her on clogs, and, instead of her russet petti, 
 coat of fourtecn-penny stuff, you give her a farthingale and
 
 38 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 petticoats of silk, and, instead of plain Molly and You, 
 she be called My Lady Sucb-a-one and Your Ladyship, 
 the girl, will not know where she is, and will fall into a 
 thousand mistakes at every step, discovering the coarse 
 ih read of her home-spun country -stuff." " Peace, 
 fool !" quoth Sancho ; ' for all the busine.vs is to prac- 
 tise two or three years, and after that the ladyship and 
 the gravity will sit upon her as if they were made for 
 h^r ; wid if ,not, what matters it ? Let her ke a lady, 
 and come what will of it," " Measure yourself by 
 your condition, Sancho," answered Teresa ; ff seek not 
 to raise yourself higher, and remember the proverb, Wipe 
 your neighbour's son's nose, and take him into your 
 house 13 . It \vould be a pretty business truly to marry 
 our Mary to some great count or knight, who, when the 
 fancy takes him, would look upon her as some strange 
 thing, and be calling her country-wench, clod-breaker's 
 brat, and I know not what : not while I live, husband ; 
 I have not brought up my child to be so used. Do you 
 provide money, Sancho, and leave the matching of her 
 to my care ; for there is Lope Tocho, John Tocho's sojjj 
 a lusty hale young man, whom we know, and I am sure 
 he has a sneaking kindness for the girl ; she will be 
 very well married to him, considering he is our equal, 
 and will be always under our rye; and we shall be all 
 as one, parents and children, grandsons and w>iv>-in-law, 
 and so the peace and blessing of God will bo among u* 
 all : and do not you pretend to be marrying her BOW 
 at your courts and great palaces, where they will nei- 
 ther understand her, nor she understand Iwrsrlf." 
 Hark you, beast, and wife for Barabbas," replied 
 Sancho; " why would you now, without rhyme or 
 reason, hinder me from roam in g our da ur liter with one 
 who may bring me grandchildren that may broiled Your 
 Lordships ? Look yo%i, Teresa, I have always heard
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 my bettors say, ' lie that will not when he may, -when he 
 will he shall have nay :' and it would be very wrong,]jiow 
 that fortune is knocking at our door, to shut it against 
 her: let us spread our sails to the favourable gale that 
 now blows." This kind of language, and what Sancho 
 says farther below, made* the translator of this history 
 say, he takes this chapter to be apocryphal. 
 
 u Do you think, animal," continued Sancho, " that it 
 would be well for me to be really possessed of some be- 
 neficial government, that may lift us out of the dirt, 
 and enable me to match Mary Sanchato whom I pleased? 
 You will then see how people will call you Donna Teresa 
 Panza ; and yon will sit in the church with velvet cushions. 
 carpets, and tapestries, in spite of the best gentlewomen 
 of the parish. Continue as you arc, and be always thr 
 same thing, without being increased or diminished, like 
 a figure in the hangings! No, no; let us have no more 
 of this, pray; for little Sancha shall be a countess, in 
 .spite of your teeth." " For all that, husband," answer- 
 ed Teresa, " I am afraid this courtship will be my 
 daughter's undoing. But, what you please: make her 
 a dutchess or a princess; but I can tell you, it shall ne- 
 ver be with my goodwill or consent. I was always a 
 lover of equality, and cannot abide to see folks taking 
 state upon themselves. Teresa my parents named me 
 at the font, a plain simple name, without the additions. 
 laces, or garnitures, of dons or donnas. My father's 
 name was Cascajo: and I, by being your wife, am called 
 Teresa Panza, though indeed by good right I should be 
 called Teresa Cascajo. But the laws follow still the 
 prince's will. I am contented with this name, without the 
 additional weight of Donna, to make it so heavy that f 
 shall not be able to carry it ; and I would not have peo- 
 ple, when they see me decked out like any little count- 
 ess or governess, immediately say, Look, fiov stately
 
 40 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 madam hog-feeder moves! Yesterday she toiled at he) 
 distaff from morning tonight, and zcent to mass Kith the 
 tail of her petticoat over her head instead of a veil; and 
 to-day, forsooth, she goes icith her farthingale, her em- 
 broideries, and Kith an air as if zee did not know her. 
 God keep me in my seven, or my five senses, or as many 
 as I have; for I do not intend to expose myself after this 
 manner. Go you, brother, to your governing and island- 
 ing, aud puff yourM-lf up as you please: as for my girl 
 and J, by the life of my mother, we will neither of us 
 stir a step from our own town. The honest woman, like 
 her whose leg is broken, is always at home, and the vir- 
 tuous damsel loves to be employed. Go you with your 
 Don Quixote to your adventures, and leave us with our 
 ill fortunes; God will better them for us, if we deserve 
 it : and truly I cannot imagine who made him a Don ; a 
 title which neither his father nor his grandfather ever 
 had." " Certainly," replied Sancho, u you must have 
 some familiar in that body of yours. Heavens bless thee, 
 woman! what a parcel of things have you been stringing 
 one upon another, without either head or tail ! What ha* 
 Cascajo, the embroideries, or the proverbs, to do with 
 what I am say ing? Hark you, fool and ignorant! (for 
 so I may call you,) since you understand not what I say, 
 and are flying from good fortune, had I told you, that 
 our daughter was to throw herself headlong from some 
 high tower, or go strolling about .the world, as did the 
 Infanta Donna Urraca, you would be in the right not to 
 come into my opinion: but if, in two turns of a hand, 
 and less than one twinkling of an eye, I can equip her 
 with a Don and Your Ladyship, and raise from the straw 
 to sit under a canopy of state, and upon a sofa with more 
 velvet cushions than all the Almohadas " of Morocco had 
 Moors in their lineage, why will you not consent, and 
 desire what I do?" " Would you know why, bus-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 41 
 
 band?" answered Teresa. " It is because of the pro- 
 verb, which says, He that covers thee^ discovers thee. 
 All glance their eyes hastily over the poor manj and fix 
 them upon the rich ; arid if that rich man was once poor j 
 then there is work for your murmurers and backbiters^ 
 who swarm every where like bees." " Look you, Te- 
 resa," answered Sancho, " and listen to wh.at I am going 
 to say to you ; perhaps you have never heard it in all the 
 days of your life ; and I do not now speak of my own 
 head ; for all that I intend to say are sentences of that 
 good father, the preacher who held forth to us last Lent 
 in this village ; who, if I remember right, said, that all 
 the things present, Avhich our eyes behold, do appear 
 and exist in our minds much better and with greater 
 force than things past." All these reasonings of San- 
 cho still more incline the translator to think that this 
 chapter is apocryphal, as exceeding the capacity of San- 
 cho, who went on, saying, 
 
 " From hence it proceeds, that, when we see any per- 
 son finely dressed, and set off with rich apparel and 
 with a train of servants, we are, as it were, compelled to 
 show him respect, although the memory, in that instant, 
 recalls to our thoughts some mean circumstances under 
 which we have seen him; which meanness, whether it 
 be of poverty or descent, being already past, no longer 
 exists, and there remains only what we see present before 
 our eyes. And if this person, whom fortune has raised 
 from the obscurity of his native meanness, proves well- 
 behaved, liberal, and courteous, to every body, and 
 does not set himself to vie with the ancient nobility, be 
 assured, Teresa, that nobody will remember what he 
 was, but will reverence w T hat he is, excepting the en- 
 vious, from whom no prosperous fortune is secure." 
 " I do not understand you, husband," replied Teresa: 
 " do what you think fit, and break not my brains any 
 
 VOL. II. G
 
 49 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 more with yottt speeches and flourishes. Antl if yoi* 
 
 are revolved to do as you say " " Resolved, yoir 
 
 should say, wife," qnothSancho, a and not revolved." 
 " Set not yourself to dispute with me/' answered Teresa r 
 <6 I speak as it pleases God y and meddle not with what 
 does not concern me, I say, if you hold still in the same 
 mind of being- a governor,, take your son Sancho with 
 you, and henceforward train him up to your art of go- 
 vernment \ for it is fitting the sons should inherit and 
 learn their fathers* calling. ' r " When I have a govern- 
 ment," quoth Sancho, " I will send for him by the post, 
 and will send you money, which I shall not want; for 
 there are 1 always people enough to lend governors money 
 when they have it not : but there be sure to clothe the boy 
 so r that he may look, not like what he is, but what he is 
 to be-** " Send you money," replied Teresa, " and I 
 will equip him as fine as a palm-branch 15 ." " We are 
 agreed then,' r quoth Sancho,. " that our daughter is to 
 be a countess?" " The day that I see her a coun'ess,"" 
 answered Teresa, " I shall reckon I am laying her in her 
 grave ; but I say again, you may do as you please ; for 
 we women are born to bear the clog of obedience to our 
 husbands, be they never such blockheads." And then 
 she began to weep as bitterly as if she already saw lit- 
 tle Sancha dead and buried. Sancho comforted her, and 
 promised, that though he must make her a countess, he 
 would see and put it off as long as he possibly could. 
 Thus ended their dialogue, and Sancho went back to 
 Tisit Don Quixote, and put things in order for their de- 
 parture.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 43 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 Of what passed between Dan Quixote, his Niece, and 
 Housekeeper,- and is one of the most important Chap- 
 ters ofttie whole History. 
 
 W HILE Saneho Panza and his wife, Teresa Cascajo, 
 were holding tke foregoing impertinent dialogue, Doa 
 Quixote's niece and housekeeper were not idle; who 
 guessing, by a thousand signs, that their uncle and mas- 
 ter would break loose the third time, and return to the 
 exercise of his (and to them) unlucky knight-errantry, 
 endeavoured by all possible means to divert him frorg 
 so foolish a design : but it was all preaching in the de* 
 sert and hammering on cold iron. However, among 
 many other various reasonings which passed between 
 Ihem, the housekeeper said to him, " Sir, if your wor- 
 ship will not tarry quietly at home, and leave this ram- 
 bling over hills and dales, like a disturbed ghost, in 
 quest of those sam.e adventures, which I call misadven- 
 iures, I am -resolved to complain aloud io God and the 
 king, to put a stop to it." To which Don Quixote re- 
 plied, u Mistress housekeeper, what answer God will re- 
 turn to your complaints, I know not; and what his 
 majesty will answer, as .little: I only know, that, if I 
 were king, I would dispense with myself from answering 
 that infinity of impertinent memorials, which ar<' every 
 <lay presented to him ; for one of the greatest fatigues a 
 king undergoes, is the being obliged to hear and an- 
 swer every body ; and therefore I should be loath my con.- 
 cerns should give him any trouble." To which the 
 housekeeper replied, " Pray, sir, are there not knights 
 in his majesty's court?" " Yes," answered Don Quix- 
 ote, " there are many; and it is fitting there should, fojr
 
 44 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 the ornament and grandeur of princes, and for the os- 
 tentation of the royal dignity." " Would it not then 
 be better,'* replied she, " that your worship should be 
 one of thjem, and quietly serve your king and lord at 
 court ?" " Look you, friend," answered Don Quixote, 
 " all knights cannot be courtiers, neither can nor ought 
 all courtiers to be knights-errant : there must be of all 
 sorts in the world : and though we are all knights, there 
 is a great deal of difference between us; for the courtiers, 
 without stirring out of their apartments or over the 
 threshold, traverse the whole globe, in a map, without a 
 farthing expense, and without suffering heat or cold, hun- 
 ger or thirst. But we, the true knights-errant, measure 
 the whole earth with our own feet, exposed to the sun 
 and the cold, to the air and the inclemencies of the sky, 
 by night and by day, on foot and on horseback ; nor do we 
 know our enemies in picture only, but in their proper 
 persons, and attack them at every turn and upon every 
 occasion, without standing upon trifles or upon the 
 tows of duelling ; such as, whether our adversary bears 
 a shorter or longer lance or sword, whether he carries 
 about him any relics or wears any secret coat of mail, 
 or whether the sun be duly divided or not; with other 
 ceremonies of the same stamp, used in single combats be- 
 tween man and man^ which you understand not, but I do. 
 And you must know farther, that your true knight-errant, 
 though he should espy ten giants, whose heads not only 
 touch but overtop the clouds, and though each of them 
 stalk on two prodigious towers instead of legs, and havo 
 arms like - thc main-mast of huge and mighty ships of 
 war, and each eye like a great mill-wheel, and more 
 fiery than the furnace of a glass-house, yet he must in 
 no wise be affrighted, but, on the contrary, with a gen- 
 teel air and an undaunted heart, encounter, assail, and, 
 if possible, overcome and rout them in an instant o(
 
 DOX QUIXOTE. 45 
 
 time, though they should come armed with the shell of 
 a certain fish, which, they say, is harder than adamant ; 
 and though, instead of swords, they should bring trench- 
 ant sabres of Damascan steel, or iron maces pointed also 
 with steel, as I have seen more than once or twice. 
 All this I have said, mistress housekeeper, to show you 
 the difference between some knights and others; and 
 it were to be wished that every prince knew how to 
 esteem this second, or rather first, species of knights- 
 errant, since, as we read in their histories, some among 
 them have been the bulwark, not of one only, but of 
 many kingdoms." 
 
 " Ah! dear uncle," said the niece, " then be assured, 
 that what you tell us of knights-errant is all invention 
 and lies; and, if their histories must not be burnt, at 
 least they deserve to wear each of them a Sanbenito l6 , or 
 some badge Avhercby they may be known to be infa- 
 mous, and destructive of good manners." " By the God 
 in whom I live!" said Don Quixote, " were you not my 
 niece directly, as being my own sister's daughter, I 
 would make such an example of you, for the blasphemy 
 you have uttered, that the whole world should ring of 
 it. How is it possible, that a young baggage, who 
 scarcely knows how to manage a dozen of bobbins, should 
 presume to put in her oar, and censure the histories of 
 knights-errant? What would Sir Ainadis have said, 
 should he have heard of such a thing? But now I think 
 of it, I am sure he would have forgiven you ; for he 
 was the most humble and most courteous knight of hi* 
 time, and the greatest favourer of damsels. But some 
 other might have heard you, from whom you might not 
 have come off so well ; for all are not courteous and good- 
 natured; some are rude and uncivil. Neither are all 
 they, who call themselves knights, really such at bot- 
 tom; for some are of gold, others of alchymy; and yet
 
 46 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 all appear to be knights, though all cannot abide the 
 touch-stone of truth. Mean fellows there are, who 
 break their winds in straining to appear knights ; and 
 topping knights there- are, who, one would think, die 
 with desire to be thought mean men. The former raise 
 themselves by their ambition or by their virtues; the lat- 
 ter debase themselves by their weakness or their vices : 
 and one had need of a good discernment to distinguish 
 between these two kinds of knights, so near in their 
 names and so distant in their actions." " Bless me! 
 imcle," cried the niece, " that your worship should be 
 so knowing, that, if need were, you might mount a 
 pulpit, and hold forth any where in the streets, and yet 
 should give into so blind a vagary, and so exploded a 
 piece of folly, as to think to persuade the world that 
 you are valiant now you are old ; that you are strong, 
 when, alas! you are infirm; and that you are able to 
 make crooked things straight, though stooping yourself 
 under the weight of years; above all, that you are a 
 knight, when you are really none : for, though gentle- 
 men may be such, yet poor ones hardly can.'* 
 
 " You are much in the right, niece, in what you 
 say," answered Don Quixote; "and I could tell you 
 such things concerning lineages as would surprise you : 
 but, because I would not mix things divine with human, 
 I forbear. Hear me, friends, with attention. All the 
 genealogies in the world may be reduced to four sorts, 
 %vhich are these. First, of those who, having had low 
 beginnings, have gone on extending and dilating them- 
 selves, till they have arrived at a prodigious grandeur. 
 Secondly, of those who, having had great beginnings, 
 have preserved and continue to preserve them in the 
 same condition they were in at first. Thirdly, of those 
 who, though they have had great beginnings, have ended 
 In a small point like a pyramid, having gone on diwi-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 47 
 
 tiishing and decreasing continually, till they have come 
 almost to nothing ; like the point of the pyramid, which, 
 in respect of its base or pedestal,, is next to nothing'. 
 Lastly, of those, and they are the most numerous, who, 
 having had neither a good beginning nor a tolerable 
 middle, will therefore end without a name, like the fa- 
 milies of common and ordinary people. Of the first sort, 
 who, having had a mean beginning, have risen to great- 
 ness and still preserve it, we have an example in the 
 Ottoman family, which, from a poor shepherd, its foun- 
 der, is arrived at the height we now see it at. Of the 
 second sort of genealogies, which began great, and pre- 
 serve themselves without augmentation, examples majr 
 be fetched from sundry hereditary princes, who contain 
 themselves peaceably within the limits of their own do- 
 minions, without enlarging or contracting them. Of 
 those, who began great, and have ended in a point, 
 there are thousands of instances: for all the Pharaohs 
 and Ptolemies of Egypt, the Caesars of Rome, with all 
 the herd, if I may so call them, of that infinite number 
 of princes, monarchs, and lords, Medes, Assyrians, Per- 
 sians, Greeks, and barbarians ; all these families and do- 
 minions, as well as their founders, have ended in a point 
 and next to nothing : for it is impossible now to find any 
 of their descendants, and, if one should find them, it 
 would be in some low and abject condition. Of tha 
 lineages of the common sort I have nothing to say, onlj > 
 that they serve to swell the number of the living, without 
 deserving any other fame or eulogy. From all that has 
 been said, I would have you infer, my dear fools, that 
 the confusion there is among genealogies is very great, 
 and that those only appear great and illustrious, which 
 show themselves such by the virtue, riches, and liberality, 
 of their possessors. I say virtue, riches, and liberality^.
 
 48 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 because the great man, that is vicious, will be greatly 
 vicious; and the rich man, who is not liberal, is but i 
 covetous beggar; for the possessor of riches is not happj 
 in having but in spending them, and not in spending 
 (hem merely according to his own inclination, but in 
 knowing how to spend them properly. The knight, who 
 is poor, has no other way of showing himself to be one, 
 but that of virtue, by being aftable, well-behaved, cour- 
 teous, kind, and obliging ; not proud, not arrogant, no 
 murmurer, and above all charitable ; for, by two far- 
 things given cheerfully to the poor, he shall discover as 
 much generosity as he who bestows large alms by sound 
 of bdl : and there is no one, who sees him adorned with 
 the aforesaid virtues, though he knows him not, but will 
 judge and .repute him to be well descended. Indeed it 
 would be a miracle were it otherwise : praise was always 
 the reward of virtue, and the virtuous cannot fail of being; 
 commended. There are two roads, daughters, by which 
 men may arrive at riches and honours; the one by the 
 way of letters, the other by that of arms. I have more- in 
 me of the soldier than of the scholar; and waaborn, as 
 it appears by my propensity to arms, under the in/!uencc 
 of the planet Mars; so that I am, as it were, forced into 
 that track, and that road I must take in spite of the whole 
 world: and it will be in vain for you to tire yourselves in 
 persuading me not to attempt what heaven requires, for- 
 tune ordains, a/id reason demands; and, above all, what 
 my inclination leads me to. I know the innumerable toils 
 attending on knight-errantry. I know also the number- 
 less advantages obtained by it. I know, that the path of 
 virtue is strait and narrow, and the road of vice broad 
 and spacious. I know also, that their end and resting, 
 places are different: for, those of vice, large and open, 
 c.nd in death ; and those of virtue, narrow and intricate,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. t 49 
 
 in life, and not in life that has an end, but in that 
 which is eternal. And I know, as our great Castilian 
 poet expresses it, that 
 
 " He, who to Fame's immortal seat would climb, 
 Must traverse rugged paths and rocks sublime; 
 Regardless of defeat pursue his way, 
 Nor flinch, till perseverance gains the day." 
 
 " Ah, woe is me!" cried the niece; " what! my 
 uncle a poet too! he knows every thing; nothing comes 
 amiss to him . I will lay a wager, that, if he had a mind 
 to turn mason, he would build a house with as much ease 
 as a bird-cage." " I assure you, niece," answered Don. 
 Quixote, " that if these knightly thoughts did not em- 
 ploy all my senses, there is nothing I could not do, nor 
 any curious art but what I could turn my hand to, espe- 
 cially bird-cages and tooth-picks 1T ." 
 
 By this time there was knocking at the door, and upon 
 asking, who is there? Sancho Panza answered, "It is I." 
 The housekeeper no sooner knew his voice, but she ran 
 to hide herself, so much she abhorred the sight of him. 
 The niece let him in, and his master Don Quixote went 
 out and received him with open arms; and they two, 
 being locked up together in the knight's chamber, held 
 another dialogue, not a jot inferior to the former. 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Of i^hat passed between Don Quixote and his Squire, 
 zcith other most famous Occurrences. 
 
 JL HE housekeeper no sooner saw that Sancho and her 
 master had locked themselves up together, but she pre- 
 sently began to suspect the drift of their conference ; and, 
 vo&. ii. H
 
 50 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 imagining that it would end in a resolution for a third 
 sally, she took her veil, and, full of anxiety and trou- 
 ble, went in quest of the bachelor Sampson Carrasco, 
 thinking, that as he was a well-spoken person, and a 
 new acquaintance of her master's, he might be able to 
 dissuade him from so extravagant a purpose. She found 
 liim walking to and fro in the court-yard of his house, 
 and, as soon as she espied him, she fell down at his feet 
 in violent disorder and a cold sweat. When Carrasco 
 beheld her with signs of so much sorrow and heart-beat- 
 ing, he said, " What is the matter, mistress house- 
 keeper, what has befallen you, that you look as if your 
 heart was at your mouth?" "Nothing at all, dear mas- 
 ter Sampson," cried she, " only that my master is most 
 certainly breaking forth." " How breaking forth, ma- 
 dam?" demanded Sampson; " has he broken a hole in 
 any part of his body ?" "No," said she, lf he is only 
 breaking forth at the dctor of his own madness. I meanj 
 signor bachelor, that he has a mind to sally out again, 
 and this will be his third time, to ramble about the world 
 in quest of what he calls adventures 18 , though, for my 
 part, I cannot tell why he calls them so. The first time, 
 lie was brought home to us across an ass, and mashed to 
 mummy. The second time, he came home in an ox-wag- 
 gon, locked up in a cage, in which he persuaded himself 
 he was enc'hanted: and the poor soul was so changed, 
 that he could not be known by the mother that bore him ; 
 feeble, wan, his eyes sunk to the inmost lodgings of his 
 brain ; insomuch that I spent above six hundred eggs in 
 getting him a little up again, as God and the world is 
 my witness, and my hens, that will not let me lie." " I 
 can easily believe that," answered the bachelor; " for 
 they are so good, so plump, and so well nurtured, thai 
 they will not say one thing for another, though they 
 should burst for it. In short then, mistress housekeeper-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 51 
 
 (here is nothing more, nor any other disaster, only what 
 is feared Signer Don Quixote may peradventure have a 
 mind to do?" " No, sir," answered she. " Be in no 
 pain then," replied the bachelor, " but go home in God's 
 name, and get me something warm for breakfast, and 
 by the way, as you go, repeat the prayer of Saint Apol- 
 lonia, if you know it; and I will be with you instantly, 
 and you shall see wonders." "Dear me!" replied the 
 housekeeper, u the prayer of Saint Apollonia, say you ? 
 That might do something if my master's distemper lay 
 in his gums; but, alas! it lies in his brain." " I know 
 what I say, mistress housekeeper," replied Sampson: 
 fl get you home, and do not stand disputing with me ; for 
 you know I am a Salamanca bachelor of arts, and there is 
 no bachelorizing T 9 beyond that." With that away went 
 the housekeeper, and the bachelor immediately went to 
 find the priest, and consult with him about what you 
 will hear of in due time. 
 
 While Don Quixote and Sancho continued locked up 
 together, there passed some discourse between them, 
 which the history relates at large with great punctuality 
 and truth. Quoth Sancho to his master, " Sir, I have 
 now reluced my wife to consent to let me go with your 
 worship wherever you please to carry me." " Reduced, 
 you should say, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, " and 
 not reluced." " Once or twice already," answered San- 
 cho, " rf I remember right, I have besought your wor- 
 ship not to mend my words, if you understand my mean- 
 ing; and when you do not, say, Sancho, or devil, I 
 understand you not ; and if I do not explain myself, then 
 you may correct me; for I am so focible." " I do not 
 understand you, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "for I 
 know not the meaning of focible. " " So focible," an- 
 swered Sancho, " means, I am so much so." " I under- 
 stand less now," replied Don Quixote. u Why, if you
 
 52 , DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 do not understand me," answered Sancho, " I know not 
 how to express it; 1 know no more, God help me!" . 
 <( Oh, now I have it," answered Don Quixote: "you 
 mean you are so docible, so pliant, and so tractable, that 
 you will readily comprehend whatever I shall say to 
 you, and will learn whatever I shall teach you." " I 
 will lay a wager," quoth Sancho, " you took me from 
 the beginning, and understood me perfectly ; only you 
 had a mind to put me out, to hear me make two hundred 
 blunders more." t( That may be," replied Don Quix- 
 ote: "but, in short, what says Teresa?" " Teresa," 
 quoth Sancho, " says, that fast bind fast find, and that 
 "we must have less talking and more doing ; for he who 
 shuffles is not he who cuts, and one performance is worth 
 two promises : and say I, there is but little in woman's 
 advice, yet he that won't take it is not over-wise." " I 
 say so too," replied Don Quixote : " proceed, Sancho, 
 for you talk admirably to-day." " The case is," replied 
 Sancho, " that, as your worship very well knows, we 
 are all mortal, here to-day and gone to-morrow ; that the 
 lamb goes to the spit as soon as the sheep ; and that no- 
 body can promise himself in this world more hours ot'life 
 than God pleases to give him; fqr death is deaf, and 
 ivhen he knocks at life's door, is always in haste ; and 
 nothing can stay him, neither force, nor entreaties, nor 
 sceptres, nor mitres, according to public voice and re- 
 port, and according to what is told us from our pul- 
 pits." " All this is true," said Don Quixote: " but I 
 do not perceive what you would be at." " What I 
 would be at," quoth Sancho, " is, that your worship 
 would be pleased to appoint me a certain salary, at so 
 much per month, for the time I shall serve you, and that 
 the said salary be paid me out of your estate ; for I have 
 no mind to stand to the courtesy of recompenses, which 
 eoine late, or lame, or never; God help me with my
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 53 
 
 own ! In short, I would know what I am to get, be it lit- 
 tle or much : for the hen sits, if it be but upon one egg, 
 and many littles make a mickle, and while one is getting 
 something, one is losing nothing. In good truth, should 
 it fall out, which I neither believe nor expect, that your 
 worship should give me that same island you have pro- 
 mised me, I am not so nngrateful, nor am I for making 
 so hard a bargain, as not to consent that the amount of 
 the rent of such island be appraised, and my salary be 
 deducted, cant ity for cantity."" Is not quantity as good 
 as cantity, friend Sancho ?" answered Don Quixote. 
 " I understand you," quoth Sancho; " I will lay a wa- 
 ger I should have said quantity, and not cant it i/: but 
 that signifies nothing, since your worship knew my 
 meaning." " Yes, and so perfectly too," returned Don 
 Quixote, " that I see to the very bottom of your thoughts, 
 and the mark you drive at with the innumerable arrows of 
 your proverbs. Look you, Sancho ; I could easily ap- 
 point you wages, had I ever met with any precedent, 
 among the histories of knights-errant, to discover or 
 show me the least glimmering of what they used to get 
 monthly or yearly. I have read all or most of those his- 
 tories, and do not remember ever to have read, that any 
 knight-errant allowed his squire set wages. I only know 
 that they all served upon courtesy, and that, when they 
 least thought of it, if their masters had good luck, they 
 were rewarded with an island, or something equivalent, 
 or at least remained with a title and dignity. If, Sancho, 
 upon the strength of these expectations, you are willing 
 to return to my service, in God's name do so : but to 
 think that I will force the ancient usage of knight-errantry 
 off the hinges, is a very great mistake. And therefore, 
 ' Sancho, go home, and tell your wife my intention, and 
 if she is willing, and you have a mind to stay with me 
 upon courtesy, bene quidem; if not, we are as we were :
 
 54 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 for, if the dove-house wants not bait, i( will never want 
 pigeons : and take notice, son, that a good reversion is 
 better than a bad possession, and a good demand than 
 bad pay. I talk thus, Sancho, to let you sec that I 
 can let fly a volley of proverbs as well as you . To be 
 short with you, if you are not disposed to go along 
 with me upon courtesy, and run the same fortune wi-h 
 ,mc, the Lord have thee in his keeping, and I pray Got! 
 to make thee a saint ; for I can never want a squire 
 who will be more obedient, more diligent, and neither so 
 selfish nor so talkative, as you are." 
 
 "When Sancho heard his master's fixed resolution, 
 the sky clouded over with him, and the wings of his heaat 
 downright flagged ; for till now he verily believed hi 
 master would not go without him for the world's worth. 
 While he stood thus thoughtful and in suspense, in came 
 Sampson ( arrasco, and the niece and the housekeeper, 
 who had a mind to hear what arguments he made use 
 of to dissuade their master and uncle from going again 
 in quest of adventures. Sampson, who was a notable 
 wag, drew near, and embracing Don Quixote, as he 
 did the time before, he exalted his voice, and said, u O 
 flower of knight-errantry ! O resplendent light of arms S 
 O mirror and honour of the Spanish nation ! may it 
 please Almighty God, of his infinite goodness, that the 
 person or persons who shall obstruct or disappoint your 
 third sally may never find the Avay out of the labyrinth 
 of their desires, nor ever accomplish what they so ar- 
 dently wish !" And, turning to the housekeeper, he said, 
 " Now, mistress housekeeper, you may save yourself 
 tho trouble of saying the prayer of St. Apollonia ; for I 
 know that it is the precise determination of the stars that 
 Signer Don Quixote shall once more put in execution, 
 his glorious and uncommon designs, and I should 
 greatly burden my conscience did 1 not give intimation
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 5s 
 
 thereof, and persuade this knight no longer to detain 
 and withhold the force of his valorous arm and th 
 goodness of his most undaunted courage, lest by his 
 delay he defraud the world of the redress of injuries, 
 <he protection of orphans, the maintaining the honour 
 of damsels, the relief of widows, and the support of 
 married women, w ith other matters of this nature, which 
 concern, depend upon, appertain, and are annexed to, 
 Hie order of knight-errantry. Go on then, dear Signor 
 Don Quixote, beautiful and brave ! and let your wor- 
 ship and grandeur lose no time^ but set forward rather 
 to-day than to-morrow ; and if any thing be wanting 
 towards putting your design in execution, here am I, 
 ready to supply it with my life and fortune ; and if your 
 magnificence stands in need of a squire, I shall think it 
 a singular piece of good fortune to serve you as such." 
 
 Don Quixote thereupon turning to Sancho, said ; " Did 
 I not tell you, Sancho, that I should have squires enough * 
 and to spare ? Behold, who is it that offers himself to 
 be one, but the unheard-ef bachelor Sampson Carrasco, 
 the perpetual darling and delight of the Salamancaa 
 schools, sound and active of body, no prater, patient of 
 heat and cold, of hunger and thirst, with all the quali- 
 fications necessary to the squire of a knight-errant ? But 
 heaven forbid, that, to gratify my own private inclina- 
 tion, I should endanger this pillar of literature, this urn 
 of sciences, and lop off so eminent a branch of the noble 
 and liberal arts. Let our new Sampson abide in his 
 country, and, in doing it honour, at the same time' 
 reverence the gray hairs of his ancient parents ; for I 
 will make shift with any squire whatever, since Sancho 
 deigns not to go along with me,." " I do deign," quoth 
 Sancho, melted into tenderness, and his eyes overflowing* 
 with tears, and proceeded : " It shall never be said of 
 me ? dear master, the brca.d is eaten and the company.
 
 56 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 broke up. I am not come of an ungrateful stock : since 
 all the world knows, especially our village, who the Pan- 
 zas were, from whom I am descended : besides, I know, 
 and am very well assured, by many good works and 
 more good words, of the desire your worship has to do 
 me a kindness ; and if I have taken upon me so much 
 more than I ought, by intermeddling in the article of 
 wages, it was out of complaisance to my wife, who, 
 when once she takes in hand to persuade a thing, no 
 mallet drives and forces the hoops of a tub as she does 
 to make one do what she has a mind to : but in short, a 
 man must be a man, and a woman a woman ; and since 
 I am a man every where else, I cannot deny that I will 
 also be one in my own house, vex whom it will : and 
 therefore there is no more to be done, but that your wor- 
 ship give orders about your will, and its codicil, in 
 such manner that it cannot be rebuked, and let us set 
 out immediately, that the soul of Signer Sampson may 
 not suffer, who says he is obliged in conscience to per- 
 suade your worship to make a third sally ; and I again 
 offer myself to serve your worship, faithfully and loyally, 
 as well and better than all the squires that ever served 
 knight-errant in past or present times." 
 
 The bachelor stood in admiration to bear Sancho 
 Panza's style and manner of talking ; for, though he 
 had read the first part of his master's history, he never 
 believed he was so ridiculous as he is therein described : 
 but hearing him now talk of will and codicil that could 
 not be rebuked, instead of rero/-er/, he believed all he 
 had read of him, and concluded him to be one of the 
 most solemn coxcombs of the age : and said to himself, 
 lhat two such fools as master and man were never be- 
 fore seen in the world. In short, Don Quixote and San- 
 cho, being perfectly reconciled, embraced each oilier; 
 and, with the approbation and good liking of the grand
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 57 
 
 Cnrrasco, now their oracle, it was decreed their departure 
 should be within three days, in which time they might 
 have leisure to provide what was necessary for the ex- 
 pedition, especially a complete helmet, which Don Quix- 
 ote said he must by all means carry with him. Sampson 
 offered him one belonging to a friend of his, who, he 
 was sure, Avould not deny it him, though, to say the 
 truth, the brightness of the steel was not a little obscured 
 by the tarnish and rust. The curses which, the house- 
 keeper and niece heaped upon the bachelor were not to 
 be numbered: they tore their hair, and scratched their 
 faces, and, like the funeral mourners formerly in fashion, 
 lamented the approaching departure as if it had been 
 the death of their master. The design Sampson had, in 
 persuading him to sally forth again, was to do what the 
 history tells us hereafter, all by the advice of the priest 
 and the barber, with whom he had plotted beforehand. 
 
 In short, in those three days, Don Quixote and Sancho 
 furnished themselves with what they thought convenient ; 
 and Sancho having appeased his wife, and Don Quixote 
 his niece and housekeeper, in the dusk of the evening, 
 unobserved by any body but the bachelor, who would 
 needs bear them company half a league from the village, 
 they took the road to Toboso ; Don Quixote upon his 
 good llozinante, and Sancho upon his old Dapple, his 
 wallets stored with provisions, and his purse with money, 
 which Don Quixote had given him against whatever 
 might happen. Sampson embraced him, praying him 
 to give advice of his good or ill fortune, that he might 
 rejoice or condole with him, as the laws of their mutual 
 friendship required. Don Quixote promised he would; 
 Sampson returned to the village, and the knight and 
 squire took their way toward the great city of Toboso, 
 
 VOL, ii.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAP. VIIJ. 
 
 H'hcrcin is r clitic J zcJiat befcl don Quixote as he i 
 going to visit his Lady Dulcinea Del Toboso. 
 
 11 PRAISED be the mighty Alia!" says Hamctc J'e- 
 nengeli, at the beginning of this eighth chapter r 
 *' praised l>e Alia.!" repeating it thrice, and saying he 
 grave these praises to find that Don Quixote and Saiieho 
 had again taken the field, and that the readers of their 
 delightful history may make account, that, from this 
 moment, the exploits and witty sayings of Don Quixote 
 and his squire begin lie persuades them Jo forget the 
 former chivalries of the ingenious gentleman, and fi* 
 theft eyes upon his future achievements, which now he- 
 gin upon the road to Toboso, as the former began in the 
 fields of Montiel; and this is no very unreasonable re- 
 quest, considering what great things he promises ; and h 
 goes on thus : 
 
 Don Quixote and Sancho remained by themselves; 
 and scarcely Mas Sampson parted from them, when Ro- 
 /inante began to neigh and Dapple to sigh ; which was 
 held by both knight and squire for a good sign, and a 
 most happy omen, though, if the truth were to be told, 
 the sighs and l>rayiiigs of the ass exceeded the neighings 
 of the steed ; from whence Sancho gathered that his good 
 luck was to surpass and get above that of his master. 
 Bat whether he drew this inference from judicial at to- 
 logy, I cannot say, it not being known whether he was 
 versed in it, since the history says nothing of it ; only he 
 had been heard to say, when he stumbled or fell, that 
 he would have been glad he had not gone out of door* ; 
 for, by a stumble or a fall, nothing was to be got but a
 
 DOX QUIXOTE. 59 
 
 a fora shoe or a broken rib; and, though lie was a sim- 
 pleton, he was not much out of the way in this. 
 
 Don Quixote said to him, " Friend Sancho, the night 
 is coming 1 on apace, and with too much darkness for us 
 to reach Toboso by daylight ; whither I am resolved to 
 go, before I undertake any other adventure : there Avill 
 I receive the blessing, and the good leave, of the peer- 
 lev. Dulcinea, with which I am well assured of finish in 
 and giving a happy conclusion to every perilous adven- 
 ture: for nothing in this world inspires knights-errant 
 with so much valour, as the finding themselves favoured 
 by their mistresses." il I believe it," answered Sancho ; 
 4i but I am of opinion it will be diilicult for your wor- 
 ship to come to the speech of her, or be alone with her, 
 at least in any place where 3-011 may receive her bene- 
 diction, unless she tosses it over the pales of the yard, 
 from whence I saw her the time before, when I carried 
 her the letter with the news of the follies and extrava- 
 gancies which your worship was playing in the heart of 
 the Sable Mountain." " Pales, did you fancy them 
 to be, Sancho," said Don Quixote, " over which you 
 saw that paragon of gentility and beauty ? Impossible ! 
 you must mean galleries, arcades, or cloisters of some 
 rich and royal palace." " All that may be," answered 
 Sancho, " but to me they seemed pales, or I have a 
 shallow memory." "However, let us go thither, San- 
 cho," replied Don Quixote ; " for so I do but see her^ 
 be it through pales, through windows, through crannies, 
 ov through the rails of a garden, this J shall gain by it, 
 that, how small soever a ray of the sun of her beauty 
 reaches my eyes, it will so enlighten my understanding 
 and fortify my heart, that I shall remain without a rival 
 rither in wisdom or valour." u In truth, sir," answered 
 Sancho, " when I saw this sun of the Lady Dulcinea del 
 *i'oboso, it was not so bright as to send forth any rays ;
 
 60 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 and the reason must be, that, as her ladyship was win. 
 "nowing that wheat I told you of, the great quantity of 
 dust that flew out of it overcast her face like a cloud, and 
 obscured it." u What! Sancho," said Don Quixote, 
 " do you persist in saying and believing that my Lady 
 Dulcinea was winnowing wheat ; a business and employ- 
 ment quite foreign to persons of distinction , who are de- 
 signed and reserved for other exercises and amusements, 
 which distinguish their high quality a bow -shot oil' ? 
 You forget, Sancho, our poet's verses, in which he de- 
 scribes the labours of those four nymphs, in their crystal 
 mansions, when they raised their heads above, the de- 
 lightful Tagus, and seated themselves in the green mea- 
 dow, to work those rich shifts, which, as the ingenious 
 poet there describes them, were all embroidered with 
 gold, silk, and pearls. And in this manner must my 
 lady have been employed when you saw her : but the 
 envy some wicked enchanter bears me changes and con- 
 verts into different shapes every thing that should give 
 me pleasure,* and therefore in that history, said to l>r 
 published, of my exploits, if perad venture, the autho/ 
 was some sage my enemy, he has, I fear, put one tiling 
 for .another, with one truth mixing a thousand lies, and 
 amusing himself with relating actions foreign to what is 
 requisite for the continuation of a true history. O en\ \ .' 
 thou root of infinite evils ami canker-worm of virtues' 
 All other vices, Sancho, earry somewhat wf pleasmv 
 along with them : but envy is attended with nothing but 
 distaste, rancour, ami rage.'* "That is what I say too,"' 
 replied Sancho ; " and 1 take it for granted, in that sanu- 
 legend or history of us the bachelor <';>rra.M-o tells u> h 
 has seen, my reputation is tossed about liken lennis-balL 
 Now, as I am an honest man, I never spoke ill o>" 
 any enchanter, nor have i wealth enough to be envied. 
 
 It is trucj indeed, I am said to be somewhat slv, and to have- 
 
 / * '
 
 DON QUIXOTE. I 61 
 
 a little spice of the knave ; but the grand clokc of my 
 simplicity, always natural and never artificial, hides 
 and covers all. And if I had nothing else to boast of, but 
 the believing, as I do always, firmly and truly in God, and 
 iu all that the holy Catljolic Roman church holds and 
 believes, and the being, as I really am, a mortal enemy to 
 the Jews, the historians ought to have mercy upon me, 
 and treat me well in their writings. But let them say what 
 they will : naked was I born, and naked I am : I neither 
 lose nor win; and, so ray name be put in print, and go 
 about the world from hand to hand, I care not a fig, let 
 people say of me whatever they list." 
 
 " That, Sancho," sakl Don Quixote, " is just like what 
 happened to a famous poet of our times, who, having wrote 
 an ill-natured satire upon the court-ladies, a certain lady, 
 who was not expressly named in it, so that it was doubtful 
 whether she was implied in it or not, complained to the 
 poet, asking him what he had seen in her, that he had not in- 
 serted her among the rest, telling him he must enlarge his 
 satire, and put her in the supplement, or woe be to him. 
 The poet did as he was bid, and set her down for such 
 a one as duennas will not name. As for the lady, she was 
 satisfied to find herself infamously famous. Of the same 
 kind is the story they tell of that shepherd, who set fire to 
 and burnt down the famous temple of Diana, reckoned 
 one of the seven wonders of the world, only that his name 
 might live iu future ages ; and, though it was ordered by 
 public edict, that nobody should name or mention him 
 either by word or writing, that he might not attain the end 
 he proposed, yet still it is known he was called Erostratus. 
 To the same purpose may be alleged what happened to the 
 groat Emperor Charles the Fifth with a Roman knight. 
 The emperor had a mind to see the famous church of the 
 Rotunda, which by the ancients was called the Pantheon, 
 or temple of all the gods, and now, by a better name, the
 
 te DON QflXOTK. 
 
 church of All Saints, and isoneof llic most entire edifice* 
 remaining of heathen Rome, ami \vliieli most preserves the 
 fame of the greatness and magnificence of its founders. 
 It is made in the shape of a half-orange, very spacious 
 and very light, though it has but one window, or rather a 
 round opening at top ; from whence the emperor having 
 surveyed the inside of the structure, a Roman knight, who 
 stood by his side, showing him the beauty and ingenious 
 contrivance of that vast machine and memorable piece of 
 architect ure, when they were come down from the skylight, 
 said to the emperor, Sacred sir, a thousand times it came 
 info my head to clasp your majesty in my arms, and cast my- 
 self down with you from the top to the bottom of the churchy 
 merely to leave an eternal name behind me. / thank you, 
 answered the emperor, Jo/' not putting so wicked a thought 
 in execution, and henceforward I will never give you an 
 opportunity of making the like proof of your loyalty, 
 find therefore command you never to speak to me more, or 
 come into my presence. And after these words he besto\ved 
 some great favour upon him. What I mean, Sancho, is, 
 that the desire of fame is a very active principle in us. 
 What, think you, cast Horatius down from the bridge, 
 armed at all points, into the depth of the Tiber ? What 
 burnt the arm and hand of Mutius ? What impelled Cur- 
 tius to throw himself into the flaming gulf, that opened 
 itself in the midst of Rome ? What made Ca^ar pass the 
 Rubicon in opposition to all presages ? .\wl. in more 
 modern examples,^ hat bored the ships and stranded those 
 valiant Spaniards, conducted by the most courteous Cortex, 
 in the new world? All these, and other great and very 
 different exploits, are, were, and shall l>e, the works of 
 tame, >\hieh mortals doire as the reward and earnest of 
 that immortality their noble deeds deserve : though we 
 Christian and Catholic knights-errant ought to be more 
 intent upon the glory of the world to cbme, which is ctcr-
 
 DON QriXOTE. 63 
 
 nal in the ethereal and celestial region?, than upon tbc 
 vanity of fame, acquired in this present and transitory 
 world ; for, let it last never so long, it must end with the 
 world itself, which has its appointed period. Therefore, 
 O Sancho, let not our works exceed the bounds prescribed 
 by the Christian religion, which we profess. In killing 
 giants we are to destroy pride ; we must overcome envy 
 by generosity and good nature, anger by sedateness and 
 composure of mind, gluttony and sleep by eating little 
 and watching much, lust and lasciviousness by the fide- 
 lity we maintain to those we have jnade mistresses of our 
 thoughts, laziness by going about all parts of the world, 
 and seeking occasions Avhich may make us, besides be- 
 ing Christians, renowned knights. These, Sancho, are 
 the means of obtaining those extremes of praise which a 
 good name brings along with it," 
 
 "All that your worship has hitherto told me," quoth 
 Sancho, " I very well understand: but, for all that, I 
 wish you would be so kind as to dissolve me one doubt 
 which is this moment come into my mind." u Resolve^ 
 you would say, Sancho," replied Don Quixote : "out 
 with it, in God's name'; for I will answer as far as I 
 know." " Pray tell me, sir," proceeded Sancho, "those 
 Julys and Augusts, arid all those feat-doing knights 
 you spoke of, that are dead, where arc they now?" 
 " The Gentiles," answered Don Quixote, " are doubtless 
 in hell : the Christians, if they were good Christians, are 
 either in purgatory or in heaven." " 'Very well, "quoth 
 Sancho ; u but let us know now whether the sepulchres, 
 in. which the bodies of those great lords lie interred, have 
 silver lamps burning before them, and whether the walls 
 of their chapels arc adorned with crutches, winding-sheets, 
 old perukes, legs, and eyes - ; and, if not with these, 
 pray, with what are they adorned ?" To which Don 
 Quixote answered:/' The sepulchres of the heathens
 
 04 DON QUIXOTIC. 
 
 Mere for the most part sumptuous temples. The ashes 
 of Julius ('a MIT were deposited in an urn, placed on the* 
 tup of a pyramid of stone, of a prodigious bigness, 
 which is now called the obelisk of St. Peter. The se- 
 pulchre of the Emperor Adrian was a castle as big as a 
 good village, called Moles Adrian!, and now the castle of 
 St. Angelo in Rome. Queen Artemisia buried her hus- 
 band Mausolus in a tomb, reckoned one of the seven won- 
 ders of the world. Cut none of these sepulchres, nor 
 many others of the Gentiles, were hung about with wind- 
 ing-sheets, or other offerings or signs, to denote those to 
 be saints who were buried in them." " That Is what I 
 am coming to," replied Sancho; " and now, pray tell 
 me, which is the more difficult, to raise a dead man to 
 life, or to slay a giant?" " The answer is very ob- 
 vious," answered Don Quixote ; " to raise adead man." 
 " There I have caught you," quoth Sancho. ii His fame, 
 then, Avho raises the dead, gives sight to the blind, 
 makes the lame walk, and cures the sick ; before \\hose 
 sepulchre lamps are continually burning, and \\hosc 
 chapels are crowded with devotees, adoring his relics 
 upon their knees ; his fame, I say, shall be greater both 
 in this world and the next, than that which all the hea- 
 then emperors and knights-errant in the \\o\ id ever had, 
 or ever shall have." " I grant it," answered Don Quix- 
 ote. " Then," replied Sancho, " the bodies and relica 
 of saints have this fame, these graces, these prerogatives, 
 or how do you call them, with the approbation and li- 
 cence of our holy mother church, and also their lamps, 
 winding-sheets, crutches, pictures, perukes, eyes, and 
 legs, whereby they increased people's devotion, and 
 spread their own Christian fame. Besides, kings them- 
 selves carry the bodies or relics of saints upon their 
 shoulders, kiss bits of their bones, and adorn and enrick 
 xheir chapel* and most favourite altars with them."
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 65 
 
 *' What would you have me infer, Sancho, from all you 
 Lave been saying?" said Don Quixote. " I would in- 
 fer," quoth Sancho, " that we had better turn saints im- 
 mediately, and we shall then soon attain to that renown 
 we aim at. And pray take notice, sir, that yesterday, 
 or t'other day (for it is so little a while ago, that I may 
 so speak) a couple of poor bare-footed friars 21 were beati- 
 fied, or canonized, whose iron chains, wherewith they 
 girded and disciplined themselves, people now reckon it 
 a great happiness to touch or kiss; and they are now 
 held in greater veneration than Orlando's sword in the ar- 
 moury of our lord the king, God bless him. So that, 
 master of mine, it is better being a poor friar of the mean- 
 est order, than the valiantest knight-errant whatever; 
 for a couple of dozen of penitential lashes are more 
 esteemed in the sight of God, than two thousand tilts 
 with a lance, whether it be against giants, goblins, or 
 dragons." " I confess," answered Don Quixote, " all 
 this is just as you say : but we cannot be all friars; and 
 many and various are the ways by which God conducts 
 his elect to heaven. Chivalry is a kind of religious pro- 
 fession; and some knights are now saints in glory." 
 " True," answered Sancho; " but I have heard say, 
 there are more friars in heaven than knights-errant." . 
 " It may well be so," replied Don Quixote, " because 
 the number of the religious is much greater than that of 
 the knights-arrant." " And yet," quothSancho, "there 
 are abundance of the errant sort." " Abundance in- 
 deed," answered Don Quixote ; " but few who deserve, 
 the name of knights." 
 
 In these and the like discourses they passed that ni^ht 
 and the following day, without any accident worth re- 
 lating, at which Don Quixote was not a little grieved. 
 Next day they descried the great city of Toboso, at sight 
 tf which Don Quixote's spirits were much elevated, 
 
 VOL. JJ. K.
 
 66 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 and Sancho's as much dejected, because be did not knotv 
 Dulcinea's house, and had never seen her in Ins life, no 
 more than his master had ; so that they were both equally 
 in pain, the one to see her, and the other for not having 
 seen her: and Sancho knew not what to do, when his 
 master should send him to Toboso. In short, Don Quix- 
 ote resolved to enter the city about night-fall; and, till 
 that hour came, they staid among some oak-trees near the 
 town; and the time appointed being come, they went in- 
 to the city, where things befell them, that were things 
 indeed . 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Which contains what will be found in it. 
 
 JlALF the night, or thereabouts, was spent, when Don 
 Quixote and Sancho left the mountain and entered into 
 Tobogo. The town was all hushed in silence; for its 
 inhabitants were sound asleep, reposing, as the phrase is, 
 with out-stretched legs. The night was mot quite a dark 
 one; though Sancho could have wished it were, that (lie 
 obscurity of it might cover or excuse his prevarication. 
 Nothing was heard in all the place but the barking of 
 dogs, stunning Don Quixote's ears and disquieting San- 
 cho's heart. Now and then an ass brayed, swine grunt- 
 ed, and dats mewed ; which different sounds were aug- 
 mented by the silence of the night. All this the 
 enamoured knight took for an ill omen ; nevertheless he 
 said to Saucho, " Sancho, son, lead ou before to Dul-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 67 
 
 cinca's palace ; for it may be we shall find her awake." 
 " To what palace, body of the sun?" answered Sancho,. 
 "That I saw her highness in was but a very littte 
 house." " She must have been retired at that time," 
 replied Don Quixote, " to some small apartment of her 
 castle, amusing herself with her damsels, as is usual witk 
 great ladies and princesses," li Since your worship," 
 quoth Sancho, " will needs have my Lady Dulcinea's 
 house to be a castle, is this an hour to find the gates 
 open; and is it fit we should stand thundering at the 
 door till they open and let us in, putting the whole 
 house in an uproar ? Think you we are going to a baw- 
 dy-house, like your gallants, who knock, and call, and 
 -are let in, at what hour they please, be it never so 
 later" " First, to make one thing sure, let us find this 
 castle," replied Don Quixote, " and then I will tell you 
 what is fit to be done : and look, Sancho; for either my 
 fyes deceive me, or that great dark bulk we sec yonder 
 must be Dulcinea's palace." " Then lead on yourself, 
 sir," answered Sancho : " perhaps it may be so; though, 
 if I were to see it with my eyes, and touch it with my 
 hands, I will believe it just as much as I believe it is now 
 day." 
 
 Don Quixote led the way, and, having gone about two 
 hundred paces, he came up to the bulk, which cast the 
 dark shade, and perceived it was a large steeple, and 
 presently knew that the building was no palace, but the 
 principal church of the place; upon which he said, 
 " We are come to the church, Sancho." " I find we 
 are," answered Sancho, " and pray God we be not come 
 to our graves : for it is no very good sign to be rambling 
 about church-yards at such hours, and especially since I 
 have already told your worship, if I remembej right, that 
 this same lady's house stands in an alley, where there is 
 no thoroughfare." " God's curse light on thee, thou 
 
 K 2
 
 68 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 blockhead^" said Don Quixote: " where have you 
 found, that castles and royal palaces are built in alleys 
 without a thoroughfare?" " Sir," replied Sancho ? 
 <c each country has its customs: perhaps it is the fashion 
 here in Toboso to build your palaces and great edifices in 
 alleys; and therefore I beseech your worship to let me 
 look about among these lanes or alleys just before me; 
 nnd it maybe in one nook or other I may pop upon this 
 same palace, which I wish I may see devoured by dogs, 
 for confounding and bewildering us at this rate." 
 u Speak with respect, Sancho, of my lady's matters," 
 said Don Quixote : " let us keep our holidays in peace, 
 smd not throw the rope after the bucket." " I will curb 
 myself," answered Sancho: " but with what patience 
 can I bear to think that your worship will needs have me 
 know our mistress's house, and find it at midnight, 
 having seen it but once, when you cannot find it yourself, 
 though you must have seen it thousands of times?" 
 *' You will put me past all patience, Sancho," said Don 
 Quixote: " come hither, heretic; have I not told you a 
 thousand times that I never saw the peerless Dulcinea 
 in all the days of my life, nor ever stepped over (he 
 threshold of her palace, and that I am enamoured only 
 by hearsay, and by the great fame of her wit and beau- 
 ty?" " I hear it now," answered Sancho; " and I say, 
 that since your worship has never seen her, no more have 
 I."" That cannot be," replied Don Quixote: " for at 
 least you told me, some tune ago, that you saw her win- 
 nowing wheat, when you brought me the answer to the 
 letter I sent by you."'* Do not insist upon that, sir," 
 answered Sancho ; " for, let me tell you, the sight of 
 her, and the answer I brought, were both by hearsay too ; 
 and I can no more tell ^\ho the Lady Dulcinea is, than 
 I am able to box the moon." " Sancho, Sancho," an- 
 swered Don Quixote, u there is a time to jest, and a time
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 69 
 
 when jests arc unseasonable. What! because I say 
 that I never saw nor spoke to the mistress of my soul, 
 must you therefore say so too, when you know the con- 
 trary so well?" 
 
 While they were thus discoursing-, they perceived one 
 passing by with a couple of mules, and, by the noise a 
 ploughshare made in dragging along the ground, they 
 judged it must be some husbandman, who had got up 
 before day, and was going to his work ; and so in truth it 
 was. The ploughman came singing the ballad of the de- 
 
 j. o o o 
 
 feat of the French in Roncesvalles. Don Quixote hear- 
 ingit, said, " Let me die, Sancho, if we shall .have any 
 good luck to-night; do you not hear what this peasant is 
 singing?" " Yes, I do," answered Sancho : " but what 
 is the defeat at Roncesvalles to our purpose ? He might 
 as well have sung the ballad of Citlainos; for it had been 
 all one as to the good or ill success of our business." By 
 this time the country-fellow was come up to them, and 
 Don Quixote said to him, " Good-morrow, honest friend ; 
 can you inform me whereabouts stands the palace of the 
 peerless Princess Donna Dulcinea del Toboso?", u Sir," 
 answered the young fellow, " I am a stranger, and have 
 been but a few days in this town, and serve a rich farmer 
 in tilling his ground : in yon house over the way live 
 the parish -priest and the sexton of the place: both, or 
 either of them, can give your worship an account of this 
 same princess ; for they keep a register of all the inha- 
 bitants of Toboso: though I am of opinion no princess 
 at all lives in this town, but several great ladies, that 
 might every one be a princess in her own house." 
 " One of these then," said Don Quixote, "must be she 
 I am inquiring after." " Not unlikely," answered the 
 ploughman; " and God speed you well, for the dawn 
 begins to appear:" and, pricking on his mules, he staid 
 for no-more questions.
 
 70 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Sancho, seeing his master in suspense, and sufficiently 
 dissatisfied, said to him,- " Sir, the dciy comes on apace, 
 and it will not be advisable to let the sun overtake us in 
 the street: it will be better to retire out of the city, and 
 that your worship shelter yourself in some grove here- 
 abouts, and I will return by daylight, and leave no nook 
 or corner in all the town unsearched for this house, cas- 
 tle, or palace, of my lady's; and I shall have ill luck if 
 I do not find it: and as soon as I have found it, I will 
 speak to her ladyship, and will tell her where and how 
 your worship is waiting for her orders and direction for 
 you to sec her without prejudice to her honour or repu- 
 tation." u Sancho," replied Don Quixote, " you have 
 uttered a thousand sentences in the compass of a few 
 words : the counsel you give I relish much, and accept 
 of most heartily: come along, son, and let us seek where 
 we can take covert: afterwards, as you say, you shall 
 return to seek, see, and speak to, my lady, from whose 
 discretion and courtesy I expect more than miraculous 
 favours." Sancho stood upon thorns till he got his mas- 
 ter out of the town, lest he should detect the lie of the 
 answer he carried him to the Sable Mountain, pretending 
 it came from Dulcinea; and therefore he made haste to 
 begone, and, about two miles from the place, they found 
 a grove or wood, in which Don Quixote took shelter, 
 while Sancho returned back to the city to speak to Dul- 
 cinea; in which embassy there befel him things which 
 require fresh attention and fresh credit.
 
 BON QUIXOTE. 71 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Wherein is related the Cunning used by Sancho in en- 
 chanting the Lady Dulcinea, with other Events as r/- 
 diculous as true. 
 
 I HE author of this grand history, coming to relate 
 what is contained in this chapter, says, he had a mind to 
 have passed it over in silence, fearing not to be believed, 
 because herein Don Quixote's madness exceeds all bounds, 
 and rises to the utmost pitch, even two bow-shots beyond 
 the greatest extravagance : however, notwithstanding this 
 fear and diffidence, he has set every thing down in the 
 manner it was transacted, without adding to or diminish- 
 ing a tittle from the truth of the story, and not regard- 
 ing the objections that might be made against his veracity : 
 and he had reason ; for truth may be stretched, but can- 
 not be broken, and always gets above falsehood, as oil 
 docs above water: and so, pursuing his story, he 
 says : 
 
 As soon as Don Quixote had sheltered himself in the 
 grove, oak-wood, or forest, near the great Tobqso, he 
 ordered Sancho to go back to the town, commanding him 
 not to return into his presence, till he had first spoken to 
 his lady, beseeching her that she would be pleased to 
 give her captive knight leave to wait upon her, and that 
 she would deign to give him her blessing, that from 
 thence he might hope for the most prosperous success in 
 all his encounters and difficult enterprises. Sancho un- 
 dertook to fulfil his command, and to bring him as good 
 an answer now as he did the time before. " Go thenj 
 son," replied Don Quixote, 4< and be not in confusion 
 when you stand before the blaze of that sun of beauty
 
 72 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 you are going to seek. Happy thou above all the squires 
 in the world! Bear in mind, and be sure do not forget, 
 how she receives you ; whether she changes colour while 
 you are delivering your embassy ; whether you perceive 
 in her any uneasiness or disturbance at hearing my name; 
 whether her cushion cannot hold her, if perchance you 
 find her seated on the rich Estrado - of her dignity ; and, 
 if she be standing, mark whether she stands sometimes 
 upon one foot and sometimes upon the other; whether 
 she repeats the answer she gives you three or four times; 
 whether she changes it from soft to harsh, from sharp to 
 amorous ; whether she lifts her hand to adjust her hair, 
 though it be not disordered: lastly, son, observe all her 
 actions and motions; for by your relating them to me 
 just as they were, I shall be able to give a shrewd guess 
 at what she keeps concealed in the secret recesses of her 
 heart, touching the affair of my love. For you must 
 know, Sancho, if you do not know it already, that among 
 lovers the external actions and i^tinv^, when their loves 
 arc the subject, are most certain courier, a: il bring in- 
 fallible tidings of what passes in the inmost recesses oi the 
 soul. Go, friend; and better fortune than mine be your 
 guide: and may better success, than what I fear and ex- 
 pect in this bitter solitude, send you back safe." " I 
 will go, and return quickly," quoth Sancho: " in the 
 mean time, good sir, enlarge that little heart of your?, 
 which at present can be no bigger than a hazel-nut, and 
 consider the common saying, A good heatt breaks bad 
 luck; and, Where there is no bacon, there are no pins 
 to hung it on; ami, Where ize least think it) there starts 
 the hare: this I say, because, though we could not find 
 tke castles or palaces of my Lady Dulcinea last night, 
 now it is daylight I reckon to meet with them, when I 
 least think of it; and when I have found thorn, let me 
 alone to deal with her.."" Verily, .Sanclio," said Don
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 73 
 
 Quixote, <c you have the knack of applying your pro- 
 verbs so to the subject we are upon, that I pray God send 
 me better luck in obtaining my wishes." 
 
 Upon this Sancho turned his back, and switched his 
 Dapple, leaving Don Quixote on horseback, resting 
 on his stirrups, and leaning on his lance, full of sad 
 and confused imaginations ; where we will leave him, . 
 and go along with Sancho Panza, who departed from his 
 master no less confused and thoughtful than he ; inso- 
 much that he was scarcely got out of the grove, when, 
 turning about his head, and nuding that Den Quixote 
 was not in sight, he lighted from his beast, and setting 
 himself down at the foot of a tree, he began to talk to 
 himself, and say : t( Tell me now, brother Sancho, whi- 
 ther is your worship going ? Are you going to seek some 
 ass that is lost ? No, verily. Then what are you going 
 to seek ? Why, I go to look for a thing of nothing, a 
 princess, and in her the sun of beauty and all heaven 
 together. Well, Sancho, and where think you to find 
 all this ? Where ? In the grand city of Toboso. Very 
 well ; and pray who sent you on this errand ? Why the 
 renowned knight Don Quixote de la Mancha, who re- 
 dresses wrongs, and gives drink to the hungry and meat 
 to the thirsty. All this is very well: and do you know 
 her house, Sancho ? My master says it must be some 
 royal palace or stately castle. And have you ever seen 
 her ? Neither I nor my master have ever seen her. 
 And do you think it Avould be right or advisable that the 
 people of Toboso should know you come with a design 
 to inveigle away their princesses, and lead their ladies . 
 astray ? What if they should come and grind your ribs 
 with pure dry basting, and not leave you a whole bone iji 
 your skin ? Truly they would be much in the right of 
 it, unless they please to consider that I am commanded, 
 and, being but a messenger, am not in fault. Trust not 
 
 VOL. II. i,
 
 74 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 (o that, Sancho ; for the Manchegans are as choleric as 
 honourable, and so ticklish nobody must touch them. - 
 God's my life ! if they smoke nis, \voe be to us. But 
 why go I looking for three legs in a cat, for another 
 
 'man's pleasure? Besides, to look for Dulcinea up and 
 down Toboso is as if one should look for little Marj- in 
 Rabena, or a bachelor in Salamanca. The devil, the de- 
 vil, and nobody else, has put me upon this business." ; 
 This soliloquy Sancbo held with himself, and the up- 
 shot was to return to it again, saying to himself: " Well, 
 there is a remedy for every thing but death, under Avhose 
 dominion we must all pass, in spite of our teeth, at the 
 end of our lives. This master of mine, by a thousand 
 tokens that I have seen, is mad enough to be tied in' his 
 
 'bed: and in truth I come very little behind him: nay, 
 I am madder than he is, to follow him and serve him, 
 if there be any truth in the proverb that says : Show me 
 thy company, and J zciff tell thec zc/iat thon art; or in 
 that other, Not with zahom thon zccrt bred, but with 
 Whom thou art fed. He then, being a madman, as lie 
 really is, ami so mad as frequently to mistake one thing 
 for another, taking black for white, and white for black, 
 as appeared plainly when he said the wind-mills were 
 giants, and the monks' mules dromedaries, and the flocks 
 of sheep armies of enemies, and many more matters to 
 the same tune ; it will not be very difficult to make him 
 brlieve that the first country wench I light ou is the lady 
 Dulcinoa ; and should he not believe it, I will swear to 
 it ; and if he swears, I will outsvvear him ; and if he 
 persists, I will persist more than he, in such manner 
 that mine shall still be uppermost, come what will of it. 
 Perhaps by this positiveness, I shall put an end to his 
 sending me fcgain upon such errands, seeing what pre- 
 posterous answers 1 bring him; or perhaps he will 
 think, as I imagine he will, that some wicked enchanter,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 75 
 
 ftf those he says bear him a spite, has chaugcd her form 
 to do him mischief and harm." 
 
 This project set Sancho's spirit at rest, and lie reckoned 
 his business as good as half done ; and so stayiug where 
 he was till towards evening, that Don Quixote might 
 have room to think lie had spent so much time in going 
 to and returning from Toboso, every thing fell out so 
 luckily for him, that, when he got up to mount his Dap- 
 ple, he espied three country wenches, coming from To- 
 boso toward the place where he was, upon three young 
 asses ; but, whether male or female, the author declares 
 uot, though it is more probable they were she-asses, that 
 being the ordinary mounting of country-women : but, 
 as it is a matter of no consequence, we need not give 
 ourselves any trouble to decidu it. 
 
 In short, as soon as Sancho spied the lasses, he rode 
 back at a round rate to seek his master Don Quixote, 
 whom he found breathing a thousand sighs and amorous 
 lamentations. As soon as Don Quixote saw him, he 
 said: " Well, friend Sancho, am I to mark this day 
 with a white or a black stone?" " Your worship," an- 
 swered Sancho, " had better mark it with red ochre, as 
 they do the inscriptions on professors' chairs, to be the 
 more easily read by the lookers-on." " By this," said 
 Don Quixote, "you should bring good news." " So 
 good," answered Sancho, c; that your worship has no 
 more to do, but to clap spurs to Rozinante, and get out 
 upon the plain to see the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, who, 
 with a couple of her damsels, is coming to make your 
 worship a visit." " Holy God! what is it you say, 
 friend Sancho ?" said Don Quixote. " Take care you 
 do not impose on my real sorrow by a counterfeit joy." 
 " What should I get," answered Sancho, " by deceiv- 
 ing your w r orship, and being detected the next moment ?> 
 Come, sir, put on, and you will see the princess our 
 
 L 2
 
 76 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 mistress, arrayed and adorned, in short, like herself. 
 She and her damsels are one blaze of flaming gold ; all 
 strings of pearls, all diamonds, all rubies, all cloth of 
 tissue above ten hands deep ; their tresses, loose alxnit 
 their shoulders, are so many sun-beams playing with the 
 wind: and, what is more, they come mounted upon 
 three pie -bellied belfreys, the finest one can lay eyes 
 on." " Palfreys, you would say, Sancho," said Don 
 Quixote. " There is no great difference, I think," an- 
 swered Sancho, " between belfreys and palfreys : but 
 let them be mounted how they will, they are surely the 
 finest creatures one would wish to see, especially my 
 mistress the princess Dulcinea, who ravishes one's 
 senses. " ; " Let us go, son Sancho,'* answered Don 
 Quixote ; " and, as a reward for this news, as unex- 
 pected as good, I bequeath you the choicest spoils I 
 shall gain in my next adventure ; and, if that will not 
 satisfy you, I bequeath you the colts my fhree mare* 
 will foal this year upon our town common." "I stick 
 to the colts," answered Sancho; " for it is not very 
 certain that the spoils of your next adventure will be 
 worth much." 
 
 By this time they were got out of the wood, and saw 
 the three wenches very near. Don Quixote darted his 
 eyes over all the road toward Toboso, and seeing nobody 
 tmt the three wenches, he was much troubled, and asked 
 Sancho whether they were come out of the city whrn he 
 left them. " Out of the city!" answered Sancho? 
 are your worship's eyes in the nape of your neck, that yon 
 do not see it is they who arc coming, shining like the sun 
 at noon-day ? T ' " I see only three country girls," an- 
 swered Don Quixote, " on three asses." " Now God 
 keep me from the devil !" quoth Sancho ; " is it possible 
 that three palfreys, or hoAv do you rail them, white as 
 the driven snow, should appear to you to be asses ? As
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 77 
 
 the Lord liveth, you shall pluck off this beard of mine 
 if that be so." " I tell 'you, friend Sancho," answered 
 Don Quixote, u that it is as certain they are he or she 
 asses, as I am Don Quixote and you Sancho Panza ; at 
 least such they seem to me." " Sir, " quoth Sancho, 
 " say not such a word, but snuff those eyes of yours, 
 and come and make your reverence to the mistress of 
 your thoughts, who is just at hand." And so saying he 
 advanced a little forward to meet the country wenches, 
 and, alighting from Dapple, he laid hold of one of their 
 asses by the halter, and, bending both knees to the 
 ground, he said : u Queen, princess, and duchess of 
 beauty, let your haughtiness and greatness be pleased to 
 receive into your grace and good liking your captive 
 knight, who stands yonder turned into stone, in total 
 disorder, and without any pulse, to find himself before 
 your magnificent presence. I am Sancho Pinza his 
 squire, and he is that forlorn knight Don Quixote de la 
 Mancha, otherwise called the Knight of the Sorrowful 
 Figure." 
 
 Don Quixote had now placed himself on his knees 
 close by Sancho, and with staring and disturbed ryes 
 looked wistfully at her whom Sancho called queen and 
 lady ; and, as he saw nothing in her but a plain country 
 girl, and homely enough, for she was round-visaged and 
 fiat-nosed, he was confounded and amazod, without 
 daring to open his lips. The wenches too were astonished 
 to see their companion stopped by two men of such dif- 
 ferent aspects, and both on their knees ; but she who 
 was stopped, broke silence, and, in an angry tone, said: 
 " Get out of the road, and be hanged, and let us pass 
 by, for we arc in haste." To which Sancho made an- 
 swer : " O princess, and universal lady of Toboso, does 
 not your magnificent heart relent to sec kneeling before 
 your sublimated presence the pillar and prop of knight-
 
 78 DON QUIXOTE. , 
 
 errantry?" Which one of the other l\vo hearing, said 
 (checking her boast, that was turning out of the way,) 
 tc Look ye, how these small gentry come to make a jest 
 of us poor country girls, as if we did not know how to 
 give them as good as they bring: get you gone your 
 way, and let us go ours; and so speed you well." 
 " Rise, Sancho," said Don Quixote, hearing this; " for 
 I now perceive that fortune, not yet satisfied with afflict- 
 ing me, has barred all the avenues, whereby any relief 
 might come to this wretched soul I bear about me in the 
 flesh. And thou, O extreme of all that is valuable, ut- 
 most limit of all human gracefulness, sole remedy of this 
 disconsolate heart that adores thee! though now some 
 wicked enchanter persecutes me, spreading clouds and 
 cataracts over my eyes, and has to them, and them only, 
 changed and transformed thy peerless beauty and coun- 
 tenance into that of a poor country wench ; if he has not 
 converted mine also into that of some goblin, to render it 
 abominable in your eyes, afford me one kind and amorous 
 look, and let this submissive posture, and these bended 
 knees, before your disguised beauty, tell you the humi- 
 lity wherewith my soul adores you." " Marry come up, 1 * 
 cried the wench, " with your idle gibberish! Get you 
 gone, and let us go, and we shall be obliged to you.'* 
 Sancho moved off and let her go, highly delighted that 
 he was come off so well with his contrivance. The ima- 
 ginary Dulcinea was scarcely at liberty, when, pricking 
 her beast with a goad she had in a stick, she began to 
 scour along the field ; and the ass, feeling the smart more 
 than usual, fell a kicking and wincing in such a man- 
 ner, that down came the Lady Dnlcinea to the ground. 
 Don Quixote, seeing this, ran to help her up, and San- 
 cho to adjust the panncl, that was got under the a^'s 
 belly. The pannel being righted, and Don Quixote de-. 
 sirous to raise his enchanted mistress in his arms, and set
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 79 
 
 her upon her palfrey, the lady, getting up from the 
 ground, saved him that trouble; for, retiring three or 
 four steps back, she took a little run, and, clapping both 
 hands upon the ass('s crupper, jumped into the saddle 
 lighter than a falcon, and seated herself astride like a 
 man. Upon which Sancho said, " By Saint Roque, 
 madam our mistress is lighter than a hawk, and able to 
 (each the most expert Cordovan or Mexican how to 
 mount a la gineta: she springs into the saddle at a jump, 
 and, without the help of spurs, makes her palfrey run 
 Irke a wild ass ; and her damsels are as good at it as she.; 
 they all fly like the wind." And so it really was ; for, 
 Dulcinea being remounted, they all made after her, and 
 ran, without looking behind them, for above half a 
 league. 
 
 Don Quixote followed them as far as he could with his 
 eyes, and, when they were out of sight, turning to San- 
 cho, he said, u Sancho, what think you? How am I 
 persecuted by enchanters ! and take notice how far their 
 malice and the grudge they bear me extends, even to 
 fhe depriving me of the pleasure I should have had in 
 seeing my mistress in her own proper form. Surely I 
 was born to be an example to the unhappy, and the but 
 and mark at which all the arrows of ill fortune are aimed 
 and levelled. And you must also observe, Sancho, that 
 these traitors were not contented with barely changing 1 
 and transforming my Dulcinea, but they must transform 
 arid metamorphose her into the mean and deformed re- 
 semblance of that country wench; at the same time rob- 
 bing her of that which is peculiar to great ladies, the 
 fragrant scent occasioned by being always among flowers 
 and perfumes: for I must tell you, Sancho, that when 
 I approached to help Dulcinea upon her palfrey, as you 
 call it, though to me it appeared to be nothing but an 
 a^s. she gave me such a whiff of undigested garlic, as
 
 80 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 almost knocked me down, and poisoned my very soul." 
 " O scoundrels!" cried Sancho at this juncture, " O 
 barbarous and evil-minded enchanters! oh, that I might 
 see you all strung and hung up by the gills like sardines <" 
 a-smoking! Much ye know, much ye can, and much 
 more yc do. Jt might, one would think, have sufficed 
 ye, rogues as ye are, to have changed the pearls of my 
 lady's eyes into cork-galls, and her hair of the purest 
 gold into bristles of a red cow's tail, and lastly all her 
 features from beautiful to deformed, without meddling 
 with her breath, by which we might have guessed at 
 what was hid beneath that coarse disguise: though, to 
 say the truth, to me she did not appear in the least de- 
 formed, but rather all beauty, and that increased too by 
 a mole she had on her right lip, like a whisker, with 
 seven or eight red hairs on it, like threads of gold, and 
 above a span long. v " As to that mole," said Don 
 Quixote, " according to the correspondence there is be- 
 tween the moles of the fa^ceand those of the body, Dulci- 
 aea should have another on the brawn of her thigh, on 
 Uie same sid<^ with that on her face: but hairs of the 
 length you mention are somewhat of the longest for 
 anoles." " Yet 1 can assure your worship," answered 
 Sancho, " that there they wore, and looked as if they 
 had been born with her." " I believe it, friend," re- 
 plied Don Quixote; " for nature has placed nothing 
 about Dulciuea but what is finished and perfect : and, 
 therefore, had she a hundred moles, like those you 
 speak of, in her they would riot be moles, but moons 
 and resplendent stars. But tell me, Sanchp, that \\hich 
 to me appeared to be a pannel, and which you adjusted, 
 was it a side-saddle or a pillion?" " It was a side- 
 saddle," answered Sancho, " with a field- covering, 
 worth half a kingdom for the richness of it." "And 
 could not I see all this, Sancho?" said Don Quii-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 81 
 
 ote, " Well, I say it again, and will repeat it a thou- 
 sand times, that I am the most unfortunate of men." 
 The sly rogue Sancho had much ado to forbear laughing, 
 to hear the fooleries of his master, who was so delicately 
 gulled. In short, after many other discourses passed be- 
 tween them, they mounted their beasts again, and fol- 
 lowed the road to Saragossa, which they intended to 
 reach in time to be present at a solemn festival wont to be 
 held every year in that noble city. But, before their ar- 
 rival, there betel them things, which, for their number, 
 greatness, and novelty, deserve to be written and read, 
 as will be seen. 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 Of the strange Adventure which befel the valorous Don 
 Quixote, with the Wain, or Cart, of the Parliament 
 of Death. 
 
 DON Quixote went on his way exceedingly pensive, 
 to think what a base trick the enchanters had played 
 him, in transforming his Lady Dulciuea into the homely 
 figure of a country wench: nor could he devise what 
 course to take to restore her to her former state. And 
 these meditations so distracted him, that, without per- 
 ceiving it, he let drop the bridle on Rozinante's neck; 
 who, finding the liberty that was given him, at every 
 step turned aside to take a mouthful of the fresh grass, 
 with which those fields abounded. Sancho brought him 
 back out of his maze by saying to him, " Sir, sorrow 
 was made, not for beasts, but men j but if men give too 
 
 -VOL. II. M
 
 & DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 much way to it, they become beasts*: ronse, sir, recol- 
 lect yourself, and gatl^r up Rozinante's reins : cheer up, 
 awake, and exert that lively courage so he lilt ing a 
 knight-errant. What the devil is the matter? Wluit 
 dejection is this? Are we here, or in France: Satan 
 take all the Dulcineas in the world, since the welfare of 
 a single knight-errant is of more worth than all the enr- 
 chantments and transformations of the earth." : <e Peace, 
 Sancho,' r answered Don Quixote, with no very faint 
 voice; " peace^ I say, and do not utter blasphemies 
 against that enchanted lady, whose disgrace and misfor- 
 tune are owing to me alone, since they proceed etttkerj 
 from the envy the wicked bear to me." " I say so too," 
 quoth Sancho : " whoever saw her then and sees her 
 now, his heart must melt with grief." " Well may yon 
 ay so, Sancho," replied Don Quixqtc, " you, who 
 aw her in the full lustre of her beauty : for the enchant- 
 ment extended not to disturb your sight, nor to coifceal 
 her perfections from you: against me alone, and against 
 my eyes, was the force of its poison directed. Never- 
 tin less I have hit upon one thing, Sancho, which is, 
 that you did oot give me a true description of her beau- 
 ty : for if I remember right, you said her eyes were of 
 pearl ; now eyes that look like pearl are fitter for a M>U- 
 bream than a lady. I rather think Dulcinea's eyes must 
 be of verdant emeralds arched over with two celestial 
 bows, that serve for eyebrows. Take therefore those 
 pearls from her eyes, and apply them to her teeth ; for, 
 doubtless, Sancho, you mistook eyes for teeth." " It 
 may be so," answered Sancho; " for her beauty con- 
 founded me, as much as her deformity did your worship. 
 But let us recommend all to God, who alone knows what 
 shall befal, in this vale of tears, this evil world we have 
 here, in which there is scarce any thing to be found 
 without soma mixture of iniquity, imposture, or kn&-
 
 DON QUIXOTE, 83 
 
 Tcry. One thing, dear sir, troubles me more than all 
 the rest ; which is, to think what must be done, when 
 your worship shall overcome some giant, or some other 
 knigfrt-erranf, and send him to present himself before th 
 beauty of the Lady Dulcinea. Where shall this poor 
 giant, or miserable vanquished knight, be able to find 
 her? Mothiuks I see them sauntering up and down To- 
 boso, and looking about, like fools, for my Lady Dulci- 
 nea ; and though they should meet her in the middle of 
 the street, they will no more know her than they would 
 my father." " Perhaps, .Sancho," answered Don Quix- 
 ote, " the enchantment may not extend so far as to con- 
 ceal Dulcinea from the knowledge of the vanquished 
 knights, or 'giants, who shall present themselves before 
 her ; and we will make the experiment upon one or two of 
 the first I overcome, and send them with orders to return 
 and give me an account of what happens with respect to 
 this business." il I say, sir," replied Sancho, " that I 
 mightily approve of what your worship has said : for by 
 this trial we shall come to the knowledge of what we de- 
 sire; and, if she is concealed from your worship alone, 
 the misfortune will be more yours than hers: but, so the 
 Lady Dulcinea have health and contentment, we, for our 
 parts, will make a shift, and bear it as well as we can, 
 pursuing our adventures, and leaving it to time to do his 
 work, who is the best physician for these and other 
 greater maladies." 
 
 Don Quixote would have answered Sancho, but was 
 prevented by a cart's crossing the road before him, laden 
 with the strangest and most different figures and per- 
 sonages imaginable. lie, who guided the mules, and 
 served for carter, was a frightful demon. The cart was 
 uncovered, and opened to the sky, without awning or 
 wicker sides. The first figure that presented itself (o 
 POII Quixote's eyes, w as that of Death itself, with a hu-? 
 
 M %
 
 84 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 man visage. Close by him sat an angel with large paint- 
 ed wings. On one side stood an emperor with a crown, 
 seemingly of gold, on his head. At Death's feet sat the 
 god, called Cupid, not blindfolded, but with his bow, 
 quiver, and arrows. There was also a knight completely 
 armed, excepting only that he had no morion, or casque, 
 but a hat with a large plume of feathers of divers co- 
 lours. With these came other persons differing both in 
 habits and countenances. All this appearing on' a sud- 
 den, in some sort startled Don Quixote, and frightened 
 Sancho to the heart. But Don Quixote presently re- 
 joiced at it, believing it to be some new and perilous 
 adventure: and with this thought, and a courage pre- 
 pared to encounter any danger whatever, he planted 
 himself just before the cart, and, with a loud voice, said, 
 * * Carter, coachman, or devil, or whatever you are, de- 
 lay not to tell me who you are, whither you arc going, 
 and who are the persons you are carrying in that coach- 
 waggon, which looks more like Charon's ferry-boat 
 than any cart now in fashion." To which the devil, 
 stopping the cart, calmly replied, " Sir, we are strollers 
 belonging to Angulo el Male's company : this morning, 
 ivhich is the octave of Corpus Christi, we have been per- 
 forming, in a village on the other side of yon hill, a piece 
 representing the Cortes, or Parliament of Death; and 
 this evening we are to play it again in that village just 
 before us; which being so near, to save ourselves the 
 trouble of dressing and undressing, we come in the clothes 
 we are to act our parts inA That lad there acts Death ; 
 that other an angel; yonijer woman, our author's wife, a 
 queen ; that other a soldier ; he an emperor, and I a de- 
 vil; and I am one of the principal personages of the 
 drama ; for in this company I have all the chief parts. If 
 your worship would know any more of us, ask me, and 
 I will answer you most punctually; for, being a, devil, I
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 85 
 
 know every thing." " Upon the faith of a knight-er- 
 rant," answered Uon Quixote, ii when I first espied this 
 cart, I imagined some grand adventure offered itself; 
 and I say now, that it is absolutely necessary, if one 
 would be undeceived, to lay one's hand upon appear- 
 ances. God be with you, good people: go and act your 
 play, and, if there be any thing in which 1 may be of ser- 
 Tice to you, command me; for I will do it readily, and 
 with a good will, having been, from my youth, a great 
 admirer of masques and theatrical representations." 
 
 While they were thus engaged in discourse, fortune so 
 ordered it, that there came up one of the company in an 
 antic dress, hung round with abundance of bells, and 
 carrying at the end of a stick three blown ox -bladders. 
 This masque, approaching Don Quixote, began to fence 
 with the stick, and to beat the bladders against the 
 ground, jumping, and tinkling all his bells: which hor- 
 rid apparition so startled Rozinante, that, taking the bit 
 between his teeth, Don Quixote not being able to hold 
 him in, he began to run about the field with a greater 
 pace than the bones of his anatomy seemed to promise. 
 Sancho, considering the danger his master was in of get- 
 ting a fall, leaped from Dapple, and ran to help him : 
 but, by that time he was come up to him, he was already 
 upon the ground, and close by him Rozinante, who fell 
 together with his master, the usual end and upshot of Ro- 
 zinante's frolics and advcnturings. But scarcely had 
 Sancho quitted his beast to assist Don Quixote, when 
 the bladder-dancing devil jumped upon Dapple, and, 
 thumping him with the bladders, fear and the noise, 
 more than the smart, made him fly through the field to- 
 ward the village, where they were going to act. Sancho 
 beheld Dapple's career, and his master 'stall, and did not 
 know which of the two necessities he should apply to 
 first: but, in short, like a good squire and good servant?
 
 S6 bON QUIXOTE. 
 
 the love be bore his master prevailed over his affection for 
 his ass; though, every time he saw the bladders hoisted 
 in the air, and fall upon the buttocks of his Dapple, they 
 were to him so many tortures and terrors of death, and he 
 could have wished those blows had fallen on the apple of 
 his own eyes, rather than -on the least hair of his ass's 
 tail, In this perplexity and tribulation he came up to 
 Don Quixote, who was in a much worse plight than h 
 could have wished ;' and helping him to get upon Rozi- 
 nante, he said to him, "Sir, the devil has run away with 
 Dapple." " What devil ?" demanded Don Quixote. 
 u He with the bladders," answered Sancho. " I will 
 recover him," replied Don Quixote, " though he should 
 hide him in the deepest and darkest dungeons of hell. 
 Follow me, Sanclio; for the cart moves but slowly, and 
 the 'mules shall make satisfaction for the loss of Dap- 
 ple," " There is no need," answered Sancho, u to 
 make such haste : moderate your anger, sir ; for the de- 
 vil, I think, has already abandoned Dapple, and is gone 
 his way." And so it was; for the devil, having fallen 
 with Dapple, in imitation of Don Quixote and Rozinantc, 
 trudged on foot toward the town, and the ass turned back 
 to his master. , " Nevertheless," said Don Quixote, " it 
 will not be amiss to chastise the unmannerliness of tin's 
 devil at the expense of some of his company, though it 
 were the emperor himself." " Good your worship,'* 
 quoth Sancho, "'never think of it, but take my advice, 
 which is, never to meddle with players; for they are a 
 people mightily beloved. I have seen a player taken up 
 for two murders, and get off' scot-free. Your worship 
 must know, that, as they are merry folks and give plea- 
 sure, all people favour them ; every body protects, as- 
 sists, and esteems, them; and especially if they are ot hi-; 
 ma j( sty's company of comedians, or that of some grandee > 
 all, or most of whom, in their manner and garb, lool v
 
 DtfN QUIXOTE. 87 
 
 like any princess," u For all that," answered Don 
 Quixote, " that farcical devil shall not escape me, nor 
 have cause to brag, though all human kind favoured 
 him." 
 
 And so saying he rode after the cart, which was by this 
 time got very near the town, and, calling aloud, he said: 
 *' Hold, stop a little, merry sirs, and let me teach you 
 how to treat asses and cattle which serve to mount the 
 squires of knights-errant." Don Quixote's cries were so 
 loud that the players heard him, and judging of his de- 
 sign by his words, in an instant out jumped Death, and 
 after him the emperor, the carter-devil, and the angel ; 
 nor did the queen or the god Cupid stay behind ; and all 
 of them, taking up stones, ranged themselves in battle- 
 array, waiting to receive Don Quixote at the points of 
 their pebbles. Don Quixote, seeing them posted in suck 
 order, and so formidable a battalion, with arms uplifted 
 ready to discharge a ponderous volley of stones, checked 
 Jlozinante with the bridle, and set himself to consider 
 how he might attack them with least danger to his person. 
 While he delayed, Sancho came up, and, seeing him 
 in a posture of attacking that well-formed brigade, he 
 said to him : "It is mere madness, sir, to attempt such 
 tin enterprise : pray, consider, there is no fencing against 
 a flail, nor defensive armour against stones and brick- 
 bats, unless it be thrusting one's self into a bell of brass. 
 Consider also, that it is rather rashness than courage, 
 for one man alone to encounter an army, where Death is 
 present, and where emperors fight in person, and are as- 
 sisted by good and bad angels. But if this consideration 
 does not prevail with you to be quiet, be assured, that, 
 among all those who stand there, though they appear to be. 
 princes, kings, and emperors, there is not one knight-er- 
 rant." " Now, indeed," said Don Quixote, "you have
 
 88 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 hit the point, Sancho, which only can, and must, make 
 me change my determinate resolution. I neither can 
 nor ought to draw my sword, as I have often told you, 
 against any who are not dubbed knights. To you it be- 
 long^, Sancho, to revenge the affront offered to your 
 Dapple : and I from hence will encourage and assist you 
 with my voice, and with salutary instructions."" There 
 is no need, sir, to be revenged on any body," answered 
 Sancho ; " for good Christians should not take revenge 
 for injuries ; besides, I will settle it with my ass to sub- 
 mit the injury done him to my will, which is to live 
 peaceably all the days that heaven shall give me of life." 
 "Since this is your resolution, good Sancho, discreet 
 Sancho, Christian Sancho, and pure Sancho," re- 
 plied Don Quixote, "let us leave these phantoms, and seek 
 better and more substantial adventures ; for this country, I 
 see, is likely to afford us many and very extraordinary ones. 
 Then he wheeled Rozinante about : Sancho took his Dap- 
 ple : Death and all his flying squadron returned to their 
 cart, and pursued their way. And thiswasthe happyconclu- 
 sion of the terrible adventure of Death's cart ; thanks to the 
 wholesome advice Sancho Panza gave his master, to whom, 
 the dciy following, there fell out an adventure, no less 
 surprising than the former, with an enamoured knight- 
 errant.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 89 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 Of the strange Adventure which befelthe valorous Don 
 Quixote, with the braze Knight of the Looking" 
 Glasses. 
 
 JD ON Quixote and his squire passed the night ensuing 
 the rencounter with Death under some lofty and shady 
 trees. Don Quixote, at Sancho's persuasion, refreshed 
 himself with some of the provisions carried by Dapple ; 
 and, during supper, Sancho said to his master : " Sir, 
 what a fool should I have been, had I chosen, as a re- 
 ward for my good news, the spoils of the first adventure 
 your worship should achieve, before the three ass-colts ? 
 Verily, verily, A sparrow in the hand is better. than a 
 culture upon the wing." " However, Sancho," an- 
 swered Don Quixote, " had you suffered me to attack, 
 as I had a mind to do, your share of the booty would at 
 least have been the emperor's crown of gold and Cupid's 
 painted wings ; for I would have plucked them off against 
 the grain, and put them into your possession." u The 
 crowns and sceptres of your theatrical emperors," an- 
 swered Sancho, " never were of pure gold, but of tin- 
 sel or copper." " It is true," replied Don Quixote; 
 " nor would it be fit that the decorations of a play should 
 be real, but counterfeit and mere show, as comedi it- 
 self is, which I would have you value and take into 
 favour, and consequently the actors and authors ; for they 
 are all instruments of much benefit to the common-weal, 
 setting at every step a looking-glass before our eyes, in 
 which we see very lively representations of the actions 
 of human life : and there are no comparisons which more 
 truly present to us what we are, and what we should be, 
 
 VOL, II. N
 
 90 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 than comedy and comedians. Tell me ; have- you not 
 seen a play acted, in which kings, emperors, popes, lords, 
 and ladies, are introduced, besides divers other person- 
 ages ? One acts the pimp, another the cheat, this the 
 merchant, that the soldier, one a designing fool, another 
 a foolish lover : and when the phiy is done, and the actors 
 undressed, they are all again upon a level." 4t Yes, 
 marry, have I," quoth Sancho. " Why the very same 
 thing," said Don Quixote, " happens on the stage of 
 this world, whereon some play the part of emperors, 
 others of popes ; in short, all the purts that can be intro- 
 duced in a comedy. But in the conclusion, that is, at 
 the cud of our life, death strips us of the robes which 
 made the difference, and we remain upon the level and 
 equal in the grave." " A brave comparison," quoili 
 Sancho, " but not so new (for I have heard it many and 
 different times) as that of the game at chess; in which, 
 while the game lasts, every piece has its particular oflicc, 
 and, when the game is ended, they are all huddled toge- 
 ther, mixed, and put into a bag, which is just like being 
 buried after we are dead." u Sancho," said Don Quix- 
 ote, " you are every day growing less simple and more 
 discreet." " And good reason why," answered Sancho; 
 " for some of your worship's discretion must needs stick 
 to me, as lands, that in themselves are barren and dry, 
 by dunging and cultivating come to bear good fruit. My 
 meaning is, that your worship's conversation has been 
 the dung laid upon the barren soil of my dry understand- 
 ing, and the cultivation has been the time I have been in 
 your service and in your company ; and by that I hope 
 to produce fruit like any blessing, and such as will not 
 disparage or deviate from the seeds of good breeding, 
 which your worship has sown in my shallow understand- 
 ing." Don Quixote smiled at Sancho's affected speeches,, 
 that appearing tp him to be true, which- he kacl said of
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 1 
 
 his improvement: for every now and then he surprised 
 him by his manner of talking; though always, or for the 
 most part, when Sancho would cither speak in contra- 
 diction to, or in imitation of, the courtier, he ended his 
 discourse with falling headlong from the height of his 
 simplicity into the depth of his ignorance; and that, m 
 which he most displayed his elegance and memory, was 
 his bringing in proverbs, whether to the purpose or not 
 of what he was discoursing about, as may be seen and 
 observed throughout the progress of this history. 
 
 In these and other discourses they spent great part of 
 the night, and Sancho had a mind to let down the port- 
 cullises of his eyes, as he used to say, when he was in- 
 clined to sleep: and so, unrigging Dapple, he turned 
 him loose into abundant, pasture, But he did not take 
 off the saddle from Rozinante's back, it being the ex- 
 press command of his master, that he should continue 
 saddled all the time they kept the field, or did not sleep 
 under a roof: for it was an ancient established custom, 
 and religiously observed among knights-errant, to take 
 off the bridle, and hang it at the pommel of the saddle ; 
 but by no means to take off the saddle. Sancho ob- 
 served this rule, and gave Rozinante the same liberty 
 he had given Dapple ; the friendship of which pair was 
 so singular and reciprocal, that there is a tradition handed 
 down from father to son, that the author of this faithful 
 history compiled particular chapters upon that subject ; 
 but, to preserve the decency and decorum due to so he-f 
 roic an history, he would not insert them ; though, somer 
 times waving .this precaution, he writes, that, as soon a 
 the two beasts came together, they would fall to scratch- 
 ing one another with their teeth, and, when they were 
 tired or satisfied, Rozinante would stretch his neck at 
 least half a yard across Dapple's, and both, fixing their 
 eyes attentively on the ground, would stand three days in
 
 92 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 that manner, at least so long 1 as they were let alone, or 
 till hunger compelled them to seek some food. Jt is re- 
 ported, I say, that the author had compared their friend* 
 ship to that of Nisius aad Euryalus, or that of Pylades 
 and Orestes; whence it may appear, to the admiration of 
 all people, how firm the friendship of these two peaceable 
 animals must have been ; to the shame of men, who so lit- 
 tle know how to preserve the rules of friendship towards 
 one another. Hence the sayings, A friend cannot jind a 
 friend; Reeds become darts; and, as the poet sings, 
 From a friend to a friend, the bug, &c. 24 Let no one 
 think that the author was at all out of the way, when he 
 compared the friendship of these animals to that of men: 
 for men have received divers wholesome instructions, and 
 many lessons of importance, from beasts; such as the 
 clyster from storks, the vomit and gratitude from dogs, 
 vigilance from cranes, industry from ants, modesty from 
 elephants, and fidelity from horses. 
 
 At length Sancho fell asleep at the foot of a cork-tree, 
 and Don Quixote slumbered under an oak. But it was 
 not long before he was awakened by a noise behind him; 
 and starting up, he began to look about, and to listen 
 from whence the noise came. Presently he perceived two 
 men on horseback, one of whom, dismounting, said to 
 the other, (t Alight, friend, and unbridle the horses; for 
 this pface seems as if it would afford them pasture enough, 
 arid me that silence and solitude my amorous thoughts 
 require." The saying this, and laying himself along on 
 the ground, were both in one instant ; and, at throwing 
 himself down, his armour made a rattling noise : a mani- 
 fest token, from whence Don Quixote concluded he must 
 be a knight-errant : and going to Sancho, who was fast 
 asleep, he pulled him by the arm, and having with some 
 difficulty waked him, he said to him, with a low voice, 
 li Brother Sancho, we have an adventure." "Godsend 
 it be a good one," answered Sancho; " and pray, sir,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. J)3 
 
 where may her ladyship Madam Adventure be?'* 
 <l Where, Sancho!" replied Don Quixote; "turn your 
 eyes and look, 'and you will see a knight-errant lying 
 along, who, to ray thoughts, does not seem to be over, 
 pleased ; for I saw him throw himself off his horse, and 
 stretch himself on the ground, with some signs of discon- 
 tent; and his armour rattled as he fell." " But by what 
 do you gather," quoth Sancho, u that this is an adven- 
 ture?" " I will not say," answered Don Quixote, 
 " that this is altogether an adventure, but an introduction 
 to one ; for adventures usually begin thus. But hearken ; 
 for methinks he is tuning a lute of some sort or other, 
 and by his spitting and clearing his pipes, he should be 
 preparing himself to sing." " In good faith, so it is," 
 answered Sancho, " and he must be some knight or other 
 in love." " There is no knight-errant but is so," said 
 Don Quixote: " and let us listen to him; for by the 
 thread we shall guess at the bottom of his thoughts, if he 
 sings ; for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth 
 speaketh." Sancho would have replied to his master; 
 but the Knight of the Wood's voice, which was neither 
 very bad nor very good, hindered him; and, while they 
 both stood amazed, they heard that what he sung was 
 this: 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Appoint, O nymph, a quick returning hour, 
 
 By which your utmost wishes I'll obey; 
 
 With mine indeed they'll hold such even way, 
 That strict compliance will proclaim your pow'r. 
 If silent anguish, and, at last, to die, 
 
 Will meet your wishes, count me even dead ; 
 
 Or if, by some strange means, my love to spread 
 Will meet your fancy, such strange means I'll tr\ . 
 , I'll swear, that of extremes my frame is made, 
 
 Plastic like wax, or as the di'mond hard: 
 
 My heart according to love's laws I'll guard, 
 Which, hard or soft, shall at your feet be laid. 
 
 Whatever form you print upon my breast, 
 
 I swear shall always strongly be imprest. 
 
 K
 
 94 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 "With a deep ah ! fetched, as it seemed, from the very 
 bottom of his heart, the Knight of the Wood ended his 
 song; and, after some pause, -with a mournful and com- 
 plaining voice, he said, " O the most beautiful and 
 most ungrateful woman of the world! Is it then possi- 
 ble, Casildea de Vandalia, that you should sufler this 
 your captive knight to consume and pine away in con- 
 tinual travels, and in rough and laborious toils? Is it not 
 enough, that I have caused you to be acknowledged the 
 most consummate beauty in the world, by all the kni^lifs 
 of Navarre, all those of Leon, all the Andalusians, all the 
 Castilians, ay, and all the knights of LaMancha too?" 
 " Not so," said Don Quixote ; for I am of La Mancha, 
 and never have acknowledged any such thing; neither 
 could I, nor ought I, to confess a thing so prejudi- 
 cial to the beauty of my mistress. Now you see, San- 
 cho, ,how this knight raves; but let us listen; perhaps 
 he will make some farther declaration." tl Ay, marry 
 will he," replied Sanche; " for he seems to be in a strain 
 of complaining for a month to come." But it was not 
 so; for the knight, overhearing somebody talk near him, 
 proceeded no farther in his lamentation, but stood up, 
 and said, with an audible and courteous voice, " Who 
 goes there? What are ye? Of the number of the hap- 
 py, or of the afflicted?" " Of the afflicted," answered 
 Don Quixote. " Come hither to me then," answered 
 the Knight of the Wood, " and make account how you 
 come to sorrow and affliction itself." Don Quixote, find- 
 ing he returned so soft and civil an answer, went up to 
 him, and Sancho did the same. The wailing knight laid 
 hold of Don Quixote by the arm, saying, " Sit down 
 here, sir knight; for, to know that you are such, and 
 one of those who profess knight-errantry, it is sufficient 
 to have" found you in this place, where your companions 
 are solitude and the night-dew, the natural beds and pro* 
 per stations of knights-errant."
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 93 
 
 To which Don Quixote answered, " A knight I am, 
 and of the profession you say; and although sorrows, 
 disgraces, and misfortunes, have got possession of my 
 mind, yet they have not chased away tfiat compassion I 
 have for other men's misfortunes. From what you sung 
 just now I gathered, that yours are of the amorous kind ; 
 I mean, occasioned by the love you bear to that ungrate- 
 ful fair you named in your complaint." Whilst they 
 were thus discoursing they sat down together upon the 
 hard ground, very peaceably and sociably, as if at day- 
 break they were not to break one another's heads. " Per- 
 adventure you are in love, sir knight," said he of the 
 wood to Don Quixote. " Unfortunately I am," an- 
 swered Don Quixote; <' though the mischiefs arising 
 from well-placed affections ought rather to be accounted 
 blessings than disasters." " That is true," replied he 
 of the wood, "supposing that disdains did not disturb 
 our reason and understanding ; but when they are many, 
 they seem to have the nature of revenge." " I never was 
 disdained by my mistress," answered Don Quixote. 
 " No verily," quoth Sancho, who stood close by ; " for 
 my lady is as gentle as a lamb, and as soft as a print of 
 butter." " Is this your squire?" demanded the Knight 
 of the Wood. " He is," replied Don Quixote. " I ne- 
 ver in my life saw a squire," replied the knight of the 
 wood, " who durst presume to talk where his lord was 
 talking: at least, yonder stands mine, as tall as his father, 
 and it cannot be proved that he ever opened his lips where 
 I was speaking." u In faith," quoth Sancho, " I have 
 talked, andean talk, before one as good as and per- 
 haps , but let that rest; for the more you stir, it " 
 
 The Knight of the Wood's squire took Sancho by the arm, 
 and said, " Let us two go where we may talk by our- 
 selves, in squire-like discourse, all we have a mind to ? 
 ajid leave these masters of ours to have their bellies full
 
 96 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 of relating the histories 'of then: loves to each other: for 
 I warrant they -will not have done before to-morrow morn- 
 ing." "With all my heart," quoth Sancho; " and I 
 will tell you who I am, that you may see whether I am fit 
 to make one among the most talkative squires." Here- 
 upon the two squires withdrew; between whom there 
 passed a dialogue as pleasant as that of their masters was 
 grave. 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 Wherein is continued the Adventure of the Knight of the 
 Wood; with the wise, new, and pleasant, Dialogue 
 between the two Squires. 
 
 iHE knights and squires were separated, the latter 
 relating the story of their lives, and the former that ^)f 
 their loves : but the history begins with the conversation 
 between the servants, and afterwards proceeds to that of 
 the masters : and it says, that, being gone a little apart, 
 the squire of the wood said to Sancho, " It is a toilsome 
 life we lead, sir, we who are squires to knighfs-errant : 
 in good truth we eat onr bread in the sweat of our brows, 
 Tfhieh is one of the curses God laid upon our first 
 parents." " It may also be said," added Sancho, "that 
 we eat it in the frost of our bodies ; for who endure more 
 heat and cold than your miserable squires to knight-er- 
 rantry ? Nay, it would not be quite so bad, did we bat 
 eat at all ; for good fare lessens care : but it now and then 
 happens, that we pass a whole day or two without break-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 97 
 
 ing our fast, unless it be upon air." " All this may be 
 .endured," said he of the wood, " with the hopes we en- 
 tertain of the reward : for if the knight-errant, whom a, 
 squire serves, is not over and above unlucky, he must, 
 in a short time, find himself recompensed at least with 
 a handsome government of some island, or some pretty 
 earldom." " I," replied Sancho, " have already told 
 my master, that I should be satisfied with the govern- 
 ment of any island ; and he is so noble and so generous, 
 that lie has promised it me a thousand times." " I,'* 
 said he of the wood, " should think myself amply re- 
 warded for all my services with a canonry, and my mas- 
 ter has already ordered me one." u Why then," quoth 
 Sancho, " belike your master is a knight in the ecclesias- 
 tical way, and so has it in his power to bestow these 
 sort of rewards on his faithful squires : but mine is a mere 
 layman; though I remember some discreet persons (but 
 in my opinion with no very good design) advised him to 
 endeavour to be an archbishop: but he rejected their 
 counsel, and would be nothing but an emperor. I trem- 
 bled all the while, lest he should take it into his head to 
 be of the church, because I am not qualified to hold ec- 
 clesiastical preferments ; and, to say the truth, sir, though. 
 I look like a man, I am a very beast in church matters." 
 " Truly, you are under a great mistake," said he of the 
 wood; " for your insular governments are not all of them 
 so inviting ; some are crabbed, some poor, and some un- 
 pleasant ; in short, the best and most desirable of them 
 carries with it a heavy burden of cares and inconveniences, 
 which the unhappy w ight, to whose lot it falls, must un- 
 avoidably undergo. It would be far better for us, who 
 profess this cursed service, to retire home to our houses, 
 and pass our time there in more easy employments, such 
 as hunting or fishing: for wbat squire is there in the 
 world so poor as not to have bis nag, his brace of grey- 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 08 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 hounds, and his angling-rod, to divert himself within his 
 own village?" 
 
 i( I want nothing of all this," answered Sancho: c< it 
 is true, indeed, I have no horse, but then I have an ass 
 that is worth twice as much as my master's steed. God 
 send me a bad Easter, and may it be the first that comes, 
 if I would swap with him, though he should give me 
 four bushels of barley to boot. Perhaps, sir, you will 
 take for a joke the price I set upon my Dapple, for dap- 
 ple is the colour of my ass. And then I cannot want 
 greyhounds, our town being over-stocked with them: 
 besides, sporting is the more pleasant when it is at other 
 people r s charge." t{ Really and truly, signor squire," 
 answered Ire of the wood, u I have resolved and deter- 
 mined with myself to quit the frolics of these knights-er- 
 rant, and to get me home again to our village, and bring 
 tip my children; for I have three, like three oriental 
 pearls." c< And I have two," quoth Sancho, " fit to be 
 presented to the Pope himself in person, and especially 
 a girl, that I am breeding up for a countess, if it please 
 God, in spite of her mother." " And pray what may b 
 the age of the young lady you are breeding up for a 
 countess?" demanded he of the wood. " Fifteen years, 
 or thereabouts," answered Sancho: u but she is as tall as 
 a lance, as fresh as an April morning, and as strong as a 
 porter." " These are qualifications," said he of the 
 wood, " not only for a countess, but for a nymph of the 
 green grove. Ah the whoreson young slut i how buxoni 
 must the maid be!" To which Sancho answered some- 
 what angrily, " She is no whore, nor was her mother one 
 before her, nor shall either of them be so, God willing, 
 whilst I live. And, pray speak more civilly ; for ^uch 
 language is unbecoming a person educated, as you have 
 been, among knights-errant, who are courtesy itself.'*- 
 " How little, signor squire, do you understand what be-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 99 
 
 longs to praising!" said he of the wood: " What! da 
 you not know, that when some knight, at a bull-feast, 
 gives the bull a home thrust with his lance, or when any 
 one does a thing well, the common people usually cry, 
 6 How cleverly the son of a whore did it!' and what 
 seems to carry reproach with it, is indeed a notable com- 
 mendation? I would have you renounce those sons or. 
 daughters whose actions do not render their parents de- 
 serving of praise in that fashion." " I do renounce 
 them," answered Sancho; u and in this sense, and by 
 this same rule, if you mean no otherwise, you may call 
 my wife and children all the whores and bawds you 
 please ; for all they do or sny are perfections worthy of 
 such praises: and, that I may return and see them again, 
 I beseech God to deliver me from mortal sin, that is, 
 from this dangerous profession of a squire, into which I 
 have run a second time, enticed and deluded by a purse 
 of a hundred ducats, which I found one day in the midst 
 of the Sable Mountain; and the devil is continually set- 
 ting before my eyes, here and there and every where, 
 a bag full of gold pistoles; so that methinks, at every 
 step, I am laying my hand upon it, embracing it, and 
 carry ing it home; buying lands, settling rents, and living 
 like a prince: and all the while this runs in my head, all 
 the toils I undergo with this fool my master, who to my 
 knowledge is more of the madman than of the knight, 
 become supportable and easy to me." 
 
 u For this reason," answered lie of the wood, " it is 
 said, that covetousness bursts the bag: and now you talk 
 of madmen, there is not a greater in the world than my 
 master, who is one of those meant by the saying, Other 
 folk's burdens break the ass's back: for, that another 
 knight may recover his wits, he loses his own, and is 
 searching after that, which, when found, may chance to 
 hit him in the teeth." " By the way, is he in love?" 
 a 2
 
 100 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 demanded Sancho. " Yes," replied lie of the wood, 
 " with one Casildea de Vandalia, one of the most whim- 
 sical dames in the world. But that is not the foot he halts 
 on at present: he has some other crotchets of more con- 
 sequence in his pate, and we shall hear more of them 
 anon." " There is no road so even," quoth Sancho, 
 lt but it has some stumbling-places or rubs in it : in other 
 folk's houses they boil beans, but in mine whole kettles- 
 full: madness will have more followers than discretion. 
 But if the common saying be true, that it is some relief to 
 have partners in grief, I may comfort myself with your 
 worship, who serve a master as crack-brained as my 
 own." " Crack-brained, but valiant," answered he of 
 the wood, " and more knavish than crack-brained or 
 valiant." " Mine is not so," answered Sancho: u I can 
 assure you he has nothing of the knave in him ; on the 
 contrary, he has a soul as dull as a pitcher; knows not 
 liow to do ill to any, but good to all; bears no malice; a 
 child may persuade him it is night at noon-day ; and for 
 this simplicity I love him as my life, and cannot find in 
 my heart to leave him, let him commit never so many 
 extravagancies." " For all that, brother and signor,'* 
 quoth he of the wood, " if the blind lead the blind, both 
 are in danger of falling into the ditch. We had better 
 turn us fairly about, and go back to our homes; for they 
 who seek adventures do not always meet with good 
 ones." 
 
 Here Sancho beginning to spit every now and then, and 
 very dry, the squire of the wood, who saw and observed 
 it, said, " Methinks we have talked till our tongues 
 cleave to the roofs of our mouths : but I have brought, 
 hanging at my saddle-bow, that which will loosen them :" 
 and rising up, he soon returned with a large bottle of 
 wine, and a pasty half a yard long: and this is no exag- 
 geration; for it was of a tame rabbit, so large, that San-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. , 101 
 
 cho, at lifting it, thought verily it must contain a \vhol 
 goat, or at least a large kid. Sancho, viewing it, said, 
 " And do you carry all this about with you?" " Why, 
 what did you think?" answered the other: " did you 
 take me for some holiday squire? I have a better cup- 
 board behind me on my horse, than a general has with 
 him upon a march." Sancho fell to, without staying to 
 be entreated, and, swallowing mouthfuls in the dark, 
 said, " Your worship is indeed a squire, trusty and 
 loyal, wanting for nothing, magnificent and great, as 
 this banquet demonstrates, which, if it came not hither 
 by enchantment, at least it looks like it, and not as I 
 am, a poor unfortunate wretch, who have nothing in my 
 wallet but a piece of cheese, and that so hard that 
 you may knock out a giant's brains with it, and, to bear 
 it company, four dozen of carobes 25 and as many hazel- 
 nuts and walnuts, thanks to my master's stinginess, and 
 to the opinion he has, and the order he observes, that 
 knights-errant ought to feed and diet themselves only 
 upon dried fruits and wild salads." " By my faith, 
 brother," replied he of the wood, li I have no stomach 
 for your wild pears, nor your sweet thistles, nor your 
 mountain roots: let our masters have them, with their 
 opinions and laws of chivalry, and let them eat what 
 they commend. I carry cold meats, and this bottle 
 hanging at my saddle-pommel, happen what will ; and 
 such a reverence I have for it, and so much I love it, 
 that few minutes pass but I give it a thousand kisses and 
 a thousand hugs." And so saying, he put it into San- 
 cho's hand, who, grasping and setting it to his mouth, 
 stood gazing at the stars for a quarter of an hour ; and, 
 having done drinking, he let fall his head on one side, 
 and, fetching a deep sigh, said, " O whoreson rogue! 
 how catholic it is!" u You see now," cried he of the 
 wood, hearing Sancho's whoreson, " how you have com-
 
 109 DON QUIXOTft. 
 
 mended this wine in calling it whoreson." " I confess 
 my error," answered Sancho, " and see plainly that it 
 is no discredit to any body to be called son of a whore, 
 when it comes under the notion of praising. 
 
 '* But tell me, sir, by the life of him you love best, is 
 not this wine of Ciudad Real?" " You have a distin- 
 guishing palate," answered he of the wood : " it is of no 
 other growth, and besides has some years over its 
 bead." " Trust me for that," quoth Sancho: "de- 
 pend upon it I always hit right, and guess the kind. 
 But is it not strange, signor squire, that I should have so 
 great and natural an instinct in the business of knowing 
 wines ? Let me but smell to any, I hit upon the coun- 
 try, the kind, the flavour, and how long it will keep, 
 how many changes it will undergo, with all other cir- 
 cumstances appertaining to wines. But no wonder ; for 
 I have had in my family, by the father's side, the two 
 most exquisite tasters that La Mancha has known for 
 many ages; for proof whereof there happened to them, 
 what I am going to relate. To each of them was given 
 a taste of a certain hogshead, and their opinion asked of 
 the condition, quality, goodness, or badness, of the 
 wine. The one tried it with the tip of his tongue ; and 
 the other put it to his nose. The first said the wine sa- 
 Youred of iron ; the second said it had rather a tang of 
 goat's leather. The owner protested the vessel was clean 
 and the wine neat, so that it could not taste either of iron 
 or leather. Notwithstanding this, the two famous tasters 
 stood positively to what they had snid. Time went on; 
 the wine was sold off, and, at rincing the hogshead, there 
 was found in it a small key hanging to a leather thong. 
 Judge then, sir, whether one of that race may not very 
 well undertake to give his opinion in these matters." 
 " Therefore, I say," replied he of the wood, " let us 
 give over seeking adventures, and, since we have a good
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 103 
 
 loaf of bread, let us not look for cheesecakes; and let us 
 get home to our cabins, for there God will find us, if it 
 be his will." " I will serve my master till he arrives at 
 Saragossa," quoth Sancho, u and then we shall all un- 
 derstand one another." 
 
 In short, the two good squires talked and drank so 
 much, that it was high time sleep should tie their 
 tongues and allay their thirst, for to quench it was im- 
 possible : and thus both of them, keeping fast hold of the 
 almost empty bottle, with their meat half chewed, fell 
 fast asleep, where we will leave them at present, to re- 
 late what passed between the Knight of th Wood and 
 kira of the sorrowful figure. 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 In which is continued the Adventure of the Knight of 
 the Wood. 
 
 AMONG sundry discourses, which passed between Don 
 Quixote and the Knight of the Wood, the history tells us, 
 that he of the wood said to Don Quixote, " In short, sir 
 knight, I would have you to know, that my destiny, or 
 rather my choice, led me to fall in love with the peerless 
 Casildea de Vandalia. Peerless I call her, not so much 
 on account of her stature, as the excellency of her state 
 and beauty. This same Casildea I am speaking of, re- 
 paid my honourable thoughts and virtuous desires by 
 employing me, as Hercules was by his stepmother, in 
 many and various perils, promising me, at the end of each
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 of them, that (be next should crown my hopes: but she 
 still goes on, adding link upon link to the chain of my 
 labours, insomuch that they are become without num- 
 ber; nor can 1 guess which >\ill be the last, and that 
 which is to give a beginning to the accomplishment of 
 my good wishes. One time she commanded me to go 
 and challenge the famous giantess of Seville, called Gi- 
 ralda 26 , who is so stout and strong, as being made of 
 brass, and, without stirring from the place, is the most 
 changeable and unsteady woman in the world. I came, 
 I saw, I conquered; I made her stand still and fixed 
 her to a point; for in above a week's time no wind blew 
 but the north. Another time she sent me to weigh the 
 ancient stones of the stout bulls of Guisando 2 ?, an en- 
 terprise fitter for porters than knights: and another time 
 she commanded me to plunge headlong into Cabra's cave, 
 an unheard-of and dreadful attempt, and to bring her 
 a particular relation of what is locked up in that ob- 
 scure abyss. I stopped the motion of the Girahla, I 
 weighed the bulls of Guisando, I precipitated myself in- 
 to the cavern of Cabra, and brought to light the hidden 
 secrets of that abyss : and yet my hopes are dead ! oh, 
 Low dead! and her commands and disdains alive! oh, 
 how alive ! In short, she has at last commanded me to 
 gravel overall the provinces of Spain, and oblige all the 
 knights I shall find wandering therein to confess that 
 she alone excels in beauty all beauties this day living, 
 and that I am the most valiant and the moist completely 
 enamoured knight in the world. In obedience to which 
 command, I have already traversed the greater part of 
 Spain, and have vanquished divers knights, who have 
 dared to contradict me. But what I am most proud of, 
 and value myself most upon is, the having vanquished in 
 Je combat the so renowned knight Don Quixote de la 
 Mancha, and made him confess, that my Casildea is
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 105 
 
 more beautiful than his Dulcinea ; and I make account, 
 that, in this conquest alone, I have vanquished all the 
 knights in the world ; for that very Don Quixote I speak 
 of has conquered them all, and I having overcome him, 
 his glory, his fame, and his honour, are transferred and 
 passed over to my person ; for the victor's renown rises in 
 proportion to that of the vanquished : so that the innu- 
 merable exploits of the said Don Quixote are already 
 mine, and placed to my account." 
 
 Don Quixote was amazed to hear the Knight of the 
 Wood, and was ready a thousand times to give him the 
 lie, and You lie was at the tip of his tongue : but he 
 restrained himself the best he could, in order to make 
 him confess the lie with his own mouth; and therefore 
 he said, very calmly, " Sir knight, that you may have 
 vanquished most of the knights-errant of Spain, yea, and 
 of the whole world, I will not dispute ; but that you have 
 conquered Don Quixote de la Mancha, I somewhat 
 doubt: it might indeed be somebody resembling him, 
 though there are very few such." " Why not?" re- 
 plied he of the wood. " By the canopy of heaven! I 
 fought with Don Quixote, vanquished him, and made 
 him submit ; by the same token that he is tall of stature, 
 thin-visaged, upright-bodied, robust-limbed, grizzle- 
 haired, hawk-nosed, with large black mustaches: he 
 gives himself the name of the Knight of the Sorrowful 
 Figure; his squire is a country fellow, called Sancho 
 Panza : he oppresses the back and governs the reins of 
 a famous steed called Rozinante : in a word, he has for 
 the mistress of his thoughts one Dulcinea del Toboso, 
 sometime called Aldonza Lorenzo : in like manner as 
 mine, who, because her name was Casildea, and beino- 
 
 O 
 
 of Andalusia, is now distinguished by the name of Casil- 
 dea de Vandalia. If all these tokens are not sufficient to 
 prove the truth of what I say, here is my sword, which 
 VOL. ii. p
 
 106 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 shall make incredulity itself believe it." " Be not in a 
 passion, sir knight," said Don Quixote, "and hear what 
 I have to say. You are to know, that this Don Quixote, 
 you speak of, is the dearest friend I have in the world, 
 insomuch that I may say he is as it were my very self; 
 and by the tokens and marks you have given of him, so 
 exact and so precise, I cannot but think it must be he 
 himself that you have subdued. On the other side, I 
 see with my eyes, and feel with my hands, that it cannot 
 be the same, unless it be, that, having many enchanters 
 his enemies, one especially, who is continually perse- 
 cuting him, some one or other of them may have assumed 
 his shape, and suffered himself to be vanquished, in or- 
 der to defraud him of the fame his exalted feats of chi- 
 valry have acquired over the face of the whole earth. 
 And, for confirmation hereof, you must know, that these 
 enchanters his enemies, but two days ago, transformed 
 the figure and person of the beautiful Dulcinea del To- 
 boso into those of a dirty, mean, country wench ; and 
 in like manner they must have transformed Don Quix- 
 ote. And if all this be not suflicient to justify this truth, 
 here stands Don Quixote himself, ready to maintain it by 
 force of arms, on foot or on horseback, or in whatever 
 manner you please." And so saying, he rose up, and, 
 grasping his sword, expected what resolution the Knight 
 of the Wood w ould take ; who very calmly answered, 
 and said, f( A good pay-master is in pain for no pawn: 
 he, who could once vanquish you, Signor Don Quixote, 
 when transformed, may well hope to make you yield in 
 your own proper person. But as knights-errant should 
 by no means do their feats of arms in the dark, like rob- 
 bers and ruffians, let us wait for daylight, that the sun 
 may be witness of our exploits: and the condition of our 
 combat shall be, that the conquered shall be entirely at 
 the mercy and disposal of the conqueror, to do with hira
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 107 
 
 whatever he pleases, provided always that he command 
 nothing but what a knight may with honour submit to." 
 " I am entirely satisfied with this condition and compact," 
 answered Don Quixote ; and upon this they both went to 
 look for their squires, whom they found snoring in the 
 very same posture in which sleep had seized them. 
 They awakened them, and ordered them to get ready 
 their steeds; for, at sun-rise, they were to engage in a 
 bloody and unparalleled single combat. At which news 
 Sancho was thunderstruck, and ready to swoon, in dread 
 of his master's safety, from what he had heard the squire 
 of the wood tell of his master's valour. But the two 
 squires, without speaking a word, went to look for their 
 cattle, and found them all together ; for the three horses 
 and Dapple had already smelt one another out. 
 
 By the way the squire of the wood said to Sancho 
 " You must understand, brother, that the fighters of 
 Andalusia have a custom, when they are godfathers in 
 any combat, not to stand idle with their arms across, 
 while their godsons are fighting 23 . This I say to give 
 you notice, that, while our masters are engaged, we must 
 fight too, ajid make splinters of one another." " This 
 custom, signer squire," answered Sancho, " may be cur- 
 rent and pass among the ruffians and fighters you speak 
 of; but among the squires of knights-errant, no, not in 
 thought; at least I have not heard my master talk of any 
 such custom, and he has all the law r s and ordinances of 
 knight-errantry by heart. But, taking it for granted, 
 that there is an express statute for the squires engaging 
 while their masters are at it, yet will I not comply with 
 it, but rather pay the penalty imposed upon such peace- 
 able squires; which I dare say cannot be above a couple 
 of pounds of white wax 2 "; and I will rather pay them, 
 for I know they will cost me less than the money I shall 
 spend in tents to get my head cured, which I already 
 
 p 2
 
 108 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 reckon as cut and divided in twain. Besides, another 
 thing, which makes it impossible for me to fight, is, my 
 Laving no sword ; for I never wore one in my life." - 
 " I know a remedy for that," said lie of the wood; " I 
 have here a couple of linen bags of the same size ; you 
 shall take one, and I the other, and we will have a bout 
 at bag-blows with equal weapons." " With all my 
 heart," answered Sancho ; " for such a battle will rather 
 dust our jackets than wound our persons." a It must 
 not be quite so, neither," replied the other : u for, lest 
 the wind should blow them aside, we must put in them 
 half a dozen clean and smooth pebbles, of equal weight; 
 and thus we may brush one another without much harm 
 or damage." '* Body of my father 1" answered Sancho, 
 te what sable fur, what bottoms of carded cotton, he puts 
 into the hags, that we may not break our noddles nor 
 beat our bones to powder ! But though they should be 
 filled with balls of raw silk, be it known to you, sir, I 
 shall not fight; let our masters fight, and hear of it in 
 another world, and let us drink and live : for time takes 
 care to take away our lives, without our seeking new ap- 
 petites to destroy them, before they reach their appointed 
 term and season, and drop with ripeness.'* " For all 
 that," replied he of the wood, " we must fight, if it be 
 but for half an hour," ** No, no," answered Sancho, 
 <c I shall not be so discourteous nor so ungrateful as to 
 have any quarrel at all, be it never so little, with a gen- 
 tleman, after having eaten of his bread and drunk of his 
 drink; besides, who the devil can set about dry fighting 
 without anger and without provocation?" (< If that be 
 all," said he of the wood, " I will provide a sufficient 
 remedy; which is, that, before we begin the combat, I 
 will come up to your worship, and fairly give you three 
 or four good cuffs, which will lay you flat at my feet, 
 and awaken your choler, though it slept sounder than a
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 109 
 
 dormouse." u Against that expedient," answered San- 
 cho, " I have another not a whit behind it: 1 will take a 
 good cudgel, and, before you reacli me to awaken my 
 choler, I will bastinado yours so sound asleep, that it 
 shall never awake more but in another world, where it is 
 well known I am not a man to let any body handle my 
 face ; and let every one take heed to the arrow : though 
 the safest way would be for each man to let his choler 
 sleep; for nobody knows what is in another, and some 
 people go out for wool, and come home shorn them- 
 selves; and God in all times blessed the peace-makers 
 and cursed the peace-breakers ; for if a cat, pursued, 
 pent in a room, and hard put to it, turns into a lion, 
 God knows what I, that am a man, may turn into : and 
 therefore from henceforward I intimate to your worship, 
 signor squire, that all the damage and mischief that 
 shall result from our quarrel must be placed to your 
 account.'* " It is well," replied he of the wood : 
 " God send us daylight, and we shall see what will 
 come of it," 
 
 And now a thousand sorts of enamelled birds be<ran to 
 
 O 
 
 chirp in the trees, and in variety of joyful songs seemed 
 to give good-morrow, and salute the blooming Aurora, 
 who began now to discover the beauty of her face through 
 the gates and balconies of the east, shaking from her 
 locks an infinite number of liquid pearls, and in that de- 
 licious liquor bathing the herbs, which also seemed to 
 sprout and rain a kind of seed-pearl. At her approach 
 the willows distilled savoury manna, the fountains smiled, 
 the brooks murmured, the woods were cheered, and the 
 meads were gilded. But scarcely had the clearness of the 
 day given opportunity to see and distinguish objects, 
 when the first thing that presented itself to Sancho's eyes, 
 was the squire of the wood's nose, which was so large, 
 ihat it almost over-shadowed his whole body. In a word,
 
 110 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 it is said to have been of an excessive size, hawked in 
 the middle, and fall of warts and carbuncles, of the co- 
 lour of a mulberry, and hanging two fingers breadth be- 
 low his mouth. The size, the colour, the carbuncles, 
 and the crookedness, so disfigured his face, that Sancho 
 at sight thereof began to tremble, hand and foot, like a 
 child in a fit, and resolved within himself to take two 
 hundred cuffs before his choler should awaken to encoun- 
 ter that hobgoblin. 
 
 Don Quixote viewed his antagonist, and found he had 
 his helmet on, and the beaver down, so that he could not 
 see his face : but he observed him to be a strong-made 
 man and not very tall. Over his armour he wore a kind 
 of surtout, or loose coat, seemingly of the finest gold, be- 
 sprinkled with sundry little moons of resplendent looking- 
 glass, which made a most gallant and splendid show. A 
 great number of green, yellow, and white, feathers waved 
 about his helmet. His lanre, which stood leaning against 
 a tree, was very large and thick, and headed with pointed 
 steel above a span long. Don Quixote viewed and noted 
 every thing, judging by all he saw and remarked, that 
 the aforesaid knight must needs be of great strength ; but 
 he was not therefore daunted, like Sancho Panza ; on the 
 contrary, with a gallant boldness, he said to the Knight 
 of the Looking-Glasses, " Sir knight, if your great eager- 
 jiess to fight has not exhausted too much of your courtesy, 
 I entreat you to lift up your beaver a little, that I may see, 
 "whether the sprightliness of your countenance be answer- 
 able to that of your figure." " Whether you be van- 
 quished or victorious in this enterprise, sir knight," an- 
 swered he of the looking-glasses, " there will be time 
 and leisure enough for seeing me ; and if I do not now 
 comply with your desire, it is because I think I should 
 do a very great wrong to tBc beautiful Casildea de Van- 
 dulia, to lose so much time as the lifting up my beaver
 
 DON QUIXOTE. Ill 
 
 would take up, before I make you confess what you know 
 I pretend to." " However, while we are getting on 
 horseback," said Don Quixote, " you may easily tell 
 me, whether I am that Don Quixote you said you had 
 vanquished." " To this I answer," replied he of the 
 looking-glasses, " that you are as like that very knight I 
 vanquished as one egg is like another : but, since you 
 say you are persecuted by enchanters, I dare not be posi- 
 tive whether you are the same person or no." u That 
 is sufficient," answered Don Quixote, " to make me be- 
 lieve you are deceived : however, to undeceive you quite, 
 let us horse, and in less time than you would have spent 
 in lifting up your beaver, if God, my mistress, and my 
 arm, avail me, I will see your face, and you shall see I ' 
 am not that vanquished Don Quixote you imagine." 
 
 Then, cutting short the discourse, they mounted, and 
 Don Quixote wheeled Rozinante about, to take as much 
 ground as was convenient for encountering his opponent ; 
 and he of the looking-glasses did the like : but Don 
 Quixote was not gone twenty paces, when he heard 
 himself called to by the knight of the looking-glasses: 
 so meeting each other halfway, lie of the looking-glasses 
 said, u Take notice, sir knight, that the condition of our 
 combat is, that the conquered, as I said before, shall re- 
 main at the discretion of the conqueror." " I know it," 
 answered Don Quixote, " provided that what is com- 
 manded and imposed on the vanquished shall not exceed 
 nor derogate from the laws of chivalry." " So it is to 
 be understood," answered he of the looking-glasses. At 
 this juncture the squire's strange nose presented itself to 
 Don Quixote's sight, who was no less surprised at it than 
 Sancho, insomuch that he looked upon him to be some 
 monster or some strange man, such as are not common 
 now in the world. Sancho, seeing his master set forth 
 to take his career, would not stay alone with longnose,
 
 119 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 fearing, lest one gentle wipe with that snout across his face 
 should put an end to his battle, and he be laid sprawling 
 on the ground, either by the blow or by fear. Therefore 
 he ran after his master, holding by the back guard of 
 Rozinante's saddle; and, when he thought it was time 
 for him to face about, he said : " I beseech your worship, 
 dear sir, that, before you turn about to engage, you will 
 be so kind as to help me up into yon cork-tree, from 
 whence I can see better, and more to my liking, than from 
 the ground, the gallant encounter you are about to have 
 with that knight."" I believe, Sancho," said Don 
 Quixote, " you have more mind to climb and mount a 
 scaffold, to see the bull sports without danger." " To 
 tell you the truth, sir," answered Sancho, " the prodi- 
 gious nose of that squire astonishes and fills me with 
 dread, and I dare not stand near him." "In truth," 
 said Don Quixote, " it is so frightful, that, were 1 not 
 who I am, I should be afraid myself; and therefore come, 
 and I will help you up." 
 
 While Don Quixote was busied in helping Sancho up 
 into the cork-tree, he of the looking-glasses took as large 
 a compass as he thought necessary, and believing that 
 Don Quixote had done the like, without waiting for sound 
 of trumpet, or any other signal, he turned about his horse, 
 who was not a whit more active nor more promising 
 than Rozinante ; and at his best speed, which was a 
 middling trot, he advanced to encounter his enemy; but 
 seeing him employed in helping up Sancho, he reined in 
 his steed, and stopped in the midst of his career ; for 
 which his horse was most thankful, being not able to stir 
 any farther. Don Quixote, thinking his enemy was com- 
 ing full speed against him, clapped spurs to Rozinante's 
 lean flanks, and made him so bestir himself, that, as the 
 history relates, this was the only time he was known to 
 do something like running ; for at all others a downright
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 113 
 
 trot was all : and with this unspeakable fury he soon 
 came up, where he of the looking-glasses stood, striking 
 his spurs up to the very rowels in his steed, without 
 being able to make him stir a finger's length from the 
 place, where he made a full stand in his career. In this 
 good time, and at this juncture, Don Quixote found his 
 adversary embarrassed with his horse, and encumbered 
 with his lance ; for either he did not know how, or had 
 Bot time to set it in its rest. Don Quixote, who heeded 
 none of these inconveniences, with all safety, and with- 
 out the least danger, attacked him of the looking-glasses 
 with such force, that, in spite of him, he bore him to the 
 ground over his horse's crupper ; and such was his fall, 
 that he lay motionless, without any signs of life. San- 
 cho no sooner saw him fallen, than he slid down from 
 the cork-tree, and in all haste ran to his master, who, 
 alighting from Rozinante, was got upon him of the look- 
 ing-glasses, and unlacing his helmet, to see whether he 
 was dead, or to give him air, tf perchance he was alive ; 
 
 when he saw but who can express what he saw, with-. 
 
 out causing admiration, wonder, and terror, in all that 
 hear it? he saw, says the history, the very face, the 
 very figure, the very aspect, the very physiognomy, 
 the very effigy and picture, of the bachelor Sampson Car- 
 rasco; and, as soon as he saw him, he cried out, " Come 
 hither, Sancho, and behold what you must see but not 
 believe: make haste, son, and observe what magic, 
 what wizards and enchanters, can do." Sancho ap- 
 proached, and, seeing the bachelor Sampson Carrasco's 
 face, he began to cross and bless himself a thousand 
 times over ; and all this while the demolished cavalier 
 showed no signs of life ; and Sancho said to Don Quix- 
 ote, " I am of opinion, sir, that, right or wrong, your 
 worship should thrust the sword down the throat of him, 
 who seems so like the bachelor Sampson Carrasco: per- 
 VOL. ii. Q
 
 114 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 haps in him you may kill some one of those enchanters 
 your enemies." " You do not say amiss," replied Don- 
 Quixote; "for the fewer our enemies are the better:" 
 and drawing his sword to put Sancho T s advice in execu- 
 tion, the squire of the looking-glasses drew near, without 
 the nose that made him look so frightful, and cried aloud, 
 " Have a care, Signer Don Quixote, what you do; for 
 he, who lies at your feet, is the bachelor Sampson Car- 
 rasco, your friend, and I am his squire." Sancho, seeing 
 him without that former ugliness, said to him, " And 
 the nose?" To which he answered, " I have it herein* 
 my pocket:" and, putting in his hand, he pulled out a 
 pasteboard-nose, painted and varnished, of the fashion 
 we have already described : and Sancho, eyeing him more 
 and more, with a loud voice of admiration, said, "Blessed 
 Virgin defend me! Is not this Tom Cecial, my neighbour 
 and gossip?" " Indeed am I," answered the unnosed 
 squire; " Tom CeciaM am, gossip and friend to Sanchc* 
 Panza; and I will inform you presently what tricks, lies, 
 and wiles, brought me hither : in the mean time beg and 
 entreat your master not to touch, maltreat, wound, or 
 kill, the Knight of the Looking-Glasses now at his feet- 
 for there is nothing more sure, than that he is the daring 
 and ill-advised bachelor, Sampson Carrasco, our coun- 
 tryman." 
 
 By this time he of the looking-glasses- was come to him- 
 self; which Don Quixote perceiving, he clapped the 
 point of the naked sword to his throat, and said, " You? 
 are a dead man, knight, if you do not confess, that the 
 peertes* Dulcinea del Toboso excels in beauty your Ca- 
 sildea de Vandalia : and farther you must promise, if 
 you escape from this conflict and this fall with life, to go- 
 to the city of Toboso, and present yourself before her on. 
 ray behalf, that she may dispose of you as she shall think 
 fit ; and, if she leaves you at your own disposal, then you
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 115 
 
 shall return, and find me out, for the track of my ex- 
 ploits will serve you for a guide, and conduct you to my 
 presence ; and tell me what passes between her and you ; 
 these conditions being entirely conformable to our articles 
 before our battle, and not exceeding the rules of knight- 
 errantry." " I confess," said the fallen knight, " that 
 the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso's torn and dirty shoe is 
 preferable to the ill-combed though clean locks of Ca- 
 sildea ; and I promise to go and return from her presence 
 to yours, and give you an exact and particular account of 
 what you require of me." a You must likewise confess 
 and believe," added Don Quixote, u that the knight you 
 vanquished was not, and could not be, Don Quixote dc 
 la Mancha, but somebody else like him ; as I do confess 
 and believe, that you, though in appearance the ba- 
 chelor Sampson Carrasco, are not he, but some other, 
 whom my enemies have purposely transformed into his 
 likeness, to restrain the impetuosity of my choler, and 
 inake me use with moderation the glory of my con- 
 quest."" I confess, judge of, and allow, every thing, 
 as you confess, judge of, and allow," answered the dis- 
 jointed knight. " Suffer me to rise, I beseech you, if 
 the hurt of ray fall will permit, which has left me sorely 
 bruised." Don Quixote helped him to rise, as did his 
 squire Tom Cecial, off whom Sancho could not remove 
 his eyes, asking him things, the answers to Avhich con- 
 vinced him evidently of his being really that Tom Cecial 
 lie said he was. But he was so prepossessed by what his 
 master had said of the enchanters having changed the 
 Knight of the Looking-Glasses into the bachelor Sampson 
 Carrasco, that he could not give credit to what he saw 
 with his eyes. In short, master and man remained under 
 this mistake; and he of the looking-glasses, with his 
 squire, much out of humour and in ill-plight, parted 
 from Don Quixote and Sancho, to look for some conve-
 
 11(5 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 nient place where he might cerecloth himself and splin- 
 ter his ribs. Don Quixote and Sancho continued their 
 journey to Saragossa, where the history leaves them, to 
 give an account who the Knight of the Looking-Glasses 
 and his nosy squire were. 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 Giving an Account zcho the Knight of the 
 Glasses and his Squire were. 
 
 -CjXCEEDINGLY content, elated, and vain-glorious, 
 was Don Quixote, at having gained the victory over so 
 valiant a knight, as he imagined him of the looking- 
 glasses to be; from whose knightly word he hoped to 
 learn, whether the enchantment of his mistress continued, 
 the said knight being under a necessity of returning, upon 
 pain of not being one, to give him an account of what 
 should pass between her and him. But Don Quixote 
 thought one thing, and he of the looking-glasses another; 
 who, for the present, thought no farther than of finding 
 a place where he might plaster himself, as has been al- 
 ready said. The history then tells us, that, when the 
 bachelor Sampson Carrasco advised Don Quixote to re- 
 sume his intermitted exploits of chivalry, he, the priest, 
 and the barber, had first consulted together about the 
 means of persuading Don Quixote to stay peaceably and 
 quietly at home, without distracting himself any more 
 about his unlucky adventures; and it was concluded by 
 general vote, and particular opinion of Carrasco, that
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 117 
 
 they should lot Don Quixote make another sally, since it 
 seemed impossible to detain him, and that Sampson should 
 also sally forth like a knight-errant, and encounter him 
 in fight, for which an opportunity could not be long 
 wanting, and so vanquish him, which would be an easy- 
 matter to do; and that it should be covenanted and 
 agreed, that the conquered should lie at the mercy of the 
 conqueror; and so, Don Quixote being conquered, the 
 bachelor-knight should command him to return home to 
 
 O 
 
 his village and house, and not stir out of it in two years, 
 or till he had received farther orders from him : all 
 whichj it was plain, Don Quixote, when oricc overcome, 
 would readily comply with, not to contravene or infringe 
 the laws of chivalry: and it might so fall out, that, 
 during his confinement, he might forget his follies, or an 
 opportunity might offer of finding out some cure for his 
 malady. Carrasco accepted of the employment, and 
 Tom Cecial, Sancho Panza's neighbour, a pleasant-hu- 
 moured shallow-brained fellow, offered his service to 
 be the squire. Sampson armed himself, as you have 
 heard, and Tom Cecial fitted the counterfeit pasteboard- 
 nose to his face, that he might not to be known by his 
 neighbour, when they met. They took the same road that 
 Don Quixote had taken, and arrived almost time enough 
 to have been present at the adventure of Death's car. 
 But, in short, they lighted on them in the wood, where 
 befel them all that the prudent has been reading. And 
 had it not been for Don Quixote's extraordinary opinion, 
 that the bachelor was not the bachelor, signer bachelor 
 had been incapacitated for ever from taking the degree of 
 licentiate, not finding so much as nests where he thought 
 to find birds. 
 
 Tom Cecial, seeing how ill they had sped, and the un- 
 lucky issue of their expedition, said to the bachelor, 
 " For certain, Signer Sampson Carrasco, we have been
 
 JI8 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Tery rightly served. It is easy to design and begin an 
 enterprise, but very often difficult to get through with it. 
 Don Quixote is mad, and we think ourselves wise: he 
 gets off sound and laughing, and your worship remains 
 sore and sorrowful. Now, pray, which is the greater 
 madman ; he who is so because he cannot help it, or he 
 who is so on purpose?" To which Sampson answered, 
 " The difference between these two sorts of madmen is, 
 that he, who cannot help being mad, will always be so, 
 and he, who plays the fool on purpose, may give over 
 when he thinks fit." " If it be so," quoth Tom Cecial, 
 ' I was mad, when I had a mind to be your worship's 
 squire, and now I have a mind to be so no longer, and to 
 get me home to my house." " It is fit you should,^ 
 answered Sampson; "but to think that I will return to 
 mine, till I have soundly banged this same Don Quix- 
 ote, is to be greatly mistaken ; and it is not now the de- 
 sire of curing him of his madness that prompts me to seek 
 him, but a desire of being revenged on him ; for the pain 
 of my ribs will not let me entertain more charitable consi- 
 derations." Thus they went on discoursing till they 
 came to a village, where they luckily met with a bone- 
 setter, who cured the unfortunate Sampson. Tom Cecial 
 Trent back and left him, and he staid behind meditating 
 revenge; and the history speaks of him again in due 
 time, not omitting to rejoice at present with Don Quix- 
 ote.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 119 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 Of what befel Don Quixote with a discreet Gentleman, 
 of La Mancha. 
 
 J-)ON Quixote pursued his journey with the pleasure, 
 satisfaction, and self-conceit, already mentioned, ima- 
 gining, upon account of his late victory, that he was the 
 most valiant knight-errant the world could boast of in 
 that age. He looked upon all the adventures, which 
 should befall him from that time forward, as already 
 finished and brought to a happy conclusion ; he valued 
 not any enchantments or enchanters: he no longer re- 
 membered the innumerable bastings he had received 
 during the progress of his chivalries, the stoning that had 
 demolished half his grinders, the ingratitude of the gal- 
 ley-slaves, nor the boldness and shower of pack-staves 
 of the Yanguesian carriers. In short, he said to him- 
 self, that, could he but hit upon the art, or method, of 
 disenchanting his Lady Dulcinea, he should not envy 
 the greatest good fortune that the most successful knight- 
 errant of past ages ever did or could attain to. 
 
 He was wholly taken up with these thoughts^ when 
 Sancho said to him, " Is it not strange, sir, that I still 
 have before my eyes the monstrous and unmeasurable 
 nose of my gossip Tom Cecial?" " And do you really 
 believe, Sancho," said Don Quixote, " that the Knight 
 of the Looking-Glasses was the bachelor Sampson Carras- 
 co, and his squire Tom Cecial your gossip?" " I know 
 not what to say to that," answered Sancho; " I only 
 know, that the marks he gave me of my house, wife, aiwj 
 children, could be given me by nobody else but himself; 
 and his face, when the, nose was off, was Tom Cecial's
 
 120 . DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 own, as I have seen it very often in our village, next 
 door to my house,; and the tone of the voice was also the 
 very same." " Come on," replied Don Quixote; " let 
 us reason a little upon this business. How can any one 
 imagine, that the bachelor Sampson Carrasco should 
 come like a knight-errant, armed at all poin{s to fight 
 with me? Was I ever his enemy? Have I ever given 
 him occasion to bear me a grudge? Am I his rival? Or 
 does he make profession of arras, as envying the fame I 
 have acquired by them?" " What then shall we say, 
 sir," answered Sancho, " to that knight's being so very 
 like Sampson Carrasco, be he who he would, and his 
 squire so like Tom Cecial my gossip ? And, if it be en- 
 chantmeixt, as your worship says, were there no other 
 two in the world they could be made to resemble?" 
 " The whole is artifice," answered Don Quixote, ft and 
 a trick of the wicked magicians who persecute me ; who, 
 foreseeing that I was to come off vanquisher in the con- 
 flict, contrived that the vanquished knight should have 
 the face of my friend the bachelor, that (he kindness I 
 have for him might interpose between the edge of my 
 sword and the rigour of my arm, and moderate the just 
 indignation of my breast, and by these means he might 
 escape with his life, who, by cunning devices and false 
 appearances, sought to take away mine. For proof 
 whereof, you already know, O Sancho, by infallible ex- 
 perience, how easy a thing it is for enchanters to change 
 one face into another, making the fair foul, and the foul 
 fair; since, not two days ago, you beheld with your own 
 eyes the beauty and bravery of the peerless Dulcinca in 
 their highest perfection, and at the same time 1 saw her 
 under the plainness and deformity of a rude country 
 wench, with cataracts on her eyes, and a bad smell in 
 her mouth: and if the perverse enchanter durst make 
 so wicked a transformation, no wonder if he has done the
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 121 
 
 like as to Sampson Carrasco and your neighbour, in order 
 to snatch the glory of the victory out of my hands. Ne- 
 vertheless I comfort myself; for, in short, be it under 
 what shape soever, I have got the better of my enemy." 
 " God knows the truth," answered Sancho; who, well 
 knowing that the transformation of Dulcinea was all his 
 own plot and device, was not satisfied with his master's 
 chimerical notions, but would make no reply, lest he 
 should let fall some word that might discover his cheat. 
 
 While they were thus discoursing, there overtook them 
 a man upon a very fine mottled gray mare, clad in a sur- 
 tout of fine green cloth, faced with murrey-coloured 
 velvet, and a hunter's cap of the same : the mare's fur- 
 niture was all of the field, and ginet- fashion, murrey- 
 coloured and green. He had a Moorish scimitar hanging 
 at a shoulder-belt of green and gold; and his buskins 
 wrought like the belt. His spurs were not gilt, but 
 varnished with green, so neat and polished, that they 
 suited his clothes better than if they had been of pure 
 gold. When the traveller came up to them, he saluted 
 them courteously, and, spurring his mare, and keeping a 
 little off, was passing on. But Don Quixote called to 
 him : *' Courteous sir, if you are going our way, and are 
 not in haste, I should take it for a favour we might join 
 company." " Truly, sir," answered he with the mare, 
 u I had not kept off, but for fear your horse should prove 
 unruly in the company of my mare." " Sir," 'answered 
 Sancho, "if that be all, you may safely hold in your 
 mare ; for ours is the soberest and best-conditioned horse 
 in the world ; he never did a naughty thing in his life, 
 upon these occasions, but once, and then my master and 
 I paid for it seven-fold. I say again, your worship may 
 stop if you please ;" for were she served up betwixt two 
 dishes, he would not, I assure you, so much as look her 
 in the face." The traveller checked his mare, wondering 
 
 .VOL. II. R
 
 12& DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 at the air and countenance of Don Quixotr, who rod* 
 without hjs helmet, which Sancho carried, like a cloak- 
 bag, at the pommel of his ass's pannel. And if the gen- 
 tleman in green gazed much at Don Quixote, Don Quix- 
 ote stared no less at him, taking him to be some person 
 of consequence. He seemed to be about fifty years of 
 age; had but few gray hairs; his visage aquiline; his 
 aspect between merry and serious: in a word, his mien 
 And appearance spoke him to be a man of worth. What 
 he in green thought of Don Quixote was, that he had 
 never seen such a figure of a man before : he admired the 
 length of his horse, the tallness of his stature, the mea- 
 greness of his aspect, his armour, and his deportment; 
 the whole such an odd figure, as had not been seen in that 
 country for many years past . 
 
 Don Quixote took good notice how the traveller sur- 
 veyed him, and, reading his desire in his surprise, and 
 being the pink of courtesy, and fond of pleasing every 
 body, before the traveller could ask him any question, 
 he prevented him, saying, " This figure of mirie, which 
 your worship sees, being so new, and so much out of 
 the way of what is generally in fashion, I do not wonder 
 if you are surprised at : but you will cease to be so, 
 when I tell you, as I do, that I am one of those knights 
 whom people call Seekers of adventures. I left my 
 country, mortgaged my estate, quitted my ease and plea- 
 sures, and threw myself into the arms of fortune, to carry 
 me whither she pleased. I had a mind to revive the 
 long-deceased chivalry ; and, for some time past, stum- 
 bling here and tumbling there, falling headlong in one 
 place, and getting up again in another, I have accom- 
 plished a great part of my design, succouring widows, 
 protecting damsels, aiding married women and orphans ; 
 Ihe natural and proper office of knights-errant. And 
 tbus, by many valorous and Christian exploits, I have
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 123 
 
 merited the honour of being in print, in all or most of 
 the nations in the world. Thirty thousand copies are al- 
 ready published of my history, and it is in the way of 
 coming to thirty thousand thousands more, if heaven 
 prevent it not. Finally, to sum up all in few words, or 
 in one only, know, I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, 
 otherwise called the Knight of the Sorrowful Figure; 
 and though self-praises depreciate, I am sometimes forced 
 to publish my own commendations ; but this is to be un- 
 derstood, when nobody else is present to do it for me. 
 So that, worthy sir, neither this horse, this lance, this 
 shield, nor this squire, nor all this armour together, nor 
 the wanness of my visage, nor my meagre lankness, 
 ought from henceforward to be matter of wonder to you, 
 now that you know who I am, and the profession I fol* 
 low." 
 
 Here Don Quixote was silent, and he in green was so 
 long before he returned any answer, that it looked as if he 
 could not hit upon a reply; but, after some pause, he 
 said, u Sir knight, you judged right of my desire by my 
 surprise; but you have not removed the wonder raised in 
 me at seeing you : for, supposing, as you say, that my 
 knowing who you are might have removed it, yet it has 
 not done so: on the contrary, now that I know it, I am 
 in greater admiration and surprise than before. What! 
 is it possible, that there are knights-errant now in the 
 world, and that there are histories printed of real chi^ 
 valries ? I never could have thought there was any body 
 now upon earth who relieved widows, succoured dam- 
 sels, aided married women, or protected orphans, nor 
 should yet have believed it, had I not seen it in your 
 worship with my own eyes. Blessed be heaven fer this 
 history, which your worship says is in print, of your 
 exalted and true achievements ; it must have cast into 
 oblivion the numberless fables of fictitious knights-errant,
 
 121 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 with which the world was filled, so much to the detriment 
 of good morals, and the prejudice and discredit of good 
 histories." u There is a great deal to be said," answered 
 Don Quixote, " upon this subject, whether the histories 
 of knights-errant are fictitious or not." " Why, is there 
 any one," answered he in green, " that has the least sus- 
 picion that those histories are not false?" " I have," said 
 Don Quixote: "but no more of that; for, if we travel 
 any time together, I hope in God to convince you, sir, 
 that you have done amiss in suffering yourself to be car- 
 ried away by the current of those who take it for granted 
 they are not true." From these last words of Don Quix- 
 ote the traveller began to suspect he must be some mad- 
 man, and waited for a farther confirmation of his suspi- 
 cion: but, before they fell into any other discourse, Don 
 Quixote desired him to tell him who he was, since he had 
 given him some account of his own condition and life. 
 
 To which he in the green riding-coat answered, " I, 
 Sir Knight of the Sorrowful Figure, am a gentleman, na- 
 tive of a village, where, God willing, we shall dine to- 
 day. I am more than indifferently rich, and my name 
 is Don Diego de Miranda. I spend my time with my 
 wife, my children, and my friends: my diversions are 
 Lunting and fishing; but I keep neither hawks nor grey- 
 hounds, only some decoy partridges, and a stout ferret. 
 I have about six dozen of books, some Spanish, some 
 .Latin, some of history, and some of devotion : those of 
 chivalry have not yet come over my threshold. I am 
 more inclined to the reading of profane authors than re- 
 ligious, provided they are upon subjects of innocent 
 amusement, the language agreeable, and the invention 
 new and surprising, though indeejl there are very few of 
 this sort in Spain. Sometimes I eat with my neighbours 
 and friends, and sometimes I invite them : roy table is neat 
 and clean, and tolerably furnished, I neither censure
 
 DON QUIXOTE. , 
 
 others myself, nor allow others to do it before me. I in- 
 quire not into other men's lives, nor am I sharp-sighted 
 to pry into their actions. I hear mass every day : I share 
 my substance with the poor, making no parade with my 
 good works, nor harbouring in my breast hypocrisy and 
 vain-glory, those enemies which so slily get possession of 
 the best guarded hearts. I endeavour to make peace be- 
 tween those that are at variance. I devote myself parti- 
 cularly to our blessed lady, and always trust in the infi- 
 nite mercy of God our Lord." 
 
 Sancho was very attentive to the relation of the gentle- 
 man's life and conversation ; all which appeared to him 
 to be good and holy ; and, thinking that one of such a 
 character must needs work miracles, he flung himself off 
 his Dapple, and running hastily laid hold of his right 
 stirrup; and, with a devout heart, and almost weeping 
 eyci, he kissed his feet more than once. Which the 
 gentleman perceiving, said, " What mean you, brother? 
 What kisses are these ?" " Pray let me kiss on," an- 
 swered Sancho; " for your worship is the first saint on 
 horseback I ever saw in all the days of my life." u I am 
 no saint," answered the gentleman, " but a great sinner: 
 you, brother, must needs be very good, as your simpli- 
 city demonstrates." Sancho went off, and got- again 
 upon his pannel, having forced a smile from the profound 
 gravity of his master, and caused fresh admiration in 
 Don Diego. 
 
 Don Quixote then asked him how many children he 
 had, telling him that one of the things, wherein the an- 
 cient philosophers, who wanted the true knowledge of 
 God, placed the supreme happiness, was, in the gifts of 
 nature and fortune, in having many friends and many 
 good children. " I, Signor Don Quixote," answered the 
 gentleman, " have one son ; and, if I had him not, per- 
 haps I should think myself happier than I am, not be-
 
 J26 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 cause he is bad, but because he is not so good as I would 
 have him. He is eighteen years old; six he has been at 
 Salamanca, learning the Latin and Greek languages, and, 
 when I was desirous he should study other sciences, I 
 found him so over head and ears in poetry, if that may be 
 called a science, that there was no prevailing with him to 
 look into the law, which was what I would have had him 
 studied; nor into divinity, the queen of all sciences. I 
 nas desirous he should be the crown and honour of his 
 family, since we live in an age in which our kings highly 
 reward useful and virtuous literature; for letters without 
 virtue are pearls in a dunghill. He passes whole days in 
 examining whether Homer expressed himself well in such 
 a verse of the Iliad; whether Martial, in such an epi- 
 gram, be obscene or not ; whether such a verse in Virgil 
 is to be understood this or that way. In a word, all his 
 conversation is with the books of the aforesaid poets, and 
 with those of Horace, Persius, Juvenal, and Tibullus. 
 As to the modern Spanish authors, he makes no great ac- 
 count of them; though, notwithstanding the antipathy 
 he seems to have to Spanish poetry, his thoughts are at 
 this very time entirely taken up with making a gloss 
 upon four verses sent him from Salamanca, which, I 
 think, were designed for a scholastic prize.*' 
 
 To all which Don Quixote answered, u Children, sir, 
 are pieces of the bowels of their parents, and, whether 
 good or bad, must be loved and cherished as parts of our- 
 selves. It is the duty of parents to train them up from 
 their infancy in the paths of virtue and good manners, 
 and in good principles and Christian discipline, that, 
 when they are grown up, they may be the staff of their 
 parents' age, and an honour to their posterity. As to 
 forcing them to this or that science, I do not hold it to be 
 right, though I think there is no harm in advising them : 
 and when there is no need of studying merely for bread^
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 127 
 
 the student being so happy as to have it by inheritance, I 
 should be for indulging him in the pursuit of that science 
 to which his genius is most inclined. And though that of 
 poetry be less profitable than delightful, it is not one of 
 those that are wont to disgrace the possessor. Poetry, 
 good sir, I take to be like a tender virgin, very young, 
 and extremely beautiful, whom divers other virgins, 
 namely, all the other sciences, make it their business to 
 enrich, polish, and adorn ; and to her it belongs to make 
 use of them all, and on her part to give a lustre to them 
 all. But this same virgin is not to be rudely handled, 
 nor dragged through the streets, nor exposed in the turn- 
 ings of the market-place, nor posted on the corners r 
 gutcs of palaces. She is formed of an alchymy of such 
 virtue, that he who knows how to manage her will con- 
 rert her into the purest gold of inestimable price. He 
 who possesses her should keep a strict hand over her, 
 not suffering her to make excursions in obscene satires or 
 lifeless sonnets. She must in nowise be venal; though 
 she need not reject the profits arising from heroic poems, 
 mournful tragedies, or pleasant and artful comedies. 
 She must not be meddled with by buffoons, or by the ig- 
 norant vulgar, incapable of knowing or esteeming the 
 treasures locked up in her. And think not, sir, that I 
 give the appellation of vulgar to the common people 
 alone : all the ignorant, though they be lords or princes, 
 ought, and must, be taken into the number. He, there- 
 fore, who, with the aforesaid qualifications, addicts him- 
 self to the study and practice of poetry, will become 
 famous, and his name be honoured in all the polite na- 
 tions of the world. And as to what you say, sir, that 
 your son does not much esteem the Spanish poetry, I am 
 of opinion that he is not very right in that ; and the rea- 
 son is this: the great Homer did not write in Latin, be- 
 cause he was a Greek ; nor Virgil in Greek, because he
 
 128 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 was a Roman. In sbort, all the ancient poets wrote in 
 the language they sucked in with their mother's milk, and 
 did not hunt after foreign tongues to express the sublimity 
 of their conceptions. And this being so, it is fit this 
 custom should take place in all nations; and the German 
 poet should not be disregarded for writing in his own 
 tongue, nor the Castilian, nor even the Biscainer, for 
 writing in his. But your son, I should imagine, does 
 not dislike the Spanish poetry, but the poets who are 
 merely Spanish, without any knowledge of other lan- 
 guages or sciences, which might adorn, enliven, and as- 
 sist, their natural genius : though even in this there may 
 be a mistake ; for it is a true opinion, that the poet is 
 born one; the meaning of which is, that a natural poet 
 comes forth a poet from his mother's womb, and, with 
 this talent given him by heaven, and without farther 
 study or art, composes things, which verify the saying, 
 JEst deus in nobis, &c. Not but that a natural poet, who 
 improves himself by art, will be a much better poet, and 
 have the advantage of him who has no other title to it but 
 the knowledge of that art alone : and the reason is, be- 
 cause art cannot exceed nature, but only perfect it; so 
 that art mixed with nature, and nature with art, form a 
 complete poet. To conclude my discourse, good sir, 
 let your son follow the direction of his stars: for, being 
 so good a scholar, as he must needs be, and having al- 
 ready happily mounted the first round of the ladder of the 
 sciences, that of the languages, with the help of these, 
 he will by himself ascend to the top of human learning, 
 w : hich is no less an honour and an ornament to a gentle- 
 man, than a mitre to a bishop, or the long robe to the 
 learned in the law. If yoar son writes satires injurious 
 to the reputation of others, chide him, and tear his per- 
 formances: but, if he pens discourses in the manner of 
 Horace, reprehending vice in genera), as that poet so
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 129 
 
 elegantly does, commend him, because it is lawful for a 
 poet to write against envy, and to brand the envious in 
 his-verses; and so of other vices; but not to single out 
 particular characters. There are poets, who, for the 
 pleasure of saying one smart thing, will run the hazard of 
 being banished to the isles of Pontus 30 . If the poet be 
 chaste in his manners, he will be so in his verses : the pen 
 is the tongue of the mind; such as its conceptions are, 
 guch will its productions be. And when kings and prin- 
 ces see the wonderful science of poetry employed on pru- 
 dent, virtuous, and grave, subjects, they honour, esteem, 
 and enrich, the poets, and even crown them with the 
 leaves of that tree, which the thunderbolt hurts not ; sig- 
 nifying, as it were, that nobody ought to offend those 
 who wear such crowns, and whose temples are so 
 adorned." 
 
 The gentleman in green admired much Don Quixote's 
 discourse, insomuch that he began to waver in his opi- 
 nion as to his being a madman. But in the midst of the 
 conversation, Sancho, it not being much to his taste, was 
 gone out of the road to beg a little milk of some shep- 
 herds, who were hard-by milking some ewes. And now 
 the gentleman, highly satisfied with Don Quixote's in- 
 genuity and good sense, was renewing the discourse, 
 when on a sudden Don Quixote, lifting up his eyes, per- 
 ceived a car, with royal banners, coming the same road 
 they were going, and, believing it to be some new adven- 
 ture, he called aloud to Sancho to come and give him his 
 helmet. Sancho hearing himself called, left the shep- 
 herds, and, in all haste, pricking his Dapple, came where 
 his master was, whom there befei a most dreadful and 
 stupendous adventure. 
 
 T o L . n .
 
 130 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAP. XVII. 
 
 Wherein is set forth the last and highest point at xhich 
 the unheard-of Courage of Don Quixote crcr did or 
 could arrive; with the happy Conclusion of the Ad" 
 venture of the Lions* 
 
 1 HE history relates, that when Don Quixote called out 
 to Sancho to bring him his helmet, lie was buying sonic 
 curds of the shepherds; and, being hurried by the vio- 
 lent haste his master was in, he knew not what to do with 
 them, nor how to bestow them ; and that he might not 
 lose them, now they were paid for, he bethought him of 
 clapping them into his master's helmet ; and, with this ex- 
 cellent shift, back he came to learn the commands of his 
 lord, who said to him : ** Friend, give me the helmet; 
 for either I know little of adventures, or that which 1 ties- 
 cry yonder is one that does and will oblige me to have 
 recourse to arms." He in the green riding-coat, hear- 
 ing this, cast his eyes every way as far as he could, and 
 discovered nothing but a car coming towards them, with 
 t\vo or three small flags, by which he conjectured that 
 the said car was bringing some of the king's money; and 
 so he told Don Quixote: but he believed him not, always 
 thinking and imagining that every thing that befel him 
 must be an adventure, and adventures upon adventures; 
 and thus he replied to the gentleman: " Preparation is 
 half the battle, and nothing is lost by being upon one's 
 guard. I know by experience, that I have enemies both 
 risible and invisible, and I know not when, nor from 
 what quarter, nor at what time, nor in what shape, they 
 Trill encounter me;" and turning about, he demanded his
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 131 
 
 fielmet of Sancho, who, not having 1 time to take out the 
 curds, was forced to give it him as it was. Don Quix- 
 ote took it, and, without minding what was in it, clap- 
 ped it hastily upon his head ; and as the curds were 
 squeezed and pressed, the whey began to run down the 
 face and beard of Don Quixote; at which he was so star- 
 tled, that he said to Sancho, " What can this mean, San- 
 cho? met h inks my skull is softening, or my brains melt- 
 ing, or I sweat from head to foot ; and if I do really sweat, 
 in truth it is not through fear, though I verily believe I 
 am like to have a terrible adventure of this. If you have 
 any thing to wipe with, give it me; for the copious sweat 
 quite blinds my eyes." Sancho said nothing, and gave 
 him a cloth, and with it thanks to God, that his master 
 had not found out the truth. Don Quixote wiped him- 
 self, and took off Ids helmet to sec what it was that so 
 over-cooled his head ; and seeing some white lumps in it, 
 he put them to his nose, and smelling to them said, " By 
 the life of my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, they are curds 
 you have clapped in here, vile traitor and inconsiderate 
 squire!'' To which Sancho answered, with great phlegm 
 and dissimulation, " If they are curds, give me them to 
 eat : but the devil eat them for me ; for it must be lie that 
 put them there. What ! I offer to foul your worship's 
 helmet! In faith, sir, by what God gives me to under- 
 stand, I too have my enchanters, who persecute me, as a 
 creature and member of your worship, and I warrant have 
 put that filthiness there, to stir your patience to wrath 
 against me, and provoke you to bang my sides as you. 
 used to do. But truly this bout they have missed their 
 aim; for I trust to the candid judgment of my master, 
 who will consider, that I have neither curds, nor cream, 
 nor any thing like it; and that if I had I should sooner 
 have put them into my stomach than into your honour's, 
 helmet." " It may be so," replied Don Quixote. All 
 
 s 2
 
 152 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 this the gentleman saw, and saw with admiration, espe- 
 cially when Don Quixote, after having wiped his head, 
 face, beard, and helmet, clapping it on, and fixing him- 
 self firm in his stirrups, then trying the easy drawing of 
 liis of his sword, and grasping his lance, said, " Now 
 come what will ; for here I am, prepared to encounter Sa- 
 tan himself in person." 
 
 By this time the car with the flags was come up, and 
 nobody with it but the carter upon one of the mules, and 
 a man sitting upon the fore-part. Don Quixote planted 
 himself just before them, and said, " Whither go ye, 
 brethren ? What car is this ? What have you in it, and 
 what banners are those ?" To which the carter answered, 
 " The car is mine, and in it arc two fierce lions, which 
 the general of Oran is sending to court, as a present to his 
 majesty : the flags belong to our liege the king, to show 
 that what is in the car is his." u And are the lions 
 large?" demanded Don Quixote. " So large," replied 
 the man upon the fore-part of the car, u that larger ne- 
 ver came from Africa into Spain : I ara their keeper, and 
 have had charge of several, but never of any so large a& 
 these ; they are a male and a female ; the male is in the 
 first cage, and the female in that behind: at present they 
 are hungry, not having eaten to-day, and therefore, sir, 
 get out of the way ; for we must make haste to tlie place 
 where we are to feed them/* At which Don Quixote, 
 smiling a little, said, ** To me your lion-whelps! your 
 lion-whelps to me! and at this time of the day! By the 
 living God, those whose sent them hither shall see 
 Tyhether I am a man to be scared by lions ! Alight, honest 
 friend ; and, since you are their keeper, open the cages, 
 and turn out those beasts; for in the midst of this field 
 will I make them know who Don Quixote de la Mancha 
 is, in spite of the enchanters that sent them to me." 
 ** Very well," sakl the gentleman to himself, " our good
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 133 
 
 knight has given us a specimen of what he is: doubtless, 
 the curds have softened his skull and ripened his brains." 
 Then Sancho came to him, and said, " For God's sake, 
 sir, order it so, that my master Don Quixote may not en- 
 counter these lions; for if he does they will tear us all to 
 pieces." u What then, is your master really so mad," 
 answered the gentleman, li that you fear and believe he 
 will attack such fierce animals?" " He is not mad," 
 answered Sancho, " but daring." a I will make him de- 
 sist," replied the gentleman ; and going to Don Quixote, 
 who was hastening the keeper to open the cages, he said, 
 " Sir, knights-errant should undertake adventures which 
 promise good success, and not such as are quite despe- 
 rate ; for the valour which borders too near upon the con- 
 fines of rashness, has in it more of madness than fortitude : 
 besides, these lions do not come to assail your worship, 
 nor do they so much as dream of any such thing : they 
 are going to be presented to his majesty ; and it is not pro- 
 per to detain them or hinder their journey." " Sweet 
 sir," answered Don Quixote, " go hence, and mind your 
 decoy- partridge and your stout ferret, and leave every 
 one to his own business. This is mine, and I will know 
 whether these gentlemen lions come against me or no." 
 And turning to the keeper, he said, " I vow to God, Don 
 rascal, if you do not instantly open the cages, with this 
 lance I will pin you to the car." The carter, seeing the 
 resolution of this armed apparition, said, " Good sir, 
 for charity's sake, be pleased to let me take off my mules, 
 and get with them out of danger, before the lions are let 
 loose ; for should my cattle be killed, I am undone for all 
 the days of my life, having no other livelihood but thi* 
 car and these mules." " O man of little faith!" an- 
 swered Don Quixote, " alight and unyoke, and do what 
 you will; for you shall quickly see you have laboured in 
 vain, and might have saved yourself this trouble."
 
 134 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 The carter alighted, and unyoked in great haste; and 
 the keeper said aloud, " Bear witness, all here present, 
 that against ray will, and by compulsion, I open the 
 cages and let loose the lions; and that I enter my protest 
 against this gentleman, that all the harm and mischief 
 these beasts do shall stand and be placed to his account, 
 with my salary and perquisites over and above : pray, 
 gentlemen, shift for yourselves before I open ; for, as to 
 myself, I am sure they will do me no hurt." Again the 
 gentleman pressed Don Quixote to desist from doing so 
 mad a thing, it being to tempt God, to undertake so ex- 
 travagant an action. DonQtixote replied, that he knew 
 what he did. The gentleman rejoined, bidding him con- 
 sider well of it, for he was certain he deceived himself. 
 " Nay, sir," replied Don Quixote, " if you do not care 
 to be a spectator of what you think will prove a tragedy, 
 spur your mottled gra}-, and save yourself." Sancho, 
 hearing this, besought him with tears in his eyes to desist 
 from that enterprise, in comparison whereof that of the 
 wind-mills, and that fearful one of the fulling-mill-ham- 
 mers, in short, all the exploits he had performed in the 
 whole course of his life, were mere tarts and cheesecakes. 
 " Consider, sir," quoth Sancho, " that here is no en- 
 chantment, nor any thing like it : for I have seen 
 through the grates and chinks of the cage the claw of a 
 true lion; and I guess by it, that the lion to whom 
 such a claw belongs is bigger than a mountain." 
 " However it be," answered Don Quixote, " fear will 
 make it appear to you bigger than half the world. Re- 
 tire, Sancho, and leave me ; and if I die here, you know 
 our old agreement: repair to Dulcinea; I say no more." 
 To these he added other expressions, with which he cut 
 off all hope of his desisting from his extravagant design. 
 He in green would fain have opposed him, but found 
 himself unequally matched in weapons and armour,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 135 
 
 did not think it prudent to engage with a madman; for 
 such, by this time, -he took Don Quixote to be in all 
 points: who hastening the keeper, and reiterating his 
 menaces, the gentleman took occasion to clap spurs to his 
 mare, Sancho to Dapple, and the carter to his mules all 
 endeavouring to get as far from the car as they could, be- 
 fore the lions were let loose. Sancho lamented the death 
 of his master, verily believing it would now overtake 
 him in the paws of the lions: he cursed his hard fortune, 
 and the unlucky hour when it. came into his head to serve 
 him again : but for all his tears and larnentatigns, he 
 ceased not punching his Dapple to get far enough from 
 the car. The keeper, seeing that the fugitives were got a 
 good May off, repeated his arguments and entreaties to 
 Don Quixote, who answered, that he heard him, and 
 that he should trouble himself with no more arguments 
 nor entreaties, for all would signify nothing, and that he 
 must make haste. 
 
 Whilst the keeper delayed opening the first grate, Don 
 Quixote considered with himself whether it would be best 
 to fight on foot or on horseback : at last he determined to 
 fight on foot, lest Rozinante should be terrified at sight 
 of the lions. Upon this he leaped from his horse, flung 
 aside his lance, braced on his shield, and drew his 
 sword; and marching slowly, with marvellous intrepidity 
 and an undaunted heart, he planted himself before the 
 car, devoutly commending himself, first to God, and 
 then to his mistress Dulcinea. 
 
 Here it is to be noted, that the author of this faithful 
 history, coming to this passage, falls into exclamations, 
 and cries out : " O strenuous, and beyond all expression 
 courageous, Don Quixote de la Mancha! thou mirror, in 
 which all the valiant ones of the world may behold them- 
 selves, thou second and new Don Manuel de Leon, who 
 was the glory and honour of the Spanish knights! with
 
 156 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 what words shall I relate this tremendous exploit ? By 
 what argument shall I render it credible to succeeding 
 ages? Or what praises, though above all hyperboles 
 hyperbolical, do not n't and become thee? Thou alone, 
 on foot, intrepid and magnanimous, with a single sword, 
 and that none of the sharpest, with a shield, not of the 
 brightest and most shining steel, standest waiting for 
 and expecting two of the fiercest lions that the forests of 
 Africa ever bred. Let thy own deeds praise thec, va- 
 lorous M anchegan ! for here I must leave off for want of 
 words by which to enhance them/' Here the author 
 ends his exclamation, and resumes the thread of the his- 
 tory, saying: 
 
 The keeper, seeing Don Quixote fixed in his posture, 
 and that he could not avoid letting loose the male lion, 
 on pain of falling under the displeasure of the angry and 
 daring knight, set wide open the door of the first cage, 
 where lay the lion, which appeared to be of an extraordi- 
 nary bigness and of a hideous and frightful aspect. The 
 first thing he did, wag to turn himself round in the cage, 
 reach out a paw, and stretch himself at full length. Then 
 he gaped and yawned very leisurely; then licked the 
 dust off his eyes and washed his face with some half 
 a yard of tongue. This done, he thrust his head out of 
 the cage, and stared round on all sides with eyes of fire- 
 coals : a sight and aspect enough to have struck terror 
 into temerity itself. Don Quixote only observed him with 
 attention, wish ing he would leap from the car, and grap- 
 ple with him, that he might tear him in pieces : to such a 
 piece of extravagance had his unheard-of madness trans- 
 ported him. But the generous lion, more civil than .ar- 
 rogant, taking no notice of his vapouring and bravadoes, 
 after having stared about him, as has been said, turned 
 his back, and showed his posteriors to Don Quixote, and, 
 with great phlegm and calmness, laid himself down again
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 137 
 
 in the cage: which Don Quixote perceiving, he ordered 
 the keeper to give him some blows, and provoke him to 
 come forth. " That I will not do," answered the keep- 
 er; " for, should I provoke him, I myself shall be the 
 first he will tear in pieces. Be satisfied, signor cavalier, 
 with what is done, which is all that can be said in point 
 of courage, and do not tempt fortune a second time. 
 The lion has the door open, and it is in his choice to 
 come forth or not: and since he has not yet come out, he 
 will not come out all this day. The greatness of your 
 worship's courage is already sufficiently shown: no brave 
 combatant, as I take it, is obliged to more than to chal- 
 lenge his foe, and expect him in the field; and, if the an- 
 tagonist docs not meet him, the infamy lies at his door, 
 and the expectant gains the crown of conquest." " That 
 is true," answered Don Quixote: " shut the door, friend ; 
 and give me a certificate, in the best form you can, of 
 what you have seen me do here. It is fit it should be 
 known, how you opened to the lion; I waited for him ; 
 he came not out ; I waited for him again ; again he came 
 not out; and again he laid him down. I am bound to no 
 more; enchantments avaunt, and God help right and 
 truth and true chivalry: and so shut the door, while I 
 make a signal to the fugitive and absent, that they may 
 have an account of this exploit from your mouth." 
 
 The keeper did so, and Don Quixote, clapping on the 
 point of his lance the linen cloth wherewith he had 
 wiped the torrent of the curds from off his face, began to 
 call out to the rest, who still fled, turning about their 
 heads at every step, all in a troop, and the gentleman at 
 the head of them. But Sancho, chancing to espy the 
 signal of the white cloth, said, " May I be hanged if my 
 master has not vanquished the wild beasts, since lie calls 
 to us." They all halted, and knew that it was Don 
 Quixote who made the sign; and, abating some part of 
 
 VOL. II. T
 
 138 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 their fear, they drew nearer by degrees, till they came 
 where they could distinctly hear the words of Don Quix- 
 ote, who was calling to them. In short, they rame back 
 to the car, and then Don Quixote said to the carter, 
 " Put-to your mules again, brother, and continue your 
 journey; and, Sancho, give two gold crowns to him and 
 the keeper, to make them amends for my having detained 
 them." " That I will with all my heart," answered 
 Sancho: " but what is become of the lions? Are they 
 dead or alive?" Then the keeper, very minutely, and 
 with proper pauses, related the success of the conflict, 
 exaggerating, the best he could, or knew how, the va- 
 lour of Don Quixote, at sight of whom the abashed lion 
 would not or durst not stir out of the cage, though he 
 had held open the door a good while; and upon his re- 
 presenting to the knight, that it was tempting God to 
 provoke the lion, and to make hime come out by force, as 
 he would have had him done whether he would or no, 
 and wholly against his will, he had suffered the cage 
 door to be shut. " What think you of this, Sancho?" 
 said Don Quixote. " Can any enchantments prevail 
 against true courage? With ease 'may the enchanters 
 deprive me of good fortune ; but of courage and resolu- 
 tion they never can." Sancho gave the gold crowns ; the 
 carter put-to ; the keeper kissed Don Quixote's hands for 
 the favour received, and promised him to relate this va- 
 lorous exploit to the king himself, when he came to court. 
 <{ If, perchance, his majesty," said Don Quixote, " should 
 inquire who performed it, tell him,theKnightof theLions : 
 for from henceforward I resolve that the title I have hi- 
 therto borne of the Knight of the Sorrowful Figure shall 
 be changed, trucked, and altered, to this; and herein I 
 follow the ancient practice of knights-errant, who changed 
 their names when they had a mind or whenever it served 
 their turn."
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 139 
 
 The car went on its way, and Don Quixote, Sancho, 
 and he' in the green surtout, pursued their journey. In 
 all this time Don Diego de Miranda had not spoken a 
 word, being all attention to observe and remark the actions 
 and words of Don Quixote, taking him to be a sensible 
 madman, and a madman bordering upon good sense. 
 The first part of his history had not yet come to his know- 
 ledge; for, had he read that, his wonder at Don Quix- 
 ote's words and actions would have ceased, as knowing 
 the nature of his madness: but, as he yet knew nothing 
 of it, he sometimes thought him in his senses, and some- 
 times out of them ; because what he spoke was coherent, 
 elegant, and well said, and what he did was extravagant, 
 rash, and foolish : for, said he to himself, what greater 
 madness can there be, than to clap on a helmet full of 
 curds, and persuade one's self that enchanters have 
 melted one's skull ; and what greater rashness and extra- 
 vagance than to resolve to fight with lions? 
 
 Don Quixote diverted these imaginations, and this so- 
 liloquy, by saying, " Doubtless, Signor Don Diego dc 
 Miranda, in your opinion I must needs pass for an extra- 
 vagant madman : and no wonder it should be so ; for jay 
 actions indicate no less. But, for all that, I would have 
 you know that I am not so mad nor so shallow as I may 
 have appeared to be. A fine appearance makes the gal- 
 lant cavalier, in shining armour, prancing over the lists 
 at some joyful tournament, in sight of the ladies. A 
 fine appearance makes the knight, when, in the midst of 
 a large square, before the eyes of his prince, he trans- 
 fixes a furious bull. And a fine appearance make those 
 knights, who, in military exercises, or the like, enter- 
 tain, enliven, and, if we may so say, do honour to their 
 prince's court. But, above all these, a much finer ap- 
 pearance makes the knight-errant, who, through deserts 
 and solitudes, through cross-ways, through woods, and 
 
 T 2
 
 140 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 over mountains, goes in quest of perilous adventures, 
 with design to bring them to a happy and fortunate con- 
 clusion only to obtain a glorious and immortal fame.- 
 A knight-errant, I say, makes a finer appearance in the 
 act of succouring some widow, in a desert place, than a 
 knight-courtier in addressing some damsel in a city. All 
 cavaliers haVe their proper and peculiar exercises. Let 
 the courtier wait upon th ladies; adorn his prince's 
 court with rich liveries ; entertain the poorer cavalier* at 
 his splendid table; order jousts; manage tournaments; 
 and show himself great, liberal, and magnificent, and 
 above all a good Christian: and in this manner will hs 
 precisely comply with the obligations of his duty. But 
 let the knight-errant search the remotest corners of the 
 world; enter the most intricate labyrinths; at every step 
 assail impossibilities; in the wild uncultivated deserts 
 brave the burning rays of the summer's sun, and the keen 
 inclemency of the winter's frost: let not lions daunt him, 
 spectres affright him, or dragons terrify him : for in seek- 
 ing these, encountering those, and conquering them all, 
 consists his principal and true employment. It being- 
 then my lot to be one of the number ot' knights-errant, I 
 cannot decline undertaking whatever I imagine to come 
 within the verge of my profession; and therefore encoun- 
 tering the lions, as I just now did, belonged to me di- 
 Fcctly, though I knew it to be a most extravagant rash- 
 ness. I very well know, that fortitude is a virtue, 
 placed between the two vicious extremes of cowardice 
 and rashness : but it is better the valiant should rise to 
 the high pitch of temerity, than sink to the low point of 
 cowardice: for, as it is easier for the prodigal to become 
 liberal, than for the covetous, soit'is much easier for the 
 rash to hit upon being truly valiant, than for the coward 
 to rise to true valour: and as to undertaking adventures, 
 believe me, Signor Don Diego, it is better to lose the
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 141 
 
 game by a card too much than one too little: for it sounds 
 better in the ears of those that hear it, such a knight is 
 rash and daring, than such a knight is timorous and cow- 
 ardly." 
 
 " I say, Signor Don Quixote," answered Don Diego, 
 " that all you have said and done is levelled by the line 
 of right reason : and I think, if the laws and ordinances of 
 knight-errantry should be lost, they might be found in 
 your worship's breast, as in their proper depository and 
 register. But let us make haste, for it grows late ; and 
 let us get to my village and house, where you may re- 
 pose and refresh yourself after your late toil, which, if 
 not of the body, has been a labour of the mind, whicU 
 eften affects the body too." " I accept of the offer as a 
 great favour and kindness, Signor Don Diego," answered 
 Don Quixote : and spurring on a little more than they had 
 hitherto done, it was about two in the afternoon when 
 they arrived at the village and the house of Don Diego, 
 whom Don Quixote called the Knight of the Green 
 Riding-coat. 
 
 CHAP. XVIII. 
 
 Of what befel Don Quixote in the Castle or House of 
 the Knight of the Green Riding-coat / with other ex- 
 travagant Matters. 
 
 JL/ON Quixote found that Don Diego's house was spa- 
 cious, after the country fashion, having the arras of the 
 family carved in rough stone over the great gates; the 
 buttery in the court-yard, the cellar under the porch, and
 
 142 DOiX QUIXOTE. 
 
 several earthen wine-jars placed round it ; which, being of 
 the ware of Toboso, renewed the memory of his enchanted 
 and metamorphosed Dulcinea ; and, without considering 
 what he said, or before whom, he sighed, and cried 
 
 " Oh ! pledges sweet, though now most painful found ! 
 When heaven pleases they with joy abound. 
 
 O ye Tobosian jars, that have brought back to my re- 
 membrance the sweet pledge of my greatest bitterness!'* 
 This was overheard by the poetical scholar, Don Diego's 
 son, who, with his mother, was come out to receive him; 
 and both mother and son were in admiration at the strange 
 figure of Don Quixote, who, alighting from Rozinante, 
 very courteously desired leave to kiss the lady's hands ; 
 and Don Diego said, " Receive, madam, with your ac- 
 customed civility, Signor Don Quixote de la Mancha 
 here present, a knight-errant, and the most valiant and 
 most ingenious person in the world." The lady, whose 
 name was Donna Christiana, received him with tokens of 
 much affection and civility, and Don Quixote returned 
 them in discreet and courteous expressions. The same 
 kind of compliments passed between him and the student, 
 whom by his talk Don Quixote took for a witty and acute 
 person. 
 
 Here the author sets down all the particulars of Don 
 Diego's house, describing all the furniture usually con- 
 tained in' the mansion of a gentleman, that was both a far- 
 mer and rich. But the translators of the history thought 
 fit to pass over in silence these and similar, minute mat- 
 ters, as not suiting with the principal scope of the history, 
 in which truth has more force than cold and insipid di- 
 gressions. 
 
 Don Quixote was led into a hall: Sancho unarmed 
 him; he remained in his wide Walloon breeches, and in 
 a shamois doublet, all besmeared w ith the rust of his> ar-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 143 
 
 mour: his band was of the college-cut, without starch 
 and without lace: his buskins were date-coloured, and 
 his shoes waxed. He girt on his trusty sword, which 
 hung at a belt made of a sea- wolf 's skin : for it is thought 
 he had been many years troubled with a weakness in his 
 loins. Over these he had along cloke of good gray cloth. 
 But, first of all, with five or six kettles of water (for there 
 is some difference as to the number), lie washed his head 
 and face; and still the water continued of a whey colour, 
 thanks to Sancho's gluttony and the purchase of the 
 nasty curds, that had made his master so white and clean. 
 With the aforesaid accoutrements, and with a genteel air 
 and deportment, Don Quixote walked into another hall, 
 where the student was waiting to entertain him till the 
 cloth was laid; for the Lady Donna Christiana would 
 show, upon the arrival of so noble a guest, that she kuew 
 how to regale those who came to her house. 
 
 While Don Quixote was unarming, Don Lorenzo (for 
 that was the name of Don Diego's son) had leisure to say 
 to his father, " Pray, sir, who is this gentleman you 
 have brought us home? For his name, his figure, and 
 your telling us he is a knight-errant, keep my mother and 
 me in great suspense." " I know not how to answer you, 
 son," replied Don Diego: "I can only tell you, that I 
 have seen him act the part of the maddest man in the 
 world, and then talk so ingeniously, that his words con- 
 tradict and undo all his actions. Talk you to him, and 
 feel the pulse of his understanding : and, since you have 
 discernment enough, judge of his discretion or distrac- 
 tion as you shall find; though, to say the truth, I rather 
 take him to be mad than otherwise." 
 
 Hereupon Don Lorenzo went to entertain Don Quixote, 
 as has been said; and, among other discourse, which 
 passed between them, Don Quixote said to Don Lorenzo, 
 " Signor Don Diego de Miranda, your father, sir, has
 
 144 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 given me some account of jour rare abilities and refined 
 judgment, and particularly that you are a great poet." 
 " A poet, perhaps, I may be," replied Don Lorenzo; 
 " but a great one, not even in thought. True it is, I am 
 somewhat fond of poetry, and of reading the good poets ; 
 but in no wise so as to merit the title my father is pleased 
 to bestow upon me." " I do not dislike this modesty," 
 answered Don Quixote ; "for poets are usually very arro- 
 gant, each thinking himself the greatest in the world."- 
 ** There is no rule without an exception," answered Don 
 Lorenzo, " and such an one there may be, who is really 
 so, and does not think it." " Very few," answered Don 
 Quixote : " but please to tell me, sir, what verses arc 
 those you have now in hand, which, your father says, 
 make you so uneasy and thoughtful : for if it be some 
 gloss, I know somewhat of the knack of glossing, and 
 should be glad to see it : and if they are designed for a 
 poetical prize, endeavour to obtain the second ; for the 
 first is always carried by favour, or by the great quality 
 of the person: the second is bestowed according to merit; 
 so that the third becomes the second, and the first, in this 
 account, is but the third, according to the liberty com- 
 monly taken in your universities. But, for all that, the 
 name of first makes a great figure." " Hitherto," said 
 Don Lorenzo to himself, " I do not judge thee to be mad r 
 let us proceed;" so he said to him: " Your worship, I 
 presume, has frequented the schools : what sciences have 
 you studied?" " That of knight-errantry," answered 
 Don Quixote, u which is as good as your poetry, yea, 
 and two littfe fingers breadth beyond it." " I know not 
 what science that is," replied Don Lorenzo, and hitherto 
 k has not come to my knowledge." u It is a science,'* 
 replied Don Quixote, " which includes in it all or mosi 
 of the other sciences of the world. For he who professes 
 it must be a lawyer, and know the laws of distributive
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 145 
 
 and commutative justice, in order to give every one what 
 is hi own, and that which is proper for him. He must 
 be a divine, to be able to give a reason for the Christian 
 faith he professes, clearly and distinctly, whenever it is 
 required of him. Hemustbe a physician, and especially 
 a botanist, to know, in the midst of wildernesses and de- 
 sorts, the herbs and simples which have the virtue of 
 curing wounds; for your knight-errant must not at every 
 turn be running to look for somebody to heal him. He 
 must be an astronomer, to know by the stars what it is 
 o'clock, and what part or climate of the world he is in. 
 He must know the mathematics, because at every foot he 
 will stand in need of them: and, setting aside that, he 
 must be adorned with all the cardinal and theological vir- 
 
 o 
 
 tues: I descend to some other minute particulars. I say- 
 then, he must know how to swim, like him people call 
 Fish Nicholas, or Nicholao 31 . He must know how to 
 shoe ahorse, and to keep the saddle and bridle in repair: 
 and, to return to what was said above, he must preserve 
 his faith to God and his mistress inviolate. He must be 
 chaste in his thoughts, modest in his words, liberal in 
 good works, valiant in exploits, patient in toils, cha- 
 ritable to the needy, and lastly, amaintainer of the truth, 
 though it should cost him his life to defend it. Of all 
 these great and small parts a good knight-errant is com- 
 posed. Consider then, Signor Don Lorenzo, whether it 
 be a slovenly dirty science which the knight, who pro- 
 fesses it, learns and studies, and whether it may not be 
 equalled to the stateliest of all those that are taught in 
 your colleges and schools." " If this be so," replied 
 Don Lorenzo, " I maintain, that this science is prefer- 
 able to all others." " How! if it be so?" answered Don, 
 Quixote. "What I mean, sir," said Don Lorenzo, "is, 
 that I question, whether there ever have been, or now are 
 in being, any knights-errant, and adorned with so manjr 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 146 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 virtues." " I have often said," answered Don Quixote, 
 " what I now repeat, that the greater part of the world 
 are of opinion there never were any knights-errant ; and, 
 because I am of opinion, that, if heaven does not in some 
 miraculous manner convince them of the truth, that there 
 have been and are such now, whatever pains are taken 
 ivill be all in vain, as I have often fonnd by experience, I 
 will not now lose time in bringing you out of an error so 
 prevalent with many. What I intend is, to beg of hea- 
 ven to undeceive you, and let you see how useful and ne- 
 cessary knights-errant were in times past, and how bene- 
 ficial they would be in the present, were they again in 
 fashion : but now, through the sins of the people, sloth, 
 idleness, gluttony, and luxury, triumph." " Our guest 
 Las broken loose," said Don Lorenzo to himself ; i( but 
 still he is a whimsical kind of a madman, and I should b 
 a weak fool if I did not believe so." 
 
 Here their discourse ended ; for they were called to 
 supper. Don Diego asked his son what he had copied 
 out fair of the genius of his guest. He answered : " The 
 ablest doctors and best penmen in the world will never 
 be able to extricate him out of the rough-draught of his 
 madness. His distraction is a medley full of lucid inter- 
 vals." To supper they went, and the repast was such as 
 Don Diego had told them upon the road he used to give 
 to those he invited, neat, plentiful, and savoury. But 
 that which pleased Don Quixote above all, was the mar- 
 vellous silence throughout the whole house, as if it had 
 been a convent of Carthusians. 
 
 The cloth being taken away, grace said, and their 
 hands washed, Don Quixote earnestly entreated Don Lo- 
 renzo to repeat the verses designed for the prize. To 
 which he answered: " That I may not be like those 
 poets who, when desired, refuse to repeat their verses, 
 , when not asked, spew them out, I will read mj
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 147 
 
 gloss, for which I expect no prize, having done it only 
 to exercise my fancy.'* u A friend of mine, a very in- 
 genious person," answered Don Quixote, " was of opi- 
 nion, that nobody should give themselves the trouble of 
 glossing on verses ; and the reason, he said, was, because 
 the gloss could never come up to the text, and very often, 
 the gloss mistakes the iatention and design of the author. 
 Besides, the rules of glossing are too strict, suffering no 
 interrogations, nor said he's, nor shall I say* s^ nor making 
 nouns of verbs, nor changing the sense, with other ties 
 and restrictions which cramp the glossers, as your wor- 
 ship must needs know." " Truly, Signer Don Quix- 
 ote," said Don Lorenzo, " I have a great desire to catch 
 your worship tripping in some false Latin, and cannot; 
 for you slip through my fingers like an eel." " I do not 
 understand," answered Don Quixote, " what you mean 
 by my slipping through your fingers.'" u I will let you 
 know another time," replied Don Lorenzo: " at present 
 give attention to the text and gloss, which are as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 TEXT. 
 
 Could I the joyous moments past 
 
 Recal, and say, what was now ii 9 
 Or to succeeding moments haste, 
 
 And now enjoy the future bliss. 
 
 GLOSS. 
 
 As all things fleet and die away, 
 
 And day at length is lost in night, 
 My blessings would no longer stay, 
 
 But took their everlasting flight. 
 Dear Fortune ! hear thy suppliant's pray'rj 
 
 Thy cup of sorrow cease to pour! 
 Happy were I beyond compare 
 
 Wouldst thou my past delights restore,
 
 US DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 When mem'ry points to former joys, 
 
 (Full oft my thoughts those joys recal !) 
 Each soft sensation it destroys 
 
 Excites anew grief's bitterest gall, 
 
 And down my cheek big sorrows fall. 
 Yet ask I not fame's loud applause, 
 Nor wish to shine in glory's canse, 
 
 Nor seek I wealth's unnumber'd store. 
 Shield me from love's avenging laws, 
 
 I'll sigh for promis'd joys no more. 
 
 What mortal madness fires my mind? 
 v Who shall the flight of time control? 
 Who can direct th'unstable wind .' 
 
 And who restrain the thunder's roll, 
 Or foaming tides in fetters bind ? 
 
 Time drives unerring to the goal, 
 Unsway'd by hope, unaw'd by fear. 
 
 Why dream a desp'rate chance to find ? 
 To grasp for distant joys, my soul, 
 
 And bring the future moments near ? 
 
 With thorns my lonely path is strew'd, 
 
 I seek relief, but seek in vain ! 
 Now wish I past delights renew'd, 
 
 Now covet future bliss to gain : 
 
 Alas! no hope will sooth ray pain. 
 While gloomy fears obscure the way, 
 While clos'd in night joy's cheerful ray! 
 
 What hand shall dry up rais'ry's tear? 
 That' I may hail th' auspicious day, 
 
 When present pains shall disappear. 
 
 When Don Lorenzo had made an end of reading his 
 gloss, Don Quixote stood up, and, holding Don Lorenzo 
 fast by the right hand, cried out, in a voice so loud that 
 it was next to a squall: " By the highest heavens ! noble 
 youth, you are the best poet in the universe, and de- 
 serve to wear the laurel, not of Cyprus, norofGaeta, as 
 a certain poet said, whom God forgive ! but of the univer- 
 sities of Athens, were they now in being, and of those 
 that now subsist, of Paris, Bologna, and Salamanca.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 149 
 
 Heaven grant that the judges who shall deprive you of 
 the first prize, may be transfixed by the arrows of Apollo, 
 and that the Muses may never cross the threshold of their 
 doors ! Be pleased, sir, to repeat some other of your 
 verses in the greater kinds of poetry : for I would tho- 
 roughly fed the pulse of your admirable genius." Is it 
 not excellent, that Don Lorenzo should be delighted to 
 hear himself praised by Don Quixote, whom he deemed 
 a madman? O force of flattery, how far dost thou ex- 
 tend, and how wide are the bounds of thy pleasing juris- 
 diction! This truth was verified in Don Lorenzo, who 
 complied with the request and desire of Don Quixote, re- 
 peating this sonnet on the fable or story of Pyramus and 
 Thisbe. 
 
 SONNET. 
 She, who the heart of Pyratnus enchaiu'd, 
 
 No longer dreads the wall's opposing pow'r. 
 
 Theop'ning form'd, love hastes iu joyful hour 
 To see sweet intercourse of looks obtain'd. 
 There silence reigns, because no whispers dare 
 
 Pierce through the narrow pass yet love supplies 
 
 Their kindred souls with eloquence of eyes. 
 'Tis thus enraptur'd hearts their thoughts declare ! 
 Ah ! fleeting hope! Improvident desire 
 
 Gives to despair anticipated joys. 
 
 Too eager haste the wish'd embrace destroys !- 
 One fatal sword allays their mortal fire, 
 One tomb contains their consecrated dust ; 
 To undivided fame their gentle spirits trust. 
 
 <t Now God be thanked," said Don Quixote, having 
 heard Don Lorenzo's sonnet, " that, among the infinite 
 number of poets now in being, I have met with one so 
 absolute in all respects, as the artifice of your worship's 
 sonnet shows you to be." 
 
 Four days was Don Quixote nobly regaled in Don 
 Diego's house; at the end of which he begged leave to 
 be gone, telling him he thanked him for the favour and
 
 150 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 kind entertainment he had received in his family : but, 
 because it did not look well for knights-errant to give 
 themselves up to idleness and indulgence ton lonff, he 
 would go, in compliance with the duty of his function, 
 in quest of adventures, wherewith he was informed those 
 parts abounded; designing to employ the time there- 
 abouts till the day of the jousts at Saragossa, at which 
 he resolved to be present: but, in the first place, he in- 
 tended to visit the cave of Montesinos, of which people 
 related so many and such wonderful things all over that 
 country ; at the same time inquiring into the source and 
 true springs of the seven lakes, commonly called the 
 lakes of Ruydera. Don Diego and his son applauded 
 his honourable resolution, desiring him to furnish him- 
 self with whatever he pleased of theirs ; for he was heartily 
 welcome to it, his worthy person and his noble profession 
 obliging them to make him this offer. 
 
 At length the day of his departure came, as joyous to 
 Don Quixote as sad and unhappy for Sancho Panza, 
 who liked the plenty of Don Diego's house wondroug 
 well, and was loath to return to the hunger of the fo- 
 rests and wildernesses, and to the penury of his ill-provi- 
 ded wallets. -However, he filled and stuffed them with 
 what he thought most necessary : and Don Quixote, at 
 taking leave of Don Lorenzo, said, " I know not whe- 
 ther I have told you before, and if I have, I tell you 
 again, that, whenever you shall have a mind to shorten 
 your way and pains to arrive at the inaccessible summit 
 of the temple of Fame, you have no more to do, but leave 
 on one side the path of poetry, which is somewhat nar- 
 row, and follow that of knight-errantry, which is still 
 narrower, but sufficient to make you an emperor before 
 you can say, Gire me those straws." With these expres- 
 sions Don Quixote did, as it were, finish and shut up 
 the process of his madness, and especially with \vhat ho
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 151 
 
 added, saying, " God knows how willingly I would take 
 Signor Don Lorenzo with me, to teach him how to spare 
 the humble and to trample under foot the haughty vir- 
 tues annexed to the function I profess : but, since big 
 youth does not require it, nor his laudable exercises per- 
 mit it, I content myself with putting your worship in 
 the way of becoming a famous poet ; and that is, by fol- 
 lowing the opinion and judgment of other men rather 
 than your own; for no fathers or mothers think their own 
 children ugly ; and this self-deceit is yet stronger with 
 respect to the offspring of the mind." The father and 
 son wondered afresh at the intermixed discourses of Don 
 Quixote, sometimes wise and sometimes wild, and the 
 obstinacy with which he was bent upon the search of his 
 unfortunate adventures, the sole end and aim of all his 
 wishes. Offers of service and civilities were repeated, 
 and, with the good leave of the lady of the castle, they 
 departed, Don Quixote upon Rozinante, and Sancho 
 upon Dapple. 
 
 CHAP. XIX. 
 
 Wherein is related the Adventure of the enamour 
 herd, with other truly, pleasant Accidents. 
 
 UON Quixote was got but a little way from Don Diego's 
 village, when he overtook two persons like ecclesiastics 
 or scholars, and two country-fellows, all four moimted 
 upon asses. One of the scholars carried behind him, 
 wrapped up in green buckram like a portmanteau, a 
 small b.uudle of linen, and two pair of thread-stockings :
 
 152 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 the other carried nothing but a pair of new black fencing-- 
 foils, with their buttons. The countrymen carried other 
 things, which showed that they came from some great 
 town, where they had bought them, and were carrying 
 them home to their own village. Both the scholars and 
 countrymen fell into the same astonishment that all others 
 did at the first sight of Don Quixote, and eagerly de- 
 sired to know what man this was, so different in appear- 
 ance from other men. Don Quixote saluted them, and, 
 after learning that the road they were going was the same 
 he was taking, he offered to bear them company, desiring 
 them to slacken their pace, for their asses outwent his 
 horse: and, to prevail upon them, he briefly told them, 
 who he was, and his employment and profession that of a 
 knight-errant going in quest of adventures through all 
 parts of the world. He told them his proper name was 
 Don Quixote de la Mancha, and- his appellative the 
 Knight of the Lions. All this to the countrymen was 
 talking Greek or gibberish ; but not to the scholars, who 
 soon discovered the soft part of Don Quixote's skull : ne- 
 vertheless they looked upon him with admiration and 
 respect, and one of them said, " If your worship, sir 
 knight, be not determined to one particular road, a thing 
 not usual with seekers of adventures, come along with us, 
 and you will see one of the greatest and richest weddings, 
 that to this day has ever been celebrated in La Mancha, 
 or in many leagues roundabout." Don Quixote asked 
 him if it was that of some prince, that he extolled it so 
 much? u No," answered the scholar, " but of a farmer 
 and a farmer's daughter; he the wealthiest of all this 
 country, and she the most beautiful that ever eyes be- 
 held. The preparation is extraordinary and new; for 
 the wedding is to be celebrated in a meadow near the 
 village where the bride lives, whom they call, by way of 
 pfe-emiiience, Quiteria the Fair, and the bridegroom
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 153 
 
 Camacho the Rich; she of the age of eighteen, and he of 
 two-and-twenty, both equally matched; though some 
 nice folks, who have all the pedigrees in the world in their 
 heads, pretend that the family of Quitcria has the advan- 
 tage of Camacho's : but now that is little regarded ; for 
 riches are able to solder up abundance of flaws. In short, 
 this same Camacho is generous, and has taken into his 
 head to make a kind of arbour to cover the whole meadow 
 overhead, in such manner that the sun itself will be put 
 to some difficulty to visit the green grass with which the 
 ground is covered. He will also have morice-dauces, 
 both with swords and little bells ; for there are some peo- 
 ple in his village who jingle- and clatter them extremely 
 well. I will say nothing of the shoe-dancers and caper- 
 ers K , so great is the number that are invited. But no- 
 thing of all that I have repeated, or omitted, is like to 
 make this wedding so remarkable, as what I believe the 
 slighted Basilius will do upon this occasion. 
 
 " This Basilius is a neighbouring swain, of the same 
 village with Quiteria: his house is next to that of Quite- 
 ria's parents, with nothing but a wall between them; 
 from whence Cupid took occasion to revive in the world 
 the long-forgotten loves of Pyramus and Thisbe: for 
 Basilius was in love with Quiteria from his childhood, 
 and she answered his wishes with a thousand modest fa- 
 vours, insomuch that the loves of the two children, Basi- 
 lius and Quiteria, became the common talk of the village. 
 When they were grown up, the father of Quiteria re- 
 solved to forbid Basilius the usual access to his family; 
 and, to save himself from apprehensions and suspicions, 
 he purposed to marry his daughter to the rich Camacho, 
 not choosing to match her with Basilius, who is not en- 
 dowed with so many gifts of fortune as of nature: for, if 
 the truth is to be told without envy, he is the most active 
 youth we know; a great pitcher of the bar: an extreme 
 
 IT. X
 
 151- DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 good wrestler, and a great player at cricket; runs like a 
 buck, leaps like a wild goat, and plays at ninepins as it' 
 lie did it by witchcraft; sings like a lark, and touches a 
 guitar, that he makes it speak; and, above all, he han- 
 dles the small sword like the most accomplished fencer." 
 " For this excellence alone," said Don Quixote imme- 
 diately, " this youth deserves to marry not only the fair 
 Quiteria, bnt Queen Ginebra herself, were she now alive, 
 in spite of Sir Lancelot, and all opposers." u To my 
 wife with that," quoth Sancho Panza, who had been hi- 
 therto silent and listening, " who will have every body 
 marry their equal, according to the proverb, ti~ceri/ sheep 
 to its like. What I would have is, that this honest Basi- 
 lius, for I begin to take a liking to him, shall marry this 
 .same Lady Quiteria; and heaven send them good luck, 
 and God's blessings (he meant the reverse) on those, who 
 would hinder people that love cacli other from marry- 
 ing." " If all who love each other were to be married," 
 said Don Quixote, " it would deprive parents of the pri- 
 vilege and authority of finding proper matches for their 
 children. If the choice of husbands were left to the in- 
 clination of daughters, some there are who would choose 
 their father's servant, and others some pretty fellow they 
 see pass along the streets, in their opinion genteel and 
 'well-made, though he were a beaten bully: for love and 
 affection easily blind the eyes of the understand ing, so ab- 
 solutely necessary for choosing our state of life; and that 
 of matrimony is greatly exposed to the danger of a mis- 
 take, and there is need of great caution, and the particu- 
 lar favour of heaven, to make it hit right. A person, 
 who has a mind to take a long journey, if he be wise, 
 before he sets forwards will look out for some safe and 
 agreeable companion. And should not he do the like 
 who undertakes a journey for life, especially if his fel- 
 im\ -traveller is to be his companion at bed and board.,
 
 J)ON QUIXOTE. J55 
 
 and every where else, as the wife is with the husband? 
 The wife is not a commodity which, when once bought, 
 you can exchange, or swap, or return; but is an insepa- 
 rable accessory, which lasts as long as life itself. She is 
 a noose, which, when once thrown about the neck, turns 
 to a Gordian knot, and cannot be unloosed till cut asun- 
 der by the scythe of death. I could say much more upon 
 this subject, were I not prevented by the desire I have to 
 know whether signer the licentiate has any thing more to 
 say concerning the history of IJasilius." To which the 
 scholar, bachelor, or licentiate, as Don Quixote called 
 him, answered: "Of the whole I have no more to say, 
 but that, from the moment Basilius heard of Quiteria's 
 being to be married to Camacho the Rich, he has never 
 been seen to smile, nor speak coherently, and is always 
 pensive and sad, and talking to himself; certain and 
 clear indications of his being distracted. He cats and 
 sleeps but little ; and what he does eat is fruit ; and wheu 
 he sleeps, if he does sleep, it is in the fields, upon the 
 hard ground, like a brute beast. From time to time he 
 throws his eyes up to heaven; now fixes them on the 
 ground, with such stupefaction, that he seems to be no- 
 thing but a statue clothed, whose drapery is put in mo- 
 tion by the air. In short, he gives such indications of au 
 impassioned heart, that we all take it for granted, that 
 to-morrow Quiteria's pronouncing the fatal I ~es will be 
 the sentence of his death." 
 
 " Heaven will order it belter," quoth Sancho; " for 
 God, that gives the wound, sends the cure: nobody 
 knows what is to come : there are a great many hours be- 
 tween this and to-morrow ; and in one hour, yen, in one 
 moment, down falls the house : I have seen it rain, and 
 the sun shine, both at the same time : such a one goes to 
 bed sound at night, and is not able to stir next morning: 
 and tell me, can any body brag of having driven a nail 
 
 x 2
 
 136 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 in Fortune's wheel? No, certainly; and between the 
 Yes and the No of a woman I would noi venture to thrust 
 the point of a pin ; for there would not be room enough 
 for it. Grant me but that Quiteria loves Basilius with all 
 her heart, and I will give him a bag full of good fortune: 
 for love, as I have heard say, looks through spectacles 
 which make copper appear to be gold, poverty riches, 
 and specks in the eyes pearls." " A cnrse light on you, 
 Sancho, what would you be at?" said Don Quixote. 
 " When you begin stringing of proverbs and tales, none 
 but Judas, who I wish had you, can wait for you. Tell 
 me, animal, what know you of nails and wheels, or of 
 any thing else?" " Oh!" replied Sancho, " if I am not 
 understood, no wonder that what I say passes for non- 
 sense: but no matter for that ; I understand myself; nei- 
 ther have I said many foolish things: only your worship 
 is always cricketising my words and actions." " C'rifi- 
 cisingj I suppose, you would say," said Don Quixote, 
 < 4 and not cricketising, thou misapplier of good lan- 
 guage, whom God confound." " Pray, sir, be not so 
 sharp upon me," answered Sancho; " for you know I 
 was not bred at court, nor have studied in Salamanca, to 
 know whether I add to, or take a letter from, my words. 
 As God shall save me, it is unreasonable to expect that 
 the Sayagiies 33 should speak like the Toledans; nay, 
 there are Toledans who are not over-nice in the business 
 of speaking politely." " It is true," replied the licen- 
 tiate; " for how should they speak so well who are bred 
 in the tan-yards and Zocodover 3 *, as they who are al! 
 day walking up and down the cloisters of the great 
 church ? And yet they are all Toledans, Purity, pro- 
 priety, elegance, .and perspicuity, of language are to be 
 found among discerning courtiers, though born in Maja- 
 lahonda. I say discerning, because a great many there 
 we who are not so, and discernment is the grammar of
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 157 
 
 good language, accompanied with custom and use. I, 
 gentlemen, for my sins, have studied the canon law in 
 Salamanca, and pique myself a little upon expressing 
 myself in clear, plain, a:id significant, terms." <e If 
 you had not piqued yourself more upon managing those 
 unlucky foils you carry than your tongue," said the other 
 scholar, " you might by this time have been at the head 
 of your class ; whereas now you are at the tail." 
 
 " Look you, bachelor," answered the licentiate, "you 
 are the most mistaken in the world in your opinion touch- 
 ing the dexterity of the sword, if you hold it to be insig- 
 nificant." " With me it is not barely opinion, but a 
 settled truth," replied Corchuelo; " and if you have a 
 mind I should convince you by experience, you carry- 
 foils, an opportunity offers, and I have nerves and 
 strength that, backed by my courage, which is none of 
 the least, will make you confess that I am not deceived. 
 Alight, and make use of your measured steps, your cir- 
 cles, and angles, and science ; for I hope to make you 
 see the stars at noon-day with my modern and rustic dex- 
 terity ; in which I trust, under God, that the man is yet 
 unborn who shall make me turn my back, and that there 
 is nobody in the world whom I will not oblige to give 
 ground."' 4 As to turning the back or not, I meddle not 
 with it," replied the adept, " though it may happen 
 that, in the first spot you fix your foot on, your grave 
 may be opened ; I mean, that you may be left dead there 
 for despising the noble science of defence." " We 
 shall see that presently," answered Corchuelo ; and, 
 jumping hastily from his beast, he snatched one of the 
 foils which 'the licentiate carried upon his ass. " It 
 must not be so," cried Don Quixote at this instant; " for 
 I will be master of this fencing-bout, and judge of this 
 long-controverted question:" and alighting from Rozi- 
 nante, and grasping his lance, he planted himself in the
 
 158 DON QUIXOTK. 
 
 midst of the road, just as the licentiate, with a graceful 
 motion' of body and measured step, was niak ins: toward 
 Corchuelo, who came at him, darting, as the phrase is, 
 fire from his eyes. The two countrymen, without dis- 
 mounting, served as spectators of the mortal tragedy. 
 The flashes, thrusts, high strokes, back-strokes, and 
 fore-strokes, Corchuelo gave, were numberless, and 
 thicker than hail. He fell on like a provoked lion: but 
 met with a smart tap on the mouth from the button of the 
 licentiate's foil, which stopped him in the midst of his 
 fury, making him kiss it, though not with so much de- 
 votion as if it had been a relic. In short, the licentiate, 
 by dint of clean thrusts, counted him all the buttons of a 
 little cassock he had on, and tore the skirts, so that they 
 hung in rags like the many-tailed fish. Twice he struck 
 offhis hat, and so tired him, that, through despite, cho- 
 ler, and rage, he flung away the foil into the air with 
 such force, that one of the country-fellows present, who 
 was a kind of scrivener, and went to fetch it, said, and 
 swore, it was thrown near three quarters of a league ; 
 which affidavit has served", and still serves, to show and 
 demonstrate, that skill goes farther than strength. Cor- 
 chuelo sat down quite spent, and Sancho going to him 
 said, " In faith, master bachelor, if you would take my 
 advice, henceforward you should challenge nobody to 
 fence, but to wrestle, or pitch the bar, since you are old 
 enough and strong enough for that : for I have heard say 
 of these masters, that they can thrust the point of a sword 
 through the eye of a needle." " I am satisfied," an- 
 swered Corchuelo, u and have learned by experience a 
 truth I could not otherwise have believed:' 1 and getting 
 up, he went and embraced the licentiate, and they were 
 now better friends than before. So, being unwilling to 
 wait for the scrivener, who was gone to fetch the foil, 
 thinking he might stay too long, they determined to make
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 159 
 
 the best of their way, that they might arrive betimes at 
 Quiteria's village, whither they were all bound. By the 
 way the licentiate laid down to them the excellencies of 
 the noble science of defence, with such self-evident rea- 
 sons, and so many mathematical figures and demonstra- 
 tions, that every body was convinced of the usefulness of 
 the science 1 , and Corchuelo entirely brought over from his 
 obstinacy. 
 
 It was just night-fall: but, before they arrived, they all 
 thought they saw, between them and the village, a kind 
 of heaven full of innumerable and resplendent stars. 
 They heard also the confused and sweet sounds of various 
 instruments, as flutes, tambourins, psalteries, cymbals, 
 and little drums with bells; and, drawing near, they per- 
 ceived the boughs of a;i arbour, made oil one side of the 
 
 r^ if 
 
 entrance into the town, all hung with lights, which were 
 not disturbed by the wind ; for all was so calm, there was 
 not a breath of air so much as to stir the very leaves of 
 the trees. The life and joy of the wedding were the mu- 
 sicians, who went up and down in bands through that 
 delightful place, some dancing, others singing, and others 
 playing upon the different instruments aforesaid. In 
 short, it looked as if mirth and pleasure danced and re- 
 velled through the meadow. Several others were busied 
 about raising scaffolds, from which they might commo- 
 diously be spectators next day of the plays and dances, 
 that were to be performed in that place, dedicated to the 
 solemnizing the njiptials of the rich Camacho, and the 
 obsequies of Basilius. Don Quixote refused to go into 
 the town, though both the countryman and the bachelor 
 invited him : but he pleaded, as a sufficient excuse in his 
 opinion, that it was the custom of knights-errant to sleep 
 in the fields and forests rather than in towns, though un- 
 der gilded roofs : and therefore he turned a little out of
 
 ICO DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 the way, sorely against Sancho's will, who had not for- 
 gotten the good lodging he had met with in the castle, or 
 house, of Don Diego. 
 
 CHAP. XX. 
 
 Giving an Account of the Wedding of Camacho the Rich, 
 zcitk Ike Adventure^/ liasilius the Poor. 
 
 SCARCELY had the fair Aurora given bright Phoebus 
 room, with the heat of his warm rays, to dry up the li- 
 quid pearls on his golden hair, when Don Quixote, 
 shaking off sloth from his drowsy members, got upon his 
 feet, and called to his squire Sancho Panza, who still 
 lay snoring; which being perceived by Don Quixote, be- 
 fore he would awaken him, he said, a O happy thou, 
 above all that live on the face of the earth, who, neither 
 envying, nor being envied, slecpest on with tranquillity 
 of soul! neither do enchanters persecute nor enchant- 
 ments affright thee. Sleep on, I say again, and will say 
 a hundred times more, sleep on; for no jealousies on thy 
 lady's account keep thee in perpetual watchings, nor do 
 anxious thoughts of paying debts awaken thee ; nor is thy 
 rest broken with the thoughts of what thou must do to- 
 morrow, to provide for thyself and tny little family. 
 Ambition disquiets thee not, nor does the vain pomp of 
 the world disturb thee; for thy desires extend not be- 
 yond the limits of taking care of thy ass : for that of thj ? 
 person is laid upon my shoulders, a counterbalance and 
 burden that nature and custom have laid upon masters. 
 The servant sleeps, and the master is waking, to consider 
 how he is to maintain, prefer, and do him kindness. The
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 161 
 
 pain of seeing the obdurate heaven made, as it were, of 
 brass, and refusing convenient dews to refresh the earth, 
 afflicts not the servant, but the master, who is bound to 
 provide, in times of sterility and famine, for him, who 
 served him in times of fertility and abundance." To all 
 this Sancho answered not a word, for he was asleep ; nor 
 would he have awakened so soon as he did, but that Don 
 Quixote jogged him with the but end of his lance. At 
 last he awoke, drowsy and yawning; and, turning his 
 face on all sides, he said, " From yonder shady bower, 
 if I mistake not, there comes a stream and smell rather 
 of broiled rashers of bacon than of thyme or rushes: by 
 my faith, weddings that begin thus savourily, must needs 
 be liberal and abundant." 
 
 " Have done, glutton," said Don Quixote, " and let 
 us go and see this wedding, and what becomes of the dis- 
 dained Basilius." " Marry, let what will become of 
 him," answered Sancho, " he cannot be poor and marry 
 Quitcria : a pleasant fancy, for one not worth a groat, to 
 aim at marrying above the clouds ! Faith, sir, in my opi- 
 nion, a poor man should be contented with what he finds, 
 and not Be looking for truffles at the bottom of the sea. I 
 dare wager an arm, that Camacho can cover Basilius with 
 reals from head to foot: and if it' be so, as it must needs 
 be, Quiteria would be a pretty bride indeed to reject the 
 fie clothes and jewels that Camacho has given, and can 
 give her, to choose instead of them a pitch of the bar, and 
 a feint at foils, of Basilius. One cannot have a pint of 
 wine at a tavern for the bravest pitch of the bar, or the 
 cleverest push of the foil : abilities and graces that are 
 not vendible, let the Count Dirlos have them for me : 
 but when they light on a man that has wherewithal, may 
 my life show as well as they do. Upon a good foundation 
 a good building may be raised, and the best bottom and 
 
 VOL* -ii. y
 
 162 DOX QU1XOTK. 
 
 foundation in (he world is money." " For the love of 
 Godj Sancho," said Don Quixote, " have done with 
 your harangue: I verily believe, were you let alone to 
 go on as you begin at every turn y you would have no 
 time to eat or sleep, but would spend it all in talk." 
 " If your worship had a good memory," replied Sancho, 
 " yt)H woukl remember the articles of our agreement, be- 
 fore we sallied from home this fcist time ; one of which 
 was, that you were to let me talk as much as I pleased, 
 so it were not any thing against my neighbour, or against 
 your worship's authority; and hitherto I think I have 
 not broken that capitulation." u I do not remember any 
 such article, Sancho," answered Don Quixote; "and 
 though it were so, it is my pleasure you hold your peace, 
 and come along ; for by this time the musical instruments 
 we beard lust night begin again to cheer the vallies; and 
 doubtless the espousals will be celebrated in the cool of 
 the morning, and not put OH" till the heat of the day." 
 
 Sancho did as his master commanded him ; and sad- 
 dling Rozinante and panneling Dapple, they both 
 mounted, and marching softly entered the artificial 
 b-hade. The iirst thing that presented itself to Snncho's 
 sight, was a whole bullock spitted upon a large elm. 
 The tire it was roasted by was composed of a middling 
 mountain of wood, and round it were placed six pots, 
 not cast in common moulds; for they were half-jars, each 
 containing a whole shamble of ilesh : ami entire sheep 
 were sunk and swallowed up in them, as cominodLously 
 as if they were only so many pigeons. The hares ready 
 .used, and the fowls ready plucked, that hung about 
 upon the branches, in order to be buried in the caldrons, 
 were without number. Infinite was the wild fowl and 
 venison hanging about the trees, that the air might cool 
 I'hem. Sancho counted above threescore skins, each of
 
 DON QUIXOTE. J63 
 
 above twenty-four quarts, and all, as appeared after- 
 wards, full of generous wines. There were also piles of 
 the whitest bread, like so many heaps of wheat in a 
 thrashing-floor. Cheeses, ranged like bricks, formed a 
 kind of wall. Two caldrons of oil, larger than a dyer's 
 vat, -stood ready for frying ail sorts of batter-ware; and 
 with a couple of stout peels they took them out when, 
 fried, and dipped them in another kettle of prepared 
 honey that stood by. The men and women cooks were 
 above fifty, aM clean, all diligent, and all in good hn- 
 mour. In the bullock's distended belly were a dozen of 
 sucking pigs, sewed up in it to make it savoury and ten- 
 der. The spices of various kinds seem to have been 
 bought, not by the pound, but by the hundred, and 
 stood free for every body in a great chest. In short, the 
 preparation for the wedding was all rustic, but in such 
 plenty, that it was sufficient to have feasted an army. 
 
 Sancho beheld all, considered all, and was in love with 
 everything. The first that captivated and subdued his 
 inclinations were the flesh-pots, out of which he would 
 have been glad to have filled a moderate pipkin. Then 
 the wine-skins drew his affections; and, lastly, the pro- 
 ducts of the frying-pans, if such pompous caldrons may 
 be so called. And, not being able to forbear any longer, 
 and having no power to do otherwise, he went up to one 
 of the busy cooks, and, with courteous and hungry words, 
 desired leave to sop a luncheon of bread in one of the 
 pots. To which the cook answered : "This is none of 
 those days over which hunger presides; thanks to rich 
 Camacho ; alight, and see if you can find a ladle any 
 where, and skim out a fowl or two, and much good may 
 they do you." " I see none," answered Sancho. 
 " Stay," said the cook ; " God forgive me, what a nice 
 and good-for-nothing fellow must you be]" And so say- 
 
 T2
 
 164 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 ing, he laid hold of a kettle, and, sousing it into one ot 
 the half-jars, he fished out three pullets and a couple of 
 geese, and said to Sancho: " Eat, friend, and make a 
 breakfast of this scum, to stay your stomach till dinner- 
 time." " I have nothing to put it in," answered San- 
 cho. " Then take ladle and all," replied the cook; 
 " for the riches and felicity of Camacho supply every 
 thing." 
 
 While Sancho was thus employed, Don Quixote stood 
 observing how, at one side of the spacious arbour, en- 
 tered a dozen countrymen upon as many beautiful mares, 
 adorned with rich and gay caparisons, and their furni- 
 ture hung round with little bells. They were clad in 
 noliday apparel, and in a regular troop ran sundry ca- 
 reers about the meadow, with a joyful Moorish cry of. 
 Long live Camacho and Quitevia, he as rich as she fair, 
 and she the fairest of the zcorld. Which Don Quixote 
 hearing, said to himself: " It is plain these people have 
 not seen my Dulcinea del Toboso ; for, had they seen her, 
 they would have been a little more upon the reserve in 
 praising this Quiteria of theirs." A little while after, 
 there entered, at divers parts of the arbour, a great many 
 different sets ef dancers ; among which was one consisting 
 of four and twenty sword-dancers, handsome sprightly 
 swains, all arrayed in fine white linen, with handker- 
 chiefs ? 5 wrought with several colours of fine silk. One 
 of those upon the mares asked a youth who led the sword- 
 dance, whether any of his comrades were hurt. " As 
 yet, God be thanked," replied the youth, " nobody is 
 wounded; we are all whole:" and presently he twined 
 himself in among the rest of his companions, with so 
 many turns, and so dexterously, that, though Don Quix- 
 ote was accustomed to see such kind of dances, he never 
 liked any so well as that. There was another, which
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 16J 
 
 pleased him mightily, of a dozen most beautiful damsels, 
 so young-, that none of them appeared to be under four- 
 teen, nor any quite eighteen, years old, all clad in green, 
 stuff of Guenca, their locks partly plaited and partly 
 loose, and all so yellow, that they might rival those of 
 the sun itself ; with garlands of jasmine, roses, and wood- 
 bine, upon their heads. They were led up by a vener- 
 able old man and an ancient matron, but more nimble 
 and airy than could be expected from their years. A bag- 
 pipe of Zamora 36 was their music; and they, carrying 
 modesty in their looks and eyes, and lightness in their 
 feet, approved themselves the best dancers in the world. 
 
 After these there entered an artificial dance, composed 
 of eight nymphs, divided into two files. The god Cupid 
 led one file, and Interest the other; the former adorned 
 with wings, bow, quiver, and arrows; the other ap- 
 parelled with rich and various colours of gold and silk. 
 The nymphs, attendant on the god of love, had their 
 names written at their backs on white parchment, and in 
 capital letters. Poetry was the title of the first ; Discre- 
 tion of the second; Good Family of tho third; and Va- 
 lour of the fourth. The followers of Interest were dis- 
 tinguished in the same manner. The title of the first was 
 Liberality; Donation of the second; Treasure of the. 
 third; and that of the fourth Peaceable Possession. Be- 
 fore them all came a wooden castle, drawn by savages, 
 clad in ivy and hemp dyed green so to the life, that they 
 almost frightened Sancho. On the front, and on all the 
 four sides of the machine, was written, The Castle of 
 Reserve 37 . Four skilful musicians played on the tabor 
 and pipe. Cupid began the dance, and, after two move- 
 ments, he lifted up his eyes, and bent his bow against a 
 damsel that stood between the battlemcn's of the castle, 
 whom he addressed after this manner.
 
 166 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 I am the mighty god of love; 
 
 Air, earth, and seas, my pow'r obey : 
 O'er hell beneath, and heav'n above> 
 
 I reign with universal sway. 
 
 I give, resume, forbid, command; 
 
 My will is nature's general law; 
 No force arrests my pow'rful hand, 
 
 Nor fears my daring courage awe. 
 
 He finished this stanza, let fly an arrow to the top of the 
 eastle, and retired to his post. Then Interest stepped 
 forth, and made two other movements. The tabors 
 ceased, and he said: 
 
 INTEREST. 
 
 Tho' love's my motive and my end, 
 
 I boast a greater pow'r than Love ; 
 Who makes not Interest his Mend, 
 
 In nothing will successful prove. 
 
 By all ador'd, by all pursu'd; 
 
 Then own, bright nymph, my greater sway, 
 And for thy gentle breast gtihdu'd 
 
 With large amends shall Int'rest pay. 
 
 Then Interest withdrew, and Poetry advanced ; and 
 after she had made her movements like the rest, fixing 
 her eyefc on the damsel of the castle, she said : 
 
 POETRY. 
 My name is Poetry; my soul, 
 
 Wrapp'd up in verse, to thee I send : 
 Let gentle lays thy will controul, 
 
 And be for once the Muse's friend. 
 
 If, lovely maid, sweet Poetry 
 
 Displease thee not, thy fortune soon, 
 Envied by all, advanced by me, 
 
 Shall reach the circle of the moon.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 167 
 
 Poetry went off, and from the side of Interest stepped 
 forth Liberality; and, after making her movements, 
 said : 
 
 LIBERALITY. 
 
 * 
 Me Liberality men call ; 
 
 In me the happy golden mean, 
 
 Not spendthrift-like to squander all, 
 
 Nor niggardly to save, is seen. 
 
 But, for thy honour, I begin, 
 
 Fair nymph, a prodigal to prove; 
 To lavish here's a glorious sin ; 
 
 For who'd a miser be in love? 
 
 In this manner all the figures of the tivo parties advanced 
 and retreated, and each made its movements and recited 
 ks verses, some elegant, and some ridiculous ; of which 
 Don Quixote, who Had a very good memory, treasured 
 up the foregoing only. Presently they mixed all toge- 
 ther in a kind of country-dance, with a genteel grace 
 and easy freedom: and when Cupid passed before the 
 castle, he shot his arrows aloft; but Interest flung gilded 
 balls against it. In conclusion, after having danced some 
 time, Interest drew out a large purse of Roman eatskin, 
 which seemed to be full of money ; and throwing it at the 
 castle, the boards were disjointed, and tumbled down 
 with the blow, leaving the damsel exposed, and without 
 any defence at all. Then came Interest with bis follow- 
 ers, and, clapping a great golden chain about her neck, 
 they seemed to take her prisoner, and lead her away cap- 
 tive: which Love and his adherents perceiving, they 
 made a show as if they would rescue her: and all their 
 seeming efforts were adjusted to the sound of the tabors. 
 They were parted by the savages, who with great agility 
 rejoined the boards, and reinstated the castle, and the 
 damsel was again enclosed in it as before : and so the dance 
 ended, to the grent satisfaction of the spectators.
 
 168 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Don Quixote asked one of the nymphs who it was that 
 had contrived and ordered the show? She answered, 
 " A beneficed clergyman of that village, who had a not- 
 able headpiece for such kind of inventions." " I will 
 lay a wager," said Don Quixote^ " that this bachelor or 
 clergyman is more a friend to Camacho than to Basilius, 
 and understands satire better than vespers : for he has in- 
 geniously interwoven in the dance the abilities of Basilius 
 with the riches of Camacho." Sancho Panza, who lis- 
 tened to all this, said, " The king is my cock ; I hold 
 with Camacho." " In short," replied Don Quixote, 
 " it is plain you are an arrant bumpkin, and one of those 
 who cry, Long live the conqueror!" " I know not who 
 I am one of," answered Sancho: " but I know very well 
 I shall never get such elegant scum from Basilius's pots 
 as I have done from Camacho's." Here he showed the 
 caldron full of geese and hens; and, laying hold of one, 
 lie began to eat with no small degree of good humour and 
 appetite, and said, " A fig for Basilius's abilities! for 
 you are worth just as much as you have, and you have 
 just as much as you are worth. There arc but two fa- 
 milies in the world, as my grandmother used to say : the 
 Haves and the Havenots, and she stuck to the former; 
 and now-a-days, master Don Quixote, people arc more 
 inclined to feel the pulse of Have than of Know. An asr 
 with golden furniture makes a better figure than a horse 
 with a pack-saddle : so that I tell you again, I hold with 
 Camacho, the abundant scum of whoso pots are geese and 
 hens, hares and rabbits ; whilst that of Basilius's, ifever 
 it comes to hand, must be mere dish-water." " Have 
 you finished your harangue, Sancho?" said Don Quix- 
 ote. " I must have done," answered Sancho, u because 
 I perceive your worship is going to be in a passion at 
 what lam saying; for, were it not for that, there was 
 work enough cut out for three days." a God grant,"
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 169 
 
 replied Don Quixote, "I may see you. dumb before I 
 die." " At the rate we go on," answered Sancho, " be- 
 fore you die I shall be mumbling cold clay ; and then 
 perhaps I may be so dumb, that I may not speak a word 
 till the end of the world, or at least till doomsday." 
 ts Though it should fall out so," answered Don Quixote, 
 "your silence, O Sancho, will never rise to the pitch of 
 your talk, past, present, and to come : besides, accord- 
 ing to the course of nature, I must die before you, and 
 therefore never can see you dumb, not even when drink* 
 ing or sleeping, which is the most I can say." 
 
 " In good faith, sir," answered Sancho, " there is no 
 trusting to Madam Skeleton, I mean Death, who devours 
 lambs as well as sheep: and I have heard our vicar say, 
 she treads with equal foot on the lofty towers of kings and 
 the humble cottages of the poor. That same gentlewo- 
 man is more powerful than nice : she is not at all squeam- 
 ish : she eats of every thing, and lays hold of all ; and 
 stuffs her waUets with people of all sorts, of all ages, and 
 pre-eminences. She is not a reaper that sleeps away the 
 noon-day heat ; for she cuts down and mows at all hours, 
 the dry as well as the green grass : nor does she stand to 
 chew, but devours and swallows down all that comes in 
 her way; for she has a canine appetite that is never sa- 
 tisfied; and, though she has no belly, she makes it ap- 
 pear that she has a perpetual dropsy,, and a thirst to drinfi: 
 down the lives of all that live, as one would drink a cup 
 of cool water." "Hold, Sancho," replied Don Quix- 
 ote, " while you are well, and da not spoil all; for, iu 
 truth, what you have said of death, in your rustic phrases, 
 might become the mouth of a good preacher. I tell }'ou, 
 Sancho, if you had but discretion equal to your natural 
 abilities, you might take a pulpit in your hand, and go 
 about the world preaching fine things." " A good liver 
 is the best preacher^" answered Sancho, " and that is all 
 
 VOL. n. z
 
 170 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 the divinity I know." " Or need know," said Don Quix- 
 ote: " but I can in no wise understand, nor comprehend, 
 Jiow, since the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom, 
 you, who are more afraid of a lizard than of Him, should 
 be so knowing." " Good your worship, judge of your 
 own chivalries," answered Sancho, " and meddle not 
 with judging of other men's fears or valours ; for perhaps 
 I am as pretty a fearer of God as any of my neighbours: 
 and pray let me whip off this scum : for all besides is idle 
 talk, of which we must give an account in the next 
 world." And so saying, he fell to afresh, and assaulted 
 his kettle with so long-winded an appetite, that he awaken- 
 ed that of Don Quixote, who doubtless would have as-, 
 sisted him, had he not been prevented by what we are 
 under a necessity of immediately telling. 
 
 CHAP. XXI. 
 
 In n'hich is continued the History of Camacho's IVed- 
 dingy i^ith other delightful Accidents. 
 
 Don Quixote and Sancho were engaged in the 
 discourses mentioned in the preceding chapter, they hoard 
 a great outcry and noise, raised and occasioned by those 
 that rode on the mares, who, in full career and with <t 
 great shout, went to meet the bride and bridegroom, 
 "who were coming, surrounded with a thousand kinds of 
 musical instruments and inventions, accompanied by the 
 parish priest and the kindred on both sides, and by all the 
 better sort of people from the neighbouring towns, all in 
 their holiday apparel. And when Sancho espied the
 
 BON QUIXOTE. 
 
 bride, he said, " In good faith she is not clad like 3. 
 country girl, but like any court lady : by the mass, the 
 breast-piece she wears seems to me at this distance to be 
 of rich coral ; and her gown, instead of green stuff of 
 Cuenca* is no less than a thirty-piled velvet: besides^ 
 the trimming, 1 vow, is of satin. Then do but Observe 
 her hands: instead of rings of jet, let me never thrive, 
 but they are of gold, ay, and of right gold, and adorned 
 with pearls as white as a curd, and every one of them 
 worth an eye of one's head. Ahj whoreson jade! and 
 what fine hair she has ! If it is not false> I never saw longer 
 nor fairer in all my life. Then her sprightliness and 
 mien: why, she is a very moving palm*tree, loaden with, 
 branches of dates ; for just so look the trinkets hanging at 
 her hair, and about her neck : by my soul the girl is so 
 well plated over, she might pass current at any bank m 
 Flanders 38 ." Don Quixote smiled at the rustic praises 
 bestowed by Sancho Panzaj and thought that, setting 
 aside his mistress Dulcinea del Toboso, he had never seen 
 a more beautiful woman. The fair Quiteria looked a lit- 
 fle pale, occasioned, perhaps, by want of rest the pre* 
 ceding night; which brides always employ in setting 1 
 themselves off, and dressing for their wedding-day fol~ 
 lowing. 
 
 They proceeded towards a theatre on one side of the 
 meadow, adorned with carpets and boughs; where the 
 nuptial ceremony was to be performed, and from whence 
 they were to see the dances and inventions. And, just as 
 they arrived at the standing, they heard a great outcry 
 behind them, and somebody calling aloud, " Hold a lit- 
 tle, inconsiderate and hasty people." At which voice 
 and words they all turned about their heads, and found 
 they came from a man clad in a black jacket, all welted 
 with crimson in flames. He was crowned, as they 
 
 z 2
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 sently perceived, with a garland of mournful cypress^ 
 ^nd held in his hand a great tru ncheon. As he drew near> 
 all knew him to be the gallant Basilius, and were in sus* 
 pense, waiting to see what Mould be the issue of this pro- 
 cedure, and apprehending some sinister event from his 
 arrival at'such a season. At length lie Came up, tired and 
 out of breath, and, planting himself just before the af- 
 fianced couple, and leaning on his truncheon, which had 
 a steebpike at the end, changing colour, and fixing his 
 ryes 'on Quiteria, with a trembling and hoarse voice he 
 uttered these expressions: "You well know, forgetful 
 Quiteria, that, by the rules of that holy religion we pro- 
 fess, you cannot marry another man whilst I am living;- 
 neither are you ignorant, that, waiting till time and my 
 own industry should better my fortune, I have not failed 
 to preserve the respect dae to your honour. But you, 
 casting all obligations due to my lawful love behind your 
 back, are going to make another man master of what is 
 mine; whose riches serve not only to make him happy in 
 the possession of them, but every way superlatively for- 
 tunate: and that his good luck may be heaped brim full, 
 not that I think 4ie deserves it, but that heaven will have 
 it so, I with my own hands will remove all impossibility) 
 or inconvenience, by removing myself out of his way. 
 Long live the rich Camacho with the ungrateful Quite- 
 Griu; many and happy ages may they live, and let poof 
 iSasilius die, whose poverty clipped the wings of his 
 good fortune, and laid him in his grave!" And so say- 
 ing, he laid hold of his truncheon, which was stuck in 
 the ground, and drawing out a short tuck that was con- 
 cealed in it, and to which it served as a scabbard ; ami 
 setting what may be called the hilt upon the ground, 
 with a nimble spring and determinate purpose, he threw 
 himself upon it j and iu an instant half the bloody point
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Appeared at his back, the poor wretch lying along upon 
 the ground, weltering in his blood, and pierced through 
 with his own weapon. 
 
 His friends ran presently to his assistance, grieved at 
 his misery and deplorable disaster; and Don Quixote, 
 quitting Rozinante, ran also to assist, and took him in his 
 arms, and found he had still life in him. They would 
 have drawn out the tuck: but the priest, who was by, 
 was of opinion it should not be drawn out till he had made 
 his confession; for their pulling it out, and his expiring, 
 would happen at the same moment. But Basilius, coming 
 a little to himself, with a faint and doleful voice said, 
 " If, cruel Quiteria, in this my last and fatal agony, you 
 would give me your hand to be my spouse, I should hope 
 iny rashness might be pardoned, since it procured me the 
 blessing of being yours." Which the priest hearing, 
 advised him to mind the salvation of his soul rather than 
 the gratifying his bodily appetites, and in good earnest 
 to beg pardon of God for his sins, and especially for this 
 last desperate aetion. To which Basilius replied, that he 
 would by no means make any confession till Quiteria had 
 first given him her hand to be his wife ; for that satisfaction 
 Avould quiet his spirits, and give him breath for confes- 
 sion. Don Quixote, hearing the wounded man's re- 
 quest, said in a loud voice, that Basilius desired a very 
 just and very reasonable thing, and besides very easy to 
 be done ; and that it would be every whit as honourable 
 for Signer Camacho to take Quiteria, a widow of the brave 
 Basilius, as if he received her at her father's hands; all 
 that was necessary being but a bare Yes, which could 
 have no other consequence than the pronouncing the 
 word, since the nuptial bed of these espousals must be the 
 grave. Camacho heard all this, and was in suspense and 
 confusion, not knowing what to do or say; but so impor- 
 tunate were the cries of Basilius's friends, desiring him to
 
 J74 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 consent, that Quiteria might give her hand to be Basilius'.s 
 wife, lest his soul should be lost by departing out of this 
 life in despair, that they moved and forced him to say, 
 that, if Quiteria thought fit to give it him) he was con- 
 tented, since it was only delaying for a moment the ac- 
 complishment of his wishes. Presently all ran and ap- 
 plied to Quiteria, and some with entreaties, others w itb. 
 fears, and others with persuasive reasons, importuned her 
 to give her hand to poor Basilius : but she, harder than 
 marble, and more immovable than a statue, neither could, 
 nor would, return any answer. But the priest bid her re- 
 solve immediately; for Basilius had his soul between his 
 teeth, and there was uo time to wait for irresolute deter- 
 minations. 
 
 Then the beautiful Quiteria, without answering a word, 
 and in appearance much troubled and concerned, ap- 
 proached Basilius, his eyes already turned in his head, 
 breathing short and quick, muttering the name of Quite- 
 ria, and giving tokens of dying more like a heathen thau 
 a Christian. At last Quiteria, kneeling down by him, 
 made siffns to him for his hand. Basilius unclosed his 
 
 O 
 
 eyes, and, fixing them stedfastly upon her, said, " O 
 Quiteria! you relent at a time when your pity is a sword 
 to finish the taking away of my life ; for now I have not 
 enough left to bear the glory you give me in making me 
 yours, nor to suspend the pain which will presently co- 
 ver my eyes with the dreadful shadow of death! What 
 I beg of you, O fatal star of mine, is, that the hand you 
 require and give, be not out of compliment, or to deceive 
 me afresh ; but that you would confess and acknowledge, 
 that you bestow it Avithout any force laid upon your will, 
 and give it me, as to your lawful husband : for it is not 
 reasonable that, in this extremity, you should impose 
 upon me, or deal falsely with him who has dealt so 
 faithfully and sincerely with you.'* At these words he
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 175 
 
 was seized with such a fainting fit, that all the by-standers 
 thought his soul was just departing. Quiteria, all mo- 
 desty and bashfulness, taking Basilius's right h;<ad in 
 hers, said : " No force would be sufficient to bias my 
 will; and therefore, with all the freedom I have, I give 
 you my hand to be your lawful wife, and receive yours, 
 if you give it me as freely, and the calamity you have 
 brought yourself into by your precipitate resolution does 
 not disturb or hinder it." *' Yes, I give it you," an- 
 swered Basilius, li neither discomposed nor confused, 
 but with the clearest understanding that heaven was ever 
 pleased to bestow upon me ; and so I give and engage 
 myself to be your husband." u And I to be your wife," 
 answered Quiteria, " whether you live many years, or 
 are carried from my arms to the grave." u For one so 
 much wounded," quoth Sancho Panza at this period, 
 " this young man talks a great deal: advise him to leave 
 off his courtship and mind the business of his soul; 
 though, to my thinking, he has it more in his tongue 
 than between his teeth." 
 
 Basilius and Quiteria being thus Avith hands joined, 
 the tender-hearted priest, with tears in his eyes, pro- 
 nounced the benediction upon them, and prayed to God 
 for the repose of the new-married man's soul : who, as 
 soon as he had received the benediction, suddenly started 
 lip, and nimbly drew out the tuck which was sheathed in 
 his body. All the bystanders were in astonishment, and 
 some, more simple than the rest, began to cry aloud, 
 " A miracle! a miracle!" But Basilius replied, u No 
 miracle, no miracle, but a stratagem! a stratagem!'* 
 The priest, astonished and confounded, ran with both his 
 hands to feel the wound, and found that the sword had 
 passed, not through Basilius's flesh and ribs, but through 
 a hollow iron pipe, filled with blood, and cunningly fr- 
 ied to the place and purpose ; and, as it was known af
 
 176 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 terwards, the blood was prepared bj art, that it could 
 not congeal. In short, the priest, Cauiacho, and the 
 rest of the bystanders, found they were imposed upon 
 and deceived. The bride showed no signs of being sor- 
 ry for the trick; on the contrary, hearing it said thai tiie 
 marriage, as being fraudulent, was not valid, she said 
 she confirmed it anew: from whence every body con- 
 cluded the business was concerted with the knowledge 
 and privity of both parties ; at which Camacho and his 
 abettors were so confounded, that they transferred their 
 revenge to their hands, and, unsheathing abundance of 
 swords, they fell upon Basil ius, in whose behalf as many 
 more were instantly drawn. Don Quixote, leading the. 
 Van on horseback, with his lance upon his arm, and well 
 covered with his shield, made them all give way. San- 
 cho, who took no pleasure in such kind of frays, retired 
 to the jars, out of which he had gotten his charming 
 skimmings, that place seeming to him to be sacred, and 
 therefore to be revered. Don Quixote cried aloud, 
 <c Hold, sirs, hold : for it is not fit to take "revenge for 
 the injuries done us by love: and pray consider that 
 love and war are exactly alike ; and as, in war, it is law- 
 ful and customary to employ cunning "and stratagem to 
 defeat the enemy, so, in amorous conflicts and rivalships > 
 it is allowable to put in practice tricks and sleights, in 
 order to compass the desired end, provided they be not to 
 the prejudice and dishonour of the party beloved. Qui- 
 teria was Basilius's, and Basilius Quiteria's, by the just 
 and favourable disposition of heaven. Cajnacho is rich,. 
 and may purchase his pleasure when, where, and how > 
 lie pleases. Basilius has but this one ewe-lamb; and no 
 one, how powerful soever, has a right to take it from him ; 
 for those whom God hath joined together, let no man put 
 asunder: and whoever shall attempt it, must fii>t pa-s 
 the point of this lance." Then he brandished it \\itU
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 177 
 
 ucli vigour and dexterity, that he struck terror into all 
 t&at did not know him. 
 
 But Quitcria's disdain took such fast hold of the ima- 
 gination of Camacho, that it presently blotted her out of 
 his memory; and so the persuasions of the priest, who 
 was a prudent and well-meaning many had their effect, 
 and Camacho and those of his faction remained pacified 
 and calmed : in token w hereof they put up their swords 
 again in their scabbards, blaming rather the fickleness of 
 Quitcria than the cunning of Basilius. Camacho rea- 
 soned within himself, that, if Quiteria loved Basilius 
 wiien she was a virgin, she would love him also when she 
 was married, and that he had more reason to thank hea- 
 ven for so good a riddance than to repine at the loss of 
 her. Camacho and his followers being thus pacified 
 and comforted, those of Basilius were so too; and the 
 rich Camacho, to show he did not resent the trick put 
 upon him, nor value it at all, would have the diversions 
 and entertiunments go on, as if he had been really mar- 
 ried: but neither Basilius, nor his bride, nor their fol- 
 lowers, would partake of them; and so they went home 
 to Basilius*s house: for the poor man, who is virtuous 
 and discreat, has those that follow, honour, and stand 
 by him, as well as the rich has his attendants and flatter- 
 ers. They took Don Quixote with them, esteeming him 
 to be a person of worth and bravery. Only Sancho's 
 soul was cloudy and overcast, finding it impossible for 
 him to stay and partake of Camacho's splendid enter- 
 tainment and festival, which lasted till night; and thus 
 drooping and sad he followed his master, who went off 
 with Basilius's troop, leaving behind him the flesh-pots 
 of Egypt, which however he carried in his mind ; the 
 skimmings of the kettle, now almost consumed and spent, 
 representing to him the erlory and abundance of the good 
 
 VOL, ii. A A
 
 178 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 he had lost; and so, anxious and pensive, though not 
 hungry, and without alighting from Dapple, he fol- 
 lowed the track of llozinante. 
 
 CHAP. XXII. 
 
 Wherein is related the grand Adventure of the Cave of 
 Montesinosj lying in the heart of La Mancha; to 
 which the valorous Don Quixote ga-oe a happy Con- 
 clusion. 
 
 1 HE new-married couple made exceeding much of Don 
 Quixote, being obliged by the readiness he had showed 
 in defending their cause; and they esteemed his discre- 
 tion in equal degree with his valour, accounting him a 
 Cid in arms, and a Cicero in eloquence. Three days 
 honest Sancho solaced himself at the expense of the bride 
 and bridegroom ; from whom it was known that Ihe feigned 
 wounding himself was not a trick concerted with the fair 
 Quiteria, but an invention of Basilius's own, hoping 
 from it the very success which fell out. True it is, he 
 confessed, he had let some of his friends into the secret, 
 that they might favour his design, and support his deceit. 
 Don Quixote affirmed, it could not, nor ought, to be 
 called deceit, which aims at virtuous ends, and that the 
 marriage of lovers was the most excellent of all ends : 
 observing by the way, that hunger and continual neces- 
 sity arc the greatest enemies to love; for love is gaiety, 
 mirth, and content, especially when the lover is in actual 
 possession of the person beloved, to which necessity and 
 poverty are opposed and declared enemies. All this he
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 179 
 
 said with design to persuade Basilius to quit the exercise 
 of those abilities in which he so much excelled ; for, 
 though they procured him fame, they got him no money ; 
 find that now he should apply himself to acquire riches by 
 lawful and industrious means, which are never wanting 
 to the prudent and diligent. The honourable poor man, 
 if a poor man can be said to have honour, possesses a 
 jewel in having a beautiful wife; and whoever deprives 
 him of her, deprives him of his honour, and as it were 
 kills it. The beautiful and honourable woman, whose 
 husband is poor, deserves to be crowned with laurels and 
 palms of victory and triumph. Beauty of itself alone 
 attracts the inclinations of all that behold it, and the royal 
 eagles and other towering birds stoop to the tempting lure. 
 But, if such beauty be attended with poverty and a narrow 
 fortune, it is besieged by kites and vultures, and other 
 birds of prey ; and she who stands firm against so many 
 attacks, may well be called the crown of her husband. 
 " Observe, discreet Basilius," added Don Quixote, 
 * c that it was the opinion of a certain sage, that there was 
 but one good woman in the world ; and he gave it as his 
 advice, that every man should think and believe she was 
 fallen to his lot, and so he would live contented. I for 
 my part am not married, nor have I ever thought of being 
 so: yet would I venture to give my advice to any one, 
 who should ask it of me, what method he should take to 
 get a wife to his mind. In the first place, I would ad- 
 vise him to lay a greater stress upon charity than fortune ; 
 for a good woman does not acquire a good name rriferely 
 by being good, but by appearing to be so; for public 
 freedoms and liberties hurt a woman's reputation much 
 more than secret wantonness. If you bring a woman hq- 
 nest to your house, it is an easy matter to keep her so, 
 and even to make her better, and improve her very good- 
 ness : but if you bring her naughty, you will have much 
 
 A A 2
 
 180 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 ado to mend her ; for it is not very easy to pass from onr 
 extreme to another. I do not say it is impossible ; but I 
 take it to he extremely difficult." 
 
 All this Sancbo listened to, and said to himself, " This 
 master of mine, wben I speak things pithy and substan- 
 tial, used to say, I might take a pulpit in my hand, and 
 go about the world preaching fine things ; and I say of 
 him, that when he begins stringing of sentences and giving 
 advice, he may not only take a pulpit in his band, but 
 two upon each finger, and stroll about your market- 
 places, crying out, Mouthy tchat vould you hare? 
 The devil take thce for a knight-errant, that knows every 
 thing ! I believed in my heart, that he only knew what 
 belonged to his chivalries ; but he pecks at every thing, 
 and thrusts his spoon into every dish." Sancho muttered 
 this so loud, that his master, overhearing it, sr>id to hurt, 
 " Sancho, what is it you mutter?" " I neither say nor 
 mutter any thing," answered Sancho: " I was only say- 
 ing to myself that I wished I had heard your worship 
 preach this doctrine before I was married; then perhaps 
 I should have been able to say now, The ox that is loose 
 is best licked." " Is your Teresa then so bad, Sancho?'* 
 said Don Quixote. " She is not very bad," answered San- 
 cho; " but she is not very good neither, at least not quite 
 so good as I would have her." " You are in the wrong, 
 Sancho," replied Don Quixote,. " to speak ill of your 
 wife, who is trie mother of your children." " We arc 
 not in one another's debt upon that score," answered San- 
 cho; " for she speaks as ill of me whenever the fancy 
 takes her, especially when she is jealous; for then Satan 
 himself cannot bear with her." 
 
 Three days they stayed with the new-married couple, 
 where they were served and treated like kings in person. 
 Don Quixote then desired the dexterous student to furnish 
 with a guide, to bring him to the cave of MouteiU
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 181 
 
 os; fof he had a mighty desire to go down into it, and 
 see with his own eyes, whether the wonders related of it 
 in all those parts were true. The student told him he 
 would procure him a cousin of his, a famous scholar, 
 and much addicted to reading books of chivalry, who 
 would very gladly carry him to the mouth of the cave it- 
 elf, and also show him the lakes of Ruydera, famous all 
 over La Mancha, and even all over Spain; telling him he 
 would be a very entertaining companion, being a young 
 man who knew how to write books for the press, and de- 
 dicate them to princes. In short, the cousin came, 
 mounted on an ass big with foal, whose pnck-saddlc was 
 covered with a doubled piece of an old carpet or sacking. 
 Sancho saddled Kozinnnte, panneled Dapple, and re- 
 plenished his wallets; and those of the scholar were as 
 well provided > and so, commending themselves to the pro- 
 tection of God, and taking leave of every body, they set 
 out, bending their course directly towards the famous 
 cave of Montcsinos. 
 
 Upon the road Don Quixote asked the scholar of wliat 
 kind and quality his exercises, profession, and studies, 
 were. To which he answered, that his profession was 
 the study of humanity; his exercise, composing of books 
 for the press, all of great use, and no small entertain- 
 ment to the commonwealth ; that one of them was intitled, 
 A Treatise of Liveries, describing seven hundred and 
 three liveries, with their colours, mottos, and ciphers; 
 from whence the cavalier courtiers might pick and choose 
 to their minds, for feasts and rejoicings, without being 
 beholden to others, or beating their own brains to invent 
 and contrive them to their humour or design; " For," 
 said he, " I adapt them to the jealous, the disdained, the 
 forgotten, and the absent, so properly, that more will hit 
 than miss. I have also another book, which I intend to 
 call. The Metamorphoses, or Spanish Ovid t of a new
 
 TSS DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 and rare invention ; for therein, imitating Ovid in a bur- 
 lesque way, I show who the Giralda of Seville was, and 
 who the angel of La Magdalena ; what the conduit of 
 Vecinguerra of Cordova; what the bulls of Guisando; 
 the Sable Mountain ; the fountains of Leganitos, and the 
 Lavapies in Madrid: not forgetting the Piojo, that of the 
 golden pipe, and that of the Priora: and all thrse, with 
 their several allegories, metaphors, and transformations, 
 in such a manner as to delight, surprise, and instruct, 
 at the same time. I have another book, which I call, 
 A Supplement to Polydore VirgH, treating of the inven- 
 tion of things; a work of vast erudition and study, be- 
 cause therein I make out several material things omitted 
 by Polydore, and explain them in a fine style. Virgil 
 forgot to tell us who was the first in the world that had a 
 cold, and who the first that was fluxed for the French 
 disease ; these points I resolve to a nicety, and cite the 
 authority of above five-and -twenty authors for them: so 
 that your worship may see whether I have taken true 
 pains, and whether such a performance is not likely to be 
 very useful to the whole Avorld." 
 
 Sancho, who had been attentive to the student's dis- 
 course, said : " Tell me, sir, and so may God send you 
 good luck in the printing your books, can you resolve 
 me, though I know you can, since you know every 
 thing, who was the first that scratched his head ? I, for 
 my part, am of opinion, it must be our first father 
 Adam." " Certainly,'* answered the scholar; " for 
 there is no doubt but Adam had a head and hair; and this 
 being granted, and he being the first man in the world, 
 lie must needs have scratched his head one time or ano- 
 ther." " So I believe," answered Sancho: cc but tell 
 me now, who was the first tumbler in the world?" 
 " Truly, brother," answered the scholar, " I cannot de- 
 termine that point till I have studied it; and I will study
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 rl as soon as I return to the place where I keep my books, 
 and will satisfy you when we see one another again} for 
 1 hope this will not be the last time." " Look ye, sir," 
 replied Sanclio, u take no pains about this matter; for I 
 lave already hit upon the answer to my question : know 
 then, that the first tumbler was Lucifer, when he was 
 cast, or thrown, headlong from heaven, and came tum- 
 bling down to the lowest abyss." " You are in the right, 
 friend," replied the scholar. Don Quixote said: " This 
 question and answer are not your own, Sancho; you have 
 heard them from somebody else." " Say no more, sir," 
 quoth Sancho; " for, in good faith, if I fall to question- 
 ing and answering, I shall not have done between this 
 and to-morrow morning: for foolish questions and ridicu- 
 lous answers, I need not be obliged to any of my neigh- 
 bours." " Sancho," said Don Quixote, " you have 
 said more than you are aware of; for some there arc who 
 tire themselves with examining into, and explaining, 
 things, which, after they are known and explained, sig- 
 nify not a farthing to the understanding or the memory.'* 
 In these, and other pleasant discourses, they passed 
 that day ; and at night they lodged in a small village, 
 from whence, the scholar told Don Quixote, there were 
 but two leagues to the cave o Montesinos, and that, if 
 lie continued his resolution to enter into it, it would be 
 necessary to provide himself with rope to tie and let him- 
 self down into its depth. Don Quixote said, if it reached 
 to the abyss, he would see where it stopped ; and so they 
 bought near a hundred fathom of cord ; and about two 
 in the afternoon following, they came to the cave, the 
 mouth of which is wide and spacious, but full of briers, 
 wild fig-trees, and thorns, so thick and intricate, that they 
 quite blind and cover it. When they arrived at it, th^ 
 scholar, Sancho, and Don Quixote, alighted: then the 
 two former bound tlie knight very fast with the cord, and
 
 184 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 while they were swathing him, Sancho said : " Have a 
 care, dear sir, -what you do ; do not bury yourself alive, 
 nor hang yourself dangling like a flask of wine let down 
 lo cool in a well ; for it is no business of your worship's, 
 cor does it belong toyou^to bothescrutinizerof this hole, 
 which roust needs be worse than any dungeon. '% " Tie 
 on, and talk not," answered Don Quixote : " for such an 
 enterprise as this, friend Sancho, was reserved for me 
 alone." Then the guide said : " I beseech your wor- 
 ship, Signor Don Quixote, to take good heed, and look 
 about you with an hundred eyes, and explore what is 
 below : perhaps there may be things proper to be inserted 
 in my book of metamorphoses." " The drum is in a 
 hand that knows full well Ixow to rattle it," answered 
 Sancho Panza. 
 
 This being said, and the tying of Don Quixote, not over 
 his armour, but his doublet, finished, Don Quixote said : 
 " We have been very careless in neglecting to provide a 
 little bell, to be tied to inc with tlmrope ; by the tinkling 
 of Tvhich you might hear me still descending, and know 
 that I was alive : but, since that is now impossible, be the 
 hand of God my guide." And immediately he kneeled 
 down, and in a low voice put up a prayer to heaven for 
 assistance and good success, in this seemingly perilous 
 and strange adventure : then of a sudden, in a loud voice, 
 he said : " O mistress of my actions and motions, most 
 illustrious and peerless Dulcinea del Toboso ! if it be 
 possible, that the prayers and requests of this thy adven- 
 turous lover reach thy ears, I beseech thce, for thy 
 unheard-of beauty's sake, hearken to them ; for all I beg 
 of thee is, not to refuse me thy favour and protection, 
 now that I so much need it. I am just going to pre- 
 cipitate, to ingulph, and sink, myself in the profound abyss* 
 here before me, onjy to let the world know, thaf, if thou, 
 fevourest me, thcife is no impossibility I would not an-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 183 
 
 dertake and accomplish." And, so saying, he drew near 
 to the brink, and saw he could not be let down, nor get 
 at the entrance of the cave, but by mere force, and cutting 
 his way through : and so, laying his hand to his sword, 
 he began to lay about him, and hew down the brambles 
 and bushes at the mouth of the cave; at which noise and 
 rustling, an infinite number of huge ravens and daws flew 
 out so thick and so fast, that they beat Don Quixote to 
 the ground ; and, had he been as superstitious as he was 
 catholic, he had taken it for an ill omen, and forborne 
 shutting himself up in such a place. At length he got 
 upon his legs, and seeing no more ravens flying out, nor 
 other night-birds, such as bats, some of which likewise 
 flew out among the ravens, the scholar and Sancho, giving 
 him rope, let him down to the bottom of the fearful 
 cavern ; and 3 at his going in, Sancho, giving him his 
 blessing, and making a thousand crosses over him, said : 
 " God, and the rock of France, together with the trinity 
 of Gaeta, speed thee, thou flower, and cream, and skim- 
 ming, of knights-errant ! There thou goest, hector of the 
 world, heart of steel, and arms of brass ! Once more, God 
 guide thee, and send thee back safe and sound, without 
 deceit, to the light of this world, which thou art forsa- 
 king, to bury thyself in this obscurity." The scholar 
 uttered much the same prayers and intercessions. 
 
 Don Quixote went down, calling for more and more 
 rope, which they gave him by little and little ; and when 
 the voice, by the windings of the cave, could be heard 
 no longer, and the hundred fathom of cordage was all let 
 down, they were of opinion to pull Don Quixote up 
 again, since they could give him no more rope. How- 
 ever, they delayed about half an hour, and then they 
 began to gather up the rope, which they did very easily, 
 and without any weight at all ; from whence they con- 
 jectured that Don Quixote remained in the cave; and 
 
 VOL. II. B B
 
 186 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Sancho, believing as much, wept bitterly, and drew up 
 in a great hurry to know the truth : but, coming to a little 
 above eighty fathoms, they felt a weight, at which they 
 rejoiced exceedingly. In short, at about the tenth fa- 
 thom, they discerned Don Quixote very distinctly; to 
 whom Sancho called out, saying: "Welcome back to 
 us, dear sir; for we began to think you had staid there 
 to breed." But Don Quixote answered not a word ; and, 
 pulling him quite out, they perceived his eyes were shut, 
 as if he was asleep. They laid him along on the ground, 
 and untied him; yet still he did not awake. But they so 
 turned and jogged, and re-turned and shook, him, that 
 after a good while he came to himself, stretching and 
 yawning just as if he had awaked out of a heavy and 
 deep sleep: and gazing from side to side, as if he was 
 amazed, he said : " God forgive ye, friends, for having 
 brought me away from the most pleasing and charming 
 life and sight that ever mortal saw or lived. In short, I 
 dm now thoroughly satisfied that all the enjoyments of this 
 life pass away like a shadow or a dream, and fade away 
 like the flower of the field. O unhappy Montesinos! 
 O desperately wounded Durandarte! O unfortunate 
 Belerma! O weeping Guadiana! And ye unlucky 
 daughters of Ruydera, whose waters show what floods 
 of tears streamed from your fair eyes." The scho- 
 lar and Sancho listened to Don Quixote's words, which 
 he spoke as if with immense pain he fetched them from 
 his entrails. They entreated him to explain to them 
 what it was he had been saying, and to tell them what 
 he had seen in that hell below. " Hell do you call it ?" 
 said Don Quixote; " call it so no more, for it does not 
 deserve that name, as you shall presently see." He de- 
 sired they would give him something to eat, for he was 
 very hungry. They spread the scholar's carpet upon the 
 green grass ; they addressed themselves to the pantry of
 
 DON QUIXOTE. J87 
 
 his wallets, and, being all three seated in loving and so- 
 cial wise, they collationed and supped all under one. 
 The carpet being removed, Don Quixote de la Mancha 
 said, " Let no one arise; and, sons, be attentive to 
 me." 
 
 CHAP. XXIII. 
 
 Of the wonderful Things which the unexampled Don 
 Quixote de la Mancha declared he had seen in the 
 deep Cave of Montcsinos, the Greatness and Impossi- 
 bility of which makes this Adventure pass for apo- 
 cryphal. 
 
 IT was about four of the clock in the afternoon, when the 
 sun, hidden among the clouds, with a faint light and 
 temperate rays, gave Don Quixote an opportunity, with- 
 out extraordinary heat or trouble, of relating to his two 
 illustrious hearers what he had seen in the cave of Monte- 
 sinos ; and he began in the following manner : 
 
 " About twelve or fourteen fathom in the depth of this 
 dungeon, on the right hand, there is a hollow space, 
 wide enough to contain a large Avaggon, mules and all : a 
 little light makes its way inlo it, through some cracks 
 and holes at a distance in the surface of the earth. This 
 hollow and open space I saw, just as I began to weary, 
 and out of humour to find myself pendent and tied by the 
 rope, and journeying through that dark region below, 
 without knowing whither I was going; and so I deter- 
 mined to enter into it, and rest a little. I called out to 
 you aloud not to let down more rope till I bid you : but, 
 it seems, you heard me not. I gathered up the cord you
 
 188 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 had letdown, and, coiling it up into a Leap, or bundle, I 
 sat me down upon it, extremely pensive, and coi^idering 
 what method I should take to descend to the bottom, 
 having nothing to support my weight. And being thus 
 thoughtful, and in confusion, on a sudden, without any 
 endeavour of mine, a deep sleep fell upon me; and, 
 when I least thought of it, I awaked, and found myself, 
 I knew not by what means, in the midst of the finest, 
 pleasantest, and most delightful, meadow that nature 
 could create, or the most pregnant fancy imagine. I 
 rubbed my eyes, wiped them, and perceived I was not 
 asleep, but really awake : but for all that I fell to feeling 
 my head and breast, to be assured whether it was I my- 
 self who was there, or some empty and counterfeit illu- 
 sion : but feeling, sensation, and the coherent discourse I 
 -made to myself, convinced me that I was then there the 
 same person I am now here. Immediately a royal and 
 splendid palace or castle presented itself to my view ; the 
 walls and battlenjents whereof seemed to be built of clear 
 and transparent crystal: from out of which, through a 
 pair of great folding-doors, that opened of their own ac- 
 cord, I saw come forth, aiid advance towards me, a ve- 
 nerable old man, clad in a long mourning cloke of purple 
 baize, which trailed upon the ground. Over his shoul- 
 ders and breast he wore a kind of collegiate tippet of green 
 satin: he had a black Milan cap on his head, and his 
 hoary beard reached below his girdle. He carried no 
 weapon at all, only a rosary of beads in his hand, bigger 
 than middling walnuts, and every tenth bead like an or- 
 dinary ostrich egg. His mien, his gait, his gravity, and 
 his goodly presence, each by itself, and all together, sur- 
 prised and amazed me. He came up to me, and the first 
 thing he did was to embrace me close; and then he said, 
 It is a long time, most valorous knight Don Quixtftc de 
 la Mancha, that we, who aje shut up and enchanted in
 
 DON QUIXOTE. J89 
 
 these solitudes, have hoped to see you, that the world by 
 you may be informed what this deep cave, commonly 
 called the cave of Montesines, encloses and conceals ; an 
 exploit reserved for your invincible heart and stupendous 
 courage. Come along with me, illustrious sir, that I 
 may show you the wonders contained in this transparent 
 castle, of which I am warder and perpetual guard ; for 
 I am Montesinos himself, from whom this cave derives 
 its name.' Scarcely had he told me he was Montesinos, 
 \vhen I asked him, whether it was true, which was re- 
 ported in the world above, that with a little dagger he 
 had taken out the heart of his great friend Uurandarte, 
 and carried it to his Lady Belerma, as he had desired 
 him at the point of death. He replied, all was true, ex- 
 cepting as to the dagger ; for it was neither a dagger, 
 nor little, but a bright poniard sharper than an awl." 
 
 " That poniard," interrupted Sancho, " must have 
 been made by Raymond de Hozes of Seville." " I do 
 not know," continued Don Quixote : " but, upon second 
 thoughts, it could not be of his making ; for Raymond 
 de Hozes lived but the other day, and the battle of Ron- 
 cesvalles, where this misfortune happened, was fought 
 many years ago. But thhJ objection is of no importance, 
 and neither disorders nor alters the truth and connexion 
 of the. story." " True," answered the scholar: " pray 
 go on, Signor Don Quixote, for I listen to you with the 
 greatest pleasure in the world." " And I tell it with 
 no less," answered Don Quixote, " and so I say : 
 
 " The venerable Montesinos conducted me to the crys- 
 talline palace, where, in a lower hall, extremely cool, 
 and all of alabaster, there stood a marble tomb of ex- 
 quisite workmanship, on which I saw, laid at full length, 
 a cavalier, not of brass, or marble, or jasper, as is usual 
 on other monuments, but of pure flesh and bones. His 
 right hand, which, to my thinking, was pretty hairy and
 
 J90 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 nervous, a sign that its owner was very strong, was laid 
 on the region of his heart ; and before I could ask any 
 question, Montesinos, perceiving me in some suspense, 
 and my eyes fixed on the sepulchre, said, * This is my 
 friend Durandarte, the flower and mirror of all the ena- 
 moured and valiant knights-errant of his time. Merlin, 
 that French enchanter, keeps him here enchanted, as 
 he does me, and many others of both sexes. It is said, 
 he is the son of the devil ; though I do not believe him 
 to be the devil's son, but only, as the saying is, that he 
 knows one point more than the devil himself. How, or 
 why, he enchanted us, nobody knows : but time will 
 bring it to light, and I fancy it will not be long first. 
 What I wonder at is, that I am as sure as it is now 
 day, that Durandarte expired in my arms, and that, 
 after he was dead, I pulled out his heart with my own 
 hands ; and indeed it could not weigh less than two 
 pounds : for, according to the opinion of naturalists, 
 he, who has a large heart, is endued with more courage 
 than he who has a small one.' * It being then certain, 
 that this cavalier really died,' said I, i how comes it to 
 pass, that he complains every now and then, and sighs, 
 as if he were alive ?' This wz*i no sooner said, but the 
 wretched Durandarte, crying out aloud, said : " O my 
 clear cousin Montesinos! the last thing I desired of you, 
 when I was dying, and my soul departing, was, to carry 
 my heart, ripping it out of my breast with a dagger or 
 poniard, to Belerma." The venerable Montesinos, hear- 
 ing this, threw himself on his knees before the complain- 
 ing cavalier, and, with tears in his eyes, said to him, 
 * Long since, O my dearest cousin Durandarte, I did 
 what you enjoined me in that bitter day of our loss : I 
 took out your heart, as well as I could, without leaving 
 the least bit of it in your breast ; 1 wiped it with a lace- 
 liandkerchief, and took it, and went off full speed witb
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 191 
 
 it for France, having first laid you in the bosom of the 
 earth, shedding as many tears as sufficed to wash my hands, 
 and clean away the blood, which stuck to them by ra- 
 king in your entrails. By the same token, dear cousin 
 of my soul, in the first place I lighted upon, going from 
 Roncesvalles, I sprinkled a little salt over your heart, 
 that it might not stink, and might keep, if not fresh, at 
 least dried up, till it came to the lady Bclerma ; who, 
 together with you and me, and your squire Guadiana, 
 and the Duenna Ruydera, and her seven daughters, and 
 two nieces, with several others of your friends and ac- 
 quaintance, have been kept here enchanted by the sage 
 Merlin these many years past ; and, though it be above 
 five hundred years ago, not one of us is dead : only 
 Ruydera and her daughters and nieces are gone, whom, 
 because of their weeping, Merlin, out of compassion, 
 turned into so many lakes, which, at this time, in the 
 world of the living, and in the province of La Mancha, 
 are called the lakes of Ruydera. The seven sisters 
 belong to the kings of Spain, and the two nieces to the 
 knights of a very holy order, called the knights of Saint 
 John. Guadiana also, your squire, bewailing your mis- 
 fortune, was changed into a river of his own name ; who, 
 arriving at the surface of the earth, and seeing the sun of 
 another sky, was so grieved at the thought of forsaking 
 you, that he plunged again into the bowels of the earth : 
 but, it being impossible to avoid taking the natural 
 course, he rises now and then, and shows himself, where 
 the sun and people may see him. The aforesaid lakes 
 supply him with their waters, with which, and several 
 others that join him, he enters stately and great into Por- 
 tugal. Nevertheless, whithersoever he goes, he discovers 
 his grief and melancholy, breeding in his waters, not 
 delicate and costly fish, but only coarse and unsavour/ 
 ones, very different from those of the golden Tagus.
 
 192 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 And what I now tell you, O my dearest cousin, I have 
 often told you before ; and since you make me no answer. 
 I fancy you do not believe me, or do not hear me : 
 which, God knows, afflicts me very much. One piece 
 of news however I will tell you, which, if it serves not to 
 alleviate your grief, will in no wise increase it. Know 
 then, that you have here present (open your eyes, and 
 you will see him) that great knight, of whom the sage 
 Merlin prophesied so many things ; that Don Quixote de 
 la Mane ha, I say, who, with greater advantages than in 
 the ages past, has, in the present times, restored the 
 long-forgotten order of knight-errantry ; by whose means 
 and favour we may, perhaps, be disenchanted ; for great 
 exploits are reserved for great men.' < And though it 
 should fallout otherwise,' answered thg poor Durandarte 
 with a faint and low voice, ' though it should not prove 
 so, O cousin, I say, patience, and shuffle the cards :' 
 and, turning himself on one side, he relapsed into his ac- 
 customed silence, without speaking a word more. 
 
 " Then were heard great cries and waitings, accom- 
 panied with profound sighs and distressful sobbings. I 
 turned my head about, and saw through the crystal walls 
 a procession, in two files, of most beautiful damsels, all 
 clad in mourning, with white turbans on their heads after 
 the Turkish fashion ; and last of all, in the rear of the 
 files, came a lady (for by her gravity she seemed to be 
 such) clad also in black, with a white veil so long, 
 that it kissed the ground. Her turban was twice as large 
 as the largest of the others: her eyebrows were joined; 
 her nose was somewhat flatfish ; her mouth wide, but her 
 lips red: her teeth, which she sometimes showed, were 
 thin set, and not very even, though as \>hite as blanched 
 almomjs. She carried in her hand a fine linen handker- 
 chief, and in it, as seemed to me, a heart of mummy, it 
 appeared, to be so dry and withered. Moutcsinos told
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 193 
 
 mf, that all those of the procession we're servants to Dn- 
 ranclartc and Belerma, and were there enchanted with 
 Iheir master and mistress, and that she, who came last, 
 bearing the heart in the linen handkerchief, was the Lady 
 Belerma herself, who, four days in the week, 'made that 
 procession, together with her damsels, singing 1 , or rather 
 weeping, dirges over the body and over the piteous 
 heart of his cousin; and that if she appeared to be some- 
 what ugly, or not so beautiful as fame reported, it was 
 occasioned by the bad nights and worse days she passed 
 in that enchantment, as might be seen by the great 
 wrinkles under her eyes, and her broken complexion: as 
 to her being pale and hollow-eyed, it was not occasioned 
 by the periodical indisposition incident to women, there 
 not having been, for several months, and even years 
 past, the least appearance of any such matter; but mere- 
 ly by the affliction her heart feels from what she carries 
 continually in her hands : which renews and revives in 
 her memory the disaster of her untihiely deceased lover: 
 for had it not been for this, the great Dulcinea del Toboso 
 herself, so celebrated in these parts, and even over the 
 whole world, would hardly have equalled her in beauty, 
 good-humour, and sprightlincss. 
 
 " 6 Fair and softly,' said I then, ' good Signor Mon- 
 tesinos : tell your story as you ought to do ; for you know 
 that comparisons are odious, and therefore there is no 
 need of comparing any body with any body. The peer- 
 less Dulcinea is what she is, and the Lady Donna Belerma 
 is what she is, and what she has been, and so much for 
 that.' To which he answered, ' Signor Don Quixote, 
 pardon me : I confess I was in the wrong, in saying that 
 the Lady Dulsinea wouM hardly equal the Lady Beler- 
 ma: my understanding, by I know not what, guesses 
 that your worship is her knight, and ought to have made 
 me bite my tongue, sooner than compare her to any thing 
 
 VOL. II. C C
 
 194 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 but heaven itself.' With this satisfaction given me by 
 the great Montesinos, my heart was delivered from the 
 surprise it was in at hearing my mistress compared with 
 IMcrma." " And I too admire," quoth Sancho, " that 
 your worship did not fall upon the old fellow, and bruise 
 Jiis bones with kicking, and pluck his beard for him, till 
 you had not left him a hair in it." " No, friend San- 
 cho," answered Don Quixote, " it did not become me to 
 do so ; for we are all bound to respect old men, though 
 they be not knights, and especially those who are such, 
 and enchanted into the bargain. I know very well I was 
 not at all behindhand with him in several other questions 
 and answers which passed between us." 
 
 Here the scholar said, " I cannot imagine, Signer Don 
 Quixote, how your worship, in the short space of time 
 you have been there below, could see so many things, 
 and talk and answer so much." " How long is it since I 
 went down?" asked Don Quixote. " A little above an 
 3iour," answered Sancbo. " That cannot be," replied 
 .Don Quixote; u for night came upon me there, and then 
 it grew day ; and then night came again, and day again, 
 three times successively : so that by my account I must 
 liave been three days in those parts, so remote and hidden 
 from our sight." u My roaster," said Sancho, u must 
 ineedsbcinthe right; for, as every thing has happened to 
 lim in the way of enchantment, what seems to us but an 
 lour, may seem there three days and three nights." 
 * l It is so," answered Don Quixote. "And has your 
 "Worship, good sir, eaten any thing in all this time?" said 
 the scholar. " I have not broken my fast with one mouth- 
 ful," answered Don Quixote, " oor have I been hungry 
 pr so much as thought of it all the while." " Do the en- 
 chanted eat?" said the scholar. "They do not eat," 
 answered Don Quixote, " nor are they troubled with the 
 greater excrements, though it is a coqimon opinion, thut
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 195 
 
 tfaeir nails, their beards, arid their hair, grow." u And, 
 -sir, do the enchanted sleep?" quoth Sancho." No, 
 truly," answered Don Quixote; u at least, in the three 
 days that I have been amongst tliem, not one of them has 
 closed an eye, nor I neither." " Here," quoth Sancho, 
 " the proverb hits right; Tell me your company, and I 
 zi'-il/ tell you yshat you are. If your worship keeps com* 
 pany with those who fast and watch, what wonder is it 
 that you neither eat nor sleep while you are with them,? 
 But pardon me, good master of mine, if I tell your wor- 
 ship, that, of all you have been saying, God take me (I 
 was going to say the devil) if I believe one word." 
 "How so?" said the scholar: " Signof Don Quixote 
 then must have lied ; who, if he had a mind to it> has 
 not had time to imagine and compose such a heap of 
 Jies." " I do not believe my master lies," answered 
 Sancho* " If not, what do you believe?" said Don 
 Quixote.'-" I believe/' answered Sancho, u that the 
 same Merlin, or those necromancers, who enchanted all 
 the crew your worship says you saw and conversed with 
 there below, have crammed into your imagination or me- 
 mory all this stufFyou Imve already told us, or that re- 
 mains to be told." 
 
 " Such a thing might be, Sancho," replied Don Quix- 
 X)te; " but it i$ not so: for what I have related I saw 
 with my own eyes, and touched with my own hands : 
 but what will you say, when I tell you, that, among am 
 infinite number of things and wonders shown me by Mon- 
 tesinos, which I will recount in the progress of our jour- 
 aey, at leisure, and in their due time, for they do not all 
 belong properly to this place, he showed me three coun- 
 try wenches who were dancing and capering like any kids 
 about those charming fields ; and scarcely had I espied 
 them, when I knew one of them to be the peerless Dulcinea. 
 del Toboso, and the other two the very same wenches 
 
 c c2
 
 DON QUIXOTE* 
 
 that came with her, whom we talked with at their camlirsf 
 out of Toboso. I asked Montesinos whether he knew 
 them. He answered, No, but that lie took them to Ixr 
 some ladies of quality lately enchanted, for they had ap- 
 peared in those meadows but a few days before; and that 
 1 ought not to wonder at it, for there were a great many 
 other ladies there, of the past and present ages y enchanted 
 under various and strange figures, among 1 whom he knew 
 Queen Ginebra, and her duenna Qtiintaa-nona, cupbearer 
 to Lancelot when he arrived from Britain.'' When 
 >ancha heard bis master say alithis, lie was ready to run 
 distracted, or to die with laughing;- for, as lire knew the 
 truth of the feigned enchantment of Dulcinea y of whom he 
 himself had been the enchanter, and tjic bearer of that 
 testimony, he concluded undoubtedly that his master hud 
 lost his senses, ai*d was in all points mad ; and therefore 
 he said to him: " ; Jit an evil juncture,, inul in a worse 
 season, and in a bitter day, dear, patron of mine, did you 
 go down to the otlier world r and in an unlucky moment 
 did you meet with rgnor Montesinos y who lias returned 
 you back to us in- such guise. Your worship was very 
 well Ivere above, entirely in your senes r wich us d'od 
 iad given yoti r speaking sentences and giving jwtvice at 
 <-very turn, ami not, as now, relating the irreatest extra- 
 vagancies that can be NhftginttLT 4 * As- J know you,, 
 .Sancho," answered Don Quixote, ' I make no account 
 tjf your words. : ' a Nor I of your worsliip's,-' T replied 
 iSancho. ** Vim may hurt me if you will, youmay kilfc 
 die if you please, for those I have said already T or those- 
 I intend to say if you do not corrcet and amend your 
 own. But tell me, sir, now A\e are at peace, how or 
 by what did you know tho lady wrr mistress? And it-" 
 you spoke to her, what said you. and what answer diil 
 ahe muke you?*' 
 
 * < I knew Irer/' answered Don Quixote, ii by the
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 very same clothes she wore when you showed her to me. 
 I spoke to her; but she answered me not a word : on the 
 contrary, she turned her back upon me, and fled away 
 with so much speed, that an arrow could not overtake 
 her. I would have followed her ; but Montesinos advised 
 me not to tire myself with so doing, since it would be in 
 vain ; besides, it was now time for me to think of re- 
 turning and getting out of the cave. He also told me, 
 that in process of time, I should be informed of the means 
 of disenchanting himself, Belerma, Divrandarte, and all 
 the rest there. But what gave me the most pain of any 
 thing I saw or took notice of was, that, while Monte- 
 sinos was saying these things to me, there approached 
 me on one side, unperceived by me, one of the two- 
 companions of the unfortunate Dulciuea, and, with tears 
 in her eyes, in a low and troubled voice, said to me : 
 * My lady Dulcinea del Toboso kisses your worship's 
 Lands, and desires you to let her know how you do ; 
 and, being in great necessity, she also earnestly begs 
 your worship would be pleased to lend her 7 upon this. 
 new dimity petticoat I have brought here, six reals, or 
 what you have about you, which she promises lo return 
 very shortly.' This message threw me into suspense and 
 wonder ; and,, turning to Signor Montcsinos, I demanded 
 of him ; ' Is it possible, Signor Montesinos, that person* 
 of quality under enchantment suffer necessity ?' To 
 which he answered : l Believe me, Signor Don Quixote 
 de la Mancha, that what is called necessity prevails 
 every where, extends to all, and reaches every body, 
 not excusing even those who are enchanted : and since 
 the Lady Dulcinea sends to desire of you those six reals, 
 and the pawn is, in appearance, a good one, there is no 
 more to be done but to give her them ; for without doubt 
 she must needs be in some very great strait.' ' I wiil 
 take wo pawn,' answered I ; * nor can I send her what
 
 198 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 she desires, for I have but four reals :' which I sent her, 
 being those you gave me the other day, Sancho, to 
 bestow in alms on the poor J should meet with upon 
 the road ; and I said to the damsel : * Sweetheart, tell 
 your lady, that I am grieved to my soul at her distresses, 
 and wish I were a Fucar 40 to remedy them : and pray 
 let her know, that I neither can nor will have health, 
 wjiile I want her amiable presence and discreet conver- 
 sation ; and that I beseech her, with all imaginable ear- 
 nestness, that she would vouchsafe to let herself be seen 
 and conversed with by this her captive servant and be- 
 wildered knight. Tell her, that, when she least thinks 
 of it, she will hear it said, that I have made an oath and 
 vow, like that made by the Marquis of Mantua, to re- 
 venge his nephew Valdovinos, when he found him 
 ready to expire in the midst of the mountain ; which 
 was, not to eat bread upon a table-cloth, with the other 
 idle whims he then added, till he had revenged his 
 death. In like manner will I take no rest, but traverse 
 the seven parts of the universe with more punctuality 
 than did the Infante Don Pedro of Portugal 41 , till she be 
 disenchanted.'' All this and more your worship owes 
 my lady,' answered the damsel ; and, taking the four 
 reals, instead of making me a courtsey, she cut a caper 
 full two yards high in the air. 
 
 " O holy God !" cried Sancho aloud at this juncture, 
 " is it possible there should be such a one in the world, 
 and that enchanters and enchantments should have such 
 power over him, as to change my master's good under- 
 standing into so extravagant a madness ! O sir! sir! for 
 God's sake, look to yourself, and stand up for your 
 honour, and give no credit to these vanities, which have 
 diminished and decayed your senses." " It is your 
 love of me, Sancho, makes you talk at this rate," replied 
 Don Quixote ; " and not being experienced in the things
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 199 
 
 of the world, you take every thing, in which there is the 
 least difficulty, for impossible : but the time will come, 
 as I said before, when I shall tell you some other of the 
 things I have seen below, which will make you give 
 credit to what I have now told you, the truth of which 
 admits of no reply or dispute 4 -," 
 
 CHAP. XXIV. 
 
 In zchich are recounted a thousand Impertinencies ne- 
 cessary to the right Understanding of this grand 
 History. 
 
 1 HE translator of this grand history from the original 
 written by its first anthor Cid Hamete Benengeli, says, 
 that coming to the chapter of the adventure of the cave 
 of Montesinos, he found in the margin these words of 
 JIamete's own hand-writing : 
 
 " I cannot persuade myself, or believe, that all that 
 is mentioned in the foregoing chapter, happened to the 
 valorous Don Quixote exactly as it is there written : the 
 reason is, because all the adventures hitherto related 
 might have happened and are probable ; but in this 
 of the cave I find no possibility of its being true, as it 
 exceeds all reasonable bounds. But for me to think that 
 Don Quixote, being a gentleman of the greatest veracity, 
 and a knight of the most worth of any of his time, would 
 tell a lie, is as little possible ; for he would not utter a
 
 200 DON QTIXOTE. 
 
 falsehood, though he were to be shot to death with ar- 
 rows. On the other hand, I consider, that he told it 
 with all the aforesaid circumstances, and that he could 
 not, in so short a space, have framed so vast a machine 
 of extravagancies : and if this adventure seems to be 
 apocryphal, I am not in fault ; and so, without ailirm- 
 ing it for true or false, I -write it. Since, reader, you 
 liavc discernment, judge as you see fit; for I neither 
 ought nor can do any more : though it is held for cer- 
 tain, that, upon his death-bed, he retracted, and said, 
 he had invented it only because it was of a piece, and 
 squared with the adventures he had read of in his 
 histories." 
 
 Then the translator goes on saying : 
 
 JL HE scholar was astonished, no le$s at the bol(!n^- 
 t>f Sancho Panza, than at the patience of his master, 
 judging that the mildness of temper he then showed 
 sprung from the satisfaction he had just received in 
 seeing his mistress Dulcinea del Tobbso, though en- 
 thanted ; for, had it not been so, Sancho said such words 
 and things to him as richly deserved a cudgelling ; 
 and in reality he thought Sancho had been a little too 
 saucy with his master : to whom the scholar said : " For 
 rny part, Signor Don Quixote, I reckon the pains of 
 my journey in your worship's company very well be- 
 stowed, having thereby gained four things. The firsl, 
 your worship's acquaintance, which I esteem a great 
 happiness. The second, my having learned what is en- 
 closed in this cave of Montesinos, with the metamor- 
 phoses of Guadina, and the lakes of Ruydcra, which 
 -will serve me for my Spanish Ovid I have now in hand. 
 The third is, to have learned the antiquity of card-plny- 
 in<r, which was in use at least in the days of the Emperor 
 Charles the Great, as may be gathered from, the words
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 201 
 
 your worship says Durandarte spoke, after Montesinos 
 had been talking to him a long time, when he awoke, 
 saying, Patience^ and shuffle the cards: and this allu- 
 sion to cards, and this way of speaking, he could not 
 learn, during his enchantment, but when he was in 
 France, and in the days of the said Emperor Charles the 
 Great ; and this remark comes pat for the other book I 
 am upon, the Supplement to Polydore Virgil on the 
 Invention of Antiquities : for I believe he has forgotten 
 to insert that of cards in his work, as I will now do in 
 mine ; which will be of great importance, especially as I 
 shall allege the authority of so grave and true an author 
 as Signor Durandarte. The fourth is, the knowing with 
 certainty the source of the river Guadiana, hitherto 
 unknown." 
 
 " You are in the right," said Don Quixote : " but I 
 would fain know, if by the grace of God a licence be 
 granted you for printing your books, which I doubt, to 
 whom you intend to inscribe them ?" " There are lords 
 and grandees enough in Spain, to whom they may be 
 dedicated," said the scholar. " Not many," answered 
 Don Quixote ; " not because they do not deserve a de- 
 dication, but because they will not receive one, to avoid 
 lying under an obligation of making such a return as 
 seems due to the pains and complaisance of the authors. 
 I know a prince 43 , who makes amends for what is want- 
 ing in the rest, with so many advantages, that, if I durst 
 presume to publish them, perhaps I might stir up envy- 
 in several noble breasts. But let this rest till a more 
 convenient season, and let us now consider where we 
 shall lodge to-night." " Not far from hence," answered 
 the scholar, " is a hermitage, in which lives a hermit, 
 who, they say, has been a soldier, and has the reputa- 
 tion of being a good Christian, and very discreet and 
 charitable. Adjoining to the hermitage he has a little 
 
 VOL. ir. D D
 
 202 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 house, built at his own cost ; but, though small, it is 
 large enough to receive guests." " Has this same her- 
 mit any poultry?" quoth Sancho. "Few hermits are 
 without,*' answered Don Quixote ; " for those now in 
 fashion are not like those in the deserts of Egypt, who- 
 Mere clad with leaves of the pahn-tree, and lived upon 
 roots of the earth, I would not be understood, as if, by 
 speaking well of the latter, I reflected upon the former : 
 I only mean that the penances of our times do not come 
 up to the austerities and strictness of those days. But 
 this K no reason why they may not be all good : at least 
 I take them i be so ; and, at the worst, the hypocrite, 
 who feigns himself good, does less hurt than thejun- 
 disguised sinner. "" 
 
 While they were thus discoursing, they perceived a 
 man en foot coming towards them, walking very fast, 
 and switching on a muleloaden with lances and halberds. 
 \Vhen he came up to them, he saluted them, and passed 
 en. Doir Quixote said to him : ** Hold, honest friend : 
 methinks you go faster than is convenient for that mule." 
 t; I cannot stay," answered *he man ; " for the arms 
 you see I am carrying ar& to be made use of to-morrow, 
 so that I am under a necessity not to stop, and so adieu : 
 but, if you would know for what purpose I carry them, 
 I intend to lodge this night at the inn beyond the her- 
 mitage, and, if you travel the same road, you will find 
 me there, where I will tell you wonders ; and, once more, 
 God be with you." Then he pricked on the mule at 
 that rate, that Don Quixote had no time te inquire what 
 wonders they were he designed to tell them r and, as he 
 was not a little curious, and always tormented with the 
 desire of hearing new things, he gave orders for their 
 imRiediTve departure, resolving to pass the night at the 
 inn, without touching at the hermitage, where the scho- 
 lar would have had them lodge. This was done accord-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 203 
 
 ingry : they mounted, and all three took the direct 
 road to the inn, at .which they arrived a little before 
 night-falL The scholar desired Don Quixote to take 
 a step to the hermitage to drink one draught : and scarcely 
 had Sancho Panza heard this, Avhen he steered Dapple 
 towards the hermitage, and Don Quixote and the scholar 
 did the same: but Sancho's ill luck, it seems, would 
 have it, that the hermit was not at home, as they were 
 told by an under-hcrmit, whom they found in the her- 
 mitage. They asked him for the dearest wine? he an- 
 swered, his master "had none; but, if they wanted cheap 
 water, he would give them some with all his 'heart. " If 
 I had wanted water," answered Sancho, ' ' there are wells 
 enough upon the road, from whence I might have satis- 
 fied myself. Oh ! for the wedding of Camacho, and the 
 plenty of Don Diego's house ! hew often shaft I feel the 
 want of you !" 
 
 They quitted the hermitage, and spurred on towards 
 the inn, and soon overtook a lad who was walking before 
 
 ' O 
 
 them in no great haste. He carried a sword upon his shoul- 
 der, and upon it a roll or bundle, seemingly of his clothes, 
 in all likelihood breeches or trousers, a cloke, and a shirt 
 or two. He had on a tattered velvet jacket lined with 
 satin, and his shirt hung out. His stockings were of 
 silk, and his shoes square-toed, after the court-fashion. 
 He seemed to be about eighteen or nineteen years of age, 
 of a cheerful countenance, and in appearance very active 
 of body. He went OB singing couplets, to divert the fa- 
 tigue of the journey ; and, when they overtook him, he 
 had just done singing one, the last words whereof the 
 scholar got by heart : which they say were these : 
 
 " For want of the pence to the wars I must go : 
 Ah ! had 1 but money, it would not be so." 
 
 The first, who spoke to him, was Don Quixote, who 
 D D 2
 
 204- DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 said : " You travel very airily, young spark ; pray 
 whither so fast ? Let us know, if you are inclined to tell 
 us" To which the youth answered: "My walking 
 so airily is occasioned by the heat and by poverty, and 
 J am going to the wars" " How by poverty ?" de- 
 manded Don Quixote. " By the heat it may very easily 
 be." " Sir," replied the youth, " I carry in this 
 bundle a pair of velvet trousers, fellows to this jacket: 
 if I wear them out upon the road, I cannot do myself 
 credit with them in the city, and I have no money to 
 buy others ; and for this reason, as well as for coolness, 
 I go thus, till I come up with some companies of foot, 
 which are not twelve leagues from hence, where I will 
 list myself, and shall not want baggage-conveniencies 
 to ride in, till we come to the place of embarkation, which 
 they say is to be at Carthagena : besides, I choose the 
 iing for my master and lord, whom I had rather. serve 
 in the war than any paltry fellow at court." " And 
 pray, sir, have you any post ?" said the scholar. " Had 
 I served some grandee, or other person of distinction," 
 answered the youth, " no doubt I should ; for, in the 
 service of good masters^ it is no uncommon thing to rise 
 from the servants' hall to the post of ensign or captains, 
 or to get some good pension : but poor I was always in 
 the service of strolling fellows or foreigners, whose wages 
 and board-wages are so miserable and slender, that one 
 half is spent in paying for starching a ruff; and it Avould 
 be looked upon as a miracle, if one page-adventurer in 
 an hundred should get any tolerable preferment." 
 <J But, tell me, friend," said Don Quixote, " is it pos- 
 sible, that, in all the time you have ben in service, jou 
 could not procure a livery ?" u I had two," answered 
 the page : " but, as he, who quits a monastery before 
 he professes, is stripped of his habit, and his old clothes 
 are returned him, just so my masters did by me, and gave
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 205 
 
 e back mine ; for, when the business was done, for which 
 they came to court, they returned to their own homes, 
 and took back the liveries they had given only for 
 show." 
 
 " A notable Espilorcheria* 4 , as the Italians say/ 1 cried 
 Don Quixote: " however, look upon it as an earnest 
 of good fortune, that you have quitted the court with 
 so good an intention : for there is nothing upon earth 
 more honourable or more advantageous, than first to 
 serve God, and then your king and natural lords, espe- 
 cially in the exercise of arms, by which one acquires 
 at least more honour, if not more riches, than by letters, 
 as I have often said : for though letters have founded 
 more great families than arms, still there is I know not 
 what that exalts those, who follow arms, above those 
 who follow letters ; with I know not what splendour 
 attending them, which sets them above all others. And 
 bear in mind this piece of advice, which will be of great 
 use to you, and matter of consolation in your distresses ; 
 and that is, not to think of what adverse accidents may 
 happen ; for the worst that can happen is death, and, 
 when death is attended with honour, the best that can 
 happen is to die. That valorous Roman Emperor, 
 Julius Caesar, being asked which was the best kind of 
 death, answered, that which was sudden, unthought of, 
 and unforeseen ; and though he answered like a hea- 
 then, and a stranger to the knowledge of the true God, 
 nevertheless, with respect to human infirmity, he said 
 well. For, supposing you are killed in the first skir- 
 mish or action, either by a cannon-shot or the blowing 
 up of a mine, what does it signify ? All is but dying, 
 and the business is done. According to Terence, tKe 
 soldier makes a better figure dead in battle, than alive 
 and safe in flight ; and the good soldier gains just as 
 much reputation, as he shows obedience to his captains,
 
 206 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 and to those who have a right to command him. And 
 take notice, son, that a soldier had better smell of gun- 
 powder than of musk ; and if old age overtakes you in 
 this noble profession, though lame and maimed, and full 
 of wounds, at least it will not overtake you without ho- 
 nour, and such honour as poverty itself cannot deprive 
 you of; especially now that care is taking to provide 
 for the maintenance of old and disabled soldiers, who 
 ought not to be dealt with, as many do by their negro 
 slaves when they are old and past service, whom they 
 discharge and set at liberty, and, driving them out of 
 their houses, under pretence of giving them their 
 freedom, make them slaves to hunger, from which 
 nothing but death can deliver them. At present I 
 will say no more : but get up behind me upon this horse 
 of mine, till we come to the inn, and there you shall sup 
 nith me, and to-morrow morning pursue your journey ; 
 and God give you as good speed as your good intentions 
 deserve." 
 
 The page did not accept of the invitation of ri- 
 ding behind Don Quixote, but did that of supping 
 with him at the inn; and here, it is said, Sancho 
 amttercdto himself, " The Lord bless thee for a master! 
 is it possible that one who can say so many and such 
 good things, as he has now done, should say he saw the 
 extravagant impossibilities he tells of in the cave of 
 Montesinos? Well, we shall see what will come of it.' r 
 By this time they arrived at the inn, just at night-fall, 
 ami Sancho was pleased to see his master take it for an inn 
 indeed, and not for a castle as usual. They were scarcely 
 entered, when Don Quixote asked the landlord for the 
 man with the lances and halberds: he answered, he was 
 in the stable looking after his mule. The scholar and 
 S'ancho did the same by their beasts, giving Rozinante 
 the best manger and the best place in the stable.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 907 
 
 CHAP. XXV. 
 
 Wherein is be gun the braying Adventure, n'ith the pit a- 
 sant one of the Puppet-player, and the memorable 
 Divinations of the divining Ape. 
 
 \ 
 
 JDON Quixote's cake was dough, as the saying is, till he 
 could hear and learn the wonders promised to be told him 
 by the conductor of the arms ; and therefore he went in 
 quest of him, where the innkeeper told him he was; and, 
 having found him, he desired him by all means to tell 
 him what he had to say as to what he had inquired of him 
 upon the road. The man answered: "The account of 
 my wonders must be taken more at leisure, and not on 
 foot : suffer me, good sir, to make an end of taking care 
 of my beast, and I will tell you things which will amaze 
 you." " Let not that be any hindrance," answered Don 
 Quixote, " for I will help you :" and so he did, win- 
 nowing the barley, and cleaning the manger; a piece of 
 humility which obliged the man readily to tell him what 
 he desired ; and seating himself upon a stone bench with- 
 out the inn door, and Don Quixote by his side, the scho- 
 lar, the page, SanchoPanza, and the innkeeper, sewing 
 as his senate and auditory, he began in this manner: 
 
 " You must understand, gentlemen, that, in a town 
 four leagues and a half from this inn, it happened, that 
 an alderman, through the artful contrivance (too long io- 
 be told) of a wench, his maid-servant, lost his ass: and 
 though the said alderman used all imaginable diligence 
 to find him, it was not possible. Fifteen days were past. 
 as public fame says, since the ass was missing, when v
 
 208 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 the losing alderman being in the market-place, another 
 alderman of the same town said to him, * Pay me for my 
 good news, neighbour; for your ass has appeared.' 
 ' Most willingly, neighbour,' answered the other; * but 
 let us know where he has been seen.' ' In the mountain,' 
 answered the finder ; * I saw him this morning, without a 
 pannel, or any kind of furniture about him, and so lank, 
 that it would grieve one to see him: I would fain have 
 driven him before me, and brought him to you; but he is 
 already become so wild, and so shy, that, when I went 
 near him, away he galloped, and ran into the most hid- 
 den part of the mountain. If you have a mind we should 
 both go to seek him, lot me but put up this ass at home, 
 and I will return instantly.' < You will do me a great 
 pleasure,' replied he of the ass, t and I will endeavour to 
 pay you in the same coin.' \V ilh all these circum- 
 stances, and after the very same manner, is the story told 
 by all who are thoroughly acquainted with the truth of 
 the affair. 
 
 " In short, the two aldermen, on foot, and hand in 
 hand, went to the mountain ; and, coming to the very 
 place where they thought to find the ass, they found him 
 not, nor was he to be seen any where thereabout, though 
 1 they searched diligently after him. Perceiving then that 
 he was not to be found, the alderman, that had seen him, 
 said to the other, ' Hark you, friend, a device is come 
 into my head, by which we shall assuredly- discover 
 this animal, though he were crept into the bowels of the 
 earth, not to say of the mountain ; and it is this : I can 
 bray marvellously well, and if you can do so never so- 
 little, conclude the business done.' ' Never so little, say 
 you, neighbour?' replied the other; * before God, 1 yield 
 the precedence to none, no, not to asses themselves.' 
 ' We shall see that immediately,' answered the second 
 aldertnao : ' for I propose that you shall go on one side
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 209 
 
 of the mountain, and I on the other, and so we shall tra- 
 verse and encompass it quite round ; and every now and 
 then you shall bray, and so will I: and the ass will nmst 
 certainly hear and answer us, if he be in the mountain.' 
 To which the master of the ass answered, * Verily, neigh- 
 bour, the device is excellent, and worthy of your great 
 ingenuity.' iSo parting according to agreement, it fell 
 out, that they both brayed at the same instant, and each 
 of them, deceived by the braying of the other, ran to seek 
 the other, thinking the ass had appeared; and, at the 
 sight of each other, the loser said, ' Is it possible, neigh- 
 bour, that it was not my ass that brayed?' ' No, it was 
 I,' answered the other. ' I tell you then,' said the 
 owner, ' that there is no manner of difference, as to the 
 braying part, between you and an ass; for in my life I 
 never saw or heard any thing more natural.' ' These 
 praises and compliments,' answered the author of the 
 stratagem, ' belong rather to you than to me; for, by the 
 (od that made me, you can give the odds of two brays to 
 ihe greatest and most skilful brayer of the world; for the 
 tone is deep, the sustaining of the voice in time and mea- 
 sure, and the cadences frequent and quick: in short, I 
 own myself vanquished, I give you the palm, and yield 
 up the standard of this rare ability.' ' I say,' answered 
 the owner, ' I shall value and esteem myself the more 
 Iienceforward, and shall think I know something, since 
 I have some excellence: for, though I fancied I brayed 
 well, I never flattered myself I came up to the pitch, you 
 are pleased to say.' ' I tell you,' answered the second, 
 ' there are rare abilities lost in the world, and that they 
 are ill bestowed on those who know not how to employ 
 them to advantage.' ' Ours,' added the owner, ' ex- 
 cepting in cases like the present, cannot be of service to 
 us; and, even in this 3 God grant they prove of any be- 
 nefit.' 
 
 I VOL. II. E E
 
 210 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 " This said, they separated again, and fell anew to 
 their braying; and at every turn they deceived each 
 other, and met again, till they agreed, as a countersign, 
 to distinguish their own brayings from that of the ass, 
 that they should bray twice together, one immediately 
 after the other. Thus doubling their brayings, they 
 made the tour of the mountain; but no answer from the 
 stray ass, no not by signs: indeed how could the poor 
 creature answer, when they found it in the thickest of the 
 Wood half devoured by wolves? At sight whereof the 
 owner said, * I wondered indeed he did not answer; for, 
 had he not been dead, he would have brayed at hearing 
 Us, or he were no ass : nevertheless, neighbour, I esteem 
 the pa ins I have been at in seeking him to be well be* 
 stowed, though I have found him dead, since I have 
 heard you bray with such a grace/ ' It is in, a good 
 hand,* answered tfye other; ' for if the abbot si?)gs well* 
 the novice comes not far behind him/ 
 
 " Hereupon they returned home, disconsolate and 
 hoarse, and recounted to their friends, neighbours, and 
 acquaintance, all that had happened in tiic search after 
 the ass; each of (hem exaggerating the other's excellence 
 in braying. The story spread all over the adjacent vil- 
 lages ; and the devil, who sleeps not, as he loves to sow 
 and promote squabbles and discord wherever he can, rais- 
 ing a bustle in the wind, and great chimeras out of next 
 to nothing, so ordered and brought it about, that the peo- 
 ple of other villages, upon seeing any of the folks of our 
 town, Would presently fall a-braying, as it were hitting 
 us in the teeth with the braying of our aldermen. The 
 boys gave into it, which was all one as putting it into the 
 hands and mouths of all the devils in hell ; and thus bray- 
 ing spread from one town to another, insomuch that the 
 natives of the town of Bray 45 are as well known as white 
 folks are distinguished from black ^ And this unhappy 
 * ^^^i
 
 DON QUIXOTE* 211 
 
 jest lias gone so far, that the mocked have often sallied 
 out in arms against the mockers, and given them battle> 
 without king or rook 46 , or fear or shame*, being able to 
 prevent it. To-morrow, I believe, or next day, those of 
 our town, the brayers, \villtake the field against the peo* 
 pie of another village about two leagues from ours> being 
 one of those which persecute us most. And, to be well 
 provided for them, 1 have brought the lances and halberds 
 you saw me carrying. And these are the wonders I said I 
 would tell you ; and if you do riot think them such, I 
 have no other for you." And here the honest man ended 
 his story. 
 
 At this juncture there came in at the door of the inn a 
 man clad from head to foot in shamois leather^ hose, 
 doublet, and breeches, and said with a loud voice, 
 " Master host, have you any lodging? For here come 
 the divining ape and the puppet-show of Melisendra's 
 deliverance." " Body of me, A cried the innkeepe^ 
 " what! master Peter here! we shall have a brave night 
 of it." I had forgot to tell you, that this same Master 
 Peter had his left eye, and almost half hi cheek, covered 
 with a patch of green taffeta, a sign that something ailed 
 all that side of his face. The landlord went on saying, 
 " Welcome, Master Peter! where is the ape and the 
 puppet-show ? I do not see them." " They are hard 
 by," answered the all-shamois man ; " I came before, to 
 see if there be any lodging to be had/' " I would turn 
 out the duke d'Alva himself, to make room for master 
 Peter," answered the innkeeper: " let the ape and the 
 puppets come ; for there are guests this evening in the 
 inn who will pay for seeing the show and the abilities of 
 the ape." " So be it in God's name," answered he of 
 the patch; (: and I will lower the price, and reckon my- 
 self well paid with only bearing my charges. I will go
 
 212 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 back, and hasten the cart with the ape and the pup- 
 pets." And immediately he went out of the inn. 
 
 Then Don Quixote asked the landlord what Master Pe- 
 ter this was, and what puppets, and what ape, he had 
 with him. To which the landlord answered, " He is a 
 famous puppet-player, who has been a long time going 
 up and down these parts of Mancha in Arragon, with a 
 show of Melisendra and the famous Don Gayferos ; which 
 is one of the best stories, and the best performed, of any 
 that has been seen hereabouts these many years. He has 
 also an ape, whose talents exceed those of all other apes, 
 and even those of men; for, if any thing is asked him, 
 he listens to it attentively, and then, leaping upon his 
 master's shoulder, and putting his mouth to his car, he 
 tells him the answer to the question that is put to him ; 
 which Master Peter presently repeats aloud. It is true, 
 lie tells much more concerning things past than things to 
 come; and, though he does not always hit right, yet for 
 the most part he is not much out ; so that we are inclined 
 to believe he hasthe devil within him. He has two reals 
 for each question, if the ape answers; I mean, if his 
 master answers for him, after the ape has whispered him 
 in the car; and therefore it is thought this same Peter 
 must be very rich. He is, besides, a very gallant man, 
 as they say in Italy, and a boon companion, and lives 
 the merriest life in the world. He talks more than six, 
 and drinks more than a dozen, and all this at the expense 
 of his tongue, his ape, and his puppets." 
 
 By this time Master Peter was returned, and in the cart 
 came the puppets, and a large ape without a tail, and if> 
 buttocks ban* as a piece of felt; but not ill-favoured. 
 Don Quixote no soonci espied him, than he began to 
 question him, saying, " Master diviner, pray tell me 
 what fish do we catch, and what will be our fortune? 
 See, here arc my two real?;" bidding Sancho to give tiiem
 
 DON QUIXOTE. $13 
 
 in Master Peter, who answered for the ape, and said, 
 " Signer, this animal makes no answer, nor gives any 
 information, as to things future: he knows something of 
 
 * \j o 
 
 the past, and a little of the present." " Odds bobs," 
 quoth Sancho, a I would not give a brass farthing to be 
 told what is past of myself; for who can tell that better 
 than myself? And for me to pay for what I know already, 
 \vould be a very great folly. But since he knows things 
 present, here are my two reals, and let good man ape tell 
 me what my wife Teresa Panza is doing, and what she is 
 employed about." Master Peter would not take the 
 money, saying, " I will not be paid beforehand, nor take 
 your reward, till I have done you the service;" and 
 giving with his right hand two or three claps on his left 
 shoulder, at one spring the ape jumped upon it, and, 
 laying its mouth to his ear, grated its teeth and chattered 
 apace; and, having made this grimace for the space of at 
 Credo, at another skip down it jumped on the .ground, 
 and presently Master Peter ran and kneeled before Don 
 Quixote, and, embracing his legs, said, '* These legs I 
 embrace, just as if I embraced the two pillars of Hercu- 
 les, O illustrious reviver of the long-forgotten order of 
 chivalry! O never sufficiently extolled knight, Don 
 Quixote de la Mancha ! Thou spirit to the faint-hearted, 
 stay to those that are falling, arm to those that are already 
 fallen, staff and comfort to all that are unfortunate!'* 
 Don Quixote was thunderstruck, Sancho in suspense, the 
 scholar surprised, the page astonished, the braying-mai* 
 in a gaze, the innkeeper confounded, and, lastly, all 
 amazed, that heard the expressions of the puppet-player, 
 who proceeded, saying, " And thou, O good Sancho 
 Panza, the best squire to the best knight in the world, re- 
 joice, that thy good wife Teresa is well, at this very hour 
 is dressing a pound of flax; by the same token that sh- 
 fcas by her left side a broken-mouthed pitcher ; which holds
 
 214 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 a very pretty scantling of wine, with which she cheers her 
 spirits at her work." " 1 verily believe it," answered San- 
 cho ; " for she is ablessedone ; and, were she not a little jea- 
 lous, I would not change her for the giantess Andandona, 
 who, in my master's opinion, was a very accomplished 
 v oman, and a special housewife ; and my Teresa is one 
 of those, who will make much of themselves, though it 
 be at the expense of their heirs." " Well," said Don 
 Quixote, " he who reads much and travels much, seea 
 much and knows much. This I say, because what 
 could have been able to persuade me that there are apes 
 in the world that can divine, as I have now seen with 
 my own eyes? Yes, I am that very Don Quixote 
 de la Mane ha, that this good animal has said, though he 
 has expatiated a little too much in my commendation. 
 But, be I as I will, I give thanks to heaven that en- 
 dued me with a tender and compassionate disposition of 
 mind, always inclined to do good to every body, and 
 hurt nobody." u If J had money," said the page, " I 
 would ask master ape what will befal me in'my intended 
 expedition." To which Master Peter, who was already 
 got up from kneeling at Don Quixote's feet, answered, 
 " I have already told you, that this little beast does not 
 answer as to thinprs future : but, did he answer such 
 questions, it would be no matter whether you bad mo- 
 ney or not ; for, to serve Signor Don Quixote here pre- 
 sent, I would wave all advantages in the world ; and 
 now, because it is my duty, and to do him a pleasure 
 besides, I intend to put in order my puppet-show, and 
 entertain all the folks in the inn gratis." The inn-keeper 
 hearing this, and above measure overjoyed, pointed out 
 a convenient place for setting up the show, which was 
 done in an instant. 
 
 Don Quixote was not entirely satisfied withtheape'sdivi- 
 uations, not thinking it likely that an ape should divine
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 215 
 
 things either future or past : and so, while Master Peter 
 was preparing his show, Don Quixote drew Sancho aside 
 to a corner of tke stable, -when.*, without being over- 
 heard by any body, he said to him : " Look you, Sancho, 
 I have carefully considered the strange ability of this 
 ape ; and, by my account, I find that Master Peter his 
 owner must doubtless have made a tacit or express pact 
 with the devil."" Nay," quoth Sancho, if the 
 pack be express from the devil, it must needs be a very soo- 
 ty pack : but what advantage would it be to this same 
 Master Peter to have such a pack ?" a You do not un- 
 derstand me, Sancho," said Don Quixote : " I only 
 mean, that he must certainly have made some agreement 
 with the devil to infuse this ability into the ape, whereby 
 lie gets his bread ; and, after he is become rich, he will 
 give him his soul, whicli is what the universal enemy 
 of mankind aims at. And what induces me to this be- 
 lief is, finding that the ape answers only as to things 
 past or present, and the knowledge of the devil extends 
 no farther ; for he knows the future only by conjecture, 
 and not always that ; for it is the prerogative of God 
 alone to know times and seasons, and to him nothing is 
 past or future, but every thing present. This being so, 
 us it really is, it is plain the ape talks in the stile of the 
 devil : and I wonder he has not been accused to the in- 
 quisition, and examined by torture till he confesses, by 
 Tirtue of what, or of whom, he divines : for it is certain, 
 this ape is no astrologer ; and neither his master nor he 
 knows how to raise one of those figures called judiciary, 
 whicli are now so much in fashion in Spain, that you have 
 not any servant-maid, page, or cobler, but presumes to raise 
 a figure, as if it were a knave of cards, from the 
 ground; thus destroying, by their lying and ignorant 
 pretences, the wonderful truth of the science, I 
 a certain lady, who asked one of these figure*
 
 216 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 raisers, whether a little lap-dog she had would breed, 
 and how many and of what colour the puppies would 
 be. To which master astrologer, after raising a figure, 
 answered, that the bitch would pup, and have three 
 whelps, one green, one carnation, and the other mottled, 
 upon condition she should take dog between the hours 
 of eleven and twelve at noon or night, and that it were on 
 a Monday or a Saturday. IS'ow it happened, that the 
 bitch died some two days after of a surfeit, and master 
 figure-raiser had the repute in the town of being as 
 consummate an astrologer as the rest of his brethren." 
 " But for all that," quoth Sancho, li I should be glad 
 your worship would desire Master Peter to ask his ape, 
 whether all be true which befel you in the cave of 
 Montesinos ; because, for my own part, begging your 
 worship's pardon, I take it to be all sham and lies, or 
 at least a dream." " It may be so," answered Don 
 Quixote: "but I will do what you advise me, since 
 J myself begin to have some kind of scruples about it." 
 
 While they were thus confabulating, Master Peter 
 came to look for Don Quixote, to tell him the show was 
 ready, desiring he would come to see it, for it deserved 
 it. Don Quixote communicated to him his thought, 
 and desired him to ask his ape presently, whether cer- 
 tain things, which befcl him in the cave of Montesinos, 
 were dreams or realities : for, to his thinking, they 
 seemed to be a mixture of both. Master Peter, without 
 answering a word, went and fetched his ape, and, pla- 
 cing him before Don Quixote and Sancho, said : " Look 
 you, master ape, this knight would know, whether cer- 
 tain things, which befel him in the cave, called that 
 of Montesinos, were real or imaginary." And making 
 the usual signal, the ape leaped upon his left shoulder ; 
 nnd, seeming to chatter to him in his ear, Master Peter 
 presently said : " The ape says, that part of the things
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 217 
 
 your worship saw, or which befel you, inj the said cave, 
 are false, and part likely to be true : and this is what he 
 knows, and no more, as to this question ; and if your 
 worship has a mind to put any more to him, on Friday 
 next he will answer to every thing you shall ask him ; 
 for his virtue is at an end for the present, and will not 
 return till that time." " Did not I tell you,** quoth 
 Sancho, " it could never go down with me, that all 
 your worship said, touching the adventures of the cave, 
 was true ? no, nor half of it." " The event will show 
 that, Sancho," answered Don Quixote ; u for time, the 
 discoverer of all things, brings every thing to light, 
 though it lie hid in the bowels of the earth ; and let 
 this suffice at present, and let us go and see honest Mas- 
 ter Peter's show ; for I am of opinion there must be 
 some novelty in it." "How some?" quoth Master 
 Peter. " Sixty thousand novelties are contained in 
 this puppet-show of mine : lassure you, Signor Don 
 Quixote, it is one of the top things to be seen that the 
 world affords at this day ; Operibus credite, et non verbis / 
 and let us to work j for it grows late, and we have a 
 great deal to do, to say, and to show." 
 
 Don Quixote and Sancho obeyed, and came where 
 the show was set out, stuck round with little wax-cau- 
 dles, so that it made a delightful and shining appear- 
 ance. Master Peter, who was to manage the figures, 
 placed himself behind the show, and before it stood his 
 boy, to serve as an interpreter and expounder of the 
 mysteries of the piece. He had a white wand in his 
 hand, to point to the several figures as they entered. 
 All the folks in the inn being placed, some standing 
 opposite to the show, and Don Quixote, Sancho, the 
 page, and the scholar, seated in the best places, the 
 druggcr-man began to say what will be heard or seen 
 by those who will be at the pains of hearing or seeing 
 the following chapter. 
 
 VOL. ir. F F
 
 t>18 DON QU/XOTE. 
 
 CHAP. XXVI. 
 
 Wherein is contained the pleasant Adventure of the 
 Puppet-player, tilth sundry other Matters in Truth 
 sufficiently good. 
 
 I VRIANS and Trojans were all silent: I mean, that 
 all the spectators of the show hung upon the mouth: 
 of the declarer of its wonders, when from within the 
 scene they heard the sound of a number of drums and 
 trumpets, and several discharges of artillery; which 
 noise w;as soon over, and immediately the boy raised 
 liis voice, and said : " This true history, here repre- 
 sented to you, gentlemen, is taken word for word from 
 the French chronicles and Spanish ballads, which are 
 in every body's mouth, and sung by the boys up and 
 down the streets. It treats how Don Gayferos treed 
 his "wife Melisendra, who was a prisoner in Spain, in 
 the hands of the Moors, in the city of Sansuenna, now 
 called Saragossa ; and there you may see how Don Gay- 
 feros is playing at tables, according to the ballad : 
 
 " Gajferos.now at tables play?, 
 Forgetful of hia lady dear," &.c. 
 
 *That personage, who appears yonder with a crown on 
 liis head, and a sceptre in his hands, is the emperor 
 Charles the Great, the supposed father of Melisendra: 
 who, being vexed to see the indolence and negligence 
 of his son-in-law, comes forth to chide him ; and, pray, 
 mark with what vchemency and earnestness he rates him, 
 that one would think he had a mind to give him half
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 219 
 
 a dozen raps over the pate with his sceptre : yea, there 
 are authors, who say lie actually gave them, and sound 
 ones too : and, after having said sundry things about 
 the danger his honour ran, in not procuring the liberty 
 of his spouse, it is reported he said to him : * I have 
 told you enough of it, look to it.' Pray observe, gen- 
 tlemen, how the emperor .turns his back, and leaves 
 Don Gayferos in a fret. See him now impatient with 
 cholcr, flinging about the board and pieces, and calling 
 hastily for his armour ; desiring Don Orlando, his 
 cousin, to lend him his sword Durindana ; and then 
 how Don Orlando refuses to lend it him, offering to 
 
 * o 
 
 bear him company in that arduous enterprise: but the 
 valorous enraged will not accept of it : saying, .that he 
 alone is able to deliver his spouse, though she were 
 thrust down to the centre of the earth. Hereupon he 
 goes in to arm himself for setting forward immediately. 
 Now, gentlemen, turn your eyes towards that tower, 
 which appears yonder, which you are to suppose to be 
 one of the Moorish towers of Saragossa, now called the 
 Aljaferia 17 , and that lady, who appears at yon balcony 
 in a Moorish habit, is the peerless Melisendra, casting 
 many a heavy look towards the road that leads to France, 
 and fixing her imagination upon the city of Paris and 
 her husband, her only consolation in her captivity. 
 Now behold a strange incident, the like perhaps never 
 seen. Do you not see yon Moor, who -stealing along 
 softly, and step by step, with his finger on his mouth, 
 comes behind Melisendra? Behold how he gives her 
 a smacking kiss full on her lips : observe the haste she 
 makes to spit, and wipe her mouth with her white shift- 
 sleeves ; and how she takes on, and tears her beauteous 
 hair for vexation, as if that was to blame forthe indig- 
 nity. Observe that grave Moor in yonder gallery : 
 he is Marsilio, the king of Sansuenna; who, seeing the 
 
 F F 2
 
 220 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 insolence of (he Moor, though he is a relation of his, 
 and a great favourite, orders him to be seized imme- 
 diately, and two hundred stripes to be given him, and 
 to be led through the most frequented streets of the 
 city, with criers before to publish his crime, and the 
 officers of justice with their rods behind : and now be- 
 hold the officers coming out to execute the sentence, 
 almost as soon as the fault is committed : for, among 
 the Moors, there is no citation of the party, nor copies 
 of the process, nor delay of justice, as among us." 
 
 Here Don Quixote said with a loud voice: < K Boy, 
 boy, on with your story in a straight line, and leave your 
 curves and transversals : for, to come at the truth of a 
 fact, there is often need of proof upon proof. 1 ' Master 
 Peter also from behind said : " Boy, none of your 
 flourishes, but do what the gentleman bids you; for 
 that is the surest way : sing your song plain, and seek 
 not for coupterparts ; for they usually crack the strings.'* 
 ft I will," answered the boy ; and proceeded, saying: 
 
 *' The figure you see there on horseback, muffled up 
 in a Gascoign cloke, is Don Gayferos himself, to whom 
 his spouse, already revenged on the impudence of the 
 enamoured Moor, shows herself from the battlements of 
 the tower with a calmer and more sedate countenance, 
 and talks to her husband, believing him to be some pas- 
 senger ; with whom she holds all that discourse and dia^ 
 logue in the ballad, which says : 
 
 * If tow'rds France your coure you bend, 
 Let me intreat you, gentle friend, 
 Make diligent inquiry there 
 For Gayferos, my husband dear." 
 
 I'hcrcst I must omit, because length begets loathing. 
 It is, sufficipnt to observe how Don Gayferos discover
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 221 
 
 himself; and, by the signs of joy she makes, you may 
 perceive she knows him, and especially now that you 
 see she lets herself down from the balcony, to get on 
 horseback behind her good husband. But alas, poor 
 lady ! the border of her under- petticoat has caught hold 
 of one of the iron rails of the balcony, and there she 
 hangs danglingin the air, without being able to reach the 
 ground. But see how merciful heaven sends relief in 
 the greatest distresses ! for now comes Don Gayferos, 
 and, without regarding whether the rich petticoat be 
 torn or not, lays hold of her, and brings her to the 
 ground by main force ; and then at a spring sets her 
 behind him on his horse astride like a man, bidding her 
 hold very fast, and clasp he* arms about his shoulders 
 till they cross and meet over his breast, that she may 
 not fall ; because the lady Melisendra was not used to 
 that way of riding. See how the horse, by his neigh- 
 ings, shows he is pleased with the burden of his valiant 
 master and his fair mistress. And see how they turn their 
 backs and go out of the city, and how merrily and joy- 
 fully they take the way to Paris. Peace be with you, 
 O pecrlesi pair of faithful lovers ! may you arrive in 
 in safety at your desired country, without fortune's laying 
 any obstacle in the way of your prosperous journey ! 
 May the eyes of your friends and relations behold ye en- 
 joy in perfect peace the remaining days (and may they 
 be like Nestor's) of your lives !" Here again Master 
 Peter raised his voice, and said : " Plainness, boy; do 
 not encumber yourself; for alj affectation is naught." 
 The interpreter made no answer, but went on, saying : 
 ?< There wanted not some idle eyes, such as espy every- 
 thing, to see Melisendra's getting down and then mount- 
 ing ; of which they gave notice to King Marsilio, who 
 immediately commanded to sound the alarm ; and pray 
 take nptice wtat a hurry they are- in ; how the whole
 
 222 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 city shakes Tvith the ringing of bells in the steeples of the 
 mosques." 
 
 " Not so," said Don Quixote ; " Master Peter is very 
 much mistaken in the business of the bells; for the Moors 
 do not use bells, but kettle-drums, and a kind of dulci- 
 mers, like our waits: and therefore to introduce the ring- 
 ing of bells in Sansuenna is a gross absurdity.'* Which 
 Master Peter overhearing, he left off ringing, and said, 
 *' Signor Don Quixote, do not criticise upon trifles, nor 
 expect that perfection which is not to be found in these 
 matters. Are there not a thousand comedies acted almost 
 every where, full of as many improprieties and blunders, 
 and yet they run their career with great success, and are 
 listened to not only with applause, but with admiration ? 
 Go on, boy, and let folks talk ; for, so I fill my bag, I 
 care not if I represent more improprieties than there are 
 motes in the sun." "You are in the right," answered 
 Don Quixote ; and the boy proceeded : 
 
 " See what a numerous and brilliant cavalry sallies out 
 of the city in pursuit of the two Catholic lovers ; how 
 many trumpets sound, how many dulcimers play, and 
 how many drums and kettle-drums rattle; I fear they 
 will overtake thenij and bring thern back tied to their 
 own horse's tail, which would be a lamentable specta- 
 cle." Don Quixote, seeing such a number of Moors, 
 and hearing such a din, thought proper to succour those 
 Ihatfled; and rising up, said in a loud voice, " I will 
 never consent, while I live, that m my presence such an 
 [>ntrage as this be offered to so famous a knight and so 
 ilaring a lover as Don Gayferos. Hold, base-born rab- 
 ble, follow not nor pursue after- him; for if you do, 
 baveatyou." And so said, so done; he unsheathed his 
 word, and at one spring he planted himself close to the 
 ihow, and with a violent and unlicard-of fury began to 
 ain hacks and slashes on the Moorish puppets, over-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 throwing some, and beheading others, laming this, and 
 demolishing that : and, among a great many other strokes, 
 he fetched one with such a force, that, if Master Peter 
 had not ducked and squatted down, he had chopped off 
 his head with as much ease as if it had been made of sugar 
 paste. Master Peter cried out, saying, , " Hold, Signor 
 Don Quixote, hold, and consider that these figures you 
 throw down, maim, and destroy, are not real Moors, but 
 only puppets made of pasteb&ard : consider, sinner that I 
 am ! that you are undoing me, and destroying my wholo 
 livelihood." For all that, Don Quixote still laid about 
 him, showering down, doubling, and re-doubling, fore- 
 strokes and back-strokes like hail. In short, in less 
 than the saying two Credos, he demolished the whole ma- 
 chine, hacking to pieces all the tackling and figures, 
 king Marsilio being sorely wounded, and the head and 
 crown of the emperor Charlemagne cloven in two. The 
 whole audience was in a consternation ; the ape flew to the 
 top of the house : the scholar was frightened, the page 
 daunted, and even Sancho himself trembled mightily ; 
 for, as he swore after the storm was over, he had never 
 seen his master in so outrageous a passion. 
 
 The general demolition of the machinery thus achieved, 
 Don Quixote began to be a little calm, and said, " I 
 wish I had here before me, at this instant, all those who 
 are not, and will not be convinced, of how much benefit 
 knights-errant are to the world: for, had I not been pre- 
 sent, what would have become of good Don Gayferos and 
 the fair Melisendra? I warrant ye, these dogs would 
 have overtaken them by this time, and have offered them 
 some indignity. When all is done, long live knight-er- 
 rantry above all things living in the world!" " In God's 
 name let it live, and let me die," cried Master Peter at 
 this juncture, with a fainting voice, " since I am so un- 
 fortunate, that I ean say with king Koderigo 43 , < Yester-
 
 day I was sovereign of Spain, and to-day have not a foot 
 of land I can call my own.' It is not half an hour argo, 
 nor scarcely half a minute, since I was master of kings 
 and emperors, my stalls full of horses, and my trunks and 
 sacks full of fine things; and now I am desolate and de- 
 jected, poor, and a beggar, and> what grieves me most 
 of all, without my ape, who, i* faith, will make my teeth 
 sweat for it, before I get him again : and all through the 
 inconsiderate fury of this sir knight, who is said to pro- 
 ject orphans, redress wrongs, and do other charitable 
 deeds; but in me alone, praised be the higkest heavens 
 for it! his generous intention has failed. In short, it 
 could only be the Knight of the Sorrowful Figure who w as 
 destined thus to disfigure me and mine.'* 
 
 Sancho Panza was moved to compassion by what Mas- 
 ter Peter had spoken, and therefore said to him, " Weep 
 not, Master Peter, nor take on so; for you break my 
 heart, and I assure you my master Don Quixote is so ca- 
 tholic and scrupulous a Christian, that, if he comes to 
 reflect that he has done you any wrong, he knows how, 
 and will certainly make you amends with interest." 
 (l If Signor Don Quixote," replied Master Peter, " would 
 but repay me part of the damage he has done me, I 
 should be satisfied, and his worship would discharge his 
 conscience j for nobody can be saved who withholds 
 another 's property against his will, and does not make 
 restitution." " True," said Don Quixote; " but as yet 
 I do not know that I have any thing of yours, Master Pe- 
 ter." " Howl" answered Master Peter: " what but tha 
 invincible force of your powerful arm scattered and anni- 
 hilated these relics, which lie up and down on this hard 
 and barren ground ? Whose were their bodies but mine ? 
 And how did I maintain myself but by thru;:" <,' Now 
 am I entirely convinced," replied Don Quixote at this 
 juncture, " of what* I have often believed before, that
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 935 
 
 those enchanters who persecute me, arc perpetually set- 
 ting shapes before me as they really are, and presently 
 putting the change upon me, and transforming them into 
 whatever they please. I protest to you, gentlemen, that 
 hear me, that whatever has passed at this time seemed to? 
 me to pass actually and precisely so : I took Melisendra 
 to be Melisendra; Don Gayfcros, Don Gayferos; Mar-, 
 silio, Marsilio; and Charlemagne, Charlemagne. Thi? 
 it was that inflamed my cholcr ; and, in compliance with 
 the duty of my profession as a knight-errant, I h,ad a 
 mind to assist and succour those who fled; and with this 
 good intention I did what you just now saw: if things 
 have fallen out the reverse, it is no fault of mine, but o 
 those my wicked persecutors; and, notwithstanding this 
 mistake of min,e, and though it did not proceed from, 
 malice, yet will I condemn myself in costs. See, Master. 
 Peter, what you must haye foe the damaged figures, and 
 I will pay it you down in current and lawful money of 
 Castile." Master Peter made him a low bow, saying, 
 " I expected no less from the unexampled Christianity of 
 the valorous Don Quixote de la Mancha, the true suc-f 
 courer and support of all the needy and distressed : and 
 let master innkeeper and the great SancUa be umpires and 
 appraisers, between youj worship and me, of what the 
 demolished figures are or might be> worth." 
 
 The innkeeper and Sanchq said they would; an,d then 
 Master Peter, taking up Marsilio,/ king of Saragossa, 
 without a head, said, "You see Uow impossible it is to 
 restore this king to his. pristine statp, and therefore I think, 
 with submission to better judgment, you must award me 
 for his death and destruction four- reals and a half." . 
 " Proceed," said Don Quixote." Thca for this that is 
 cleft from top to bottom," continued Master Peter, taking 
 up the emperor Charlemagne, u I think five reals and a 
 quarter little enough to ask." " Not very little," 
 
 YOL, u. G G
 
 DON QT'IXOTE. 
 
 Sancho. < Not very much," replied the innkeeper; 
 "but split the difference, and set him down five reals." 
 * e Give him the whole five and a quarter," said Don 
 Quixote; " for, in such a notable mischance as this, a 
 quarter more or less is not worth standing upon : and 
 make an end, Master Peter ; for it grows towards supper- 
 tim, and I have some symptoms of hunger upon me." 
 41 For this figure," cried Master Peter, " which wants a 
 nose and an eye, and is the fair Mettsendra, I must have 
 and can abate nothing of two reals and twelve marave- 
 c!is." " Nay," said Don Quixote, " the devil must be 
 in it, if Meliscndra be not, by this time, with her hus- 
 band, at least upon the borders of France : for methought 
 i he horse they rode upon seemed to fly rather than gallop j 
 and therefore do not pretend to sell me a cat for a coney, 
 showing me here Melisendra noseless, "whereas, at this 
 Tcry instant, probably, she is solacing herself at full 
 sstretch with her husband in France. God help every one 
 ^with his own, Master Peter; let us have plain dealing, 
 and proceed." Master Peter, finding that Don Quixote 
 fccgan to warp, and was returning to his old bent, had no 
 mind he should escape him so, and therefore said to him, 
 ' Now I think on it, 'this is not Melisendra, but one of 
 her waiting-maids, and so with sixfy maravedis I shall be 
 well enough paid, and very well contented." Thus he 
 went on, setting a price upon several broken figures, 
 which the arbitrators afterwards moderated to the satis- 
 faction of both parties. The whole amounted to forty 
 jeals and three quarters: and over and above all this, 
 which Sancho immediately disbursed, Master Peter de- 
 manded two reals for the trouble he should have in catch- 
 ing his ape. " Give him them, Sancho," said Don 
 Quixote, " not for catching the ape, but to drink. I 
 would give two hundred to any one that could tell me for 
 certain, that Donna Melisendra and Signor DonGayfcros
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 227 
 
 *re at this time in France, and among their friends." 
 " Nobody can tell us that better than my ape," said Mas- 
 ter Peter: " but the devil himself cannot catch him now? 
 though I suppose his affection for me, or hunger, will 
 force him to come to me at night; and to-morrow is a 
 new day, and we shall see one another again." 
 
 In conclusion, the bustle ofthe puppet-show was quite 
 over, and they all supped together in peace and good 
 company, at the expense of Don Quixote, who was libe- 
 ral to the hst degree. He who carried the lances and 
 halberds went off before day, and, after it was light, the 
 scholar and the page came to take their leaves of Don 
 Quixote, the one in order to return home, and the other 
 to pursue his intended journey; and Don Quixote gave 
 him a dozen reals to help to bear his charges. Master 
 Peter had no mind to enter into any more tell tile's and I 
 zsill tell yoifs* with Don Quixote, whom he knew per- 
 fectly well; and therefore up he got before sun; and, ga- 
 thering up the fragments of his show, and taking his ape, 
 away he went in quest of adventures of his own. The 
 innkeeper, who knew not Don Quixote, was equally in 
 astonishment at his madness and liberality. In short, 
 Sancho, by order of his master, paid him very well: and 
 about eight in the morning, bidding him farewell, they 
 Ii'ft the inn, and went their way, where we will leave 
 them to give place to the relating several other things, 
 fi-vessary to the better understanding this famous history.
 
 298 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAP. XXVII. 
 
 Wherein is related who Master Peter and hh Ape icere ; 
 zcith the HI success Don Quixote had in the brat/ing 
 Adventure) which fa finished not as he wished and 
 intended. 
 
 ClD Hamcte, the chronicler of this grand history, be- 
 gins this chapter with these words, u I swear-as a catho- 
 lic Christian:" to which his translator says, that Cid 
 'Hamete's swearing as a catholic Christian, he being a 
 Moor, as undoubtedly he was, mcailt nothing more tiian 
 that, as the catholic Christian, when he swears, docs or 
 ought to speak and swear the truth, so did he, in writing 
 of Don Quixote, and especially in declaring who Master 
 Peter was, with some account of the divining apo, who 
 surprised all the villages thereabouts with his divinations. 
 He says then, that whoever has read the former part of 
 this history, must needs remember that Ginrs de Passa- 
 montc, to whom, among other galley-slaves, Don Quixote 
 gave liberty in the Sable Mountain; a benefit, for which, 
 afterward., he had small thanks and worse payment 
 from that mischievous and misbehaving crew. This 
 Gines de Passamonte, whom Don Quixote called Ginc- 
 sillo de Parapilla, was the person who stole Sancho Pan- 
 za's Dapple; and the not particularizing the when nor 
 the how in the first part, through the neglect of the prin- 
 ters, made many ascribe the fault of the press to want of 
 memory in the author. But, in short, Gines stole him 
 while Sancho was asleep upon his back, making use of 
 the same trick and device that Brunelo did, who, uhile 
 Sacrapante lay at the siege of Albraca, stole his horse 
 fwm between his legs ; and afterwards Sancho recovered
 
 DON QUIXOTE:. 229 
 
 him, as has been already related. This Gines, then> 
 being afraid of falling into the hands of justice, which 
 was in pursuit of him, in order to chastise him for his 
 numberless rogueries and crimes, which were so many 
 and so flagrant that he himself wrote a large volume of 
 them, resolved to pass over to the kingdom of Arragon, 
 and, covering his left eye$ took up the trade of puppet- 
 playing and legerdemain, both of which he perfectly un- 
 derstood. It fell out, that, lighting upon some Christiaa 
 slaves redeemed fromBarbary, he bought that ape, which 
 lie taught, at a certain signal, to leap up on his shoulder, 
 and mutter something, or seem to do so, in his ear. This 
 done, before he entered any town, to which he was going 
 with his show and his ape, lie informed himself in the 
 next village, or where he best could, what particular 
 things had happened in such and such a place, and te> 
 .whom ; and bearing them carefully in his memory, the 
 first thing he did, was, to exhibit his show, which was 
 sometimes of one story, and sometimes of another, but all 
 pleasant, gay, and generally known. The show ended, 
 lie used to propound the abilities of his ape, telling the 
 people he divined all that was past and present; but as (t* 
 what was to come, he did not pretend to any skill therein. 
 lie demanded two reals for answering each question, and 
 to some he afforded it cheaper, according as he found tlwi 
 pulse of his clients beat; and coming sometimes to houses 
 "where he knew what had happened to the people that 
 lived in them, though they asked no question, because 
 they would not pay him, he gave the signal to his ape, 
 and presently said, he told him such and such a thing, 
 which tallied exactly with what had happened; whereby 
 lie gained infallible credit, and was followed by every 
 body. At other times, being very cunning, he answered 
 in such a manner, that his answers came pat to the ques- 
 tions ; and as nobody went about to sift or press him t j
 
 230 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 tell how his ape divined, he gulled every body, and filled 
 his pockets. No sooner was he come into the inn, but he 
 knew Don Quixote and Sancho ; which made it very easy 
 for him to excite the wonder of Don Quixote, Sanche, 
 and all that were present. But it would have cost him 
 dear, had Don Quixote directed his hand a little lower, 
 when he cut off king Marsilio's head and destroyed all 
 Lis cavalry, as is related in the foregoing chapter. This 
 is what offers concerning Master Peter and the ape. 
 
 And, returning to Don Quixote de la Mancha, I say, 
 he determined, before he went to Saragossa, first to 
 visit the banks of the river Ebro, and all the parts 
 thereabouts, since he had time enough and to spare 
 before the tournaments began. With this design he 
 pursued his journey, and travelled two days without 
 lighting upon any thing worth recording, till, the third 
 day, going up a hill, he heard a great noise of drums, 
 trumpets, and guns. At first he thought some regi- 
 ment of soldiers was marching that way, and he clapped 
 spurs to Rozinantc, and ascended the hill to sec them : 
 and, being got to the top, he perceived, as he thought, 
 in the valley beneath, above two hundred men, armed 
 with various weapons, as spears, cross-bows, partisans, 
 Lalberds, and pikes, with some guns and a great number 
 of targets. He rode down the hill, and drew so near 
 to the squadron, that he saw the banners distinctly, and 
 distinguished their colours, and observed the devices 
 they bore ; especially one upon a banner, or pennant, 
 of white satin, on which an ass, of the little Sardinian 
 breed, holding up its head, its mouth open, and its 
 tongue out, in the act and postu/e, as it were, of 
 braying, was painted to the life, and round it these two 
 lines written in large characters : 
 
 " The bailiffs twain 
 Bray 'd not iuvain, 1 '
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 31 
 
 From this motto Don Quixote, gathered, that these 
 folks must belong to the braying town, and so he told 
 Sancho, telling him also what was written on the 
 banner. He said also, that the person, who had given 
 an account of this affair, was mistaken in calling the 
 two brayers aldermen, since, according to the motto, 
 they were not aldermen but bailiffs. To which Sancho 
 Panza answered : " That breaks no squares, sir ; for 
 it may very well be, that the aldermen who brayed, 
 might in process of time become bailiffs of their town, 
 and therefore may' properly be called by both those 
 titles ; though it signifies nothing to the truth of the 
 history, whether the brayers were bailiffs or aldermen, 
 so long as they both brayed ; for a bailiff is as likely to 
 bray as an alderman." In fact, they found, that the 
 town derided was sallied forth to attack another, which, 
 had laughed at them too much, and beyond what was 
 fitting for good neighbours. Don Quixote advanced 
 towards them, to the no small concern of Sancho, who 
 never loved to make one in these kinds of expeditions. 
 Those of the squadron received him smongst them, 
 taking him to be some one of their party. Don Quix- 
 ote, lifting up his visor, with an easy and graceful 
 deportment, approached the ass-banner, and all the 
 chiefs of the army gathered about him to look at him, 
 being struck with the same astonishment that every 
 body was at the first time of seeing him. Don Quixote, 
 seeing them so intent upon looking at him, without any- 
 one's speaking to him or asking him any question, 
 resolved to take advantage of this silence, and, break- 
 ing his own, he raised his voice and said : 
 
 " Good gentlemen, I earnestly entreat you not to 
 interrupt a discourse I shall make to you, till you find 
 it disgusts and tires you : for, if that happens, at the 
 least sign you shall make, I will clap a seal on my lips,
 
 DON QIIXOTE. 
 
 
 rvnd a gag upon my tongue." They all desired him fo 
 say what he pleased ; for they would hear him with a 
 very good will. With this licence Don Quixote pro- 
 ceeded, saying : " I, gentlemen, am a knight-errant, 
 whose exercise is that of arms, and whose profession, 
 that of succouring those who stand in need of succour, 
 and relieving the distressed. Some days ago I heard 
 of your misfortune, and the cause that induces you to 
 fake arms, at every turn, to revenge yourselves on your 
 enemies. And, having often pondered your business 
 vi my mind, I find that, according to the laws of duel, 
 you under mistake m thinking yourselves affronted . : for 
 no one person can affront a whole town, unless it be by 
 accusing them of treason conjointly, as not knowing in 
 particular who committed the treason of which he ac- 
 cuses them. An example of this we have in Don Diego 
 Ordonnez de Lara, who challenged the whole people 
 f Zamora, because he did not know that Vellido Dolfos 
 alone had committed the treason of killing his king; 
 and therefore he challenged them all, and the revenge 
 ;md answer belonged to them all: though it is very 
 true, that Signer Don" Diego went somewhat too far, 
 and greatly exceeded the limits of challenging ; for ho 
 needed not have challenged the dead, the waters, 
 the bread, or the unborn, nor several other particular 
 rities mentioned in the challenge. But let that pass ; 
 for, when choler overflows its dam, the tongue has no 
 father, governor, nor bridle, to restrain it. This being 
 so, then, that a single person cannot affront a kingdom, 
 province, city, republic, or a whole town, it is clear, 
 there is no reason for your marching out to revenge 
 such an affront, since it is really none. Would it not 
 be pretty indeed, if those of the watch-making business 4 * 
 should endeavour to knock every body's brains out, who 
 calls them by their trade ? And would it not be plea-
 
 DON QUIXOTE, 233 
 
 sanf, if the cheesemongers, the costarmongers, the fish- 
 mongers, and soapboilers, with those of several other 
 names and appellations, which are in every body's 
 mouth, and common among the vulgar ; would it not 
 be line indeed, if all these notable folks should be 
 ashamed of their business, and be perpetually taking 
 revenge, and making sackbuts of their swords upon 
 every quarrel, though never so trivial ? No, no j God 
 neither permits nor wills it. Men of wisdom, and well- 
 ordered commonwealths, ought to take arms, draw their 
 swords, and hazard their lives and fortunes, upon four 
 accounts : First, to defend the catholic faith ; secondly, 
 to defend their lives, which is agreeable to the natural 
 and divine law; thirdly, in defence of their honour, 
 family, or estate ; and, fourthly, in the service of their 
 king, in a just wars and, if we may add a fifth, which 
 may indeed be ranked with the second, it is in the de- 
 fence of their country. To these five capital causes 
 several others might be added, very just and very rea- 
 sonable, and which oblige us to take arras. But to 
 have recourse to them for trifles, and things rather 
 subjects for laughter and pastime, than for affronts, 
 looks like acting against common sense. Besides, ta- 
 king an unjust revenge {and no revenge can be just) is 
 actiug directly against the holy religion we profess, 
 whereby we are commanded to do good to our enemies, 
 and to love those that hate us; a precept, which, though, 
 seemingly difficult, is really not so to any but those 
 who have less of God than of the world, and more of the 
 flesh than the spirits for Jesus Christ, true God and 
 man, who never lied, nor could nor can lie, and who is 
 our legislator, has told us, his yoke is easy and his 
 burden light : and therefore he would not command us 
 any thing impossible to be performed. Sd that, gen- 
 
 VOL. II. H If
 
 234 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 tlemcn, you are bound to be quiet and pacified by all 
 laws both divine and human." 
 
 ** The devil fetch me," quoth Sancho to himself, "if 
 this master of mine be not a tologue 50 ; or, if not, be is 
 like one, as one egg is like another." Don Quixote took 
 breath a little; and, perceiving that they still stood 
 attentive, he had a mind to proceed in his discourse, 
 and had certainly done so, had not Sancho's acuteness 
 interposed: who, observing that his master paused 
 awhile, took up the cudgels for him, saying: "My 
 master, Don Quixote de la Mancha, once called the 
 Knight of the Sorrowful Figure, and now the Knight of 
 the Lions, is a sage gentleman, and understands Latin 
 and the vulgar tongue like any bachelor of arts; and, 
 in all h handles or advises, proceeds like an expert 
 soldier, having all the laws and statutes of what is 
 railed duel at his fingers' ends: and so there is no more 
 to be done, but to govern yourselves by his direction, 
 and I will bear the blame if you do amiss : besides, 
 you are but just told how foolish it is to be ashamed to 
 hear one bray. I remember, when I was a boy, I bray- 
 ed as often as I pleased, without any body's hindering 
 me, and with such grace and propriety, that, whenever 
 I brayed, all the asses of the town brayed : and, fur 
 all that, I did not cease to be the son of my parents, who 
 were very honest people ; and, though for this rare 
 ability I was envied by more than a few of the proudest 
 of my neighbours, I cared not two farthings. And, 
 to convince you that I speak the truth, do but stay and 
 hearken: for this science, like that of swimming, once 
 learned, is never forgotten." 
 
 Then, laying his hands to his nostrils, he began to 
 bray so strenuously, that the adjacent vallies resounded 
 again. But one of those who stood close by him, be- 
 lieving Le was making a mock of them, lifted up 4
 
 DON QUIXOTE. *35 
 
 pole he tad in his hand, and gave him such a polt with 
 it, as brought Sancho Panza to the ground. Don Quixote, 
 seeing Sancho so evil-entreated, made at the striker with 
 his lance : but so many interposed that it was impossible 
 for him to be revenged : on the contrary, finding a shower 
 of stones come thick upon him, and a thousand cross- 
 bows presented, and as many guns levelled at him, he 
 turned Rozinante about, and, as fast as he could gallop, 
 got out from among them, recommending himself to God 
 with all his heart, to deliver him from this danger, fear- 
 ing, at every step, lest some bullet should enter at his 
 back and come out at his breast ; and at every moment 
 he fetched his breath to try whether it failed him or not. 
 But those of the squadron were satisfied with seeing him 
 fly, and did not shoot after him. As for Sancho, they 
 set him again upon his ass, scarcely come to himself, 
 and suffered him to follow his master : not that he had 
 sense to guide him, but Dapple naturally followed Ro- 
 zinante's steps, not enduring to be a moment from him. 
 Don Quixote, being got a good way off, turned about 
 his head, and saw that Sancho foHowed ; and, finding 
 that nobody pursued him, he stopped till he came up. 
 Those of the squadron staid there till night, and, the 
 enemy not coming forth to battle, they returned to their 
 homes, joyful and merry: and, had they known th 
 practice of the ancient Greeks, they would faave erected a 
 trophy in that place* 
 
 B H
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAP. XXVIII. 
 
 Of Things which, Benengeli says, he who reads them 
 them will know, if he reads them ivith attention. 
 
 \VHEN .the valiant flics, it is plain he is overmatched ; 
 for it is the part of the wise to reserve themselves for 
 better occasions. This truth was verified in Don Quix- 
 ote, who, giving Way to the fury of the people, and to 
 the evil intentions of that resentful squadron, took to 
 liis heels, and, without bethinking him of Sancho, or of 
 the danger in which he left him, got as far on as he 
 deemed sufficient for his safety. Sancho followed him 
 on his beast, as has been said. At last he came up to 
 him, having recovered his senses ; and, at coming up, 
 lie fell from Dapple at the feet of Rozinante, all in an- 
 guish, all bruised, and all beaten. Don Quixote alighted 
 to examine his wounds ; but, finding him whole from 
 head to foot, with much choler he said, " In an unlucky 
 hour, Sancho, must you needs show your skill in bray- 
 ing ; where did you learn that it was fitting to name a 
 halter in the house of a man that was hanged ? To the 
 music of braying, what counterpoint could you expect 
 Lut that of a cudgel ? Give God thanks, Sancho, that, 
 instead of crossing your back with a cudgel, they did 
 not make the sign of the cross on you with a scimitar." 
 < I am not now in a condition to answer," replied 
 Sancho ; " for rnethinks I speak through my shoulders : 
 let us mount, and begone from this place : as for bray- 
 ing, I will have done with it, but I shall not with telling 
 that knights-errant fly and leave their faithful squires to
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 be beaten to powder by their enemies."" To retire is not 
 to fly," answered Don Quixote; " for you must know, 
 Sancho, that the valour which lias not prudence for its 
 basis is termed rashness, and the exploits of the rash 
 are ascribed rather to their good fortune than their cou- 
 rage. 1 confess I did retire, but not fly ; and herein 
 I imitated sundry valiant persons, who have reserved 
 themselves for better times; and of this, histories are full 
 of examples, which, being of no profit to you or plea- 
 sure to me, I omit at present." 
 
 By this time, Sancho was mounted, with the assistance 
 of Don Quixote, who likewise got upon Rozinantc ; and 
 so they gently took their way toward a grove of poplars 
 which they discovered about a quarter of a league off. 
 Sancho every now and then fetched most profound sighs 
 and doleful groans. Don Quixote asking him the cause 
 of such bitter moaning, he answered, that he 'was in 
 pain from the lowest point of his backbone to the nape of 
 his neck, in such manner that he was ready to swoon. 
 " The cause of this pain," said Don Quixote, u must 
 doubtless be that the pole they struck you with, being 
 a long one, took in your whole back, where lie all the 
 parts that give you pain, and, if it had reached further, 
 it would have pained you more." " Before God !" quoth 
 Sancho, " your worship lias brought me out of a grand 
 doubt, and explained it in very iine terms. Body of 
 me ! was the cause of my pain so hid that it was neces- 
 sary to tell me that I felt pain in all those parts which 
 the pole reached ? If my ancles ached, you might not, 
 perhaps, so easily guess why they pained me : but to 
 divine that I am pained, because beaten, is no great busi- 
 ness. In fatth, master of mine, other men's harms hang 
 by a hair : I descry land more and more every day, and 
 what litde I am to expect from keeping your worship 
 company j for if this bout you let me be basted, we shall
 
 S3S DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 return again, and a hundred times again, to our ol<F 
 blanket-tossing-, and other follies ; which, if this time 
 they have fallen upon my back, th next they will fall 
 upon my eyes. It would be much better for me, but 
 that I am a barbarian, and shall never do any thing 
 that is right while I live ; I say again, it would be much 
 better for me to return to my own house, and to my wife 
 and children, to maintain and bring them up with the 
 little God shall be pleased to give me, and not be fol- 
 lowing your worship through roadless roads, and path- 
 less paths, drinking ill and eating worse. Then for 
 sleeping, measure out, brother squire, seven feet of 
 earth, and, if that is not sufficient, take as many more : 
 it is in your own power to dish up the mess, and stretch 
 yourself out to your heart's content. I wish I may see 
 the first who set on foot knight-errantry burnt to ashes, 
 or at least the first that would needs be squire to such 
 idiots as all the knights-errant of former times must 
 have been. I say nothing of the present : for, your wor- 
 ship being one of them, I am bound to pay them respect, 
 and because I know your worship knows a point beyond 
 the devil in all you talk and think." 
 
 " I would lay a good wnger with you, Sancho," said 
 Don Quixote, " that, now you are talking, and without 
 interruption, you feel no pain in all your body. Talk 
 on, my son, all that comes into your thoughts, and what- 
 ever comes uppermost; for, so you feel no pain, I shall 
 take pleasure in the very trouble your impertinences 
 give me : and if you have so great a desire to return 
 home to your wife and children, God forbid I should 
 hinder you ! You have money of mine in your hands ; 
 see how long it is since we made this third sally from 
 our town, and how much you could or ought to get each 
 month, and pay yourself." " When I served Thomas 
 Canrasco, father of the bachelor Sampson Carrasce
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 239 
 
 whom your worship knows full well," said Sanclio, " I 
 got two ducats a month, besides my victuals: with your 
 worship I cannot tell what I may get; though I am sure it 
 is a greater drudgery to be squire to a knight-errant, than 
 servant to a farmer; for, in short, we, who serve hus- 
 bandmen, though we labour never so hard in the day- 
 time, let the worst come to the worst, at night we have a 
 supper from the pot, and we sleep in a bed, which is 
 more than I have done since I have served your worship, 
 excepting the short time we were at Don Diego de Miran- 
 da's house, the good cheer I had with the skimming of 
 Camacho's pots, and wkile I ate, drank, and slept, at 
 Basilius's house. All the rest of the time I have lain on 
 the hard ground, in the-open air, subject to what people 
 call the inclemencies of heaven, living upon bits of bread 
 and scraps of cheese, and drinking water, sometimes from 
 the brook, and sometimes from the fountain, such as we 
 met with up and down by the way." 
 
 il I confess, Sancho," said Don Quixote, " that all 
 you say is true: how much think you I ought to give you 
 more than Thomas Carrasco gave you ?" " I think," 
 quoth Sancho, " if your worship adds two reals a month, 
 I shall reckon myself well paid. This is to be understood 
 as to wages due for my labour; but as to the promise 
 your worship made of bestowing on me the government 
 of an island, it would be just and reasonable you should 
 add six reals more; which make thirty in all." u It is 
 very well," replied Don Quixote; " according to the 
 wages you have allotted yourself, it is five and twenty 
 days since we sallied from our town ; reckon, Sancho, in 
 proportion, and see what I owe you, and pay yourself, 
 as I have already said, with your own hand." " Body 
 of me!" quoth Sancho, "your worship is clean out in 
 the reckoning : for, as to the business of the promised 
 we must compute from the day you promised me
 
 240 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 to the present hour." " Why, how Ion* is it since I 
 promised it you?" said Don Quixote. " If I remember 
 right," answered Sancho, " it is about twenty years and 
 three days, more or less." Don Quixote gave himself a 
 good clap on the forehead with the palm of hi hand, 
 and began to laugh very heartily, and said, " Why, my 
 tambling up and down the Sable Mountain, with the 
 whole series of our sallies, scarcely take up two months, 
 and say you, Sancho, it is twenty years since I promised 
 you the island? Well, I perceive you have a mind 
 your wages should swallow up all the money you have 
 of mine: if it be so, and such is your desire, from hence- 
 forward I give it you, and much good may it do you ; 
 for so I may get rid of so worthless a squire, I shall be 
 glad to be left poor and pennyless. But tell me, pervertcr 
 of the squirely ordinances of knight-errantry, where have 
 you seen or read that any squire to a knight-errant ever 
 presumed to article with his master, and say, So much 
 and so much per month you must gi~ce me to serve you * 
 Launch, launch out, eut-tliroat, scoundrel, and hobgob- 
 lin, for thou art all these ; launch, I say, into the marc 
 magnum of their histories, and if you can find that any 
 squire has said or thought what you have now said, I 
 will give you leave to nail it on my forehead, and over 
 and over to write fool upon my face in capitals. Turn 
 about the bridle, or halter, of Dapple, and be gone 
 borne; for one single step farther you go not with me. 
 O bread ill bestowed! O promises ill placed! () man, 
 that hast more of the beast than of the human creature! 
 now, when I thought of settling you, and in such a way, 
 that, in spite of your wife, you should have been stiled 
 your lordship, do you now leave me? Now you are for 
 going, when I have taken a firm and effectual resolution 
 to make you lord of the bot island in the world? But, 
 as you yourself have often said, honey is not for'an ass'*
 
 DON QUIXOTE. S41 
 
 mouth. An ass you are, an ass you will continue to be, 
 and an ass you will die ; for I verily believe your life 
 will reach its final period before you will perceive or b 
 convinced that you are a beast." 
 
 Sanchs> looked very wistfully at Don Quixote all the 
 time he was thus rating him : and so great was the com- 
 punction he felt, that the tears stood in his eyes, and, 
 with a doleful and faint voice, he said, " Dear sir, I 
 confess, that, to be a complete ass, I want nothing but a 
 tail: if your worship will be pleased to put me on one, I 
 shall doem it well placed, and will serve your worship 
 in the quality of an ass all the remaining days of my 
 life. Pardon me, sir ; have pity on my ignorance, and 
 consider, that, if I talk much, it proceeds more from in- 
 firmity than malice : but, He zuho errs and mends, him- 
 self to God commends." " I should wonder, Sancho,'* 
 said Don Quixote, " if you did not mingle some little 
 proverb with your talk. Well, I forgive you, upon 
 condition of your amendment, and that henceforward you 
 show not yourself so fond of your interest, but that you 
 endeavour to enlarge your heart : take courage, and 
 strengthen your mind to expect the accomplishment of 
 my promises, which, though they are deferred, are not 
 therefore desperate." Sancho answered, he would, though 
 he should draw force from his weakness. On which they 
 entered the poplar grove. Don Quixote accommodated 
 himself at the foot of an elm, and Sancho at the foot of a 
 beech ; for this, and similar kinds of trees, have always 
 feet, but never hands. Sancho passed the night uneasily, 
 the cold renewing the pain of his bruises. Don Quixote 
 passed it in his wonted meditations : but for all that they 
 both slept, and at break of day they pursued their way to- 
 wards the banks of the famous Ebro, where befel them 
 what shall be related i;i the ensuing chapter. 
 
 VOL, n, i i
 
 -242 DON QUIXOTE 
 
 CHAP. XXIX. 
 
 Of the famous Adventure of the enchanted Bark. 
 
 AN two days after leaving the poplar grove, Don Quixote 
 and Sancho, travelling as softly as foot could fall, came 
 to the river Ebro, (he sight of -which gave Don Quixote 
 great pleasure, \vhile he saw and contemplated the ver- 
 dure of its banks, the clearness of its waters, the smooth- 
 ness of its current, and the abundance of its liquid crys- 
 tal. This cheerful prospect brought to his remembrance 
 a thousand amorous thoughts ; and particularly he mused 
 upon what he had seen in the cave of Montesinos : for, 
 though Master Peter's ape had told him that part of those 
 things was true, and part false, he inclined rather to be- 
 lieve all true than false ; quite the reverse of Sancho, w ho 
 held them all for falsehood itself. 
 
 Now, as they sauntered along in this manner, they 
 perceived a small bark, without oars, or any sort of 
 tackle, tied to the trunk of a tree which grew on (he-* 
 brink of the river. Don Quixote looked round him on 
 every way, and, seeing nobody at all, without more ado 
 alighted from Rozinantc, and ordered Sancho to do the 
 like from Dapple, and to tie both the beasts very fast to 
 the body of a poplar or willow, which grew there. 
 Sancho asked the reason of this hasty alighting and tying. 
 Don Quixote answered, " You are to know, Sancho, 
 that this vessel lies here for no oilier reason in the world 
 but to invite rae to embark in it, in order to succour 
 some knight, or other person of high degree, who is in 
 extreme distress; for such is the practice of enchanters in 
 the books of chivalry, when some knight happens to be 
 engaged in some difficulty, from, which lie cannot be dc-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. S13 
 
 livered but by the hand of another knight. Then, 
 though they are distant from each other two or three thou- 
 sand leagues, and even more, they either snatch him up 
 in a cloud, or furnish him with a boat to embark in ; and, 
 in less than the twinkling of an eye, they carry him 
 through the air or over the sea, whither they list, and 
 where his assistance is wanted. So that, Sancho, this 
 bark must be placed here for the self-same purpose : and 
 this is as true, as that it is now day ; and, before it be 
 spent, tie Dapple and Rozinante together, and the hand 
 of God be our guide ; for I would not fail to embark, 
 though barefooted friars themselves should entreat me to 
 the contrary." " Since it is so," answered Sancho, 
 " and that your "worship will every step be running into 
 these same (how shall I call them?) extravagancies, 
 there, is no way but to obey and bow the head, giving 
 heed to the proverb, Do what your master bids you, and 
 sit down by him at table. But for all that, as to what 
 pertains to the discharge of my conscience, 1 must warn 
 your worship, that to me this same boat seems not to be- 
 long to the enchanted, but to some fishermen upon the ri- 
 ver; for here they catch the best shads in the world." 
 
 All this Sancho said while he was tying the cattle, 
 leaving them to the protection and care of enchanters, 
 with sufficient grief of his soul. Don Quixote bid him 
 be in no pain about forsaking those beasts; for he who 
 was to carry themselves through ways and regions of such 
 longitude, would take care to feed them." " I do not 
 understand your logitudes," said Sancho, " nor have I 
 heard such a word in all the days of my life." " Longi- 
 tude," replied Don Quixote, " means length, and no 
 wonder you do not understand it ; for you are not bound 
 to know Latin ; though some there are who pretend to 
 know it, and are quite as ignorant as yourself." " Now 
 they are tied," quoth Sancho, " what must we do
 
 314 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 What?"* answered Don Quixote: why, 
 fakssonsehpes, and weigh anchor; I mean, embark our- 
 nflves,. and cut the rape with winch Ike vessel is tied." 
 And, leaping into It, Sancho jfbUowiag him, he cut the 
 end, and the boot ieU of by little and little from the 
 shove; and when Saacho saw himself about a couple of 
 yards from the bank, he began to quake, fearing he 
 ^ouldbekKt; bt aothu^ tnMbled him move than to 
 hear hb asshvay, and to see Rmiaaate stra^glu^ to get 
 aad he said to h masler, " Tbe ass bra j$ as 
 absence, aad Rraiaaafe is mdea roaring: 
 
 togethme, to threw himself into the river aAer vs. O 
 jJMiy.df frifn'H, abide ia peace! and may the madnm 
 which separates JOB from % cxmrerf d into a conviction 
 of ovr error, retain s to jonr pvesence!" and here he 
 began to weep so bitterly, that Don Qoixote grew angrv^ 
 and aaid, *' What are yon afraid ofj cowavdlj creature; 
 What weep yon tor, heart of bnlter? Who pnranes, 
 whohnrts yon T son! of a honse-rat ? Or what want jon, 
 poor wretch, in the midct of the bowel* of abundance: 
 Art thon trmfajng hniefout ower the Riphean mountains? 
 bnft Haled upon a bench, like an arehdnke, sliding 
 
 river, whence in 
 
 shall issne ont into the boundless ocean. 
 But doubtless we are got ont already, and must hare 
 gone at least seven or eight hundred leagues. If I had 
 here an astrolabe, to take the elevation of the pole, I 
 wmddtefl JOB how many we have gone; though, either I 
 tittle, or we are already pad, or shall presently 
 the eo^unoctial line, which divides and cats the op- 
 posite poles at equal dKtancn."^ .4nd when we arrive 
 at Oat fine your woohip speaks of," quoth . Saucbo, 
 "how mr shall we have travelled?" " A great way," 
 vepBedDonQutxDte: "far, of three hundred and six<y 
 in the teiraqaeoas gtobe, according
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 245 
 
 to the computation of Ptalomy , the greatest geogr 
 
 we know of, wr shall hare travelled one half 
 come to the line I told JOB of." * Bj the Loid!" quoth 
 Sancho, '* your worship has brought a vctypntfy fellow, 
 that same Tolmy, or whatever yon call him, with his 
 amputation, to vouch the tenth of what TOO sty." 
 
 Don Quixote smiled at Sancho's blunders as to the 
 name and computation of the groguphei Plokraay . and 
 said : il Yon most know, Sancho, that one of the sign*, 
 by which the Spaniards, and those who embark at 
 Cadiz from the East Indies, discover, whether they 
 hare passed the equinoctial line I told yon of, is, that 
 all the lice upon erery man in the ship die, not one 
 remaining afire: nor is one to be found in the vessel, 
 though they would give its weight in gold for it: and 
 therefore, Sancho, pass your hand over your thigh, and 
 if you light upon any thing alive, we shall be out of 
 this doubt, and, if not, we have passed the line."" I 
 believe nothing of all this," answered Sancho: ** but 
 for all that I win do as your worship bids me, though 
 I do not know what occasion there is for making this 
 experiment, since I see with my own eyes that we are 
 not got five yards from the bank, nor fiJla two yank 
 below our cattle : for yonder stand Roxwante and 
 Dapple, in die very pace where we left them ; and, 
 taking aim as I do now, I vow to God we do not stir 
 nor move an ant's pface," " Sancho,'* ssid Don Quix- 
 ote, " make the trial I bid yon, and take no further 
 care; for you know not what things col ares are, not 
 what are lines, parallels, zodiacs, efiptks, poles, 
 solstice, equinoctials, planets, signs, pointy and mea- 
 sures, of which the celestial and terrestrial globes are 
 composed : for, if you knew all these thing*, or but a 
 part of them, yon would plainly perceive what pa- 
 jallek we have cut, what signs we have seen, and what
 
 246 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 constellations we have left behind us, and are just now 
 leaving. And once more I bid you feel yourself all 
 over, and fish : for I, for my part, am of opinion you 
 are as clean as a sheet of paper, smooth and white." 
 Sancho carried his hand softly and gently towards his 
 left ham, and then lifted up his head, and looking at 
 his master, said: "Either the experiment is false, or 
 we are not arrived where your worship says, not by 
 a great many leagues." " Why," replied Don Quix- 
 ote, " have you met with something then ?" " Aye, 
 several somethings," answered Sancho ; and, shaking 
 his fingers, he washed his whole hand in the river, 
 down whose current the boat was gently gliding, not 
 moved by any secret influence, nor by any concealed 
 enchanter, but merely by the stream of the water, theu 
 smooth and calm. 
 
 By this time they discovered certain large water-mills, 
 standing in the midst of the river ; and scarcely had 
 Don Quixote espied them, when he said with a loud 
 voice to Sancho: " O friend, behold yonder appears 
 the city, castle, or fortress, in which some knight lies 
 under oppression, or some queen, infanta, or princess, 
 in evil plight, for whose relief I am brought hither." 
 " What the devil of a city, fortress, or castle, do you 
 talk of, sir ?" quoth Sancho : " do you not perceive, 
 that they arc mills standing in the river for the grinding 
 of corn :" "Peace ! Sancho," said Don Quixote ; " for 
 though they seem to be mills, they are not so : I have 
 already told you, that enchanters transform and change 
 all things from their natural shape. I do not say, they 
 change them really from one thing to another, but only 
 in appearance, as experience showed us in the trans- 
 formation of Dulcinea, the sole refuge of my hopes." 
 
 The boat, being now got into the current of the river, 
 began to move a little faster than it had done hitherto.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 247 
 
 The millers seeing it coming adrift with the stream, and 
 that it was just going into the mouth of the swift stream 
 of the mill-wheels, several of them ran out in all haste 
 with long poles to stop it ; and, their faces and clothes 
 being covered with meal, they made but an ill appear- 
 ance ; and calling out aloud they said : " Devils of men, 
 where are you going ? Are ye desperate, that ye have a 
 mind to drown yourselves, or be ground to pieces by the 
 wheels ?" " Did I not tell you, Sancho," said Don 
 Quixote, at this juncture, " that we are come where 
 I must demonstrate how far the valour of my arm extends ? 
 Look what a parcel of murderers and felons come out 
 against me : see what hobgoblins to oppose us, and 
 what ugly countenances to scare us. Now ye shall see, 
 rascals." And, standing up in the boat, he began to 
 threaten the millers aloud, saying : " 111 led and worse 
 advised scoundrels, set at liberty and free the person 
 you keep under oppression in this your fortress or 
 prison, whether of high or low degree : for I am Don 
 Quixote de la Mancha, otherwise called the Knight 
 of the Lions, for whom, by order of the high Heavens, 
 the putting a happy end to this adventure is reserved." 
 And so saying, he clapped his hand to his sword, and 
 began to fence with it in the air against the millers, 
 who, hearing, but not understanding, these foolish flou- 
 rishes, set themselves with their poles to stop the boat, 
 which was just entering into the stream and eddy of the 
 wheels. Sancho fell upon his knees, and prayed to 
 Heaven devoutly to deliver him from so apparent a 
 danger ; which it did by the diligence and agility of 
 the millers, who setting their poles against the boat, 
 stopped it ; though not so dexterously, but that they 
 overset it, and tipped Don Quixote and Sancho into 
 the water. It was well for Don Quixote, that he knew 
 how to swim like a goose ; nevertheless the weight of
 
 248 DON QUIXOTE, 
 
 his armour carried him twice to the bottom ; and had 
 it not been for the millers, who threw themselves into 
 the river, .and as it were, craned them both up, they 
 must have inevitably perished. 
 
 When they were dragged on shore, more wet than 
 thirsly, Sancho, kneeling, with hands joined and eyes 
 uplifted, beseeched God, in a long and devout prayer, 
 to deliver him henceforward from the daring desires 
 and enterprises of his master. And now came the 
 fishermen, owners of the boat, which the mill-wheels 
 had crushed to pieces ; and, seeing it broke, they began 
 to strip Sancho, and demand payment for it of Don 
 Quixote, who with great tranquillity, as if nothing had 
 befallen him, told the millers and the fishermen, he 
 would pay for the boat with all his heart, upon condi- 
 tion they should deliver up to him, free and without 
 ransom, the person or persons who lay under oppres- 
 sion in their castle. " What persons or what castle 
 do you mean, madmen ?" answered one of the millers : 
 " would you carry off those who come to grind their 
 corn at our mills?" " Enough," thought Don Quix- 
 ote to himself; " it will be preaching in the desert 
 to endeavour, by entreaty, to prevail with such mob 
 to do any thing that is honourable : and, in this adven- 
 ture, two able enchanters must have engaged, the one 
 frustrating what the other attempts the pne providing 
 me a bark, and the other oversetting it : God help us ! 
 this world is nothing but machinations and tricks quite 
 opposite one to the other : I can da no more." Then, 
 looking towards the mills, he raised his voice, and 
 said : " Friends, whoever you are, that are enclosed 
 in this prison, pardon me, that, through my misfortune 
 and your?, I cannot deliver you from your affliction : 
 this adventure is kept and reserved for some other 
 t night." Having said this, he compounded with the
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 24 
 
 fishermen, and paid fifty reals for the boat, which San- 
 cho disbursed much- against his will, saying, c< A cou- 
 ple more of such embarkations will sink our whole 
 capital." The fishermen and millers stood wonder- 
 ing at these two figures, so out of the fashion and 
 semblance of other men, not being able to compre- 
 hend what Don Quixote drove at by his questions, and 
 the discourse he held with them : and, looking upon 
 them as madmen, they left them, and betook themselves 
 to their mills, and the fishermen to their huts. Don 
 Quixote and Sancho, like beasts themselves, returned 
 to their beasts ; and thus ended the adventure of the en- 
 chanted bark. 
 
 CHAP. XXX. 
 
 Of what befel Don Quixote with a fair Huntress, 
 
 1 HE knight and squire arrived at their cattle sufficiently 
 melancholy and out of humour ; especially Sancho, 
 who was grieved to the very soul to touch the capital of 
 the money, all that was taken from thence seeming to 
 liim to be so much taken from the Very apples of his 
 eyes. At length they mounted without exchanging a 
 word, and quitted the famous river ; Don Quixote bu- 
 ried in the thoughts of his love, and Sancho in those of 
 his preferment, which he thought, for the present, far 
 enough off: for, as much a blockhead as he was, he saw 
 well enough that most, or all, of his master's actions 
 were extravagancies, and waited for an opportunity, 
 without coming to accounts or discharges, to walk off 
 
 VOL. II, K K
 
 250 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 some cta^ or other, and march home : hut fortune ordered 
 matters quite contrary to what he feared. 
 
 It fell out then, that the next day, about sun-set, go- 
 ing out of a wood, Don Quixote cast his eyes over a 
 green meadow, and saw people at the farther side of it : 
 and, drawing near, he found they werepersons taking the 
 diversion of hawking. Drawing yet nearer, he observed 
 among them a gallant lady upon a palfrey, or milk-white 
 pad, with green furniture, and a side-saddle of cloth of 
 silver. The lady herself also was arrayed in green, and 
 her attire so full of fancy, and so rich, that fancy herself 
 "seemed transformed into her. On her left hand she car- 
 ried a hawk ; from whence Don Quixote conjectured, 
 she must be a lady of great quality, and mistress of all those 
 sportsmen about her, as in truth she was; and so he 
 said to Sancho : " Run, son Sancho, and tell that lady 
 of the palfrey and the hawk, that I, the Knight of the 
 Lions, kiss the hands of her great beauty, and, if her 
 highness gives me leave, I will wait upon her to kiss 
 them, and to serve her to the utmost of my power, in 
 whatever her highness shall command : and take heed, 
 Sancho, how you speak, and have a care not to interlard 
 your embassy with any of your proverbs." u You 
 have hit upon the interlarder," quoth Sancho : " why 
 this to me ? As if this were the first time I had carried a 
 message to high and mighty ladies in my life." " Ex- 
 cepting that le the Lady Dulcinea," replied Don Quix- 
 ote, " I kndw of none you have carried, at least none 
 from me." "That is true," answered Sancho ; "but a 
 good paymaster needs no surety; and where there is 
 plenty j dinner is not long a dressing : I mean, there is 
 no need of advising me ; for I am prepared for all, and 
 have a smattering of every thing." " I believe it, San- 
 cho," replied Don Quixote; " go in a good hour, and 
 God be your guide !"
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 251 
 
 Sancho went off at a round rate, forcing Dapple out 
 f his usual pace, and came where the fair huntress was ; 
 and, alighting and kneelmg before her, he said : " Beau- 
 teous lady, that knight yonder, called the Kuight of the 
 Lions, is my master, and I am his squire, called at home 
 Sancho Panza. This same Knight of the Lions, who, 
 not long ago, was called he of the Sorrowful Figure, 
 sends by me to desire your grandeur would be pleased to 
 give leave, that, with your liking, good will, and con- 
 sent, he may approach and accomplish his wishes, which, 
 as he says, and I believe, are no other, than to serve 
 your high-towering falconry and beauty : which, if your 
 ladyship grant him, you will do a thing that will re- 
 dound to your grandeur's advantage, and he will receive 
 a most signal favour and satisfaction." 
 
 " Truly, good squire," answered the lady, " you have 
 delivered your message with all the circumstances which 
 sucli embassies require : rise up ; for it is not fit the 
 squire of so renowned a knight as he of the Sorrowful 
 Figure, of whom we have already heard a great deal in 
 these parts, should remain upon his knees ; rise, friend, 
 and toll your master, he may come and welcome ; for 
 I and the duke, my husband, are at his service in a 
 country-scat we have here hard by." Sancho rose up, 
 in admiration as well at the good lady's beauty as at her 
 great breeding and courtesy, and especially at what she 
 had said, that she ha.d some knowledge of his master, the 
 Knight of the Sorrowful Figure ; and, if she did not call 
 him the Knight of the Lions, he concluded it Mas because 
 he had assumed it so very lately. The duchess, whose 
 title is not yet known, said to him: " Tell me, brother 
 squire, is not this master of yours the person of whom 
 there goes about a history in print, called, The ingenious 
 Gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha^ who has for 
 Jfittress of his Affections one Dulcinea del Toboso , 2 " 
 
 K K2
 
 252 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 a The very same," answered SancLo ; " and that squire 
 of his, who is, or ought to be, in that same history, called 
 Sancho Panza, am I, unless I was changed in the cradle, 
 I mean in the press." " I am very glad of all this," 
 said the duchess : " go, brother Panza, and tell your 
 master he is heartily welcome to my estates, and that no- 
 thing could happen to me which could give me greater 
 pleasure." With this agreeable answer, Sancho, infi- 
 nitely delighted, returned to his master, to whom he re- 
 counted all that the great lady had said to him, extolling, 
 in his rustic phrase, her beauty, her good-humour, and 
 lier courtesy, to the skies. Don Quixote, putting on his 
 best airs, seated himself handsomely in his saddle, ad- 
 justed his visor, enlivened Rozinante's mettle, and with 
 a genteel assurance advanced to kiss the duchess's hand ; 
 who, having caused the duke, her husband, to be called, 
 Lad been telling him, while Don Quixote was coming up, 
 the purport of Sancho's message: and they both, having- 
 read the first part of this history, and having learned by 
 it the extravagant humour of Don Quixote, waited for 
 him with the greatest pleasure and desire to be acquaint- 
 ed with him, for the purpose of carrying on the humour, 
 and giving him his own way, treating him like a knight- 
 arrant all the while he should stay with them, with all 
 the ceremonies usual in books of chivalry, which they 
 had read, and were also very fond of. 
 
 By this time Don Quixote was arrived, with his bea- 
 ver up ; and making a show of alighting, Sancho was 
 hastening to hold his stirrup, but was so unlucky, that, 
 in getting off from Dapple, his foot hung in one of" the 
 rope-stirrups, in such manner, that it was impossible for 
 him to disentangle himself: but he hung by it with his 
 face and breast on the ground. Don Quixote, who was 
 not used to alight without having his stirrup held, think- 
 ing Sancho was come to do his office, threw his body off
 
 /'/,/;.!/./ :, .>: . / ,< //. f ',/,/. ,,Y,V.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 253 
 
 with a' swing, and carrying with him Ro7,inante's saddle, 
 which was ill-girted, both he and his saddle came to the 
 ground, to his no-small shame, and many a heavy curse 
 muttered between his teeth on the unfortunate Sancho, 
 who still had his legs in the stocks. The duke com- 
 manded some of his sportsmen to help the knight and 
 squire, who raised up Don Quixote in ill plight through 
 this fall : and limping, and as well as he could, he made 
 shift to go and kneel before the lord and lady. But the 
 duke Avould by no means suffer it: on the contrary, 
 alighting from his horse, he went and embraced Don 
 Quixote, saying, " I am very sorry, Sir Knight of the 
 Sorrowful Figure, that your first arrival at my estate 
 should prove so unlucky: but the carelessness of squires 
 is often the occasion of worse mischances." u It could 
 not be accounted unlucky, O valorous prince," answered 
 Don Quixote, " though I had met with no stop till I 
 liad fallen to the bottom of the deep abyss ; for the 
 glory of having seen your highness would have raised me 
 even from thence. My squire, God's curse light on 
 him, is better at letting loose his tongue to say unlucky 
 things, than at fastening a saddle to make it sit firm ; but, 
 whether down or up, on foot or on horseback, I shall al- 
 ways be at your highness's service, and at my Lady 
 Duchess's, your worthy consort, and worthy mistress of 
 all beauty, and universal princess of courtesy." 
 " Softly, dear Signor Don Quixote de la Mancha," said 
 the duke; " for where Lady Donna Dulcinea del Toboso 
 is, it is not reasonable other beauties should be praised." 
 Sancho Panza was now got free from the noose ; and 
 happening to be near, before his master could answer, he 
 said, " It cannot be denied, but must be affirmed, that 
 my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso is very beautiful: but 
 where we are least aware, there starts-the hare. I have 
 heard say, that what they call nature is like a potter who
 
 254 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 makes earthen vessels, and he who makes one handsome- 
 vessel, may also make two, and three, and a hundred. 
 This I say, because, on my faith, my lady the duchess 
 comes not a whit behind my mistress the Lady Dulcinca 
 del Toboso." Don Quixote turned himself to the du- 
 chess, and said, " I assure you, madam, never any 
 knight-errant in the world had a more prating nor a more 
 merry-conceited squire than I have; and he will make 
 my words good, if your highness is pleased to make use 
 of my service for some days.'* To which the duchess 
 answered, " I am glad to hear that honest Sancho is plea- 
 sant : it is a sign he is discreet ; for pleasantry and good 
 tumour, Signor Don Quixote, as your worship well 
 knows, dwell not in dull noddles; and since Sancho is 
 pleasant and witty, from henceforward I pronounce him 
 discreet." u And a prate-apace," added Don Quixote. - 
 " So much the better," said the duchess ; " for many 
 good things cannot be expressed in few words, and, that 
 we may not throw away all our time upon them, come on, 
 great Knight of the Sorrowful Figure." " Of the Lions, 
 your highness should say,'* quoth Sancho; " the Sor- 
 rowful Figure is no more." " Of the Lions then let it 
 be," continued the duke : <c I say, come on, Sir Knight 
 of the Lions, to a castle of mine hard by, where you 
 shall be received in a manner suitable to a person of so 
 elevated a rank, and as the duchess and I are wont to 
 receive all knights-errant who come to it." 
 
 By this time Sancho had adjusted and well girted Ito- 
 zinante's saddle; and Don Quixote mounting upon him, 
 and the duke upon a very fine horse, they placed the 
 duchess in the middle, and rode towards the castle. 
 The duchess ordered Sancho to be near her, being 
 mightily delighted with his conceits. Sancho was easily 
 prevailed upon, and winding himself in among the three, 
 made a fourth in the conversation, to the great satisfaction
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 255 
 
 of the duke and duchess, who looked upon it as a notable 
 piece of good fortune, to entertain in their castle such a 
 -knight-errant and such an erred squired 
 
 CHAP. XXXI. 
 
 Which treats of many and great Things. 
 
 _h<XCESSIVE was the joy which Sancho conceived to 
 see himself, in his thinking, a favourite of the duchess; 
 expecting to find in her castle the same as at Don Diego's 
 or Basilius's; for he was always a lover of good cheer, 
 and consequently took every opportunity of regaling him- 
 self by the forelock, where and whenever it presented. 
 Now' the history relates, that, before they came to the 
 pleasure-house, or castle, the duke rode on before, and 
 gave all his servants their cue, in what manner they were 
 to behave to Don Quixote; who, arriving with the duch- 
 ess at the castle-gate, immediately there issued out two 
 lacqueys, or grooms, clad in a kind of morning-gown 
 of fine crimson satin down to their heels ; and, taking 
 Don Quixote in their arms, without being observed, said 
 to him, " Go, great sir, and take our lady the duchess 
 off her horse." Don Quixote did so, and great compli- 
 ments passed between. But in short the duchess's posi- 
 tiveness got the better, and she would not alight, nor 
 descend from her palfrey, but into the duke's arms, say- 
 ing, she did not -think herself worthy to charge so grand 
 a knight with so unprofitable a burthen. At length the 
 duke came out, and took her off her horse ; and at their 
 entering into a large court-yard, t\vo beautiful damsch
 
 256 BON QUIXOTE. 
 
 came anil threw over Don Quixote's shoulders a large 
 mantle of the finest scarlet, and in an instant all the gal- 
 leries of the court-yard were crowded with men and wo- 
 men servants belonging to the duke and duchess, crying 
 aloud, " Welcome the flower and cream of knights-er- 
 rant!" and all or most of them sprinkled whole bottles 
 of sweet-scented waters upon Don Quixote and on the 
 duke and duchess; at all which Don Quixote wondered : 
 and this was the first day that he was thoroughly con- 
 vinced of his being a true knight-errant, and not an ima- 
 ginary one, finding himself treated just as he had read 
 knights-errant were in former times. 
 
 Sancho, abandoning Dapple, tacked himself close to 
 the duchess, and entered into the castle : but, his con- 
 science soon pricking him for leaving his ass alone, he 
 approached a reverend duenna, who among others came 
 out to receive the duchess, and said to her in a whisper, 
 11 Mistress Gonzalez, or, what is your ducnnaship's 
 name?" " Donna Rodriguez de Grijalva," answered 
 the duenna: " what would you please to have with me, 
 brother?" To which Sancho answered, " Be so good, 
 sweetheart, as to step to the castle-gate, where you will 
 find a dapple ass of mine ; and be so kind us to order him 
 to be put, or put him yourself, into the stable; for the 
 poor thing is a little timorous, and cannot abide to be 
 alone by any means in the world." u If the master be as 
 discreet as the man," answered the duenna, " we are 
 finely thriven. Go, brother, in an evil hour for you 
 and him that brought you hither, and make account, you 
 and your beast, that the duennas of this house are not 
 accustomed to such kind of oifices." " Why truly," 
 .answered Sancho, " I have heard my master, who is the 
 very mine-finder 51 of histories, relating- the story of 
 Lancdot, when he from Britain came, say, that ladies 
 took care of his person, and duennas of his> horse; and,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 57 
 
 as to the particular of my ass, I would not change him 
 for Signer Lancelot's steed." u If you are a buffoon, 
 brother," replied the duenna, " keep your jokes for 
 some place where they may make a better figure, and 
 where you ,may be paid for them; for from me you will 
 get nothing but a fig for them." " That is pretty well, 
 however," answered Sancho; " for I am sure then it will 
 be a ripe one, there being no danger of your losing the 
 game at your years for want of atrick." <{ You son of a 
 whore," cried the duenna, all on fire with rage, " whe- 
 ther I am old or no, to God I am to give an account, and 
 not to you, rascal, garlic-eating stinkard." This she 
 uttered so loud, that the duchess heard it, and turning 
 about, and seeing the duenna so disturbed, and her eyes 
 red as blood, asked her with whom she was so angry? 
 " With this good man here," answered the duenna, 
 tl who has desired me in good earnest to go and set up an. 
 ass of his that stands at the castle-gate; bringing me for 
 a precedent, that the same thing was done, I know not 
 where, by one Lancelot, and telling me how certain la- 
 dies looked after him, and certain duennas after his 
 steed ; and to mend the matter, in mannerly terms called 
 me old woman." " I should take that for the greatest 
 affront that could be offered me," answered the duchess; 
 and, speaking to Sancho, she said, " Be assured, friend 
 $ancho, that Donna Rodriguez is very young, and wears 
 those veils more for authority and the fashion, than upon 
 account of her years." " May the remainder of those I 
 have to live never prosper," answered Sancho, " if I 
 meant her any ill : I only said it because the tenderness 
 I have for my ass is so great, that I thought I could not 
 recommend him to a more charitable person than to Sig- 
 nora Donna Rodriguez." Don Quixote, who overheard 
 all, said, u Are these discourses, Sancho, fit for this 
 place?" " Sir," answered Sanqho, u every one roust 
 
 VOL. II. L L
 
 Sj8 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 speak of- his wants, be he whore ho will. Hero I ho- 
 thought me of Dapple, and hero I spoke of him ; and 
 if I had thought of him in the stable, 1 had spoken of 
 him there." To which the duke said, " . Sancho is very 
 much in the right, and not to be blamed in any tiling: 
 Dapple shall have provender to his heart's content; and 
 lot Sancho take no further care, for he shall be treated 
 like his own person." 
 
 \Vith these discourses, pleasing to all but Don Quixote, 
 they mounted the stairs, and conducted Don Quixote in- 
 to a great hall, hung with rich tissue and cloth of gold 
 and brocade. Six damsels unarmed him, and served him 
 as pages, all instructed and tutored by the duke and 
 duchess what they wore to do, and how they were to bc- 
 liave towards Don Quixote, that he might imagine and 
 see \\icy used him like a knight-errant. Don Quixote, 
 being unarmed, remained inhiss(rait breeches and sham- 
 my doublet, lean, tall, and stiff, with his jaws meeting, 
 and kissing each other on the inside: such a figure, 
 that, if the damsels who waited upon him had not taken 
 rare to Contain themselves, (that being one of the precise 
 orders given them by their lord and lady,) they had 
 burst with laughing. They desired he Mould suffer 
 himself to be undressed, and put on a clean shirt; but 
 he would by no means consent, saying, that modest v was 
 as becoming a knight-errant as courage. However, he 
 bade them give Sancho the shirt; and shutting him>elt 
 up with him in a room, where stood a rich bed, he pulled 
 off his clothes and put on the shirt ; and, finding him>ell 
 alone with Sancho, he said to him, " Tell me, modern 
 buffoon and antique blockhead, do you think it a be- 
 coming thing to dishonour and affront a duenna so ve- 
 nerable and s worthy of respect ? Was that a time to 
 think of Dapple? Or are these gentry likely to let our 
 beasts fare poorly, who treat their uwiiuri so elegantly ?
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 259 
 
 For (he love of God, Sancho, refrain yourself, and do 
 not discover the grain, lest it should be seen of how 
 coarse a country web you are spun. Look you, sinner, 
 the master is so much the more esteemed, by how much 
 his servants arc civiler and better bred; and one of the 
 greatest advantages great persons have over other men 
 is, that they employ servants as good as themselves, Do 
 you not consider, pitiful thou, and unhappy me, that, 
 if people perceive you are a gross peasant or a ridicu- 
 lous fool, the\- will be apt to think I am some gross 
 cheat, or some knight of the sharping order ? No, no, 
 friend Sancho, avoid, avoid these inconveniences; for 
 whoever sets up for a talker and a railcr, at the first 
 trip, tumbles down into a disgraced buflbon. Ijridle 
 your tongue; consider, and deliberate upon your words, 
 before they go out of your mouth; and lake notice, we 
 are come to a place, from whence, by the help of God, 
 and the valour of my arm, we may depart bettered three 
 or even live-fold in fortune and reputation." Sancho 
 promised him faithfully to sew up his mouth, or bite his 
 tongue, before he spoke a word that was not to the pur- 
 pose, and well considered, as he commanded him, and 
 that lie need be under no pain as to that matter, for no 
 discovery should be made to his prejudice by him. 
 
 Don Quixote then dressed himself, girt on his sword, 
 threw the scarlet mantle over his shoulders, put on n 
 rreeu satin cap, which the damsels had given him, and 
 thus equipped marched out into the great saloon, where 
 he found the damsels drawn up in two ranks, as many on 
 one side as the other, and all of them provided with an 
 equipage for washing his hands, which they administered 
 with many reverences and ceremonies. Then came 
 twelve pages, with the gentleman-sewer, to conduct him 
 to dinner, where by this time the lord and lady were 
 uniting for him. They placed him in (he/middlc of 
 
 L L2
 
 260 . DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 them, and, with great pomp and majesty, conducted 
 him to another hall, where a rich table was spread with 
 four covers only. The duke and duchess came to tha 
 hall-door to receive him, and with them a grave eccle- 
 siastic: one of those who govern great men's houses; one 
 of those who, not being princes born, know not how to 
 instruct those that are, how to demean themselves as 
 such ; one of those who would have the magnificence of 
 the great measured by the narrowness of their minds; one 
 of those, who, pretending to teach those they govern to 
 be frugal, teach them to be misers. One of this sort, I 
 say, was the grave ecclesiastic who came out with the 
 duke to receive Don Quixote. A thousand polite com- 
 pliments passed upon this occasion; and, taking Don. 
 Quixote between them, they went and sat down to ta- 
 ble. The duke offered Don Quixote the upper end, 
 and, though he would have declined it, the importuni- 
 ties of the duke prevailed upon him to accept it. The 
 ecclesiastic seated himself over-against him, and the 
 duke and duchess on each side. Sancho was present all 
 the while, surprised and astonished to see the honour 
 those princes did his master, and, perceiving the many 
 entreaties and ceremonies which passed between the duke 
 and Don Quixote, to make him sit down at the head of 
 the table, he said, " If your honours will give me leave, 
 I will tell you a story of a passage, that happened in our 
 town, concerning places." Scarcely had Sancho said 
 this, when Don Quixote began to tremble, believing, 
 without doubt, he was going to say some foolish thing. 
 Sancho observed, and understood him, and said, "He 
 not afraid, sir, of my breaking loose, or of my saying 
 any thing that is not pat to the purpose : I have not for- 
 gotten the advice your worship gave me awhile ago, 
 about talking much or little, well or ill." u I remember 
 nothing, Sancho," answered Don Quixote: " say what
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 61 
 
 you will, so you say it quickly." " What I would 
 say," quoth Sancho, " is very true, and, should it be 
 otherwise, my master Don Quixote, who is present, will 
 not suffer me to lie." "Lie as much as you will forme, 
 Sancho," replied Don Quixote; " I will not be your hin- 
 drance : but take heed what you are going to say." " I 
 have so heeded and re- heeded it," quoth Sancho, 
 " that all is as safe as the rcpique in hand, as you will 
 see by the operation." " It will be convenient," said 
 Don Quixote, " that your honours order this blockhead 
 to be turned out of doors; for he will be making a thou- 
 sand foolish blunders." " By the life of the duke," said 
 the duchess, " Sancho shall not stir a jot from me: I 
 love him much ; for I know he is mighty discreet." 
 " Many such years," quoth Sancho, " may your holi- 
 ness live, for the good opinion you have of me, though it 
 is not in me : but the tale I would tell is this : 
 
 u A certain gentleman of our town, very rich, and of a 
 
 good family for he was descended from the Alamos of 
 
 Medina del Campo, and married Donna Mencia de Quin- 
 nones, who was daughter of Don Alonzo de Marannon, 
 Knight of the order of St. James, who was drowned in 
 the Herradura; about whom there happened that quarrel 
 in our town some years ago, in which, as I take it, my 
 master Don Quixote was concerned, and Tommy the 
 
 mad-cap, son of Balvastro the smith, was hurt Pray, 
 
 good master of mine, is not all this true ? Speak, by 
 your life, that these gentlemen may not take me for some 
 lying prating fellow." " Hitherto," said the ecclesias- 
 tic, "I take you rather for a prater than for a liar; but 
 henceforward I know not what I shall take you for." 
 " You produce so many evidences, and so many tokens, 
 that I cannot but say," replied Don Quixote, " it is 
 likely you tell the truth ; go on, and shorten the story J 
 for you take the way not to have done in two days."-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 '* He stall shorten nothing," said the duchess; ' and, in 
 please me, he shall tell it his own way, though he have 
 not done in six days; and should it take up so many, 
 ibey would be to me the most agreeable of any 1 ever spent 
 in rny life." 
 
 " I say tl*en, sirs," proceeded Sanclio, ic that this 
 same gentleman, whom 1 know as well as I do my right 
 hand from my left, for it is not a bow-shot from my house 
 to his, invited a farmer, who was poor, but honest. <o 
 dinner." " Proceed, friend," said the ecclesiastic at 
 this period ; " for you arc going- the way with your tale 
 not to stop till you come to the other world." " I .shall 
 stop before we get half way thither, if it pleases dod," 
 answered Sanclio : " and so I proceed. This same farmer, 
 
 coming to the said gentleman-invitei's house dod re*l 
 
 his soul, for he is dead and gone, by the same token it is 
 reported he died like an angel: for I was not by, beiriir 
 at that time gone a-reaping to Tembleqiic.'' " Pr'ythee, 
 son," said the ecclesiastic/' 4 come hack quickly from 
 Tcniblcqiic, and, without burying the gentleman, (unless 
 you have a mind to make more burials,) make an end of 
 your talc." " The business, then," quoth Sanelio, 
 
 " was this, that they being ready to sit down to table 
 
 metkinks I see them now more than ever." The duke 
 aad duchess took great pleasure in seeing the displeasure 
 the good ecclesiastic suffered by the length and pauses of 
 Sancho's tale; but Don Quixote was quite angry and 
 vexed. "I say then," quoth Sancho, " that they both 
 standing, as I have said, and just ready to sit down, the 
 farmer disputed obstinately with the gentleman to take 
 llw upper end of the table, and the gentleman, with as 
 much positiveness, pressed the farmer to take it, saying, 
 he ought to command in his, own house. Jiut the coun- 
 tryman, piquing himself upon his civility and good breed- 
 ing; would by no mean's sit down, till the gentleman, in
 
 DON QUIXOTE. g<?3 
 
 a fret, laying both his hands upon the farmer's shoulders, 
 made him sit down by main force, saying, Sit thce 
 f/o.vw, tfraff-thrasking churl ; for, let me sit ichcre I 
 a:*///, that is the tipper end to Ihee. This is my talc, and 
 truly I believe it was brought in here pretty much to the 
 purpose." 
 
 The natural brown of Don Quixote's face was speckled 
 with a thousand colours. The duke and duchess dis- 
 sembled their laughter, that Don Quixote might not be 
 quite abashed, he having understood Sancho's slyness: 
 and, to wave the discourse, and prevent Sancho's run- 
 ning into more impertinences, the duchess asked Don 
 Quixote what news he had of the Lady Dulcinea, and 
 whether he had lately sent her any presents of giants or 
 caitiffs, since he must certainly have Vanquished a great 
 many. To which Don Quixote answered, " My misfor- 
 tunes, madam, though they have had a beginning, will 
 never have an end. Giants I have conquered, and cai- 
 tiffs, and have sent several] but where should they find 
 her, if she be enchanted, and transformed into the ugliest 
 country wench that can be imagined ?" " I know not," 
 quoth Sancho Panza ; " to me she appeared the most 
 beautiful creature in the world: at least, inactivity, or 
 a certain spring she has with her, I am sure she will not 
 yield the advantage to a tumbler. In good faith, Ladr 
 Duchess, she bounces from the ground upon an ass as if 
 she were a cat." " Have you seen her enchanted, San- 
 cho;" said the duke. " Seen her!" answered Sancho: 
 " who the devil but I was the first that hit upon the busi- 
 ness of her enchantment ? She is as much enchanted as 
 my father." 
 
 The ecclesiastic, when he heard talk of giants, caitiffi,, 
 and enchantments, began to suspect that this must, be 
 Don Quixote de la Mancha, whose history the duke wa* 
 commonly reading ; and he had as frequently reproved
 
 264 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 him for so doing-, telling him it was extravagance to read 
 such extravagances : and, being assured of the truth of 
 his suspicion, with much choler he said to the duke, 
 " Your excellency, sir, shall give an account to God for 
 what this good man is doing. This Don Quixote, or 
 Don Coxcomb, or how do you call him, I fancy, can 
 hardly be so great an idiot as your excellency would 
 have him, laying occasions in his way to go on in his 
 follies and extravagancies." And turning the discourse 
 to Don Quixote, he said, " And you, stupid wretch, 
 who has thrust it into your brain that you are a knight- 
 errant, and that you conquer giants and seize caitiffs? 
 Be gone in a good hour, and in such this is said to you ; 
 return to your own house, and breed up your children, 
 if you have any ; mind your affairs, and cease to ramble 
 up and down the world, sucking the wind, and making 
 all people laugh that know you, or know you not. 
 Where, with a mischief, have you ever found, that there 
 have been, or are, knights-errant? Where are there 
 any giants in Spain, or caitiffs in La Mancha, or Dulci- 
 neas enchanted, or all the rabble-rout of follies that arc 
 told of you?" Don Quixote was very attentive to the 
 words of this venerable man; and, finding that he now 
 held his peace, without minding the respect due to the 
 duke and duchess, with an ireful mien, and disturbed 
 
 countenance, he started up, and said But his answer 
 
 deserves a chapter by itself.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 265 
 
 CHAP. XXXII. 
 
 Of the Answer Don Quixote gave to his Reprover, witk 
 other grave and pleasant Events. 
 
 D ON Quixote, then standing up, and trembling from 
 head to feat, as if he had quicksilver in his joints, with 
 precipitate and disturbed speech, said, " The place 
 where I am, and the presence of the personages before 
 whom I stand, together with the respect I ever had, and 
 have, for men of your profession, restrain and tie up the 
 hands of my just indignation : and therefore, as well upon 
 the account of what I have said, as being conscious of 
 what every body knows, that the weapons of gownsmen 
 are the same as those of women, namely, their tongues, I 
 will enter with mine into combat with your reverence, 
 from whom one rather ought to have expected good coun- 
 sels than opprobrious revilings. Pious and well-meant 
 reproof demands another kind of behaviour and lan- 
 guage; at least the reproving me in public, and so 
 rudely, has passed all the bounds of decent reprehen- 
 sion : for it is better to begin with mildness than asperity, 
 and it is not right, without knowledge of the fault, 
 without more ado to call the offender madman and idiot. 
 Tell me, I beseech your reverence, for which of the fol- 
 lies you have seen in me, do you condemn and revile me, 
 bidding me get me home, and take care of my house, 
 and of my wife and children, without knowing \\hether I 
 have either? What ! is there nothing to do but to enter 
 boldly into other men's houses to govern the masters? 
 And shall a poor pedagogue, who never saw more of the 
 world than what is contained within a district of twenty 
 
 VOL. II. M 31
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 or thirty leagues, set himself at random to prescribe laws 
 to chivalry, and to judge of knights-errant? Is it, then, 
 an idle scheme, and time thrown away, to range the 
 world, not seeking its delights, but its austerities, by 
 which good men aspire to the seat of immortality ? If 
 gentlemen, if persons of wealth, birth, and quality, were 
 to take me for a madman, I should look upon it as an ir- 
 reparable affront : but to be esteemed a fool by pedants, 
 who never entered upon or trod the paths of chivalry, 
 I value it not a farthing * A knight I am, and a knight I 
 will die, if it be heaven's good will. Some pass through 
 the spacious field of prond ambition ; others through that 
 of servile and base flattery ; others by the way of deceitful 
 hypocrisy ; and some by that of true religion : but I, by 
 the influence of ray star, take the narrow path of knight- 
 errantry, for the exercise of which I despise wealth, but 
 not honour. 1 have redressed grievances, righted wrongs, 
 chastised the insolent, vanquished giants, and trampled 
 upon hobgoblins : I am in love, but only because knights- 
 errant mttst be so; and, being so, I am no vicious lover, 
 but a chaste Platonic one. My intentions are always di- 
 rected to virtuous ends, to do good to all, and hurt to- 
 none. Whether he, who means thus, acts thus, and 
 lives in the practice of all this, deserves to be called a 
 fool, let your grandeurs judge, most excellent duke and 
 duchess." 
 
 . " Well said^ i'faith!" quoth Sanclio: " say no more 
 in vindication of yourself, good my lord and master; for 
 there is no more to be said, nor to be thought, nor to be 
 persevered in, in the world : and besides, this gentleman 
 denying, as he has denied, that there ever were, or are, 
 knights-errant, no wonder if be knows nothing of what 
 he has been talking of." " Perhaps," said the ecclesias- 
 tic, " you, brother, are that Sancho Panza they talk of, 
 to whom your master has promised an island."*' I an*
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 267 
 
 so, 3 ' answered Sancho, " and am be who deserves one 
 as well as any other he whatever. I am one of those, of 
 whom they say, Associate with good men, and thou wilt 
 be one of them; and of those, of whom it is said again, 
 Not with whom thou wert bred, but with whom thou hast 
 fed,' and, He that leancth against a good tree, a good 
 shelter fmdeth he I have leaned to a good master, and 
 have kept him company these many months, aod shall 
 be such another as he, if it be God's good pleasure; and 
 i,f he Jives, and I live, neither shall he want kingdoms to 
 r.ule, nor I islands to govern. 1 ' " That you shall not, 
 friend Sancho," said the duke; "for, in the name of Sig- 
 nor Don Quixote, I promise you the government of one of 
 mine, now vacant, and of no inconsiderable value.*' 
 <c Kneel, Sancho," said Don Quixote, " and kiss his ex- 
 cellency's feet for the favour he has done you." Sancho 
 did so. Which the ecclesiastic seeing, he got up from 
 table in a great pet, saying, " By the habit I wear, I 
 cowld find in my heart to say, your excellency is as sim- 
 ple a these sinners : what wonder if they are mad, since 
 wise men authorize their follijes? Your excellency may 
 slay with them if you please ; but, while they are in the 
 house, I will stay in my own, and save myself the trouble 
 of reproving what I cannot remedy." And, without 
 saying a word, or eating a bit more, away he went, the 
 entreaties of the duke and duchess not availing to stop 
 him ; theugh indeed the duke said not much, through 
 laughter, occasioned by his absurd passion. 
 
 The laugh being over, he said to Don Quixote, " Sir 
 Knight of the Lions, you have answered so well for your- 
 self, that there remains nothing to demand satisfaction for 
 in this case : for, though it has the appearance of an 
 affront, it is by no means such, since, as women cannot 
 give an affront, so neither can ecclesiastics, as you better 
 fcnow." It is true," answered Don Quixote, <* and 
 
 M M?
 
 268 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 the reason is, that -whoever cannot be affronted, neither 
 can he give an affront to any body. Women, children, 
 and church men, as they cannot defend themselves, though 
 they are offended, so they cannot be affronted, because, 
 as your excellency better knows, there is this difference 
 between an injury and an affront : an affront comes from 
 one who can give it, does give it, and then maintains it ; 
 an injury may come from any hand, w ilhout affronting. 
 As for example : a person stands carelessly in the street ; 
 ten others armed fall upon him, and beat him ; he claps 
 hi* hand to his sword, as he ought to do ; but the num- 
 ber of his adversaries hinders him from effecting his in- 
 tention, which is to revenge himself : this person is in- 
 jured, but not affronted. .Another example will confirm 
 the same thing: a man stands with his back turned; 
 another comes and strikes him with a cudgel, and runs for 
 it, when he has done ; the man pursues him, and cannot 
 overtake him : he, who received the blows, received an 
 injury, but no affront, because the affront must be main- 
 tained. If he who struck him, though he did it basely 
 and unawares, draws his sword afterward, and stands 
 firm, facing his enemy, he, who was struck, is both in- 
 jured and affronted ; injured, because he was struck trea- 
 cherously, and affronted, because he who struck him 
 maintained what he had done by standing his ground, 
 and not stirring a foot. And therefore, according to the 
 established laws of duel, I may be injured, but not 
 affronted: for women and children cannot resent, nor can 
 they fly, nor stand their ground. The same may be said 
 of men consecrated to holy orders : for these three sorts of 
 people want offensive and defensive weapons; and, though 
 they are naturally bound to defend themselves, yet they 
 are not to offend any body. So that, though 1 said be- 
 fore, I was injured, I now say, in no wise; for he who 
 cannot receive an affront, can much less give one. For
 
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 which reasons I neither ought, nor do, resent what thai 
 good man said to me : only I could have wished he had 
 staid a little longer, that I might have convinced him of 
 his error in thinking and saying, that there are no knights- 
 errant now nor ever were any in the world: for had 
 Amadis, or any one of his numerous descendants, heard 
 this, I am persuaded it would not have fared over well 
 with his reverence." " That I will swear," quoth San- 
 cho: " they would have given him such a slash, as would 
 have cleft him from top to bottom, like any pomegranate 
 or over-ripe melon : they were not folks to be jested with 
 in that manner. By my beads, I am very certain, had 
 Reynaldos of Montalvan heard the little gentleman talk 
 at that rate, he would have given him such a gag, that 
 he should not have spoken a word more in three years. 
 Aye, aye, let him meddle with them, and see how he 
 will escape out of their hands." The duchess was ready 
 to die with laughter at hearing Sancho talk; and, in her 
 opinion, she took him to be more ridiculous and more mad 
 than his master, and there were several others at that time 
 of I he same mind. 
 
 At last Don Quixote was calm, and dinner ended : and, 
 at taking away the cloth, there entered four damsels ; 
 one with a silver ewer, another with a bason of silver 
 also, a third with two fine clean towels over her shoulder, 
 and the fourth tucked up to her elbows, and in her white 
 hands (for doubtless they were white) a wash-ball of Na- 
 ples soap. She with the bason drew near, and, with a 
 genteel air and assurance, clapped it under Don Quix- 
 ote's beard; who, without speaking a word, and won- 
 dering at the ceremony, believed it to be the custom of 
 that country to wash beards instead of hands, and there- 
 fore stretched out his own as far as he could ; and instantly 
 the ewer began to rain upon him, and the wash-ball 
 damsel hurried over his beard with great dexterity of
 
 270 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 band, raising great flakes of snow (for the lathering was 
 not less white) not only over the beard, but over the 
 whole face and eyes, of the obedient knight, insomuch 
 thai it made him shut them whether he would or no. The 
 duke and duchess, who know nothing of all this, were 
 in expectation what this extraordinary lavation would 
 end in. The barber-damsel, having raised a lather a 
 handful high, pretended that the water Avas all spent, 
 and ordered the girl with the ewer to fetch more, telling 
 her Signer Don Quixote would stay till she came back. 
 She did so, and Don Quixote remained the strangest 
 and most ridiculous figure imaginable. All that \vcre 
 present beheld him, and seeing him with a neck half an 
 ell long, more than moderately swarthy, his eyes shut, 
 and his beard all in a lather, it was a great wonder, and 
 a sign of great discretion, that they forbore laugh- 
 ing. The damsels concerned in the jest held down their 
 eyes, not daring to look at their lord and lady ; who 
 were divided between anger and laughter, not knowing 
 what to do, whether to chastise the girls for their bold- 
 ness, or reward them for the pleasure they took in be- 
 holding Don Quixote in that pickle. At last the damsel 
 of the ewer came, and they made an end of washing Don 
 Quixote ; and then she who carried the towels wiped 
 and dried him with much deliberation ; and all four at 
 once making him a profound reverence were going off, 
 the duke, that Don Quixote might not smell the jest, 
 called the damsel with the bason, saying: " Come and 
 wash me too, and take care you have water enough." 
 The arch and diligent wench came and clapped the bason 
 to the duke*s chin, as she had done to Don Quixote's, 
 and very expeditiously washed and lathered him well, 
 and leaving him clean and dry, they made their curtsies 
 and away they went. It was afterwards known that the 
 duke had sworn, that, had they not washed him as they
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 271 
 
 did Don Quixote, he would have punished them for 
 their pertness, which they had discreetly made amends 
 for by serving him in the same manner. Sancho was 
 Tery attentive to the ceremony of this washing, and saki 
 to himself: "God be my guide ! is it the custom, truly, 
 of this place to wash the beards of squires as well as of 
 knights ? On my conscience and soul, I need it much z 
 and, if they should give me a stroke of a razor, I should 
 take it for a still greater favour." " What are you say- 
 ing to yourself, Sancho ?" said the duchess. " I say, 
 madam," answered Sancho, " that in other prince*' 
 courts, I have always heard say, when the cloth is taken 
 away, they bring water to wash hands, and not suds to 
 scour beards ; and therefore one must live long to see 
 much : it is also said, he, who lives a long life, must 
 pass through many evils ; though one of these same 
 scourings is rather a pleasure than a pain." " Take no 
 care, friend Sancho," said the duchess ; " for I will or- 
 der my damsels to wash you too, and lay you in soak too, 
 if it be necessary." " For the present, I shall be satis- 
 fied, as to my beard," answered Sancho: "for the rest, 
 God will provide hereafter." " Hark you, sewer," said 
 the duchess, " mind what honest Sancho desires, and 
 do precisely as he would liave you." The sewer an- 
 swered, thatSignor Sancho should be punctually obeyed ; 
 aiid so away he went to dinner, and took Sancho with 
 him, the duke and duchess remaining at table with Don 
 Quixote, discoursing of sundry and divers matters, 
 but all relating to the profession of arms and knight- 
 errantry. 
 
 The duchess entreated Don Quixote, since he seemed 
 to have so happy a memory, that he would delineate and 
 describe the beauty and features of the Lady Dulcinea 
 del Toboso ; for, according to what fame proclaimed of 
 ker beauty, she took it for granted, she must be the
 
 272 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 fairest creature in the world, and even in all La Man- 
 elm. Don Quixote sighed at hearing the duchess's re- 
 quest, and said : " If I could pull out my, heart, and lay 
 it before your grandeur's eyes here upon the table in a 
 dish, I might save my tongue the labour of telling what 
 can hardly be conceived ; for there your excellency 
 wouldseeherpaintedtothelife. But why should I attempt 
 to delineate and describe one by one, the perfections of the 
 peerless Dulcinea, it being a burden fitter for other 
 shoulders than mine, an enterprise worthy to employ the 
 pencils of Parrhasius, Timnnthes, and Apellcs, and the 
 graving-tools of Lysippus, to paint and carve in pictures, 
 marbles, and bronzes ; and Ciceronian and Dcmosthenian 
 rhetoric to praise them." u What is the meaning of 
 Demosthenian, Signer Don Quixote ?" said the duchess : 
 " it is a word I never heard in all the days of my life." 
 " Demosthenian rhetoric," answered Don Quixote, " is 
 as much as to say the rhetoric of Demosthenes, as Cice- 
 ronian of Cicero ; who were the two greatest orators and 
 rhetoricians in the world." " That is true," said the 
 duke; u and you betrayed your ignorance in asking 
 such a question : but for all that, Signor Don Quixote 
 would give us a great deal of pleasure in painting her 
 to us ; for though it be but a rough draught, or sketch 
 only, doubtless she will appear such as the most beauti- 
 ful may envy." " So she would most certainly," an- 
 swered Don Quixote, " had not the misfortune which 
 lately befel her, blotted her idea out of my mind ; such 
 a misfortune, that I am in a condition rather to bewail 
 thau to describe her : for your grandeurs must know, 
 that, going a few days ago to kiss her hands, and receive 
 her benediction, commands, and licence, for this third 
 sally, I found her quite another person than her I sought 
 for. I found her enchanted, and converted from a prin- 
 cess into a country -wench, from beautiful to ugly, from
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 273 
 
 an angel to a devil, from fragrant to pestiferous, from 
 courtly to rustic, from light to darkness, from a sober 
 lady to a jumping Joan ; and in short, from Dulcinea del 
 Toboso, to a clownish \vench of Sayago." " God be 
 my aid !" cried the duke at this instant with a loud 
 voice : " who may it be that has done so much mischief 
 to the world ? Who is it that has deprived it of the 
 beauty that cheered it, the good humour that entertained 
 it, and the modesty that did it honour ?" " Who ?" 
 answered Don Quixote, "who could it be, but some 
 malicious enchanter, of the many invisible ones, that 
 .persecute me; that cursed race, born into the world to 
 obscure and annihilate the exploits of the good, and to 
 brighten and exalt the actions of the wicked ? En- 
 chanters have hitherto persecuted me ; enchanters still 
 .persecute me ; and enchanters will continue to persecute 
 me, till they have tumbled me and my lofty chivalries 
 into the profound abyss of oblivion : and they hurt and 
 ivound me in the most sensible part ; since, to deprive 
 a knight-errant of his mistress, is to deprive him of the 
 eyes he sees with, the sun that enlightens him, and the 
 .food that sustains him. I have already often said it, 
 and now repeat it, that a knight-errant without a mistress 
 is like a tree without leaves, a building without cement, 
 and a shadow without a body that causes it/" 
 
 " There is no more to be said," added the duchess: 
 * c but for all that, if we are to believe the history of 
 Signor Don Quixote, lately published with the general 
 applause of all nations, we arc to collect from thence, if 
 I remember right, that your worship never saw the Lady 
 Dulcinea, and that there is no such lady in the world, 
 she being only an imaginary lady, begotten and born of 
 j-our own brain, and dressed out with all the graces and 
 jserfectiens you pleased." " There is a great deal to be 
 said upon this subject," answered Don Quixote: " God 
 
 VOL. II* N .V
 
 274 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 knows whether there be a Dulcinea or not in the world, 
 and whether she be imaginary or not imaginary ; this is 
 one of those things, the proof of which is not to be too 
 nicely inquired into. I neither begot nor brought forth 
 my mistress, though I contemplate her as a lady en- 
 dowed with all those qualifications which may make her 
 famous over the whole world ; such as, the being beauti- 
 ful without a blemish, grave without pride, amorous 
 with modesty, obliging as being courteous, and courte- 
 ous as being well-bred ; and finally of high descent, be- 
 cause beauty shines and displays itself with greater de- 
 grees of perfection when matched w r ith noble blood, than 
 in subjects that are of mean extraction." " True," said 
 the duke : " but Signor Don Quixote must give me leave 
 to say what the history of his exploits forces me to speak : 
 for from thence may be gathered, that, supposing it IMJ 
 allowed that there is a Dulcinea in Toboso, or out of it, 
 and that she is beautiful in the highest degree, as your 
 worship describes her to us, yet, in respect of high de- 
 scent, she is not upon a level with the Orianas, the Ala- 
 strajareas, Madasimas, and others of that sort, of whom 
 histories are full, as your worship well knows." 
 
 " To this I can answer," replied Don Quixote, " that 
 Dulcinea is the daughter of her own works, that virtue 
 ennobles blood, and that a virtuous person, though mean, 
 is more to be valued than a vicious person of quality. 
 Besides, Dulcinea has endowments, which may raise her 
 to be a queen with crown and sceptre ; for the merit of 
 a beautiful virtuous woman extends to the working greater 
 miracles, and, though not formally, yet virtually she 
 has in herself greater advantages in store." " I say, 
 Signor Don Quixote," cried the duchess, " that you 
 tread with great caution, and, as the saying is, with the 
 plummet in hand ; and for my own part, henceforward I
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 75 
 
 will believe, and make all my family believe, and even 
 my lord duke, if need be, that there is a Dulcinea in 
 Toboso, and that she is this day living and beautiful, 
 and especially well born and well deserving, that such 
 a knight as Signer Don Quixote should be her servant ; 
 which is the highest commendation I can bestow upon 
 her. But I cannot forbear entertaining one scruple, and 
 bearing I know not what grudge to Sancho Panza. The 
 scruple is this : the aforesaid history relates, that the 
 said Sancho Panza found the said Lady Dulcinea, when 
 lie carried her a letter from your worship, winnowing a 
 sack of wheat ; and, as a farther sign of it, he says it was 
 red : which makes me doubt the highness of her birth." 
 
 To which Don Quixote answered: " Madam, your 
 grandeur must know, that most or all the things which 
 befel me, exceed the ordinary bounds of what happen to 
 other knights-errant, whether directed by the inscrutable 
 will of the destinies, or ordered through the malice of 
 some envious enchanter : and as it ,is already a thing cer- 
 tain, that, among all or most of the famous knights-er- 
 rant, one is privileged from being subject to the power 
 of enchantment ; another's flesh is so impenetrable that 
 he cannot be wounded ; as was the case of the re- 
 nowned Orlando, one of the twelve peers of France, of 
 whom it is related, that he was invulnerable, excepting 
 in the sole of his left foot, and in that only fyy the point 
 of a great pin, and by no other weapon whatever : so 
 that when Bernardo del Carpio killed him in Ronces- 
 valles, perceiving he could not wound him with steel, 
 he hoisted him from the ground between his arms and. 
 squeezed him to death, recollecting the manner in which 
 Hercules slew Antaeus, that fierce giant, who was said to 
 be a son of the earth. I would infer from what I have 
 said, that, perhaps, I may have some one of those pri- 
 vileges : not that of being invulnerable ; for experience 
 
 \ .\ 2
 
 2*6 DON QUIXOTE, 
 
 has often shown me that I am made of tender flesh, ancF 
 by no means impenetrable ; nor that of not being sub- 
 ject to enchantment, for I have already found myself 
 clapped into a cage, in which the whole world could 
 never have been- able to have shut me up, had it not 
 been by force of enchantments r but, since I freed my- 
 self from thence, I am inclined to believe no other can 
 touch me r and therefore these enchanters, seeing they 
 eannot practise their wicked artifices upon my person, 
 revenge themselves upon what I love best, and have a 
 mind to take away my life by evil-entreating Dulcinea, 
 for whom I live : and therefore I am ef opinion, that, 
 when my squire carried her my message, they had 
 transformed her into a country-wench, busied in that 
 mean employment of winnowing wheat. But I have be- 
 fore said that the wheat was not rod, nor indeed wheat, 
 but grains of Oriental pearl t and for proof hereof I must 
 tell your grandeurs, that, coming lately through Toboso, 
 I could not find Dulcinea's palace ; and that Sancho, my 
 squire, having seen her the other day in her own proper 
 figure, the most beautiful on. the globe, to- me she ap- 
 peared a coarse ugly country-wench r an J not well-spoken,, 
 whereas she is discretion itself : and since I neither am, 
 nor in all likelihood can be, enchanted, it is she is the 
 enchanted, the injured, the metamorphosed, and trans- 
 formed : in her my enemies have revenged themselves 
 en me, and for her I shall live in perpetual tears, till I see 
 her restored to her former state- 
 
 " All this I have said, that no stress may be laid upoa 
 what Sancho told of Dulcinea r s sifting and winnowing ; 
 for since to me she was changed, no wonder if she was 
 metamorphosed to him, Dulcinea is well born y of qua- 
 lity, and of the genteel families of Toboso, which are 
 many, ancient, and very good ; and no doubt the peer- 
 less Dulcinea has a large skare in them, for whom Let
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 277 
 
 town will be famous and renowned in the ages to come, 
 as Troy was for Helen, and Spain has been for Cava 5 % 
 though upon better grounds and a ju-stcr title. On the 
 other hand, I would have your grandeurs understaad, 
 that Sancho Panza is one of the most ingenious squires 
 that ever served knight-errant ; he has indeed, at times, 
 certain simplicities so acute, that it i& no small plea- 
 sure to consider whether be has in him most of th& 
 simple or acute r he has roguery enough to pass for a 
 knave, and negligence enough to confirm him a dunce : 
 he doubts of every thing, and believes everything : when 
 I imagine he is falling headlong into stupidity, he outs 
 with such smart sayings as raise him to the skies. In 
 short, I would not exchange him for any other squire, 
 though a city were given me to boot ; and therefore I am 
 in doubt whether I shall do well to send him to the govern- 
 ment your grandeur has favoured him with ; though. I 
 perceive in him such a fitness for the business of govern- 
 ing, that, with a little polishing of his understanding, 
 he would be as much master of that art as the king is 
 of his customs. Besides, we know,, by sundry expe- 
 riences, that there is no need of much ability nor much 
 learning to be a governor ; for there are a hundred of 
 them up and down that can scarcely read, and yet they 
 govern as sharp as so many hawks. The main point is, 
 that their intention be good, and that they desire to do 
 every thing right, and there will never be wanting coun- 
 sellors to adv ise and direct them in what they are to do ; 
 like your governors, who, being swordsmen, and not 
 scholars, have an assistant on the bench. My counsel to 
 him would be, to refuse all bribes, but to insist on his 
 dues; with some other little matters, which lie in my 
 breast, and shall out in proper time, for Sancho r s benefit; 
 and the good of the island he is to govern." 
 , Thus far had the duke, the duchess, and
 
 278 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 proceeded in their discourse, when they heard several 
 voices, and a great noise in the palace, and presently 
 Sancho entered the hall quite alarmed, Avith a dish-clout 
 for a slabbering-bib ; and after him a parcel of kitchen- 
 boys, and other lower servants. One of them carried a 
 tray full of water, which, by its colour and uncleanness, 
 seemed to be dish-water. lie followed and persecuted 
 him, endeavouring- with all earnestness to fix it under his 
 chin; and another scullion seemed as solicitous to wash 
 his beard. " What is the matter, brothers," said the 
 duchess, u what is the matter? What would you do to 
 thisgood man? What! do you not consider that he is a 
 governor elect :" To which the roguish barber answered, 
 " Madam, this gentleman will not suffer himself to lx? 
 washed, as is the custom, and as our lord the duke and 
 his master have been." " Yes, I will," answered San- 
 cho, in great wrath; " but I would have cleaner towels 
 and clearer suds, and not such filthy hands : for there is 
 no such difference between me and my master, that he 
 should be washed with angel-water, and I with the devil's 
 lye. The customs of countries and of princes' palaces 
 are so far good, as they are Hot troublesome : but this cus- 
 tom of scouring here is worse than that of the whipping 
 penitents. My beard is clean, and I have no need of such, 
 refreshings ; and he who offers to scour me, or touch a 
 hair of my head, (I mean of my beard,) with due reverence 
 be it spoken, I will give him such a dowse, that I will 
 set my fist fast in his skull : for such ceremonies and 
 soapings as these look more like jibes than courtesy to 
 guests." The duchess was ready to die with laughing, 
 to see the rage and hear the reasonings of'Sancho. But 
 Don Quixote was not over-pleased to see him so accoutred 
 with the nasty towel, and surrounded with such a parcel 
 of kitchen-tribe: and so making a low bow to the duke 
 jmd duchess, as if begging leave to speak, he said to the
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 279 
 
 rabble, with a solemn voice, "Ho! gentlemen cavaliers, 
 be pleased to let the young man alone, and return from 
 whence you cauie, or to any other place you list ; for my 
 squire is as clean as another man, and these trays are as 
 painful to him as a narrow-necked jug. Take my ad- 
 vice, and let him alone ; for neither he nor I understand 
 jesting." Sancho caught the words out of his master's 
 mouth, and proceeded, saying, " No, no, let them go 
 on Avith their jokes ; for I will endure it, as much as it is 
 now night. Let them bring hither a comb, or what else 
 they please, and let them curry this beard, and if they, 
 find any thing in it that offends against cleanliness, let 
 them shear me crosswise." 
 
 Here the duchess, still laughing, said, " Sancho 
 Panza is in the right in whatever he has said, and will be 
 so in whatever he shall say : he is clean, and, as he says, 
 needs no washing ; and, if he is not pleased with our 
 custom, he .is at his own disposal : and besides, you mi- 
 nisters of cleanliness have been extremely remiss and care- 
 less, and I may say presumptuous, in bringing to such a 
 personage, and such a beard, your trays and dish-clouts, 
 instead of ewers and basons of pure gold, and towels of 
 Dutch diaper : but, in short, you are a parcel of scoun- 
 drels, and ill-born, and cannot forbear showing the 
 grudge you bear to the squires of knights-errant." The 
 roguish servants, and even the sewer, who came with 
 them, believed that the duchess spoke in earnest, and so 
 they took Sancho's dish-clout off his neck, and with some 
 confusion and shame slunk away and left him ; who, 
 finding himself rid of what he thought an imminent dan- 
 ger, went and kneeled before the cfuchess, and said, 
 " From great folks great favours are to be expected : 
 that which your ladyship has done me to-day, cannot be 
 jrepaid with less than the desire of seeing myself dubbed a 
 knight-errant, that I may employ all the days of my life
 
 280 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 in the service of so high a lady. A peasant I am ; Sancfoo 
 Panza is my name ; married I am ; children I have ; and 
 I serve as a squire : if with any one of these I can be ser- 
 viceable to yonr grandeur, I shall not be slower in obey- 
 ing- than your ladyship in commanding." " It appears 
 plainly, Sancho," answered the duchess, u that you 
 have learned to be courteous in the school of courtesy it- 
 self. I mean, it, is evident you have been bred in the 
 bosom of Signer Don Quixote, who must needs be the 
 cream of complaisance, and the flower of ceremony, or 
 cirimoni/i as you say. Success attend such a master 
 and such a man! the one the pole-star of knight-errantry, 
 and the other the bright luminary of squircly fidelity. 
 Rise up, friend Sanchb ; for I will make you amends for 
 your civility, by prevailing with my lord duke to per- 
 form, as soon as possible, the promise he has made you 
 f the government. " 
 
 Thus ended the conversation, and Don Quixote went 
 to repose himself during the heat of the day ; and the 
 duchess desired Sancho, if he had not an inclination to 
 sleep, to pass the afternoon with her and her damsels in a 
 very cool hall. Sancho answered, that, though indeed 
 l*e was wont to sleep four or five hours a-day, during the 
 afternoon heats of the summer, to wait upon her good- 
 ness, he would endeavour with all his might not to sleep 
 at all that day, and would be obedient to her commands ; 
 and so away he went. The duke gave fresh orders about 
 treating Don Quixote as a knight-orrant, without de- 
 viating a tittle from the stile in which we read the knight* 
 of former times were treated.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAP. XXXIII. 
 
 Of the relishing Conversation which passed between ilic 
 Duchess, her Damsels, and Sancho Panza ; worthy 
 to be read and remarked. 
 
 1 HE history then relates, that Sancho Panza dkl not 
 sleep that afternoon, but, to keep his word, came with 
 the meat in his mouth to see the duchess ; who, being 
 delighted to hear him talk, made him sit down by her 
 on a low stool, though Sancho, out of pure good man- 
 ners, would have declined it: but the duchess would have 
 him sit down as a governor, and talk as a squire, since in 
 both those capacities he deserved the very stool of the 
 champion Cid Ruy Dias. Sancho shrugged up his 
 shoulders, obeyed, and sat down; and all the duchess's 
 damsels and duennas got round about him, in profound 
 silence, to hear what he would say. But the duchess 
 spoke first, saying, a Now we are alone, and that no- 
 body hears us, I would willingly be satisfied by Signer 
 Govemor, as to some doubts I have, arising from the 
 printed history of the great Don Quixote : one of which 
 is, that, since honest Sancho never saw Dulcinca, I 
 mean the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, nor carried her 
 Don Quixote's letter, it being left in the pocket-book in 
 the Sable Mountain, how durst he feign the answer, and 
 the story, of his finding her winnowing wheat, it being all 
 a sham, and a lie, and so much to the prejudice of the 
 good character of the peerless Dijlcinea, and the whole 
 so unbecoming the quality and fidelity of a trusty 
 squire ?" 
 
 At these words, without making any reply, Sancho got 
 up from his stool, and stepping softly, with his -body 
 
 VOL. u. o o
 
 282 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 bent, and his finger on his lips, he crept round the room, 
 lifting up the hangings; and, this being done, he pre- 
 sently sat himself down again, and said, " Now, madam, 
 that I am sure nobody but the company hears us, I will 
 answer, without fear or emotion, to all you have asked,, 
 and to all you shall ask me; and the first thing I tell 
 you is, that I take my master, Don Quixote, fora down- 
 right madman, though sometimes he comes out with 
 things, which, to my thinking, and in the opinion of all 
 that hear him, are so discreet, and so well put together, 
 that Satan himself could not speak better: and yet, for 
 all that, in good truth, and without any doubt, I am 
 firmly persuaded he is mad. Now, having settled this 
 in my mind, I dare undertake to make him believe any 
 thing, that has neither head nor tail, like the business of 
 the answer to the letter, and another affair of some six or 
 eight days standing, which is not yet in print: I mean 
 the enchantment of my mistress Donna Dulcinea: for you 
 must know, I made him believe she was enchanted, 
 though there is no more truth in it than in a story of a 
 cock and a bull." The duchess desired him to tell her 
 the particulars of that enchantment or jest: and Sancho 
 recounted the whole exactly as it had passed ; at which 
 the hearers were not a little pleased, and the duchess, 
 proceeding in her discourse, said, " From what honest 
 Sancho has told me, a certain scruple has started into my 
 head, and something whispers me in the ear, saying to 
 me : Since Don Quixote de la Mancha is a fool, an idiot, 
 and a madman, and Sancho Panza his squire knows if, 
 and yet serves and follows him, and relies on his vain 
 promises, without doubt he must be moro mad, and more 
 stupkl than his master : and, this being really the case, 
 it will turn to bad account, Lady Duchess, if to such a 
 Sancho Pa?iza you give an island to govern ; for he who 
 Knows not how to govern himself, how should he know
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 how to govern others ?" " By my faith, madam," quotll 
 Sancho, " this same scruple comes in the nick of time : 
 please your ladyship to bid it speak out plain, or as it 
 lists; for I know it says true, and, had I been wise, I 
 should have left my master long ere now ; but such Mas 
 my lot, and such my evil-errantry. I can do no mere ; 
 follow him I must ; we are both of the same town ; I have 
 eaten his bread ; I love him ; Ife returns my kindness ; 
 he gave me his ass-colts : and above all I am faithful ; 
 and therefore it is impossible any thing should part us but 
 the sexton's spade and shovel : and, if your highness lias 
 no mind the government you promised should be given 
 me, God made me of less, and it may be the not giving 
 it me, may redound to the benefit of my conscience ; for, 
 as great a fool as I am, I understand the proverb, T/ie 
 pismire had wings to her hurt ; and perhaps it. may be 
 easier for Sancho the squire to get to heaven than for 
 Sancho the governor. They make as good bread here as 
 in France; and, In the dark all cats are gray; and, 
 Unhappy is he^ who has not breakfasted at three; and, 
 No stomach is a span bigger than another, and may be 
 filled, as they say, zcith strati or zcith hay ; and, Of the 
 little birds in the air God himself takes the care; and, 
 Four yards of coarse cloth of Cucn^a arc warmer than 
 as many ofjine Segovia serge; and, at our leaving this 
 world, and going into the next, the prince travels in a* 
 narrow a path as the day-labourer ; and the pope's body 
 takes up no more room than the sexton's, though the one 
 be higher than the other ; for, when we come to the grave, 
 we must all shrink and lie close, or be made, to shrink 
 and lie close in spite of us ; and so good night : and there- 
 fore I say again, that, if your ladyship will not give me 
 the island because I am a fool, I will be so wise as riot to 
 care a fig for it ; and I have heard say. The deril lurks 
 
 behind the cross; and, All is not gold that glitters ; and 
 
 o o 2
 
 DON QUIXOTE.' 
 
 Bamba llic husbandman was taken from among his ploughs, 
 his yokes, and oxen, to be king of Spain ; and Roderiiro 
 was taken from his brocades, pastimes, and riches, to be 
 devoured by snakes, if ancient ballads do not lie." 
 <; How should they lie,*' said the duenna Rodriguez, 
 who was one of the auditors ; " for there is a ballad, 
 which tells us how KingRoderigo was shut up alive in a 
 tomb full of toads, snakes, and lizards, and that, t\\o 
 days after, the king said from within the tomb, with a 
 mournful and low voice, Now they gnaw me, now they 
 gnaw me, in the part ly which I sinned most : and ac- 
 cording to this, the gentleman has a great deal of reason 
 to say, he would rather be a peasant than a king, if such 
 vermin must eat him up." 
 
 The duchess could not forbear laughing to hear the sim- 
 plicity of her duenna, nor admiring to hear the reasonings 
 and proverbs of Sancho, to whom she said, " Honest 
 Sancho knows full well, that, whatever a knight once 
 promises, he endeavours to perform it, though it cost him 
 his life. The duke, my lord and husband, though he i.s 
 not of the errant order, is nevertheless a knight, and 
 therefore will make good his word, as to the promised 
 island, in spite of the envy .and the wickedness of the 
 world. Let Sancho be of good cheer ; for when he least 
 thinks of it, he shall find himself seated in the chair of 
 state of his island and of his territory, and shall so handle 
 his government, as to despise for it one of brocade three 
 stories high. What I charge him is, to take heed how 
 he governs his vassals, remembering that they are all 
 loyal and well born." " As to governing them well," 
 answered Sancho, " there is no need of giving it me in 
 charge; for I am naturally charitable and compassionate 
 to the poor, and, 
 
 None will dare the loaf to 
 
 From him w bo sifte and k reads the mrt.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 And, by ray beads, they shall put no false dice upon me : 
 I am aii old dog, and understand tus tus M , and know 
 how to snuff my eyes in proper time, and will not suffer 
 cobwebs to get into Ihem ; for I know where the shoe 
 pinches. All this I say, that the good may be sure to 
 have of me both heart and hand, and tj*? bad neither foot 
 nor footing : and, in my opinion, as to the business of 
 governing, the whole lies in the beginning; and perhaps, 
 when I have been fifteen days a governor, my fingers may 
 itcli after the office, and I may know more of it than of 
 the labour of the field, to which I was bred." "You 
 are in the right, Sancho," said the duchess; " for no- 
 body is born learned, and bishops are made of men, and 
 not of stones. But, to resume the discourse we were just 
 now upon, concerning the enchantment of the Lady Dul- 
 rinea, I am very certain, that Sancho's design of putting- 
 a trick upon his master, and making him believe that th 
 country wench was Dulcinea, and that, if his master did 
 not know her, it must proceed from her being enchanted, 
 was all a contrivance of some one or other of the enchant- 
 ers who persecute Don Quixote: for really, and Ln 
 Truth, I know from good authority, that the wench who 
 jumped upon the ass, was, and is. Dulcinea del Toboso, 
 and that honest Sancho, in thinking he was the deceiver, 
 was himself deceived : and there is no more doubt of this 
 truth than of things we never saw: for Signor Sancho 
 Panza must know, that here also v> e have our enchanters, 
 who love us, and tell us plainly and sincerely, and with- 
 out any tricks or devices, all that passes in the world; 
 and believe me. Sancho, the jumping wench was, and is. 
 Dalcinea del Toboso, who is enchanted just as much as 
 the mother that bore her : and, when we least think of it, 
 we shall see her in her own proper form ; and then Saa- 
 cho will be convinced of the mistake he now lives in." 
 - .Ml this may very well be," quoth Sancho Panza c
 
 286 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 " and now I begin to believe what my master told of Mon- 
 tesinos's cave, where he pretends he saw the Lady Dul- 
 cineadel Toboso in the very same dress and garb I said I 
 had seen her in, when I enchanted her for my own plea- 
 sure alone; whereas, as your ladyship says, all this must 
 have been quite otherwise : for it cannot, and must not, 
 be presumed, that my poor invention should, in an in- 
 stant, start so cunning a device, nor do I believe my mas- 
 ter is such a madman, as to credit so extravagant a thing, 
 upon no better a -voucher than myself. But, madam, 
 your goodness ought not therefore to look upon me as an 
 ill-designing person ; for a dunce, like me, is not obliged 
 to penetrate into tjie thoughts and crafty intentions of 
 wicked enchanters. I invented that story to escape the 
 chidings of my master, and not with design to offend 
 him : and, if it has fallen out otherwise, God is in hea- 
 ven, who judges the heart." " That is true," said the 
 duchess : " but tell me^ Sancho, what is it you were say- 
 ing of Montesinos's cave ? I should be glad to know it." 
 Then Sancho related, with all its circumstances, what has 
 been said concerning that adventure. Which the duch- 
 ess hearing, said, " From this accident it may be infer- 
 red, that, since the great Don Quixote says he saw the 
 very same country wench, whom Sancho saw coming out 
 of Toboso, without doubt it is Dulcinea, and that the 
 enchanters hereabouts are very busy, and excessively cu- 
 rious." " But I say," quoth Sancho Panza, " if my 
 Lady Dulcinea del Toboso is enchanted, so much the 
 worse for her ; and I do not think myself bound to engage 
 with my master's enemies, who must needs be many and 
 malicious : true it is, that she I saw was a country 
 wench : for such I took her, and such I judged her to be : 
 and, if she was Dulcinea, it is not to be placed to my ac- 
 count, nor ought it to lie at my door. It would be fine 
 indeed, if I must be called in question at every turn,
 
 I 
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 287 
 
 with, Sancho said it, Sancho did it, Sancho came back, 
 and Sancho returned ; as if Sancho were, who they would, 
 and not that very Sancho Panza handed about in print all 
 the world over, as Sampson Carrasco told me, who is at 
 least a candidate to be a bachelor at Salamanca ; and such 
 persons cannot lie, excepting when they have a mind to 
 if, or when it turns to good account: so that there is no 
 reason why any body should fall upon me, since I have a 
 good name; and, as I have heard my master say, a good 
 name is better than great riches. Case me but in this same 
 government, and you will see wonders ; for a good squire 
 will make a good governor." 
 
 " All that honest Sancho has now said," replied the 
 duchess, " are Catonian sentences, or at least extracted 
 from the very marrow of Michaei Verino 51 himself 
 jlorcntibus occidit annis: in short, to speak in his own 
 way, A badcloke often covers a good drinker." " Truly, 
 madam," answered Sancho, <( I never in my life drank 
 for any bad purpose : for thirst it may be I have ; for I 
 am no hypocrite : I drink when I have a mind, and when 
 I have no mind, and when it is given me, not to be 
 thought shy or ill bred ; for, when a friend drinks to one, 
 who can be so hard-hearted as not to pledge him ? But 
 though I put on the shoes, I do not dirty them. Besides, 
 the squires of knights-errant most commonly drink water ; 
 for they are always w andering about woods, forests, mea- 
 dows, mountains, and craggy rocks, without meeting the 
 poorest pittance of wine, though they would give an eye 
 for it."" I believe so too," answered the duchess: 
 " but, for the present, Sancho, go and repose yourself, 
 and we will hereafter talk more at large, and order shall 
 speedily be given about casing you, as you call k, in the 
 government." 
 
 Sancho again kissed the duchess's hand, and begged of 
 kcr, as a favour, that good care might be taken of his
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Dapple, for ho was the light of his eyes. " What Dap- 
 ple?" said the duchess. " My ass," replied Sancho ; 
 l ' for, to avoid calling him by that name, 1 commonly 
 call him Dapple: and I desired this mistress duenna here, 
 when 1 first came into the castle, to take care of him, and 
 she was as angry as if I had said she was ugly or old ; 
 though it should be more proper and natural for duennas 
 to dress asses than to set off drawing-rooms. God be my 
 help! how ill a gentleman of our town agreed with these 
 madams!" " He was some country clown, to be sure,'' 
 said Donna Rodriguez; " for, had he been a gentleman 
 and well born, he would have placed them above the. 
 horns of the moon." " Enough," replied the ducliess; 
 u let us have no more of this; peace, Donna Rodriguez ; 
 and you, Signor Panda, be quiet ; and leave the care of 
 making much of your Dapple to me ; for, he being a 
 jewel of Sancho's, I will lay him upon the apple of my 
 eye." " It will be sufficient for him to lie in the stable," 
 answered Sancho; " for upon the apple of your gran- 
 deur's eye, neither he nor 1 are worthy to lie one single 
 moment, and I would no more consent to it than I would 
 poniard myself: for, though my master says, that, in 
 complaisance, we should rather lose the game by a card 
 too much than too little, yet, when the business is asses 
 and eyes, we should go with compass in hand, and keep 
 within measured bounds." " Carry him, Sancho," said 
 fhe duchess, " to your government, and there you may 
 regale him as you please, and set him free from further 
 labour." u Think not, my Lady Duchess, you have 
 said much," quoth Sancho ; " for I have seen more than 
 two asses go to governments,, and, if I should carry mine, 
 it would be no such new thing." Sancho's reasonings re- 
 newed the duchess's laughter and satisfaction ; and, dis- 
 missing him to his repose, she went to give the duke an 
 account of what had passed between them, and they two
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 2S9 
 
 agreed to contrive and give orders to have a jest put upon 
 Don Quixote, which should be famous and consonant to 
 the stile of knight-errantry ; in which they played him 
 many, so proper, and such ingenious, ones, that they 
 are some of the best adventures contained in this grand 
 iiistory. 
 
 CHAP. XXXI V. 
 
 Giving an Account of the Method prescribed for disen- 
 chanting the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso ; which is 
 one of the most famous Adventures of this Book. 
 
 VzREAT was the pleasure the duke and duchess re- 
 ceived from the conversation of Don Quixote and San- 
 cho Panza; and, persisting in the design they had of 
 playing them some tricks which should carry the sem- 
 blance and face of adventures, they took a hint from 
 what Don Quixote had already told them of the cave of 
 Montesinos to dress up a famous one. But what the 
 duchess most wondered at was, that Sancho should be 
 so very simple as to believe for certain that Dulcinea del 
 Toboso was enchanted, he himself having been the en- 
 chanter and impostor in that business. Having instruct- 
 ed their servants how they were to behave, six days 
 after they carried Don Quixote <5n a hunting party, with 
 a train of hunters and huntsmen not inferior to that of 
 a crowned head. They gave Don Quixote a hunting- 
 suit, and Sancho another, of the finest green cloth ; but 
 Don Quixote would not put his on, saying, he must short- 
 ly return to the severe exercise of arms, and that he could 
 
 VOL. II. P P
 
 290 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 not carry wardrobes and sumpters about him. But San- 
 cho took what was given him, with design to sell it the 
 first opporuriity he should have. 
 
 The expected day being come, Don Quixote armed 
 himself, and Sancho put on his new suit and mounted 
 Dapple, whom he would not quit, though they offered 
 him a horse ; and so he thrust himself amidst the troop 
 of hunters. The duchess issued forth magnificently 
 dressed, and Don Quixote, out of pure politeness and 
 civility, held the reins of her palfrey, though the duke 
 would not consent to it. At last, they came to a wood, 
 between two very high mountains, and posting them- 
 selves in places where the toils were to be pitched, and 
 all the company having taken their different stands, the 
 hunt began with a great hallooing and noise, insomuch 
 that they could not hear one another on account of the 
 cry of the hounds and the winding of the horns. The 
 duchess alighted, and, with a boar-spear in her hand, 
 look her stand in a place where she knew wild boars 
 used to pass. The duke and Don Quixote alighted also, 
 and placed themselves by her side. Sancho planted 
 himself in the rear of them all, without alighting from 
 Dapple, whom he durst not quit, lest some mischance 
 should befal him. And scarcely were they on foot, and 
 ranged in order, with several of their servants round 
 them, when they perceived an enormous boar, pur- 
 sued by the dogs, and followed by the hunters, making 
 towards them, grinding his teeth and tusks, and tossing 
 foam from his mouth. Don Quixote, seeing him, braced 
 his shield, and, laying his hand to his sword, stepped 
 before the rest to receive him. The duke did the like, 
 with his javelin in his hand. But the duchess would 
 have advanced before them, if the duke had not pre- 
 vented her. Only Sancho, at sight of the fierce animal, 
 quitted Dapple, and ran the best he could, and endea-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 291 
 
 voured to climb up into a tall oak, but could not : and, 
 being got about half way up, holding by a bough, and 
 striving to mount to the top, he was so unfortunate and 
 unlucky that the bough broke, and, in tumbling down, 
 he remained in the air, suspended by a stump from the 
 tree, without coming to the ground : and, finding him- 
 self in this situation, and that the green loose coat was 
 tearing, and considering that, if the furious animal 
 came that way, he should be within his reach, he began 
 to cry out so loud, and to call for help so violently, that 
 all who heard him, and did not see him, thought verily 
 he was between the teeth of some wild beast. In short, 
 the tusked boar was laid at his length by the points of 
 the many boar-spears levelled at him ; and Don Quixote, 
 turning his head about at Sancho's cries, by which he 
 knew him, saw him hanging from the oak with his head 
 downward, and close by him Dapple, who deserted him 
 not in his calamity. And Cid Hamete Benengeli says, he 
 seldom saw Sancho Panza without Dapple, or Dapple 
 without Sancho ; such was the amity and cordial love 
 maintained between them. Don Quixote went and dis- 
 engaged Sancho, who, finding himself freed and upon 
 the ground, began to examine the rent in the hunting- 
 suit, and it grieved him to the soul ; for he fancied he 
 possessed in that suit an inheritance in fee-simple. 
 
 They laid the mighty boar across a sumpter-mulo, 
 and, covering it with branches of rosemary and myrtle, 
 they carried it, as the spoils of victory, to a large field- 
 tent, erected in the middle of (he wood ; where they 
 found the tables ranged in order, and dinner set out so 
 sumptuous and grand, that it easily discovered the great- 
 ness and magnificence of the donor. Sancho, showing 
 the wounds of his torn garment to the duchess, said, 
 " Had this been a hare-hunting, or a fowling for small 
 birds, my coat had been safe from the extremity it is 
 
 F P 2
 
 
 202 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 summer, required, but a kind of clair-obscure, wind* 
 now in : I do not understand what pleasure there can be 
 in waiting for a beast, who, if he reaches you with a 
 tusk, may cost you your life. I remember to have heard 
 an old ballad sung to this purpose : 
 
 44 May Kabila's sad doom be rtiine, 
 And hungry bears upon tbee dine." 
 
 ce He was a Gothic king," said Don Quixote, a who 
 going to hunt wild beasts, was devoured by a bear." 
 " What I say," answered SaTicho, " is, that I would 
 not have princes and kings run themselves into such 
 dangers, merely for their pleasure ; which iiiethinks 
 ought not to be so r since it consists in killing a creature 
 that has not committed any fault." " You are mistaking, 
 Sancho ; it is quite otherwise," answered the duke: 
 " for, the exercise of hunting wild beasts is the most 
 proper and necessary for kings and princes of any what- 
 ever. Hunting is an image of war : in it there arc stratagems, 
 artifices, and ambuscades, to overcome your enemy 
 w ithout hazard to your person : in it you endure pinch- 
 ing cold and intolerable heat ; idleness and sleep are 
 contemned; natural vigour is corroborated, and the 
 members of the body more active : in short, it is an exercise 
 wh ich may be used \> ithout prejudice to any body, and with 
 pleasure to many : and the best of it is, that it is not for 
 all people, as are all other country sports, excepting 
 hawking, which is aka peculiar td kings and great 
 persons. And therefore, Sancho, change your opinion, 
 and, when you are a governor, exercise yourself in hunt- 
 ing, and you will find your account in it." " Not so," 
 answered Sancho; " the good governor, and the broken 
 leg r should keep at home. It would be fine indeed for 
 people to come fatigued about business to seek him,.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 while he is in the mountains following his recreations : at 
 that rate the government might go to wreck. In good 
 truth, sir, hunting and pastimes are rather for your idle 
 companions than for governors. What I design to di- 
 vert myself with, shall be playing at brag at Easter, 
 and at bowls on Sundays and holidays : as for your 
 huntings, they befit not my condition, nor agree with my 
 conscience." " God grant you prove as good as you 
 say! but saying and doing are at a wide distance," an- 
 swered the duke. " Be it so," replied Sancho: " The 
 good paymaster is in pain for no p&icn ; and God's 
 help is better than rising early; and The belli/ tar- 
 ries the legs, and not the legs the belly ; I mean, that, 
 with the help of God and a good intention, I shall go- 
 vern better than a goss-hawk. Ayr, aye, let them put their 
 finger in my mouth, and they shall see whether I can 
 bite or no." " The curse of God and of all his saints 
 light on thee, accursed Sancho !" said Don Quixote : 
 u when will the day come, as I have often said, that 1 
 shall hear thee utter one current and coherent sentence 
 without proverbs? I beseech your grandeurs, let this 
 blockhead alone ; he will grind your souls to death, not 
 between two but between two thousand proverbs, intro- 
 duced as much to the purpose and a* well-timed as I 
 wish God may grant him health, or me if I desire to 
 hear them." " Sancho Panza's proverbs," said the 
 duchess, " though they exceed in number those of the 
 Greek commentator 55 , yet they are not to be less valued 
 for the brevity of the sentences. For my own part 1 
 must own, they give me more pleasure than any others, 
 though better timed and better applied." 
 
 With these entertaining discourses they left the tent, 
 and went into the wood, to visit the toils and nets. The 
 day was soon spent, and night came on not so clear nor so 
 calm as the season of the year, which was the midst of
 
 294 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 contributed very much to help forward the duke and 
 duchess's design. Now, night coming on, soon after the 
 twilight, on a sudden the wood seemed on fire from all 
 the four quarters ; and presently were heard, on all sides, 
 an infinite number of cornets ami other instruments of war, 
 as if a great body of horse was passing through the wood. 
 The blaze of the fire, and the sound of the warlike instru- 
 ments, almost blinded and stunned the eyes and ears of 
 the by-standers, and even of all that were in the wood. 
 Presently were heard infinite Lclilies , after the Moorish 
 fashion, when they arc just going to join battle. Trum- 
 pets and clarions sounded, drums beat, fifes played, al- 
 most ail at once, so fast and without any intermission, 
 that he must have had no sense, who had not lost it at the 
 confused din of so many instruments. The duke was in 
 astonishment, the duchess in a fright, Don Quixote in 
 amaze, and Sancho Panza in a fit of trembling : in short, 
 even they who were in the secret were terriiied, and con- 
 sternation held them all in silence. A post-boy, habited 
 like a devil, passed before them, winding, instead of a 
 cornet, a monstrous hollow horn, which yielded a hoarse 
 and horrible sound. u So ho, brother courier," said 
 the duke, " who are you? Whither go you? And 
 what soldiers are those who seem to be crossing this 
 wood?" To which the courier answered in a hoarse and 
 dreadful voice, " I am the devil, and am going in quest 
 of Don Quixote de la Mancha! the people you inquire 
 about are six troops of enchanters, who are conducting 
 the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso in a triumphal chariot: 
 she comes enchanted, with the gallant Frenchman Mon- 
 tesinos, to inform Don Quixote how that same lady is to 
 be disenchanted.'* " If you were the devil, as you say, 
 and as your figure denotes you to be," replied Don 
 Quixote, u you would before now have known that same 
 knight Don Quixote de la Mancha. who stands here be-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 295 
 
 fore you." " Before God, and upon my conscience," 
 replied the devil, " I did not see him; for my thoughts 
 are distracted about so many things, that I forgot the prin- 
 cipal business I came about." " Doubtless," quoth 
 Sancho, " this devil must needs be a very honest fellow, 
 and a good Christian; else he would not hav sworn by 
 God and his conscience: now, for my part, I verily be- 
 lieve there are some good folks in hell itself." Then the 
 devil, without alighting, directing his eyes to Don Quix- 
 ote, said, " To you, Knight of the Lions, (and may I 
 see you between their paws,) the unfortunate but va- 
 liant knight Montesinos sends me. commanding me to 
 tell you from him to wait for him in the very place I meet 
 you in ; for he brings with him her whom they call Dul- 
 cinea del Toboso, in order to instruct you how you may 
 disenchant her : and this being all I came for, I must stay 
 no longer. Devils like me be with you, and good angels 
 with this lord and lady." And so saying, he blew his 
 monstrous horn, and turned his back, and away he went 
 without staying for an answer from any body. Every one 
 again wondered, especially Sancho and Don Quixote; 
 Sancho, to see how, in spite of truth, Dulcinea must be 
 enchanted; and Don Quixote, for not being sure of the 
 truth of what had happened to him in Montesinos' cave. 
 While he stood wrapped up in these cogitations, the 
 duke said to him, " Does your worship, Signer Don 
 Quixote, design to wait here?" "Why not?" answered 
 he: " here will I wait, intrepid and courageous, though 
 all hell should come to assault me." " Now for my 
 part," quoth Sancho, u I will no more stay here, to see 
 another devil, and hear another such horn, than I would 
 in Flanders." 
 
 The night now grew darker, and numberless lights be- 
 gan to run about the wood, like those dry exhalations 
 from the earth, which, glancing along the sky, seem to
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 our sight as shooting stars. There was heard likewise a 
 dreadful noise, like that caused by the ponderous wheels 
 of an ox-Avaggon, from whose harsh and continued creak- 
 ing, it is said, wolves and bears fly away, ifthere chance 
 to be any within hearing. To all this confusion was ad- 
 ded another, which augmented the whole ; which was, 
 that it seemed as if there were four engagements, or bat- 
 tles, at the four quarters of the wood, all at once : for 
 here sounded the dreadful noise of artillery ; there were 
 discharged infinite vollies of small shot ; the shouts of the 
 combatants seemed to be near at hand ; the Moorish 
 Lelilies were heard at a distance. In short, the cornets, 
 horns, clarions, trumpets, drums, cannon, muskets, and 
 above all, the frightful creaking of the waggons, fonned 
 all together so confused and horrid a din, that Don Quix- 
 ote had need of all his courage to be able to bear it. But 
 Sancho's quite failed him, and he fell down in a swoon 
 upon the train of the duchess's robe, who presently or- 
 dered cold water to be thrown in his face ; which being 
 done, he recovered his senses at the instant one of the 
 creaking waggons arrived at that stand. It was drawn 
 by four lazy oxen, all covered with black palls, and a 
 large burning torch of wax fastened to each horn. At the 
 top of the waggon was fixed an exalted seat, on which sat 
 a venerable old man, with a beard whiter than snow it- 
 >r If, and so long, that it reached below his girdle. His 
 vestment was a long gown of black buckram : for the 
 waggon was so illuminated, that one might easily discern 
 and distinguish whatever was in it. The drivers were 
 two ugly devils, habited in the same buckram, and of 
 such hideous aspect, that Sancho, having once seen them, 
 shut his eyes close, that he might not see them a second 
 time. The waggon being now come close up to the 
 place, the venerable sire raised himself from his lofty 
 scat, and, standing upon his feet, with a loud voice he
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 297 
 
 Said, " I am the sage Lirgandeo:" and the waggon went 
 forward without his speaking another word. After this 
 there passed another waggon In the same manner, with 
 another old man enthroned ; who, making the waggon 
 stop with a voice as solemn as the other's, said, " I am 
 the sage Alquife, the great friend to Urganda the Un^ 
 known ;" and passed on. Then advanced another wag- 
 gon with the same pace : but he who was seated on the 
 throne was not an old man like the two former, but a ro- 
 bust and ill-favoured fellow, who, when he came near, 
 standing up, as the rest had done, said, with a voice 
 more hoarse and more diabolical, " I am Arcalaus the 
 enchanter, mortal enemy of Amadis de Gaul and all his 
 kindred;" and on he went. These three waggons halted 
 at a little distance, and the irksome jarring noise of their 
 wheels ceased ; and presently was heard another, but not 
 noisy sound, composed of sweet and regular music ; at 
 which Sancho was much rejoiced, and took it for a good 
 sign ; and therefore he said to the duchess, from whom 
 he had not stirred an inchj " Where there is music, ma- 
 dam, there can be no harm." u Nor where there are 
 lights and brightness," answered the duchess. To which 
 Sancho replied, " The fire may give light) and bonfires 
 may be bright, as we see by those that surround us, and 
 yet we may very easily be burnt by them : but music is 
 always a sign of feasting and merriment." " That we 
 shall see presently," said Don Quixote, who listened to 
 all that was said : and he said right, as is shown in the 
 following chapter* 
 
 VOL. n.
 
 f98 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAP. XXXV. 
 
 Wherein is continued the Account of the method pre- 
 scribed to Don Quixote for the disenchanting Dttl- 
 cinea, with other wonderful Events. 
 
 IvEEPING exact time with the agreeable music, they 
 perceived advancing towards them one of those cars they 
 call triumphal, drawn by six gray mules, covered with 
 white linen ; and mounted upon eacli of them came a pe- 
 nitent of the light 57 , clothed also in white, and a great 
 wax torch lighted in his hand. The car was thrice as big 
 as any of the former, and the sides and top were occupied 
 by twelve other penitents as white as snow, and all car- 
 rying lighted torches ; a sight which at once caused ad- 
 miration and affright. Upon an elevated throne sat a 
 nymph clad in a thousand veils of silver tissue, bespan- 
 gled with numberless leaves of gold tinsel ; which made 
 her. appear, if not very rich, yet very gorgeous. Her 
 face was covered with a transparent delicate tiffany ; so 
 that without any impediment from its threads or plaits, 
 you might discover through it the face of a very beauti- 
 ful damsel ; and the multitude of lights gave an oppor- 
 tunity of distinguishing her beauty, and her age, which 
 seemed not to reach twenty years, nor to be under seven- 
 teen. Close by her sat a figure arrayed in a gown like a 
 robe of state, down to the feet, and his head covered with 
 a black veil. The moment the car came opposite the 
 spot where the duke and duchess and Don Quixote stood, 
 the music of the attendants ceased, and presently after the 
 harps and lutes, which played in the car; and the figure 
 in the gown standing up, and throwing open the robe, 
 and taking the veil from off his face, discovered plainly
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 the very figure and skeleton of Death, so ugly, that Don 
 Quixote was startled, and Sancho affrighted at it, and 
 the duke and duchess made a show of some timorous con- 
 cern. This living Death, raised and standing up, with a 
 voice somewhat drowsy, and a tongue not quite awake, 
 began in the following manner : 
 
 * 
 
 Merlin I am, imscnH'dthe devil's son 
 In lying annals, authoriz'd by time; 
 Monarch supreme and great depositary 
 Of magic art and Zoroastic skill ; 
 Rival of envious ages, that would hide 
 The glorious deeds of errant cavaliers, 
 Favour'd by me, and my peculiar charge. 
 Though vile enchanters still on mischief bent. 
 To plague mankind their baleful art employ, 
 Merlin's soft nature, ever prone to good, 
 fiispow'r inclines to bless the human race. 
 
 In hell's dark chambers, where my busied ghost 
 Was forming spells and mystic character?, 
 Dulcinea's voice (peerless Tobosian maid) 
 With mournful accents reach'd my pitying ears. 
 I knew her woe, her metamorphos'd form, 
 From high-born beauty in a palace grac'd, 
 To the loath'd features of a cottage wench. 
 With sympathising grief I straight rcvolv'd 
 The numerous tomes of my detested art, 
 And, in the hollow of this skeleton 
 My soul inclosing, hither am I come, 
 To fell the cure of such uncommon ills. 
 
 O glory thou of all that -case their limbs 
 In polish'd steel and fenccful adamant, 
 Light, beacon, polar star, and glorious guide. 
 Of all, who, starting from the lazy down, 
 Banish ignoble sleep for the rude toil 
 And hardy exercise of errant arms; 
 Spain's boasted pride, La Mancha's matchless knight, 
 Whose valiant deeds outstrip pursuing fame ! 
 Would'st thou to beauty's pristine state restore 
 Th'enchanted dame, Sancho, thy faithful squire, 
 Q <J2
 
 300 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Must to his brawny buttocks, bare eipos'd, 
 Three thousand and three hundred stripes apply, 
 Such as may sting, and give him smarting pain. 
 The authors of her change have thus decreed. 
 And this is Merlin's errand from the shades. 
 
 " I vow to God," quoth Sanclio at this period, " I say 
 Hot three thousand, but I will as soon give myself three 
 stabs as three lashes: the devil take this way of disen-. 
 chanting? I cannot see what my buttocks have to do with 
 enchantments. Before God, if Signer Merlin cq,n find 
 out no other way to disenchant the Lady Dulcinea del 
 Toboso, enchanted she may go to her grave for me." 
 " I shall take you, Don Peasant stuft with garlic," cried 
 Don Quixote, (i and tie you to a tree, naked as your mo- 
 ther bore you, and I say not three thousand and three 
 hundred, but six thousand six hundred lashes will I give 
 you, and those so well laid on, that you shall not be able 
 to let them off at three thousand three hundred hard tugs : 
 so answer me not a word ; for I will tear out your very 
 soul." Merlin hearing this, said, "It must not be so; 
 for the lashes that honest Sancho is to receive must be 
 with his good-will,, and not by force, and at what time he 
 pleases; for there is no terra set : but he is allowed, if he 
 pleases, to save himself the pain of one half of this flog- 
 ging, by suffering the other half to be laid on by another 
 hand, although it be somewhat weighty." " Neither 
 another's hand, nor my own^ nor one weighty, nor to be 
 weighed, shall touch me," quoth Sancho : " did I biing 
 forth the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso that my posteciors 
 must pay for the transgressions of her eyes ? My master, 
 indeed, who is part of her, since at every step he is call- 
 ing her his life, his soul, his support, and stay, he can, 
 and ought, to lash himself for her, and take all the neces- 
 sary measures for her disenchantment : but for me to. 
 whip myself^ I pronounce it."
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 301 
 
 Scarcely Lad Sancho said this, when the silvered 
 nymph, who sat close by the shade of Merlin, standing 
 up, and throwing aside her thin veil, discovered her 
 face, in every one's opinion more than excessively beau- 
 tiful : and with a manly assurance, and no very amiable 
 voice, addressing herself directly to Sancho Panza, she 
 said, " O unlucky squire! soul of a pitcher! heart of a 
 cork-tree! and of bowels full of gravel and flints! had 
 you been bid, nose-slitting thief, to throw yourself head- 
 long from some high tower ; had you been desired, ene- 
 my of human kind, to eat a dozen of toads, two of lizards, 
 and three of snakes ; had any body endeavoured to per- 
 suade you to kill your wife and children with some bloody 
 and sharp scimitar ; no wonder if you had betrayed an 
 unwillingness and aversion: but to make a stir about 
 three thousand three hundred lashes, which every puny 
 schoolboy receives every month, it amazes, stupifies. and 
 affrights, the tender bowels of all who hear it, and even 
 of all who shall hereafter be told it. Cast, miserable and 
 hard-hearted animal, cast, I say, those huge goggle eyes 
 of thine upon the balls of mine, compared to glittering 
 stars, and you will see them weep, drop after drop, and 
 stream after stream, making furrows, tracks, and paths, 
 down the beauteous fields of my cheeks. Relent, sub- 
 tile and ill-intentioned monster, at my blooming youth, 
 still in its teens, for I am past nineteen, and not quite 
 twenty, pining and withering under the bark of a coarse 
 country wench: and, if at this time I appear otherwise, 
 it is by the particular favour of Signor Merlin here pre- 
 sent, merely that my charms may soften you ; for the 
 tears of afflicted beauty turn rocks into cotton, and tigers 
 into lambs. Lash, untamed beast, lash that brawny flesh 
 of thine, and rouse from base sloth that courage which 
 only inclines you to eat, and eat again; and set at liberty 
 the sleekness of my skin, the gentleness of my temper,.
 
 .;02 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 and the beauty of my face; and if, for my sake, you 
 will not be mollified, nor come to any reasonable terms, 
 be so for the sake of that poor knight there by your side ; 
 your master, I mean, whose soul I see sticking crosswise 
 in his throat, not ten inches from his lips, expecting no- 
 thing but your rigid or mild answer, either to jump out 
 of his mouth, or to return to his stomach." 
 
 Don Quixote, hearing this, put his finger to his throat 
 to feel, and, turning to the duke, said, " Before God, 
 sir, Dulcinea has said the truth ; for here I feel my soul 
 sticking in my throat like the stopper of a cross-bow." 
 " What say you to this, Sancho?" cried the duchess. 
 " I say, madam," answered Sancho, " what I have al- 
 ready said, that, as to the lashes, I pronounce them." 
 " Renounce, you should say, Sancho," replied the duke, 
 " and not pronounce." " Please your grandeur to let me 
 alone," answered Sancho ; " for at present I cannot stand 
 to mind niceties, nor a letter more or less; for these 
 lashes, -which are to be given me, or I must give myself, 
 keep me so disturbed, that I know not what I say, or 
 what I do. But one thing I would fain know from the 
 Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, where she learned the way of 
 entreaty she uses. She comes to desire me to tear my 
 flesh with stripes, and at the same time calls me soul of a 
 pitcher and untamed beast, with such a bead-roll of ill 
 names, that the devil may bear them for me. Wkat! 
 does she think my flesh is made of brass ? Or is it any 
 thing to me whether she be disenchanted or no ? Instead 
 of bringing a basket of fine linen, shirts, night-caps, and 
 socks, though I wear none, to mollify me, here is no- 
 thing but reproach upon reproach, when she might have 
 known the common proverb, that An ass loaden Kith gold 
 mounts nimbly up the hill; and, Presents break rocks ; 
 and, Pray to God devoutly , and hammer on stoutly / and, 
 One take is i&rth two /'// give thee's- Then my master.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 303 
 
 instead of wheedling and coaxing me, to make myself of 
 wool and carded cotton, says, if he takes me in hand, he 
 will tie me naked with a rope to a tree, and double me 
 the dose of stripes. Besides, these compassionate gen- 
 tlefolks ought to consider, that they do not only desire 
 to have a squire whipped, but a governor, as if it were, 
 like drinking after cherries, a thing of course. Let them 
 learn, let them learn, in an ill hour, how to ask and en- 
 treat, and to have breeding ; for all times are not alike, 
 nor are men always in a good humour. I am at this time 
 just ready to burst with grief to see my green jacket 
 torn ; and people come to desire me to whip myself of 
 my own good-will ; I having as little mind to it as to turn 
 Indian Prince." " In truth, friend Sancho," said the 
 duke, " if you do not relent, and become softer than a 
 ripe fig, you finger no government. It were good indeed, 
 that I should send my islanders a cruel flinty-hearted 
 governor ; one who relents not at the tears of afflicted 
 damsels, nor at the entreaties of wise, awful, and ancient, 
 enchanters and sages. In short, Sancho, either you 
 must whip yourself, or let others whip you, or be no 
 governor." u My lord," answered Sancho, " may J 
 not be allowed two days to consider what is best for me 
 to do?" " No," answered Merlin: " here, at this 
 instant, and upon this spot, the business must be settled ; 
 or Dulcinea must return to Montesinos' cave, and to her 
 former condition of a country wench ; or else in her 
 present form be carried to the Elysian fields, where she 
 must wait till the number of the lashes be fulfilled." 
 <( Come, honest Sancho," said the duchess, " be of good 
 cheer, and show gratitude for the bread you have eaten 
 of your master Don Quixote's, whom we are all bound 
 to serve for his good qualities and his high chivalries. 
 Say, Yes, son, to this whipping bout, and the devil
 
 304 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 take the devil, and let the wretched fear ; for a good 
 heart breaks bad fortune, as you well know." 
 
 To these words Sancho answered with these extrava- 
 gancies; for, speaking to Merlin, he said : " Pray tell 
 me, Signer Merlin : the court-devil, who came hither, 
 delivered my master a message from Signer Montesinos, 
 bidding him wait for him here, for he was coming to give 
 directions about the disenchantment of the Lady Dulcinea 
 del Toboso ; and to this hour we have neither seen Mon- 
 tesinos, nor any likeness of his : pray, where is he ?" 
 To which Merlin answered : " The devil, friend Sancho, 
 is a blockhead, and a very great rascal ; I sent him in 
 quest of your master, witli a message, not from Mon- 
 tesinos, but from me ; for Montesinos is still in his cave, 
 plotting, or, to say better, expecting his disenchantment ; 
 for the worst is still behind : if he owes you aught, or 
 you have any business with him, I will fetch him hither, 
 and set him wherever you think fit ; and therefore 
 come to a conclusion, and say Yes to this discipline ; 
 and, believe me, it will do you much good, as well for 
 your soul as your body : for your soul, in regard of the 
 charity with which you will perform it ; for your 
 body, because I know you to be of a sanguine complexion, 
 and letting out a little blood can do you no harm." 
 " What a number of doctors there are in the world I 
 the very enchanters are doctors," replied Sancho. 
 u But since every body tells me so, though I see no 
 reason for it myself, I say, I am contented to give myself 
 the three thousand three hundred lashes, upon condition 
 that I may lay them on whenever I please, without 
 being tied to days or times; and I will endeavour to 
 get out of debt the soonest that I possibly can, that the 
 world may enjoy the beauty of the Lady Dulcinea del 
 Toboso, since, contrary to what I thought, it seems she
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 305 
 
 is in reality beautiful. I article likewise, that I 
 not be bound to draw blood with the whip, and if some 
 lashes happen only to fly-flap, they shall be taken into 
 the account. Item, if I should mistake in the reckoning, 
 Signor Merlin, who knows , every thing, shall keep the 
 account, and give me notice how many I want, or have 
 exceeded." " As for exceeding*, there is no need of 
 keeping account," answered Merlin ; " for, as soon as 
 you arrive at the complete number, the Lady Dulcinea 
 delToboso Avill be instantly disenchanted, and will: come, 
 in a most grateful manner, to seek honest Sancho, to 
 thank, and even reward, him for the good deed done. 
 So that there need be no scruple about the surplusscs or 
 deficiencies ; and Heaven forbid I should cheat any body 
 of so much as a hair of their head." "Go to then, in 
 God's name," quoth Sancho; " I submit to my ill for- 
 tune; I say, I accept of the penance upon the conditions 
 stipulated." 
 
 Scarcely had Sancho uttered these words, when the 
 music struck up, and a world of muskets were again 
 discharged ; and Don Quixote clung about Sancho's 
 neck, giving him a thousand kisses on the forehead and 
 cheeks. The duke and duchess, and all the by-standers, 
 gave signs of being mightly pleased, and the car began 
 to move on ; and, in passing by, the fair Dulcinea 
 bowed her head to the duke and duchess, and made a 
 low courtesy to Saucho. By this time the cheerful and 
 joyous dawn came apace ; the flowrets of the field ex- 
 panded their fragrant bosoms, and erected their heads ; 
 and the liquid crystals of the brooks, murmuring 
 through the white and gray pebbles, went to pay their 
 tribute to the rivers, that expected them. The earth 
 rejoiced, the sky was clear, and the air serene ; each 
 singly, and altogether, giving manifest tokens, that the 
 day, which trod upon Aurora's heels, would be fair 
 
 VOL. ii. R R
 
 306 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 and clear. The duke and duchess, being satisfied *ith 
 the sport, and having executed their design so inge- 
 niously and happily, returned to their castle, with an 
 intention of seconding their jest ; since nothing real 
 could afford them more pleasure. 
 
 CHAP. XXXVI. 
 
 Wherein is related the strange and never imagined 
 Adventure of the afflicted Matron, alias the Conntes<- 
 of Trifaldi, Kith a Letter written by Sancho Pan-ct 
 to his zcife Teresa Panza. 
 
 1 HE duke had a steward, of a very pleasant and face- 
 tious wit, who represented Merlin, and contrived the 
 whole apparatus of the late adventure, composed the 
 verges, and made a page act Dulcincn. And now, with 
 the duke and duchess's leave, he prepared another 
 scene, of the pleasantest and strangest contrivance 
 imaginable. 
 
 The next day the duchess asked Sancho, whether he 
 begun the task of the penance he was to do for 
 disenchanting- -of Dulcincn. He said he had r ami 
 had given himself five lashes that night. The duchess 
 desired to know, with what he had given them. He 
 answered witli the palm of his hand. " That," re> 
 plied the duchess, " is rather clapping than whipping, 
 and I am of opinion, Signor Merlin will hardly be 
 contented at so easy a rate. Honest Sancho must get 
 a rod made of briers, or of whipcord, that the lashes 
 may befclt: for letter* written in blood stand good, and
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 307 
 
 _/ 
 
 the liberty of so great a lady as Dulcinea is not to be 
 purchased so easily, or at so low a price. And take 
 notice, Sancho, that works of charity, done faintly and 
 coldly, lose their merit, and signify nothing." To 
 which Sancho answered : " Give me then, madam, some 
 rod, or convenient bough, and I will whip myself with 
 it, provided it do not smart too much : for I would have 
 your ladyship know, that, though I am a clown, my 
 flesh has more of the cotton than of the rush, and there 
 is no reason I should hurt myself for other folk's good." 
 " You say well," answered the duchess ; u to-morrow 
 I will give you a whip, which shall suit you exactly, 
 and agree with the tenderness of your flesh, as if it were 
 its own brother." To which Sancho said: " Your 
 highness must know, dear lady of my soul, that I have 
 written a letter to my wife Teresa Panza, giving her an 
 account of all that has befallen 4 me, since I parted from 
 her.: here I have it in my bosom, and it wants nothing 
 but the superscription. I wish your discretion would 
 read it; for methinks it runs as becomes a governor, I 
 mean, in the manner that governors ought to write." 
 u And who indeed it ?" demanded the duchess. " Who 
 should indite it, but I myself, sinner as I am ?" answered 
 Sancho. " And did you write it?" said the duchess. 
 " No indeed," answered Sancho ; "for I oan neither 
 read nor write, though I can set my mark." " Let us 
 see it," said the duchess; <c for no doubt you show in 
 it the quality and sufficiency of your genius." Sancho 
 pulled an open letter out of his boson ; and the duchess, 
 taking it in her hand, saw as follows : 
 
 Sancko Panto's Letter to his Wife Teresa Panza. 
 
 " If I have been finely lashed, I have been finely 
 mounted : if I have got a good government, it has eost
 
 DON QUIXOTE, 
 me maaj good fashes. This, my dear Teresa. 
 
 ride ia joar coach, which is aumcakit to the purpose; 
 for all other ways of goiag are cree^ag upon aO fours 
 Mfce a cat. Yom shaft be a governor's wife ; see them, 
 whether aay body wffl tread OB Toarheek. I 
 
 which my lady 
 
 that it may serve our daashter for a 
 They say ia this carnally, my 
 ; is a seassole ssadusaa aad a ipleasamt 
 tool, ami lam mtt a whit short of him. WehaTebeen 
 cave, ami Ac sage Media has pitched 
 for the dke*eaaatia? of DoJciaea del Toboso, 
 a ho, amoag- yoa, is called 4htoaia Loreaao. Wkh 
 three thoasaad aad three handled lashes, 
 that I am to give myself she will be as 
 raimrd as the mathrr that bore her. Su 
 tak to aay body ; for to give covasel aboat what k yonr 
 owa, aad OK will cry, 'It k white,' aaother, It k 
 A few days heace I shaft 
 I go with am eager desire to 
 lamto^aUaewgoraarcgowiththe 
 
 I will feel it* pdkc,amd sead yom word whether 
 bewiihmeorao. DappfekwelL^aad 
 ceads hk hearfy service to yom: laoaotmteadtoleavehim 
 thoa^hl wereto be aade the great Tmrk. 
 mymktress, kkses yoar haads a ; 
 
 asmy master says, thaa camplbaeats f crrflify. God 
 has aot beew pleased to bless me with mathirr portmaa. 
 team, aad laathrr haadacd crowas, asoacc beakg; bat 
 bemao paia, mj dear Teresa; for he, that has the re- 
 piqpeiahaad, i* saJe, aad all wiQ out ia the bvckmg of 
 the |mi i !!. Oaly aaethjjtjtrodblesme; for I am
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 told, if I once try it, I doll eat my very ingeai after 
 it: and, if so, it would be no very good bargain; 
 thongh the crippled and fcune in their hands enjoy a fcbd 
 of pett y-canonry in the aha* they recei ve : so that, by 
 one means or other, yon are sore to be rich and happy. 
 God make you j as he easily can, and keep me to serve 
 you. 
 
 Your Husband, the Con 
 
 
 The duchess, baring read the fetter, said to Saacho : 
 In two thagsthe good governor ii a little oat of the 
 way : the one, in saying, or iaiinHilin^, that this go- 
 vernment is given him on account of the liihnr he is to 
 give himself; whcic** he knows, and cannot deny it, 
 that, wbenmy lord dnkepionised it him, nobody dFean- 
 ed of any such thing as lashes in the work! ? the other i?, 
 that he show hiawrif in it very uoytlmn* ; and I woold 
 r,:-: hsv;- bir:i be irri^irc: :":r arsrir.e Wtak :ie bs.r. ar>d 
 the covetous governor does nngmnedjnstice."-- lWt 
 is not ray meaning, madam,' 1 mini 11 d Sandho; "and 
 if yonr faMryship thinks this letter does not ran as it shonld 
 do, il is bat tearing 1 it, and writing a new one, and per- 
 haps it may prove a worse if it be left to my noddle 
 "No. no." irplied the duchess; " this is a very good 
 one, andlwillhaTethednkeseeiL" 
 
 They then -vent to a garden where they were to dine 
 that day, and the duchess shoved Sanchos letter to the 
 duke, who was highly diverted with iL They dined, and, 
 afur the cloth was taken awav. and they had entertained 
 ihcimcln.fc a good while wkh Snmrho^sii liihinft t*m\ ersa- 
 , on a sodden they heard the dismal sound of a ffe,
 
 510 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 and also that of a hoarse arid unbraced drum. They all 
 discovered some surprise at the confused, martial, and 
 doleful, harmony ; especially Don Quixote, who could 
 not contain himself in his seat through pure emotion. As 
 for Sancho, it is enough to say, that fear carried him to 
 his usual refug, which was the duchess's side, or the 
 skirts of her petticoat: for the sound they heard was 
 really and truly most horrid and melancholy. And, 
 while they were thus in suspense, they perceived two men 
 enter the garden, clad in mourning robes so long and 
 extended, that they trailed upon the ground. They came 
 beating two great drums, covered also with black. By 
 their side came the fife, black and frightful like the rest. 
 These three were followed by a personage of gigantic sta- 
 ture, not clad, but mantled about, witli a robe of the 
 blackest dye, the train of which was of a monstrous 
 length. This robe was girt about with a broad black 
 belt, at which there hung an unmeasurablc scimitar in a 
 black scabbard. His face was covered with a transparent 
 black veil, through which appeared a prodigious long 
 beard as white as snow. He marched to the sound of the 
 drums with much gravity and composure. In short, his 
 huge bulk, his stateliness, his blackness, and his attend- 
 ants, might very well surprise, as they did, all who be- 
 held him, and were not in the secret. Thus he came, 
 with the state and appearance aforesaid, and kneeled 
 down before the duke, who, with the rest, received him 
 standing. But the duke would in no wise suffer him to 
 speak till he rose up. The monstrous spectre did so : 
 and, as soon as he was upon his feet, he lifted up his 
 veil, and exposed to view the horridest, the longest, 
 the whitest, and best-furnished, beard, that human eyes 
 till then had ever beheld ; and straight he sent forth from 
 his broad and ample breast a voice grave and sonorous : 
 and, fixing his eyes on the duke, he said : " Most
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 311 
 
 mighty and puissant sir, I am called Trifaldin of the 
 White Beard : I am squire to the Countess Trifaldi, 
 otherwise called the Afflicted Matron, from whom J bring 
 your grandeurs a message; which is, that your magni- 
 ficence would be pleased to give her permission and leave 
 to enter and tell her distress, which is one of the newest 
 and most wonderful that the most distressed thought in 
 the world could ever have imagined : but, first, she de- 
 sires to know, whether the valorous and invincible Don 
 Quixote de la Mancha resides in this your castle; in 
 quest of whom she is come on foot, and without breaking 
 her fast, from the kingdom of Candaya to this your terri- 
 tory ; a thing which may and ought to be considered as a 
 miracle, or ascribed to the force of enchantment. She waits 
 at the door of this fortress or country-house, and only stays 
 for your good pleasure to come in." Having said this, he 
 hemmed, and stroked his beard from top to bottom with 
 both his hands, and with much tranquillity stood expecting 
 the duke's answer, which was, " It is now many days, 
 iionest Squire Trifaldin of the White Beard, since we have 
 had notice of the misfortune of my lady the Countess Tri- 
 ialdi, whom the enchanters have occasioned to be called the 
 Afflicted Matron. Tell her, stupendous squire, she may 
 enter, and that the valiant knight Don Quixote de la 
 Mancha is here, from whose generous disposition she 
 may safely promise herself all kind of aid and assistance. 
 Tell her also from me, that if my favour be necessary, it 
 shall not be wanting, sjnce I am bound to it by being a 
 knight ; for to such it particularly belongs to protect all 
 sorts of women, especially injured and afflicted matrons, 
 such as her ladyship." Trifaldin, hearing this, bent a 
 knee to the ground, and making a sign to the fife and 
 drums to play, he walked out of the garden to the same 
 tune, and with the same solemnity as he came in, leaving 
 every one in wonder at his figure and deportment.
 
 312 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 The duke then, turning to Don Quixote, said, " In 
 short, renowned knight, neither the clouds of malice, 
 nor those of ignorance, can hide or obscure the light of 
 valour and virtue. This I say, because it is hardly six 
 days, that your goodness has been in this castle, when, 
 behold, the sorrowful and afllicted are already come in 
 quest of you, from far distant and remote countries, and 
 not in coaches, or upon dromedaries, but on foot, and 
 fasting, trusting they shall find, in that strenuous arm 
 of yours, the remedy for their troubles and distresses: 
 thanks to your grand exploits, which run and spread 
 themselves over the whole face of the earth." " I wish 
 my lord duke," answered Don Quixote, " that the same 
 ecclesiastic, w ho the other day expressed so much ill will 
 and so great a grudge to knights-errant, were now here, 
 that he might see with his eyes, whether or no such 
 knights as those are necessary in. the world : at least he 
 would be made sensible, that the extraordinarily afflicted 
 and disconsolate, in great cases, and in enormous mis- 
 haps, do not fly for a remedy to the houses of scholars, 
 nor to those of country parish-priests, nor to tho cavalier, 
 w ho never thinks of stirring from his own town, nor to the 
 lazy courtier, who rather inquires after news to tell again 
 than endeavours to perform actions and exploits for others 
 to relate or write of him. Remedy for distress, relief in 
 necessities, protection of damsels, and consolation of 
 widows, are no where so readily to be found, as among 
 knights-errant ; and that I am one, I give infinite thanks 
 to heaven, and shall not repine at any hardship or trou- 
 ble that can befal me in so honourable an exercise. Let 
 this matron come, and make what request she pleases : 
 for I will commit her redress to the force of my arm, and 
 the intrepid resolution of my courageous spirit."
 
 DON QUIXOTE, 313 
 
 CHAP. XXXVII. 
 
 In which is continued the famous Adventure of the af- 
 Jlicled Matron. 
 
 I HE duke and duchess were extremely deliglited to see 
 how well Don Quixote answered their expectation ; and 
 here Sancho said, " I should be loth that this madam 
 duenna should lay any stumbling-block in the ,way of my 
 promised government; for I have heard an apothecary or 
 Toledo, who talked like ajiy goldfinch, say, that, where* 
 duennas have to do, no good thing can ere ensue. Odds 
 my life ! what an enemy was that apothecary to them t 
 and therefore, since all duennas are troublesome and im- 
 pertinent, of what quality or condition soever they be y 
 what must the afllicted be, as they say this same Countess 
 Three-skirts or Three-tails is ? for in my country, skirts- 
 and tails, and tails and skirts, are all one." " Peace,, 
 friend Sancho," said Don Quixote : "for, since this lady- 
 duenna comes in quest of me from so remote a country > 
 she cannot be one of those the apothecary has in his list, 
 JJesides, this is a countess; and when countesses serve as 
 duennas, it must be as attendants upon queens and em- 
 presses ; for in their own houses they command, and are 
 served by other duennas." To this Donna Rodriguez, 
 who was present, answered, " My lady duchess has 
 duennas in her service, who might have been countesses, 
 if fortune had pleased ; but laws go on kings' errands ; 
 and let no one speak ill'of duennas, especially of the an- 
 cient maiden one ; for though I am not of that number, 
 yet I well know and clearly perceive the advantage a 
 maiden duenna has over a widow duenna ; though a pair 
 of sheers cut us all out of the same piece." ; " For all 
 voi. n> s s
 
 S14 DON QUIXOTE, 
 
 that," replied Sanclio, " there is still so much to be 
 sheered about your duennas, as my barber tells me, that 
 it is better not to stir the rice, though it burn to the pot." 
 " These squires," said Donna Rodriguez, " are always 
 our enemies ; and as they are a kind of fairies that haunt 
 the antichambers, and spy us at every turn, the hours 
 they are not at tfaeir beads, which are not a few, they 
 employ in speaking ill of us, unburying our bones ami 
 burying our reputations. But let me tell these moving 
 blocks, that, in spite of their teeth, we shall live in the 
 world, and in the best families too, though we starve for 
 it, and cover our delicate or not delicate bodies with a 
 black weed, as people cover a dunghill with a piece of 
 tapestry on a procession-day. In faith, if I might, and 
 had time, I would make all here present, and all the 
 world besides, know, that there is no virtue but is con- 
 tained in a duenna." <J I am of opinion," said the duch- 
 ess, " that my good Donna Rodriguez is in the right, 
 and very much so : but she must wait for a fit opportunity 
 to stand up for herself, and the rest of the duennas, to 
 Confound the ill opinion of that wicked apothecary, and 
 root out that which the great Sancho has in his breast."' 
 To which Sancho answered, " Ever since the fumes of 
 government have got into my head, I have lost the me- 
 grims of squireship, and care not a fig for all the duennas 
 in the world/' 
 
 This dialogue about duennas would have continued* 
 Lad they not heard the drum and fife strike up again ; by 
 which they Understood the alHictcd matron was just en- 
 tering. The duchess asked the duke whether it was not 
 proper to go and meet her, since she was a countess, and 
 a person of quality." " As she is a coufttess,'* quoth 
 Sancho, before the duke could answer, "it is very lit 
 your grandeurs should go to receive her ; but, as she is a. 
 duenna, I am of opinion you should not slir a step."
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 315 
 
 " Who bid you intermeddle in this matter, Sancho ?" 
 said Don Quixote. " Who, sir ?" answered Sancho : 
 " I myself, who have a right to intermeddle as a squire, 
 that has learned the rules of courtesy in the school of your 
 worship, who is the best-bred knight courtesy ever pro- 
 duced : and in these matters, as I have heard your wor- 
 ship say, one may as well lose the game by a card too 
 much as a card too little ; and a word to the wise." " It 
 is even as Sancho says," added the duke : "we shall soon 
 see what kind of a countess this is, and by that we shall 
 judge what courtesy is due to her." And now the drums 
 and fife entered, as they did the first time. And here the 
 author ended this short chapter, and began another witty 
 the continuation of the same adventure, being one of the 
 most notable in the history. 
 
 CHAP. XXXVIII. 
 
 In xhich an Account is ghen of the afflicted Matron's 
 Misfortune. 
 
 .AFTER the doleful music there began to enter the gar- 
 den twelve duennas, divided into two files, all clad in 
 large mourning habits, seemingly of milled serge, with 
 white veils of thin muslin, so long, that only the border 
 of the robe appeared. After these came the Countess 
 Trifaldi, whom squire Trifaldin of the White Beard led 
 by the hand. She was clad in a robe of the finest serge ; 
 each grain of which, had it been napped, would have 
 been of the size of a good rounceval-pea. The train, or 
 tail, (call it which you will,) was divided into three cor- 
 
 S 8 
 
 o
 
 316 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 s 
 
 ners, supported by three pages, clad also in mourning 1 , 
 making a sightly and mathematical figure, with the three 
 acute angles, formed by the three corners ; from which 
 all that saw them concluded, she was from thence called 
 the Countess Trifaldi, as much as to say, the Countess of 
 the Three Skirts : and Benengeli says, that was the 
 truth of the matter, and that her right title was the Count- 
 ess Lobuna, because that earldom produced abundance 
 of wolves; and, had they been foxes instead of wolves, 
 she would have been stiled Countess Zorruna, it being 
 the custom in those parts for great persons to take their 
 titles from the thing or things with which their country 
 TOost abounded. But this countess, in favour of the new 
 cut of her train, quitted that of Lobuna, and took that 
 of Trifaldi. The twelve duennas, with the lady, ad- 
 vanced a procession pace, their faces covered with black 
 veils, and not transparent like Trifaldi's, but so close 
 that nothing could be seen through them. Now, upon 
 the appearance of this squadron of duennas, the duke, 
 duchess, and Don Quixote, rose from their seats, as did 
 all the rest who beheld this grand procession. The 
 twelve duennas halted and made a lane through which 
 the Afflicted advanced without Trifaldin's letting go her 
 Land : which the duke, duchess, and Don Quixote, 
 seeing, they stepped forward about a dozen paces to re- 
 ceive her. She, kneeling on the ground, with a voice 
 rather harsh and coarse than fine and delicate, said : 
 *' May it please your grandeurs to spare condescending 
 to do so great a courtesy to this your valet ; I mean your 
 liandmaid : for such is my affliction that I shall not be 
 able to answer as I ought, because niy strange and un- 
 heard-of misfortune has carried away my understanding 
 .1 know not whither ; and sure it must be a vast way off, 
 since the more I seek it the less I find it." " He would 
 want it, lady countess," replied the duke, who could
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 317 
 
 not judge of your worth by your person, which, without 
 seeing any more, merits the whole "cream of courtesy, 
 and the whole flower of well-bred ceremonies." And, 
 raising her by the hand, he led her to a chair close by 
 the duchess, who also received her with much civility. 
 Don Quixote held his peace, and Sancho was dying with 
 impatience to see the face of the Trifaldi, or of some one 
 of hej many duennas : but it was not possible till they of 
 their own accord unveiled themselves. 
 
 Now all keeping silence, and in expectation who 
 should break it, the Afflicted Matron began in these 
 words : u Confident I am, most mighty lord, most beau- 
 tiful lady, and most discreet bystanders, that my most 
 miserableness will find in your most valorous breasts a 
 protection no less placid than generous and dolorous : 
 for such it is, as is sufficient to mollify marbles, soften 
 diamonds, and melt the steel of the hardest hearts in the 
 world. But, before it ventures on the public stage ot 
 your hearing, not to say of your ears, I should be glad 
 to be informed, whether the refinedissimo knight, Don 
 Quixote de la Manchissima, and his squirissimo Panza, 
 foe in this bosom, circle, or company." " Panza," said 
 Sancho, before any body else could answer, (( is here, 
 and also Don- Quixotissimo ; and therefore, Afflictedis- 
 sima Matronissima, say what you have a mindissima ; 
 for we are all ready and preparedissimos to be your ser- 
 vitorissimos." Upon this Don Quixote stood up, and 
 directing his discourse to the Afflicted Matron, said : " If 
 your distresses, afflicted lady, can promise themselves 
 any remedy from the valour or fortitude of a knight- 
 errant, behold mine, which, though weak and scant}', 
 shall all be employed in your service. I am Don Quixote 
 de la Mancha, whose function is to succour the distressed 
 of all sorts ; and this being so, as it really is, you need 
 jaotj madam, bespeak good will, nor have recourse to
 
 3JS DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 preambles, but plainly and without circumlocution 
 fell your griefs : for you arc within hearing of those, 
 IT ho know how to compassionate, if not to redress them." 
 The Afflicted Matron hearing this, made a show as if she 
 would prostrate herself at Don Quixote's feet ; and ac- 
 tually did o ; and struggling to kiss them, said : <{ I 
 prostrate myself, O invincible knight ! before these feet 
 and legs, as the basis and pillars of knight-ermntry : 
 these feet will I kiss, on whose steps the whole remedy 
 of my misfortune hangs and depends. O valorous er- 
 rant, whose true exploits outstrip and obscure the fabu- 
 lous ones of the Amadises, Esplandians, and Belianises !" 
 And, leaving Don Quixote, she turned toSancho Panza, 
 and, taking him by the hand, said : " O thou, the most 
 trusty squire that ever served knight-errant in the pre- 
 >eiit or past ages, whose goodness is of greater extent than 
 the beard of my companion Trifaldin here present, well 
 maycstthou boast, that, in serving Don Quixote, thou 
 dest serve in miniature the whole tribe of knights that 
 ever handled arms in the work! : I conjure thee, by what 
 thou owest to thy own fidelity and goodness, to become 
 an importunate intercessor for me with thy lord, that he 
 would instantly favour the humblest and unhappiest of 
 countesses." To which Sancho answered : "Whether 
 my goodness, madam, be or be not as long and as broad 
 as your squire's beard, signifies little to me : so that my 
 soul be bearded and whiskered wnen it departs this life, 
 I care little or nothing for beards here below : but, with- 
 out these wheedlings and beeechings, I will desire my 
 master, who, I know, has a kindness for me, especially 
 now thai he wants me for a certain business, to favour and 
 assist your ladyship in whatever he can. Unbundle 
 your griefs, madam, and let us into the particulars ; and 
 leave us alone to manage, for we shall understand one 
 another.'^ The duke and duchess were ready to burst
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 with laughing at this, as knowing the drift of this 5 adven- 
 ture ; and commended, in their thoughts, the smartness 
 and dissimulation of the Trifaldi, who, returning to her 
 seat, said : 
 
 *' Of the famous kingdom of Candaya, which lies be- 
 tween the great Taprobana and the South Sea, two leagues 
 beyond Cape Camorin, was Queen Donna Maguncia, 
 widow of King Archipiela, her lord and husband ; 
 from this marriage sprung the Infanta Antonoinasia, 
 heiress of the kingdom ; which Infanta Antonomasia 
 was educated under my care and instruction, as being 
 the most ancient duenna, and of the best quality, among 
 those that waited upon her mother. Now, in process of 
 time, the young Antonomasia arrived to the age of four- 
 teen, with such perfection of beauty, that nature could 
 not raise it a pitch higher : and what is more, discretion 
 itself was but a child to her; for she was ns discreet as 
 fair, and she was the fairest creature in the world, and is 
 so still, if envious fates and hard-hearted destinies have 
 not cut short her thread of life. But, surely, they have 
 not done it ! for heaven would never permit that so 
 much injury should be done to the earth, as to tear off 
 such an unripe cluster from its fairest vine. Of this 
 beauty, never sufficiently extolled by my feeble tongue, 
 an infinite number of princes, as well natives as foreign- 
 ers, grew enamoured. Among whom, a private gen- 
 tleman of the court dared to raise his thoughts to the 
 heaven of so much beauty, confiding in his youth, his 
 genteel finery, his many abilities and graces, and the 
 facility and felicity of his wit : for I must tell your gran- 
 deurs, if it be no offence, that he touched a guitar so 
 as to make it speak. He was besides a poet, and a fine 
 a dancer, and could make bird-cages so well, as to get 
 his Hying by it, in case of extreme necessity. So many 
 qualifications and endowments were sufficient to overset
 
 320 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 a mountain, and much more a tender virgin. But all 
 Lis gentility, graceful behaviour, and fine accomplish- 
 ments, would have signified little or nothing towards 
 the conquest of my girl's fortress, if the robber and ruf- 
 fian had not artfully contrived to seduce me first. The 
 assassin and barbarous vagabond began with endea- 
 vouring to obtain my good will, and suborn my inclina- 
 tion, that I might, like a treacherous keeper as I was, 
 deliver up to him the keys of the fortress I guarded. 
 In short, he imposed upon my understanding, and got 
 from me my consent, by means of I know not what toys 
 and trinkets he presented me with. But that, which 
 chiefly brought me down, and levelled me with the 
 ground, was a stanza, which I heard him sing one night 
 through a grate, that looked into an alley, where he 
 stood ; and, if I remember right, the verses were these : 
 
 The tyrant fair, whose beauty sent 
 
 The throbbing mischief to my heart, 
 The more ray anguish to augment, 
 Forbids me to reveal the smart. 
 
 " The stanza seemed to me to be of pearls, and his 
 voice of barley-sugar ; and many a time since have I 
 thought, considering the mishap I fell into, that poets, 
 at least the lascivious, ought, as Plato advised, to be 
 banished from all good and well-regulated common- 
 wealths ; because they write couplets, not like those 
 of the Marquis of Mantua, which divert and make 
 children and women weep, but such pointed things, as, 
 like smooth thorns, pierce the soul, and, wounding like 
 lightning, leave the garment whole and unsinged. 
 Another time he sung : 
 
 Come, death, with gently-stealing pa< .-, 
 
 And take me unperceiv'd away, 
 Nor let me see thy wish'd-fbr face, 
 
 Lest joy my eeting life shoa'dstay ;
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 321 
 
 >vith such other couplets and dities as enchant when 
 sung-, and surprise when written. Now, when they 
 condescend to compose a kind of verses^ at that time in 
 fashion in Candaya, which they call roundelays, they 
 presently occasion a dancing of the soul, a tickling of the 
 fancy, a perpetual agitation of the body, and lastly, a 
 kind of quicksilver of all the senses. And therefore 
 I say, most noble auditorsj that such versifiers deserve 
 to be banished to the isle of Lizards : though in truth 
 they are not to blame, but the simpletons who commend 
 them, and the idiots who believe them : and, had I been 
 the honest duenna I ought, his nightly serenades had not 
 moved me, nor had I believed those poetical expres- 
 sions, Dying I-lrce ; in ice I burn ; I skiver inflames ; 
 in despair 1 hope ; I go yet stay ; with other impossibi- 
 lities of the like stamp, of which their writings are full. 
 And when they promise us the phoenix of Arabia, the 
 crown of Ariadne, the hairs of the sun, the pearls of the 
 South Sea, the gold of Tiber, and the balsam of Pancaya ; 
 they then give their pen the greatest scope, as it costs 
 them little to promise what they never intend, nor can 
 perform. But, woe is me, unhappy wretch ! whither do I 
 stray ? What folly or what madness hurries me to recount 
 the faults of others, having so many of my own to relate ? 
 Woe is me again, unhappy creature ! for not his verses, 
 but my own simplicity, vanquished me : not the music, 
 but my levity, my great ignorance, and my little cau- 
 tion, melted me down, opened the way, and smoothed 
 the passage, for Don Clavijo; for that is the name of the 
 aforesaid cavalier. And so, I being the go-between, he 
 was often in the chamber of the betrayed, not by him, 
 ut me, Antonomasia, under the title of her lawful hus- 
 band : for, though a sinner, I would never have con- 
 sented, without his being her husband, that he should 
 
 VOL. II. T T
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 have come within the shadow pf her shoe-string. No, 
 no, marriage must be the forerunner of any business of 
 this kind undertaken by me: only there was one mischief 
 in it, which was the disparity between them, Don Cla- 
 vijo being but a private gentleman, and the Infanta An- 
 tonomasia heiress, as I have already said, of the king- 
 dom. This intrigue lay concealed and wrapped up in 
 the sagacity of my cautious management for some time, 
 till I perceived it began to- show itself in I know not what 
 kind of swelling in Antonomasia; the apprehension of 
 which made us lay our three heads together ; and the re- 
 sult was, that before the unhappy slip should come to 
 light, Don Clavijo should demand Antonomasia in mar- 
 riage befoi 1 the vicar, in virtue of a contract, signed by 
 the Infanta and given him, to be his wife, worded by my 
 wit, and in such strong terms, that the force of Sampson 
 was not able to break through it. The business was put 
 in execution ; the vicar saw the contract, and took the 
 lady's confession r she acknowledged the whole, and was 
 ordered into the custody of an honest alguazil of the 
 court." Here Sancho said, "What! are there court al- 
 guazils, poets, and roundelays, in Candaya too ? If so, 
 I swear, I think, the world is the same every where : 
 but, Madam Trifaldi, pray make haste ; for it grows late, 
 and I die to hear the end of this very long story." 
 u That I will,'' answered the countess.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAP. XXXIX, 
 
 Wherein Trifaldi continues her stupendous and memora- 
 ble History. 
 
 every word Sancho spoke, the duchess was in as 
 (high delight as Don Quixote was at his wif s end ; who 
 commanded him to hold his peace, and the Afflicted went 
 on, saying, " In short, after many pros and cons, the 
 Infanta standing stiffly to her engagement, without vary- 
 ing or departing from her first declaration, the vicar pro- 
 nounced sentence in favour of Don Clavijo, and gave her 
 to him to wife : at whicli the Queen Donna Maffuncia, 
 
 O 7 
 
 mother to the Infanta Antonomasia, was so much dis- 
 turbed, that we buried her in three days time." " She 
 died then, I suppose ?" quoth Sancho. " Most assured- 
 ly," answered Trifaldin ; il for in Candaya they do not 
 bury the living, but the dead." u Master squire," re- 
 plied Sancho, u it has happened, ere now, that a person 
 in a swoon has been buried for dead ; and, in my opi- 
 nion, Queen Maguncia ought to have swooned away rather 
 than have died ; for, while there is life there is hope; and 
 the Infanta's transgression was not so great, that she 
 should lay it so much to heart. Had the lady married 
 one of her pages, or any other servant of the family, as 
 many others have done, as I have been told, the mischief 
 had been without remedy ; but, she having made choice 
 of a cavalier,} so much a gentleman, and of such parts as 
 he is here painted to us, verily, verily, though perhaps 
 it was foolish, it was not so very much so as some people 
 think : for, according to the rules of my master, who is 
 litre present, and will not let me lie, as bishops are made 
 *mt of learned men, so kings and emperors may be made 
 
 T T 2
 
 324 DON QUIXOTE, 
 
 out of cavaliers, especially if they are errant." " You 
 are in the right, Sancho," said Don Quixote ; " for a 
 knight-errant, give him but two inches of good luck, is 
 next to being the greatest lord in the world. B-;t let Ma- 
 dam Afflicted proceed ; for I fancy the bitter part of this 
 hitherto sweet story is still behind." " The bitter be- 
 hind!" answered the countess: " ay, so bitter, that, in 
 pomparison, wormwood is sweet, and rue savoury. 
 
 " The queen being now dead, and not swooned away, 
 we buried her; and scarcely had we covered her with 
 earth, and pronounced the last farewell, when, Quit 
 talia fando temperet a lacrymis? upon the queen's se-f 
 pulchre appeared, mounted on a wooden horse, the giant 
 Malambruno her cousin-german, who, besides being cruel, 
 is an enchanter also, This giant, in revenge of his cou- 
 sin's death, and in chastisement of the boldness of Don 
 Clavijo, and the folly of Antonomasia, left them both en- 
 chanted by his art upon the very sepulchre; she being 
 converted into a monkey of brass, and he into a fearful 
 crocodile of an unknown metal ; and between them lies a 
 plate of metal likewise, with letters engraved upon it in 
 the Syriac language, which, being rendered into the 
 Candayan, and now into the Castilian, contains this sen-, 
 tcnce : These tvo presumptuous lovers shall not recover 
 their pristine form till the valorous Manchegan shall en- 
 ter into single combat u:ith me; for the destinies reserve 
 this unheard-of adventure for his great valour alone. 
 This done, he drew out of the scabbard a broad and un- 
 measurable scimitar, and, taking me by the hair of my 
 head, he made show as if he would cut my throat, or 
 whip off my head at a blow. I was frightened to death, 
 &nd my voice stuck in my throat ; nevertheless, recover 
 jng myself as well as I could, with a trembling and dole- 
 ful voice, I used such entreaties as prevailed w ith him to 
 Suspend the execution of so rigorous a punishment.
 
 ftiirkf Jtlilp. 
 
 Rtttirfud fyS.A AS. 0J*fy. 1808.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 325 
 
 Finally, he sent for all the duennas of the palace, being 
 those here present, and, after having exaggerated our 
 fault, and inveighed against the qualities of duennas, 
 their wicked plots, and worse intrigues, and charging 
 them with all that blame which I alone deserved, he 
 said he would not chastise us with capital punishment, 
 but with other lengthened pains, which should put us to 
 a kind of civil and perpetual death: and in the very in- 
 stant he had done speaking, we all felt the pores of our 
 faces open, and a pricking pain all over them like the 
 pricking of needles. Immediately we clapped our hands 
 to our faces, and found them in the condition you shall 
 see presently." 
 
 Then the Afflicted, and the rest of the duennas, lifted 
 up the veils, which concealed them, and discovered their 
 faces all planted with beards, some red, some black, 
 some white, and some piebald : at which sight the duke 
 and duchess seemed to wonder, Don Quixote and Sancho 
 were amazed, and all present astonished ; and the Tri- 
 faldi proceeded: " Thus that wicked and evil-minded 
 felon Malambruno punished us, covering the soft smooth- 
 ness of our faces with the ruggedness of these bristles : 
 would to heaven he had struck off our heads with his 
 unmeasurable scimitar, rather than have obscured the 
 light of our countenances with these brushes, that over- 
 spread them ! For, noble lords and lady, if we rightly 
 consider it, and what I am now going to say I would 
 speak with rivers of tears, but that the consideration of 
 our misfortune, and the seas our eyes have already wept, 
 keep them without moisture, and dry as the beards of 
 corn ; and therefore I will speak it without tears : I 
 say then, whither can a duenna with a beard go ? What 
 father or what mother will bewail her? Who will 
 succour her ? For even when her grain is the smoothest 
 and her face tortured with a thousand sorts of washes
 
 396 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 and ointments, scarcely can she find any body to show 
 kindness to her; what must she do then, when her face 
 is become a wood ? O ye duennas, my dear compa- 
 panions, in an unluckly hour were we born, and in an 
 evil minute did our fathers beget us :" and, so saying, 
 she seemed to faint away. 
 
 CHAP. XL. 
 
 Of matters relating and appertaining to this A 
 and to this memorable History. 
 
 IN reality and truth, all, who delight in such histories 
 as Ihis, ought to be thankful to its original author ('id 
 Hamete, for his curious exactness in recording the mi- 
 nutest circumstances of it, without omitting any thing 
 how trifling soever, but bringing every thing distinctly 
 to light. He paints thoughts, discovers imaginations, 
 answers the silent, clears up doubts, resolves arguments ; 
 and, lastly, manifests the least atoms of the most inquisi- 
 tive desire. O most celebrated author ! O happy Don 
 Quixote ! O famous Dulcinea ! O facetious Sancho Panza ! 
 Live each jointly and severally infinite ages, for the 
 general pleasure and pastime of the living ! 
 
 New the story says, that, when Sancho saw the Afflicted 
 faint away, he said : " Upon the faith of an honest 
 man, and by the blood of all my ancestors, the Panzas, 
 I swear I never heard, nor saw, nor has my master ever 
 told me, nor did such an adventure as this ever enter info 
 his thoughts. A thousand devils take thee (I would not 
 rurse any body) for an enchanter and a giant, Malam-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 327 
 
 brund ! couldest thou find no other kind of punishment 
 to inflict upon these sinners, but that of bearding them ? 
 Had it not been better (I am sure it had been better for 
 them) to have whipt off half their noses, though they had 
 snuffed for it, than to have clapped them on beards ? I 
 will lay a wager, they have not wherewith to pay for 
 shaving." u That is true, sir," answered one of the 
 twelve; "we have not wherewithal too keep ourselves 
 clean ; and therefore, to shift as well we can, some of 
 us use sticking plasters of pitch ; which being applied 
 to the face, and pulled oft' with a jerk, we remain as 
 sleek and smooth as the bottom of a stone mortar : for, 
 though there are women in Candaya, who go from house 
 to house, to take off the hair of the body, and shape 
 the eyebrows, and other jobs pertaining to women, we, 
 who are my lady's duennas, would never have any thing 
 to do with them ; for most of them smell of the procuress, 
 having ceased to be otherwise serviceable : and if we 
 are not relieved by Signor Don Quixote, with beards 
 -hall we be carried to our graves." " Mine," cried Don 
 Quixote, " shall be plucked off in the country of the 
 Moors rather than not free you from yours." 
 
 By this time Trifaldi was come to herself, and said : 
 " The murmuring sound of that promise, valorous 
 knight, in the midst of my swoon, reached my cars, and 
 was the occasion of my coming out of it, and recover- 
 ing my senses : and so once again I beseech you, illus- 
 trious errant and invincible sir, that your gracious pro- 
 mises may be converted into deeds. " " It shall not 
 rest at me," answered Don Quixote ; " inform me, ma- 
 dam, what it is I am to do ; for my inclination is fully 
 disposed to serve you." " The case is," answered the 
 Afflicted, " that, from hence to the kingdom of Candaya. 
 if you go by land, it is five thousand leagues, one or. 
 two more or less; but, if you go through the air in a.
 
 528 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 direct line, it is three thousand two hundred and twenty- 
 seven. You must know also, that Malambruno told me, 
 %vhen fortune should furnish me with the knight our de- 
 liverer, he would send him a steed, much better, and 
 with fewer vicious tricks, than a post-horse returned to 
 his stage ; fof it is to be that very wooden horse upon which 
 the valiant Peter of Provence carried off the fair Maga- 
 lona. This horse is governed by a pin he has in his 
 forehead, which serves for a bridle ; and he flies through 
 the air with such swiftness, thcit one would think the devil 
 himself carried him. This same horse, according to an- 
 cient tradition, was the workmanship of the sage Merlin, 
 -who lent him to Peter, who was his friend ; upon which he 
 took great journeys, and stole, as has been said, the fair 
 Magalona, carrying her behind him through the air, and 
 leaving all that beheld him from the earth staring and 
 astonished : and he lent him to none but particular 
 friends, or such as paid him a handsome price. Since 
 the grand Peter to this time we know of nobody that has 
 been upon his back. Malambruno procured him by his 
 art, and keeps him in his power, making use of him in 
 the journeys he often takes through divers parts of the 
 world : to-day he is here, to-morrow in France, and the 
 next day in Potosi ; and the best of it is, that this same 
 horse neither eats nor sleeps, nor wants any shoeing, and 
 ambles such a pace through the air, without wings, that 
 his rider may carry a dishful of water in his hand, with- 
 out spilling a drop, he travels so smooth and easy : w hich 
 made the fair Magalona take great delight in riding 
 him." 
 
 To this Sancho said : " For smooth and easy goings, 
 commend me to my Dapple, though he goes not through 
 the air ; but, by land, I will match him against all the 
 amblers in the world." This made the company laugh,, 
 and the Afflicted proceeded : " Now this horse, if Ma
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 399 
 
 lambnino intends to put an end to our misfortune, -will 
 be here with us within half an hour after it is dark ; for 
 he told me, that the sign by which I should be assured 
 of having found that knight I sought after, should be 
 the sending me the horse to the place where the knight 
 was, with conveniency and speed." " And pray," 
 quoth Sancho, " how many can ride upon this same 
 horse?" " Two persons,' 1 answered the Afflicted; "one 
 in the saddle, and the other behind on the crupper : and, 
 generally, these two persons are the knight and his squire, 
 when there is no stolen damsel in the case." u I should 
 be glad to know too, Madam Afflicted," quoth Sancho, 
 " what this horse's name is. " <c His name," answered 
 the Afflicted, " is not Pegasus, as was that of Belierophon ; 
 nor Bucephalus, as was that of Alexander the Great ; 
 nor Brigliador, as was that of Orlando Furioso ; nor is 
 it Bayarte, which belonged to Reynaldos of Montalvan ; 
 nor Frontino, which was Rogero's : nor is it Bootes, nor 
 Pyrithous, as they say the horses of the sun are called ; 
 neither is he called Orelia, the horse which the unfortu- 
 nate Roderigo, the last king of the Goths in Spain 
 mounted, in that battle wherein he lost his kingdom and 
 life." "I will venture a wager," quoth Sancho, " since 
 they have given him none of those famous and well- 
 known names, neither have they given him that of my 
 master's horse Rozinante, which in propriety exceeds 
 all that have been hitherto named." " True," answered 
 the bearded countess ; " but still it suits him well : for 
 he is called Clavileno the Winged ; which name answers 
 to his being of wood, to the peg in his forehead, and to 
 the swiftness of his motion ; so that, in respect of his 
 name, he may very well come in competition with the 
 renowned Rozinante." " I dislike not the name," re- 
 plied Sancho ; " but with what bridle, or with what hal- 
 tejr, is he guided?" " I have already told you," au 
 TQL. n. u u
 
 330 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 swered the Trifaldi, "that he is guided by a peg, by 
 which the rider, turning it this way or that, makes him 
 go either aloft in the air, or else sweeping, nnd, as it 
 were, brushing the earth ; or in the middle region, which 
 is what is generally aimed at, and is to be kept to in all 
 well-ordered actions." 
 
 " I have a great desire to see him," answered Sancho ; 
 " but to think that I will get upon him, either in the 
 saddle or behind upon the crupper, is to look for pears 
 upon an elm-tree. It Mere a good jest indeed, for me, who 
 can hardly sit my own Dapple, though upon a pannel 
 softer than very silk, to think now of getting upon a 
 crupper of boards, without either pillow or cushion : in 
 faith, I cfo not intend to flay myself, to take off any body's 
 beard : let every one shave as he likes best ; I shall not 
 bear my master company in so long a journey : besides, 
 I am out of the question : for I can be of no service to-' 
 wards the shaving these beards, as I am for the disen- 
 
 o f 
 
 chanting of my Lady Dulcinea." " Indeed, but you 
 can, friend," answered the Trifaldi ; " and of so much 
 service, that, without you, as I take it, we are likely to do 
 nothing at all." " In the king's name," quoth Sancho, 
 *' what have squires to do with their masters' adventures ? 
 Must they run away with the fame of those they accom- 
 plish, and must we undergo the fatigue ? Body of me ! 
 did the historians but say : Such a knight achieved such 
 and such an adventure, with the help of such a (one, 
 his squire, without whom it had been impossible for him 
 to finish it, it were something : but you shall have them 
 drily write thus : ' Don Paralipomenon of the Three 
 Stars, achieved the adventure of the six goblins :' with- 
 put naming his squire, who was present all the while, as 
 if there had been no such person in the world. 1 say 
 again, good my lord and lady, my master may go by 
 himself, and mueh good may it do him ; for I will stay
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 here by my lady duchess ; and$ perhaps, when he comes 
 back) he may find Madam Dulcinea's business pretty 
 forward ; for I intend, at idle and leisure whiles, to 
 give myself such a whipping-bout, that not a hair shall 
 interpose." 
 
 " For all that, honest Sancho," said the duchess, 
 fi you must bear him company, if need be, and that at 
 the request of good people ; for it would be a great pity 
 the faces of these ladies should remain thus bushy through, 
 your needless fears." " In the king's name once more," 
 replied Sancho, " were this piece of charity undertaken 
 for modest sober damsels, or for poor innocent hospital- 
 girls, a man might venture upon some pains-taking : but 
 to endure it to rid duennas of their beards, with a mur- 
 rain to them ! I had rather see them all bearded, from the 
 highest to the lowest, and from the nicest to the most 
 slatternly." "You are upon very bad terms with the 
 duennas, friend Sancho," replied the duchess, " and 
 are much of the Toledan apothecary's mind ; but in 
 troth you are in the wrong ; for I have duennas in my 
 family, fit to be patterns to all duennas ; and here stands 
 Donna Rodriguez, who will not contradict me." u Your 
 excellency may say what you please," replied Rodri- 
 guez ; "for God knows the truth of every thing ; and,, 
 good or bad, bearded or smooth, such as we are, our mo- 
 thers brought us forth, like otlu-r women ; and since God 
 cast us into the world, he knows for what; and I rely 
 upon his mercy, and not upon any body's beard what- 
 ever." 
 
 " Enough, Mistress Rodriguez," said Don Quixote ; 
 " and, Madam Trifaldi* and company, I trust in God 
 that he will look upon your distresses with an eye of 
 goodness ; and as for Sancho, he shall do what I com- 
 mand him. I wish Clavileno were once come, and that 
 Ma-lambruno and I were at it ; for I am confident na razor
 
 332 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 would more easily shave your ladyships' beards, than my 
 sword shall shave off Malambruno's head from his shoul- 
 ders : for, though God permits the wicked to prosper, 
 it is but for a time." " Ah!" said the Afflicted, at this 
 juncture, " valorous knight, may ail the stars of the ce- 
 lestial regions behold your worship with eyes of benignity, 
 and infuse into your heart all prosperity and courage, to 
 be the shield and refuge of our reviled and dejected or- 
 der, abominated by apothecaries, murmured at by squires, 
 and scoffed at by pages ! Ill betide the wretch, who, in. 
 the flower of her age, does rather profess herself a nun 
 - than a duenna ! Unfortunate duennas ! though we were 
 descended in a direct male line from Hector of Troy, our 
 mistresses will never forbear thouing us, were they to be 
 made queens for it. O giant Malambruno, who, though 
 thou art an enchanter, art very punctual in thy promises, 
 send us now the incomparable Clavileno, that our mis- 
 fortune may have an end ! for, if the heats come on, 
 and these beards of ours continue, woe be to us !" The 
 Trifaldi uttered this with sodeep a concern, that she drew 
 tears from the eyes of all the by-standers, and even made 
 Sancho's overflow ; and he purposed in his heart to ac- 
 company his master to the farthest part of the world, 
 if the clearing of those venerable faces of their wool 
 depended on that.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 333 
 
 CHAP. XLI. 
 
 Of the Arrival of Cla-cileno *, with the Conclusion of 
 this prolix Adventure. 
 
 IN the mean while night came on, and with it the point 
 of time fixed for the arrival of the famous horse Clavi- 
 leno ; whose stay perplexed Don Quixote very much ; 
 thinking that, since Malambruno delayed sending him, 
 either he was not the knight for whom this adventure was 
 reserved, or Malambruno durst not encounter him in 
 single combat. But, behold, on a sudden, four savages 
 ntered the garden, all clad in green ivy, and bearing on 
 their shoulders a large wooden horse. They set him 
 upon his legs on the ground, and one of the savages 
 said : " Let him, who has courage to do it, mount this 
 machine." " Not I," quoth Sancho ; " for neither have 
 I courage, nor am I a knight," and the savage proceeded : 
 " And let the squire, if he has one, get up behind, and 
 trust the valorous Malambruno; for no other body's 
 sword or malice shall hurt him : and there is no more to 
 do but to screw the pin he has in his forehead, and he 
 will bear them through the air to the place where Malam- 
 bruno expects them : but, lest the height and sublimity 
 of the way should make their heads swim, their eyes 
 must be covered till the horse neighs, which is to be tho 
 signal of his being arrived at his journey's end." This 
 said, leaving Clavileno, with courteous demeanour they 
 returned by the way they came. 
 
 As soon as the Afflicted espied the horse, almost with 
 tears, she said to Don Quixote : " Valorous knight, Ma- 
 lambruno has kept his word ; here is the horse ; our 
 beards are increasing, and every one of us, with every
 
 334 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 hair of them, beseech you to shave and shear us, since 
 there is no more for you to do, but to mount, with your 
 squire behind you, and so give a happy beginning in 
 your new journey." (i That I will, with all my heart, 
 and most willingly, Madam Trifaldi," said Don Quixote, 
 " without staying to procure a cushion, or put on my 
 spurs, to avoid delay ; so great is the desire J have to 
 see your ladyship and all these duennas shaven and 
 clean." " That will not I," quoth Sancho, "with a 
 bad will or a good will, or any wise ; and, if this shav- 
 ing cannot be performed .without my riding behind, let 
 my master seek some other squire to bear him company, 
 and these madams some other way of smoothing their 
 iiices ; for I am no wizard to delight in travelling through 
 the air : besides, what w ill my islanders say, when they 
 hear that their governor is taking the air upon the wings 
 of the wind ? And another thing ; it being three thou- 
 sand leagues from hence to Candaya, if the horse should 
 tire, or the giant be out of humour, we shall be half a 
 dozen years in coming back, and by that time I shall 
 have neither island nor islanders in the world that will 
 know me : and, since it is a common saying, that, the 
 danger lies in the delay; and, zchen they give you a 
 heifer, make haste with the halter ; these gentlewomen's 
 beards must excuse me : Saint Peter is zcell at Rome y 
 I mean, that I am very well in this house, where they 
 make much of me, and from the master of which I ex- 
 pect so great a benefit as to be made a governor." To 
 which the duke said : " Friend Sancho, the island I 
 have promised you is not a floating one, nor will it run, 
 away : it is so fast rooted in the abyss of the earth, that it 
 cannot be plucked up, nor stirred from the place where 
 it is, at three pulls : and since you know there is no 
 kind of office of any considerable value, but is procured 
 by some kind of bribe, more or less, what I expect for
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 335 
 
 this government, is, that you go with your master Don 
 Quixote, to accomplish and put an end to this memora- 
 ble adventure ; and, whether you return upon Clavileno 
 with the expedition his speed promises, or the contrary 
 fortune betides you, and you come back on foot, turned 
 pilgrim from house to house, and from inn to inn., re- 
 turn when you will, you will find your island where you 
 left it, and your islanders with the same desire to receive 
 you for their governor ; and my good will shall always be 
 the same : and to doubt this truth, Signer Sancho, would 
 be doing a notorious injury to the inclination I have to 
 serve you." "No more, good sir," quoth Sancho ; "I 
 am a poor squire, and cannot carry so much courtesy upon 
 my back : let my master get up ; let these eyes of mine 
 be hoodwinked, and commend me to God ; and, pray 
 tell me, when we are in our altitudes, may I not pray to 
 God, and invoke the angels to protect me ?" To which 
 the Trifaldi answered : *' You may pray to God, Sancho, 
 or to whom you will : for, though Malambruno be an en- 
 chanter, he is a Christian, and performs his enchant- 
 ments with much sagacity, great precaution, and without 
 disturbing any body." u Come on then," quoth San- 
 cho ; " God and the most holy Trinity of Gaeta 6 help 
 me!" " Since the memorable adventure of the fulling- 
 mills," said Don Quixote, " I never saw Sancho in so 
 much fear as now ; and, were I as superstitious as other 
 people, his pusillanimity would a little discourage me : 
 but come hither, Sancho ; for, with the leave of these 
 noble persons, I would have a word or two with you 
 in private." 
 
 Then going aside with Sancho among some trees in 
 the garden, and taking hold of both his hands, he said 
 to him : fi You see, brother Sancho, the long journey 
 we are going to undertake, and God knows, when we 
 Miall return, or what convenience and leisure business
 
 336 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 will afford us ; and therefore ray desire is, that you re- 
 tire to your chamber, as if to fetch something necessary 
 for the road, and in a twinkling, give yourself if it be but 
 five hundred lashes, in part of the three thousand and 
 tljree hundred you stand engaged for ; for well begun 
 is half ended." " Before God," quoth Sancho, " your 
 worship is stark mad: this is just the saying; l You 
 *ee I am in haste, and you charge me with a maiden- 
 head:' now that I am just going to sit down upon a 
 
 bare board, would you have me gall ? Verily, 
 
 verily, your worship is in the wrong ; let us now go 
 and trim these duennas, and, at my return, I promise 
 you I will make such dispatch to get out of debt, that 
 your worship shall be contented; and I say no more." 
 Don Quixote answered : <c With this promise then, ho- 
 nest Sancho, I am somewhat comforted, and believe you 
 will perform it ; for, though you are not over-wise, you 
 are true-blue." " I am not blue, but brown," quoth 
 Sancho,; "but, though I were a mixture of both, 1 
 would make good my promise." 
 
 Upon this they came back, in order to mount Cla- 
 vileno ; and, at getting up, Don Quixote said: " Sancho, 
 hoodwink yourself, and get up; for whoever he be^ 
 that sends for us from countries so remote, he cannot 
 surely intend to deceive us, considering the little glory 
 he will get by deceiving those who confide in him ; 
 but, suppose the very reverse of what we imagine should 
 happen, no malice can obscure the glory of having 
 attempted the exploit." " Let us be gone, sir," quoth 
 Sancho; "for the beards and tears of these ladies have 
 pierced my heart, and I shall not eat a bit to do mo good 
 till I see them restored to their former smoothness. 
 Mount you, sir, and hoodwink first ; for, if I am to ride 
 behind, it is plain, that he, who is to be in the saddle, 
 must get up first," " That is true 3 " replied Don
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 537 
 
 ote ; and pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, lie 
 desired the Afflicted to cover his eyes close : which being 
 done, he uncovered them again, and said : u If I re- 
 member right, I have read in Virgil that story of the 
 Palladium of Troy, which was a wooden horse, dedi- 
 cated by the Greeks to the goddess Pallas, and filled 
 with armed knights, who afterwards proved the final 
 destruction of Troy ; and therefore it will not be amiss 
 to see first what Clavileno has in his belly." " There 
 is no need of that," said the Afflicted ; " for I am con- 
 fident, that Malambruno has nothing of the trickster or 
 traitor in him : your worship, Signer Don Quixote, may 
 mount without fear, and upon me be it, if any harm 
 happens to you." Don Quixote considered, that to 
 talk any more of his security would be a reflection upon 
 his courage ; and so, without farther contest, he mount- 
 ed Clavileno, and tried the pin, which screwed about 
 very easily ; and having no stirrups, and his legs dang- 
 ling down, he looked like a figure^ in a Roman triumph, 
 painted or woven in some antique piece of Flemish 
 tapestry. 
 
 By little and little, and much against his will, San- 
 cho got up behind, adjusting himself the best he could 
 upon the crupper ; which he found not oversoft, and 
 begged the duke, if it were possible, to accommodate 
 him with some pillow or cushion, though it were from 
 the duchess's state sopha, or from one of the pages 
 beds ; the horse's crupper seeming rather to be of marble 
 than of wood. To this the Trifaldi replied, that Cla- 
 vileno would not endure any kind of furniture upon 
 him ; but that he might sit sideways like a woman, and 
 then he would not be so sensible of the hardness. San- 
 cho did so, and, bidding adieu, he suffered his eyes to 
 be blindfolded. But soon putting by the bandage, and 
 looking sorrowfully and with tears upon all the folk* 
 
 VOL. II. X X
 
 338 ' DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 in the garden, he begged them to assist him, in that 
 clanger, with two pater-nosters, and as many ave-maries 
 as they wished God might provide somebody to do the 
 like good office for them in the like extremity. To 
 which Don Quixote said: " Thief! are you upon the 
 gallows, or at the last gasp, that you have recourse to 
 such doleful prayers? Are you not, poor-spirited and 
 dastardly creature, in the same place which the fair 
 Magalona occupied, and from which she descended, 
 not to the grave, but to be Queen of France, if histories 
 lie not ? And I, who sit by you, may I not vie with the 
 valorous Peter, who pressed this very seat that I now 
 press ? Cover,, cover your eyes, heartless animal, and 
 suffer not your fear to escape out of your mouth, at least 
 in my presence." " Hoodwink me, then," answered 
 Sancho, " and since you have no mind I should com- 
 mend myself to God, nor that others do it for me, what 
 wonder is it that I am afraid, lest some legion of devils 
 may be lurking hereabouts, to hang us first, and try us 
 afterwards ?" 
 
 They were now hoodwinked, and Dora Quixote, per- 
 ceiving he was fixed as he should be, began to turn the 
 peg ; and scarcely had he put his fingers to it, when all 
 the duennas and the standers-by lifted up their voices, 
 saying: " God be your guide, valorous knight! God 
 be with you, intrepid squire ! now, now, you mount into 
 the air, breaking it with more swiftness than an arrow : 
 now you begin to surprise and astonish all who be- 
 hold you upon the earth : sit fast, valorous Sancho, 
 for you totter : beware, lest you fall ; for your fall will 
 be worse than that of the daring youth, who aspired 
 to rule the chariot of his father, the sun." Sancho heard 
 the voices, and nestling closer to his master, and embra- 
 cing him with his arms, said : u How can they say, sir, 
 we are got so high, when their voices reach us, and they
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 339 
 
 seem to be talking- here hard by us?" li Never mind 
 that, Sancho," said Don Quixote ; " for as these matters 
 and these flights are out of the ordinary course, you 
 may see and hear any thing a thousand leagues off: 
 but do not squeeze me so hard : for you will tumble me 
 down ; and, to say the truth, I do not see why you are 
 so disturbed and frightened ; for I can safely swear, 
 I never was upon the back of an easier-paced steed in 
 all the days of my life : methinks we do not so much 
 as stir from our place. Banish fear, friend ; for in 
 short, the business goes as it should, and we have the 
 wind in our poop." u That is true," answered Sancho: 
 (f for on this side, the wind blows so strong, that a thou- 
 sand pair of bellows seem to be fanning me." And 
 indeed it was so ; for they were airing him with several 
 huge pair of bellows; and so well was this adventure 
 concerted by the duke, the duchess, and the steward, that 
 nothing was wanting to make it complete. Don Quix- 
 ote now, feeling the wind, said: " Without all doubt, 
 Sancho, we must by this time have reached the second 
 region of the air, where the hail and snows are formed : 
 thunder and lightning are engendered in the third re- 
 gion ; and, if we go on mounting at this rate, we shall 
 soon reach the region of fire ; and I know not how to 
 manage this peg so as not to mount where we shall be 
 scorched." 
 
 While they were thus discoursing, some flax, set on 
 fire at the end of a long cane, at some distance, began 
 to warm their faces. Sancho, feeling the heat, said : 
 " May I be hanged, if we arc not already at that same 
 fire-place, or very near it ; for it has singed a great part 
 of my beard; and, sir, I am just going to peep out, and 
 see whereabouts \\eare." " By no means," answered 
 Don Quixote : " remember the true story of the licen- 
 tiate Torralva, whom the devils carried through the air,
 
 340 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 riding on a cane, with his eyes shut ; and in twelve 
 hours he arrived at Rome, and alighted on the tower of 
 Nona, which is a street of that city, and saw all the tu- 
 mult, assault, and death of the Constable of Bourbon; 
 and the next morning he returned to Madrid, where he 
 gave an account of all he had seen. He said likewise, 
 that, during his passage through the air, the devil bid 
 him open his eyes ; and so he did, and found himself, 
 to his thinking, so near the body of the moon, that he 
 could have laid hold of it with his hand ; and that he 
 durst not look down towards the earth for fear of being 
 giddy. So that, Sancho, we must not uncover our 
 faces ; for he, who has taken upon him the charge of 
 us, will give an account of us ; and perhaps we are now 
 making a point, and soaring aloft to a certain height, to 
 come souse down upon the kingdom of Candaya, like a 
 hawk upon a heron. And though to us it does not seem 
 more than half an hour since we left the garden, be- 
 lieve me we must have made a great deal of way." " I 
 know nothing as to that," answered Sancho Panza ; " I 
 can only say, that if Madam Magallanes, or Magalona, 
 was contented to ride upon this crupper, her flesh must 
 not have been of the tenderest." 
 
 All this discourse of the two heroes was overheard 
 by the duke and duchess, and all that were in the gar- 
 den ; with which they were extremely delighted : and 
 being now willing to put an end to this strange and well- 
 concerted adventure, they clapped some lighted flax to 
 Clavileno's tail ; and that instant he, being full of squibs 
 and crackers, blew up with a strange noise, and threw to 
 the ground Don Quixote and Sancho, half singed. By 
 this time the Trifaldi, with the whole bearded squadron 
 of duennas, were vanished, and all that remained in 
 the garden, counterfeiting a trance, lay flat upon the 
 ground. Don Quixote and Sancho got up in but in-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 341 
 
 different plight, and, looking about them on all sides, 
 were amazed to find themselves in the same garden from 
 whence they set out, and to see such a number of folks 
 stretched upon the ground. But their wonder was 
 increased, when, on one side of the garden, they per- 
 ceived a great lance sticking in the earth, and a smooth 
 piece of white parchment hanging to it by two green 
 silken strings ; upon which was written, in large letters 
 of gold, what follows : 
 
 " The renowned Knight Don Quixote de la Mancha 
 has finished and achieved the adventure of the Countess 
 Trifaldi, otherwise called the Afflicted Matron, and com- 
 pany, only by attempting it. Malambruno is entirely 
 satisfied, and desires no more ; the chins of the duennas 
 are smooth and clean, and Don Clavijo and Antonomasia 
 have recovered their pristine state : and , when the 
 squirely whipping shall be accomplished, the white 
 dove shall be delivered from the cruel pounces of the 
 hawks that pursue her, and shall find herself in the arms 
 of her beloved turtle : for so it is ordained by the sage 
 Merlin, the prince of enchanters." 
 
 Don Quixote, having read the inscription on the parch- 
 ment, understood plainly that it spoke of the disen- 
 chantment of Dulcinea ; and, giving abundance of thanks 
 to heaven for his having achieved so great an exploit, 
 with so little danger, reducing thereby the venerable 
 faces of the duennas to their former complexion, he 
 went where the duke and duchess lay, being not yet 
 come to themselves ; and, pulling the duke by the arm, 
 he said : " Courage, courage, my good Lord ; the ad- 
 venture is over without damage to the bars, as yon re- 
 gister plainly shows." The duke, by little and little, 
 like one awaking out of a sound sleep, came to himself, 
 and in like manner the duchess, and all that were in the 
 garden, with such show of wonder and affright, that
 
 342 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 what they had so well acted in jest seemed almost to 
 themseves to have happened in earnest. The duke 
 read the scroll with his eyes half shut, and presently, 
 with open arms, embraced Don Quixote, assuring him 
 he was the bravest knight that ever lived, Sancho 
 looked up and down for the Afflicted, to see what kind 
 of face she had now she was beardless, and whether she 
 was as handsome without it as her gallant presence 
 seemed to promise : but he was told, that, as Clavileno 
 came flaming down through the air, and tumbled upon 
 the ground, the whole squadron of duennas, with the 
 Trifaldi, disappeared, and their beards vanished, roots 
 and all. 
 
 The duchess inquired of Sancho, how it fared with 
 him in that long voyage. To which Sancho answered : 
 " I perceived, madam, as my master told me, that we 
 were passing by the region of fire, and I had a mighty 
 mind to peep a little: and, though my master, whose 
 leave I asked, would not consent (o it, I, who have I know 
 not what spice of curiosity, and a desire of knowing what 
 is forbidden and denied me, softly, and without being 
 perceived by any body, shoved up the handkerchief near 
 my nostrils, and thence looked down towards the earth ; 
 and inethought it was no bigger than a grain of mustard- 
 seed, and the men that walked upon it little bigger than 
 hazel-nuts : judge you, madam, how high we must have 
 been then." To this answered the duchess : u Take care, 
 friend Sancho, what you say : for it is plain you saw not 
 the earth, but the men only that walked upon it ; for, if 
 the earth appeared but like a grain of mustard-seed, and 
 each man like a hazel-nut, one man alone must needs 
 cover the whole earth."-" That is true," quoth Sancho, 
 " but, for all that, I had aside view, of it, and sawitall." 
 " Take heed, Sancho," said the duchess ; " for, by a 
 side view, one does not see the whole of what one looks
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 313 
 
 at." " I do not understand these kind of views," replied 
 Sancho : " I only know, it is fit your ladyship should 
 understand, that, since we flew by enchantment, by en- 
 chantment I might see the whole earth, and all the men, 
 whichever way I looked : and if you do not believe 
 this, neither will your ladyship believe me when I tell 
 you, that, thrusting up the kerchief close to my eye- 
 broNvs,-! found myself so near to heaven, that from me to 
 it was not above a span and a half ; and I can take my 
 oath, madam, that it is huge big : and it so fell out, 
 that we passed by where the seven little she-goats 
 are 6l , and, upon my conscience and soul, having been 
 in my childhood a goatherd in my own country, I no 
 sooner saw them, but I had a longing desire to divert 
 myself with them awhile, and, had I not done it, I 
 verily think I should have burst. Well, then, what do 
 I ? Why, without saying a word to any body, not even 
 to my master, I slipped down fair and softly from Cla- 
 vileno, and played with those she-goats, which are like 
 so many violets, about the space of three quarters of an 
 hour ; and all the while Clavileno moved not from the 
 place, nor stirred a foot." "And while honest Sancho 
 was diverting himself with the goats," said the duke, 
 " how did Signer Don Quixote amuse himself?" To 
 which Don Quixote answered : "As these and the like 
 accidents are out of the order of nature, no wonder Sancho 
 says what he does : for my own part, I can say, I neither 
 looked up nor down, and saw neither heaven or earth, 
 nor sea nor sands : it is very true, I was sensible that 
 I passed through the region of the air, and even touched 
 upon that of fire ; but, that we passed beyond it, I 
 cannot believe : for the fiery region being between the 
 sphere of the moon and the utmost region of the air, 
 we could not reach that heaven where the seven goats 
 Sancho speaks of are, without being burnt ; and since
 
 344 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 we were not burnt, either Sancho lies or Sancho 
 dreams." u I neither lie nor dream," answered Sancho ; 
 " do but ask me the marks of those same goats, and by 
 them you may guess whether I speak the truth or not." 
 " Tell us them, Sancho," said the duchess. " They 
 are," replied Sancho, " two of them green, two carna- 
 tion, two blue, and one motley-coloured." " A new 
 kind of goats those same," replied the duke : " in our 
 region of the earth we have no such colours, I mean, 
 goats of such colours." " The reason is plain," quoth 
 Sancho : " there must be a difference between the goats 
 of heaven and those of earth." " Pr'ythee, Sancho," 
 said the duke, " was there ever a he-goat 6 - among 
 them?" " No, sir," answered Sancho; " for they told 
 me none pass beyond the horns of the moon." They 
 would not ask Sancho any more questions about his jour- 
 ney, perceiving he was in a humour of rambling all over 
 the heavens, and giving an account of what passed there, 
 without stirring from the garden. 
 
 In short, this was the conclusion of the ad venture of the 
 Afflicted Matron, which furnished the duke and duchess 
 with matter of laughter, not only at that time, but for 
 their whole lives, and Sancho something to relate for 
 ages, had he lived so long : and Don Quixote, coming to 
 Sancho, whispered him in the ear, saying, " Sancho, 
 since you would have us believe all you have seen in hea- 
 ven, I expect you should believe what I saw in Montesi- 
 nos's cave: I say no more."
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 345 
 
 CHAP. XLII. 
 
 Of the Instructions Doii Quixote gave Sancho Panza 
 before he zcent to govern the Island ; Kith other Mat- 
 ters well considered. 
 
 1 HE duke and duchess were so satisfied with the happy 
 and glorious success of the adventure of the Afflicted, 
 that they resolved to carry the jest still farther, seeing 
 how fit a subject they had to pass it on for earnest : aud 
 so, having projected the scheme, and given the necessary 
 orders to their servants and vassals, how they were to be- 
 liave to Sancho in his government of the promised island, 
 the day following Clavileno's flight, the duke bid Sancho 
 prepare, and get himself in readiness to go to be a go- 
 vernor; for his islanders already wished for him, as for 
 rain in May. Sancho made his bow, and said, " Ever 
 since my descent from heaven, and since from its lofty 
 summit I beheld the earth, and observed it to be so small, 
 the great desire I had of being a governor is, in part, 
 cooled : for what grandeur is it to command on a grain of 
 mustard-seed, or what dignity or dominion is there in go- 
 verning half a dozen men no bigger than hazel-nuts? for 
 methought the whole earth was nothing more ? If your 
 lordship would be pleased to give me but some small por- 
 tion of heaven, though it were no more than half a league, 
 I would accept it with a better will than the biggest 
 island in the world." " Look you, friend Sancho," an- 
 swered the duke, " I can give away no part of heaven, 
 though no bigger than one's nail ; for God has reserved 
 the disposal of those favours and graces in his power. 
 But what I can give you, I give you ; and that is an 
 island ready made, round and sound, and well propor- 
 
 TOL. II. Y Y
 
 346 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 tinned, and above measure fruitful and abundant, where, 
 if you manage dexterously, you may, with the riches of 
 the earth, purchase the treasures of heaven." " Well 
 then," answered Sancho, "let this island come; for it 
 shall go hard but I will be such a governor, that, in 
 spite of rogues, I shall go to heaven : and think not it is 
 out of covetousness that I forsake my humble cottage, 
 and aspire to greater things, but for the desire I have to 
 taste how it relishes to be a governor." " If once you taste 
 it, Sancho," said the duke, " you will eat your fingers 
 after it, so very sweet a thing it is to command, and be 
 obeyed. Sure I am, when your master comes to be an 
 emperor (for doubtless he will be one, in the way his af- 
 fairs are,) no one will be able to wrest it from him, and it 
 will grieve and vex him to the heart to have been so long 
 a time without being one." u Sir," replied Saneho, " I 
 am of opinion it is good to command, though it be but a 
 flock of sheep." " Let me be buried with you, Sancho, 
 for you know something of every thing," answered the 
 duke, " and I doubt not you will prove such a governor 
 as your wit seems to promise. Let this suffice for the pre- 
 sent; and take notice, that, to-morrow, without fail, 
 you shall depart for the government of the island, and 
 this evening you shall be fitted with a convenient garb, 
 and with all things necessary for your departure." 
 " Let them dress me," quoth Sancho, " how they will ; 
 for, howsoever I go clad, I shall still be Sancho Panza." 
 " That is true," said the duke; " but our dress must be 
 suitable- to the employment, or dignity, we are in: for it 
 would be preposterous for a lawyer to be habited like a 
 soldier, or a soldier like a priest. You, Sancho, must 
 go dressed partly like a scholar, and partly like a cap- 
 tain ; for, in the island I give you, arms are as necessary 
 as letters, and letters as arms." " Letters," answered 
 Sancho, " I know but little of; for I can scarcely say the
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 517 
 
 A, B, C ; but it is sufficient to have the Christus C;! to be 
 a good governor ; and, as to arms, I ihall handle such 
 as are given me, till I fall, and God be my guide." 
 ' With so good a memory," added the duke, " Sancho 
 can never err." 
 
 By this time Don Quixote came up, and, learning what 
 had passed, and how suddenly Sancho Mas to depart to 
 his government, with the duke's leave, he took him by 
 the hand, and carried him with him to his chamber, pro- 
 posing to give him advice how to behave himself in his 
 employment. Being come into the apartment, he shut 
 the door after him, and, almost by force, made Sancho 
 sit down by him, and, with a composed voice, said to 
 him, " Infinite thanks give I to heaven, friend Sancho, 
 that, first, and before I have met with any good luck 
 myself, good fortune has gone forth to meet and receive 
 you. I, who had made over my future good success for 
 the payment of your past services, find myself still at the 
 beginning of my advancement, whilst you, before the 
 due time, and against all rule of reasonable expectation, 
 find yourself in full possession of your wishes. Others 
 bribe, importune, solicit, attend early, pray, persist, 
 and yet do not obtain what they aim at: another comes, 
 and, without knowing how, or which way, carries that 
 employment, or office, against all other pretenders. 
 And this makes good the saying, In pretensions luck is 
 all. You, who, in respect to me, without doubt are a 
 blockhead, without rising early, or sitting up late, and 
 without taking any pains at all, by the air alone of knight- 
 errantry breathing on you, see yourself, without more 
 ado, governor of an island, as if it were a matter of no- 
 thing. All this I say, O Sancho, that you may not as- 
 cribe the favour done you to your own merit, but givs 
 thanks, first to heaven, which disposes things so sweetly, 
 and, in the next place, to the grandeur inherent in the 
 
 Y Y2
 
 548 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 profession of knight-errantry. Now, your heart being 
 disposed to believe what I have been saying, be attentive, 
 son, to me, your Cato, who will be your counsellor, 
 your north slar and guide, to conduct and steer you safe 
 into port, out of that tempestuous sea, wherein you are 
 going to be ingulfed ; for offices and great employments 
 are nothing else but a profound gulf of confusions. 
 
 " First, my son, fear Godj for, to fear him is wis- 
 dom, and, being wise, you cannot err. 
 
 ' ; Secondly, consider who you were, and endeavour 
 to know yourself, which is the most difficult point of 
 knowledge imaginable. The knowledge of yourself will 
 keep you from puffing yourself up, like the frog, who 
 strove to equal herself to the ox ; for the consideration of 
 your having been a swineherd in your own country will 
 be; to the wheel of your fortune, like the peacock's ugly 
 feet." " True," answered Sancho ; " when I was a boy, 
 I kept swine; but afterwards, when I grew towards man, 
 I looked after geese, and not after hogs. But this, me- 
 thinks, is nothing to the purpose; for all governors are 
 not descended from the loins of kings." u Granted," 
 replied Don Quixote; " and therefore those, who are 
 not of noble descent, should accompany the gravity of 
 the office they bear with a kind of gentle sweetness, 
 which, guided by prudence, exempts them from that ill- 
 natured murmuring which no state of life can well 
 escape. 
 
 " Value yourself, Sancho, upon the meanness of your 
 family, and be not ashamed to own you descend from 
 peasants ; for when people see that you yourself are not 
 ashamed, nobody else will endeavour to make you so ; 
 and think it greater merit to be a virtuous mean man than 
 a proud sinner: infinite is the number of those, who, born 
 of low extraction, have risen to the highest dignities, 
 both papal and imperial ; and of this truth I could pro- 
 duce examples enough to tire you.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 349 
 
 " Look you, Sancho, if you take virtue for a mean, 
 and value yourself upon doing virtuous actions, you need 
 not envy lords and princes ; for blood is inherited, but 
 virtue acquired ; and virtue has an intrinsic worth which 
 blood has not. 
 
 " This being so, as it really is, if by chance one of 
 your kindred comes to see you when you are in your 
 island, do not despise nor affront him, but receive, che- 
 rish, and make much of him ; for, in so doing, you will 
 please God, who will have nobody despise his work- 
 manship; and you will act agreeable to nature well dis- 
 posed. 
 
 " If you take your wife along with you, (and it is not 
 proper for those who govern to be long without one,) 
 teach, instruct, and polish her from her natural rude- 
 ness ; for, many times, all that a discreet governor can 
 acquire, is dissipated and lost by an ill-bred and foolish 
 woman. 
 
 " If you chance to become a widower (a thing which 
 may happen,) and your station entitles you to a better 
 match, seek not such a one as may serve you for a hook 
 and angling-rod, or a friar's hood to receive alms in : for, 
 believe me, whatever the judge's wife receives, the hus- 
 band must account for at the general judgment, and shall 
 pay fourfold after death for what he made no reckoning 
 of in his life. 
 
 " Be not governed by the law of your own will, which 
 is wont to bear much sway with the ignorant, who pre- 
 sume upon being discerning. 
 
 61 Let the tears of the poor find more compassion, but 
 not more justice, from you, than the informations of the 
 rich. 
 
 " Endeavour to sift out the truth amidst the presents 
 and promises of the rich, as well as among the sighs and 
 importunities of the poor.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 " Wheu equity can, and ought to, take place, lay 
 not the whole rigour of the law upon the delinquent ; for 
 the reputation of the rigorous judge is not better than that 
 of the compassionate one. 
 
 " If perchance the rod of justice be warped a little, 
 let it not be by the -weight of a gift, but that of mercy. 
 
 " If it happens, that the cause of your enemy comes 
 before you, fix not your mind on the injury done you, 
 but upon the merits of the case. 
 
 " Let not private affection blind you in another man's 
 cause ; for the errors you shall commit thereby are often 
 without remedy, and, if there should be one, it will be 
 at the expense both of your reputation and fortune. 
 
 " If a beautiful woman comes to demand justice, turn 
 away your eyes from her tears, and your ears from her 
 sighs, and consider at leisure the substance of her request, 
 unless you have a mind your reason should be drowned in 
 her tears, and your integrity in her sighs. 
 
 " Him you are to punish with deeds, do not evil-en- 
 treat with words; for the pain of the punishment is enough 
 for the wretch to bear, without the addition of ill lan- 
 guage. 
 
 " In the criminal, who falls under your jurisdiction, 
 consider the miserable man, subject to the condition of 
 our depraved nature ; and, as much as in you lies, 
 without injuring the contrary party, sl^y pity and 
 clemency ; for, though the attributes of God are all 
 equal, that of his mercy is more pleasing and attractive 
 in our eyes than that of his justice. 
 
 " If, Sancho, you observe these precepts and these 
 rules, your days will be long, and your fame eternal ; 
 your recompense full, and your felicity unspeakable. 
 You shall match your children as you please ; they, and 
 your grandchildren, shall inherit titls; you shall live
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 351 
 
 in peace, and in favour with all men ; and, at the end of 
 your life, death shall find you in a sweet and mature old 
 age, and your eyes shall be closed by the tender and 
 pious hands of your grandchildren's children. 
 
 i( What I have hitherto taught you, Sancho, are do- 
 cuments for the adorning your mind ; listen now to thos 
 which concern the adornments of the body." 
 
 CHAP. XLII1. 
 
 Of the second Instructions Don Quixote gave Sancfut 
 
 Panza. 
 
 W HO, that had heard the foregoing discourse of Don 
 Quixote's, but would have taken him for a prudent and 
 intelligent person ? but, as it has been often said in the 
 progress of this grand history, he talked foolishly only 
 when chivalry was the subject, and in the rest of his con- 
 versation showed himself master of a clear and agreeable 
 understanding, insomuch that his actions perpetually 
 betrayed his judgment, and his judgment his actions. 
 But, in these second instructions given to Sancho, he 
 showed a great deal of pleasantry, and pushed his discre- 
 tion and his madness to a high pitch. 
 
 Sancho listened to him most attentively, endeavouring 
 to preserve his instructions in memory, like one that in- 
 teaded to observe them: and, by their means, he hoped
 
 352 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 to be safely delivered of the pregnancy of his govern- 
 ment. Don Quixote proceeded, saying : 
 
 " As to what concerns the government of your own 
 person and family, Sancho, in the first place, I enjoin 
 you to be cleanly, and to pare your nails, and not let 
 them grow, as some do, whose ignorance has made them 
 believe that long nails beautify the hands ; as if that ex- 
 crement and excrescence were a nail, whereas it is rather 
 the talon of a lizard-hunting kestrel ; a swinish and mon- 
 strous abuse ! 
 
 " Go not loose and unbuttoned, Sancho ; for a slovenly 
 dress betokens a careless mind, unless the discomposure 
 and negligence fall under the article of cunning and de- 
 sign, as was judged to be the case of Julius Caesar. 
 
 " Feel with discretion the pulse of what your office 
 maybe worth, and, if it will afford your giving liveries to 
 your servants, give them such as are decent and useful, 
 rather than showy and modish : and divide between your 
 servants and the poor; I mean if you can keep six pages, 
 clothe but three, and three of the poor ; and thus you will 
 have pages for heaven and for earth too ; a new way of 
 giving liveries, which the vain-glorious never thought 
 of. 
 
 " Eat neither garlic nor onion, lest people guess, by 
 the smell, at your peasantry. Walk leisurely and speak 
 deliberately ; but not so as to seem to be hearkening to 
 yourself, for all affectation is bad. 
 
 " Eat little at dinner, and less at supper ; for the 
 health of the whole body is tempered in the forge of the 
 stomach. 
 
 " Be temperate in drinking, considering, that excess 
 of wine neither keeps secrets nor performs promises. 
 
 " Take heed, Sancho, not to chew on both sides of 
 your mouth at once, nor to eruct before company." " I
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 353 
 
 do not understand your eructing," quoth Sanclio. :( To 
 cruet," said Don Quixote, " means to belch, a filthy 
 though very significant word ; and therefore your nice 
 people have recourse to the Latin, and instead of 1o 
 belch, say, to eruct, and instead of belchinjrs, eructa- 
 tions : and though some do not understand these terms, 
 it is no great matter ; for, by usage, they will come here- 
 after to be understood ; arid this is to enrich language, 
 over which the vulgar and custom bear sway." u In 
 truth, sir," quoth Sancho, u one of the counsels and in- 
 structions I intend to carry in my memory shall lie this, 
 of not belching : for lam wont to do it very frequent- 
 ly." " Eructing, Sancho, and not belching," said Don 
 Quixote. " Eructing it shall be henceforward, and, in 
 faith, I will not forget it," quoth Sanclio. 
 
 " Likewise, Sancho, intermix not in your discourse 
 that multitude of proverbs you are wont : for though pro* 
 verbs are short sentences, you often drag them in so by 
 the head and shoulders, that they seem rather cross pur- 
 poses than sentences." " God alone can remedy that," 
 quoth Sancho ; u for I know more proverbs than will 
 fill a book, and, when I talk, they crowd so thick into 
 my mouth, that they jostle which shall get out first : but 
 my tongue tosses out the first it meets, though it be not 
 always very pat. But, for the future, I will take Ueed 
 to utter such as become the gravity of my place : For in 
 a plentiful house supper is soon dressed; and, He that 
 cuts does not deal ; and, He that has the repique is safe ; 
 and, To spend and to spare, require judgment." "So, 
 so, Sancho," said Don Quixote : thrust in, rank and 
 string on your proverbs, nobody is going about to hinder 
 you. My mother whips me, and I tear on. I am warn- 
 ing you to abstain from proverbs, and in an instant you 
 pour forth a litany of them, which square with what we 
 are upon as much as Orer the hills and far axay**.. 
 
 VOL. u. z z
 
 354 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Look you, Sancho, I do not say a proverb is amiss, 
 when skilfully applied ; but to accumulate, and string 
 them at random, renders a discourse flat and low. 
 
 " When you are on horseback, sit not leaning your 
 body backwards over your saddle, nor carry your legs 
 stiff, stretched, and straddling from the horse's belly ; 
 nor yet dangle them so, as if you were still upon Dapple ; 
 for sitting a horse makes some look like gentlemen, others 
 like grooms, 
 
 " Let your sleep be moderate, for he who is not up 
 with the sun, does not enjoy the day ; and take notice, 
 O Sancho, that diligence is th^ mother of good fortune, 
 and sloth, her opposite, never reached the end of a good 
 wish. 
 
 " The last article of advice I shall at this time give 
 you, though it concerns not the adorning of the body, 
 yet I would have you bear it carefully in mind ; for I 
 believe it will be of no less use to you than those I have 
 already given you. It is this. Never set yourself to de 
 cide contests about families, at least by comparing them, 
 since perforce one must have the advantage ; and he who 
 is postponed will hate you, and he who is preferred will 
 not reward you. 
 
 " Your habit shall be breeches and stockings, a long 
 coat, and a cloke somewhat longer ; but for trousers or 
 tmnk-hoso, think not of them, for they are not becoming 
 either to cavaliers or governors. 
 
 " This is all, that occurs to me at present, by way of 
 advice to you ; as time goes on, and according to the oc-< 
 casions, such shall my instructions be, provided you take 
 care to inform me of the state of your affairs." " Sir,'* 
 answered Sancho, " I see very well, that all your wor- 
 ship has been saying is good, holy, and profitable : but 
 what good will it do me, if I remember nothing of it ? It 
 is true, I shall not forget what you have said about nqt
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 355 
 
 letting my nails grow, and about marrying again if I 
 may: but for your other gallimaufries, quirks, and quil- 
 lets, I neither do, nor ever shall remember any more of 
 them than of last year's clouds ; and therefore it will be 
 necessary to give me them in writing ; for though I can 
 neither read nor write, I will give them to my confessor, 
 that he may inculcate them into me whenever there shall 
 be need." u Ah ! sinner that I am!" answered Don 
 Quixote ; u how ill does it look in a governor not to be 
 able to read or write : for you must know, O Sancho, 
 that for a man not to know how to read, or to be left- 
 handed, implies one of these two things; either that he 
 sprung from very mean or low parents, or that he was so 
 untoward and perverse, that no good could be beaten in- 
 to him. It is a very great defect you carry with you, 
 and, therefore, I would by all means have you learn to 
 write your name, if possible." " I can sign my name 
 very well," answered Sancho ; " for when I was steward 
 of the brotherhood in our village, I learned to make cer- 
 tain characters, like the marks upon a wool-pack, which, 
 I was told, spelt my name: but, at the worst, I can pre- 
 tend my right-hand is lame, and make another sign for 
 me: for there is a remedy for every thing but death ; and 
 I, having the command of the staff, will do what I please. 
 Besides, he whose father is mayor, &c. you know ; and 
 I being a governor, am surely something more than 
 mayor. Let them come and play at bo-peep. Ay, ay, 
 let them slight and backbite me : they may come for wool 
 and be sent back shorn ; and, whom God loves, his 
 house smells savoury to him ; and, the rich man's blun- 
 ders pass for maxims in the world ; and I being a go- 
 vernor, and consequently rich, and bountiful to boot, as 
 I intend to be, nobody will see my defects. No, no, get 
 yourself honey, and clowns will have flies. As much as 
 you have, so much you are worth, said my granam; and 
 
 z z 2
 
 356 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 there is no revenging yourself upon a rich man." " Oh ! 
 God's curse lighten you!" cried out Don Quixote at this 
 instant; " sixty thousand devils take you and your pro- 
 verbs ! you have been stringing of them this full hour, 
 and putting me to the rack 65 with every one of them. 
 Take my word for it, these proverbs will one day bring 
 you to the gallows : upon their account your subjects will 
 strip you of your government, or at least conspire against 
 you. Tell me where you find them, ignorant, or how 
 apply you them, dunce ? For my own part, to utter but 
 one, and apply it properly, I sweat and labour as if I 
 were digging." 
 
 " Before God, master of mine," replied Suncho, 
 " your worship complains of very trifles. Why the de- 
 vil are you angry that I make use of my own goods ? for 
 1 have no other, nor any stock, but proverbs upon pro- 
 verbs : and just now I have four that present themselves 
 pat to the purpose, and fit like pears in a pannier 06 : but 
 I will not produce them; for, to keep silence A\ell i* 
 called Sancho 67 ." " That you will never do, Saucho," 
 said Don Quixote ; " for you are so far from keeping si- 
 lence well, that you are an arrant prate-apace, and au 
 eternal babbler. But, for all that, 1 would fain know what 
 four proverbs occurred to you just now, so pat to the 
 purpose ; for I have been running over 1113- own memory, 
 which is a pretty good one, and 1 can think of none." 
 " Can there be better," quoth Sancho, " than, Never 
 venture your fingers between two eye-teeth ; and, to get 
 out oj my house ; what zzould you ha~ce &ith my zcife? 
 There is no reply ; and, Whether the pitcher hits the 
 stone , or the stone hits the pitcher, it is bad for the 
 pitcher : all which fit to a hair. Let no one contest 
 with his governor or his governor's substitutes ; for he 
 will come off by the worst,. like him, who claps his linger 
 between two eye-teeth : but though they be not eye-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 557 
 
 teeth, so they be teeth, it matters not. To what a go- 
 vernor says, there is no replying ; for it is like, Get you 
 out of my house., xhat business have you zzith my zjife ? 
 Then, as to the stond and the pitcher, a blind man may 
 see into it. So that he, who sees a mote in another man's 
 eye, should first look to the beam in his own ; that it may 
 not be said of him, the dead woman was afraid of her 
 that was flayed: and your worship knows well, that the 
 fool knows more in his own house than the wise in ano- 
 ther man's." " Not so, Sancho," answered Don Quix- 
 ote : " the fool knows nothing either in his own house or 
 another's ; for knowledge is not a structure to be erected 
 upon so shallow a foundation as folly. And so much for 
 that, Sancho ; for if you govern ill, yours will be the 
 fault, but the shame will be mine. But I comfort myself 
 that I have done my duty in advising you as seriously and 
 as discreetly as I possibly could : and so I am acquitted 
 both of my obligation and my promise. God speed you, 
 Sancho, and govern you in your government, and deliver 
 me from a suspicion I have, that you will turn the whole 
 island topsy-turvy: which I might prevent, by letting 
 the duke know what you are, and telling him that all 
 that paunch gut and little carcass of thine is nothing but 
 a sackful of proverbs and sly remarks." " Sir," replied 
 Sancho, " if your worship thinks I arn not fit for this go- 
 vernment, I renounce it from this moment ; for I love the 
 little black of the nail of my soul better than my whole 
 body ; and plain Sancho can live as well upon bread and 
 onion, as governor Sancho upon capon and partridge. 
 Besides, while we are asleep, the great and the small, 
 the poor and the rich, are all equal. And if your wor- 
 ship reflects, you will find it was you that put me upon 
 the scent of governing ; for I know no more of the go- 
 vernment of islands than a bustard ; and if you fancy the
 
 358 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 devil will have me if I am a governor, I had rather go 
 Sane bo to heaven than a governor to hell." " Before 
 God, Sancho," said Don Quixote, " for those last words 
 of yours I think you deserve to be governor of a thousand 
 islands. You are good-natured, without which no know- 
 ledge is of any value. Pray to God, and endeavour not 
 to err in your intention ; I mean, always take care to have 
 a firm purpose and design of doing right in whatever bu- 
 siness occurs ; for heaven constantly favours a good in- 
 tention. And so let us go to dinner; for I believe the 
 lord and lady stay for us." 
 
 CHAP. XL1V. 
 
 How Sancho Pan~a was carried to his Government, and 
 of the strange Adventure which befel Don Quixote in 
 the Castle. 
 
 WE are told, that, in the original of this history, it is 
 said, Cid Hamete coming to write this chapter, the in- 
 terpreter did not translate it as he had written it; which 
 was a kind of complaint the Moor made of himself, for 
 having undertaken a history so dry and so confined as 
 that of Don Quixote, thinking he must be always talking 
 of him and Sancho, without daring to launch into digres- 
 sion or episodes of more weight and entertainment. And 
 he said, that, to have his invention, his hand, and his 
 pen, always tied down to write upon one subject only, 
 and to speak by the mouths of few characters, was an in- 
 supportable toil, and of no advantage to the author : and
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 359 
 
 that, to avoid this inconvenience, he had, in the first 
 part, made use of the artifice of introducing novels, such 
 as that of the <c Curious Impertinent," and that of the 
 " Captive;" which are in a manner detached from the 
 history ; though most of what is related in that part are 
 accidents which happened to Don Quixote himself, and 
 could not be omitted. He also thought, as he tells us, 
 that many readers, carried away by their attention to 
 Don Quixote's exploits, could afford none to the novels, 
 and would either run them over in haste, or with disgust, 
 not considering how fine and artificial they were in them- 
 selves, as would have been very evident, had they beerf 
 published separately, without being tacked to the extra- 
 vagancies of Don Quixote and the simplicities of Sancho. 
 And therefore, in this second part, he would introduce no 
 loose nor unconnected novels ; but only some episodes, 
 resembling them, and such as flow naturally from such 
 events as the truth offers ; and even these with great limi- 
 tation, and in no more words than are sufficient to express 
 them: and, since he restrains and confines himself within 
 the narrow limits of the narration, though with ability, 
 genius, and understanding, sufficient to treat of the whole 
 universe, he desires his pains may not be under- valued, 
 but that he may receive applause, not for what he writes, 
 but what he has omitted to write : and then he goes on 
 with his history, saying: 
 
 Don Quixote, in the evening of the day he gave the 
 instructions to Sancho, gave them him in writing, that he 
 might get somebody to read them to him : but scarcely 
 had he delivered them to Sancho, when he dropped them , 
 ,and they fell into the duke's hands, who communicated 
 them to the duchess ; and they both admired afresh at the 
 madness and capacity of Don Quixote; and so, going on 
 with their jest, that evening they dispatched Sancho with 
 a large retinue to the place which, to him, was to be an
 
 360 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 island. The person who had the management of the bu- 
 siness was a steward of the duke's, a man of pleasantry 
 and discretion, (fo^ there can be no true pleasantry with- 
 out discretion,), and who had already personated the 
 Countess Trifaldi with the humour already related ; and 
 with these qualifications, and the instructions of his lord 
 and lady how to behave to Sancho, he performed his part 
 to admiration. Now it fell out, that Sancho no sooner 
 cast his eyes on this same steward, but lie fancied he saw 
 in his face the very features of the Trifaldi: and, turning 
 to his master, he said, a Sir, cither the devil shall run 
 away with me from the place where I stand for an honest 
 man and a believer, or your worship shall confess to me, 
 that the countenance of this same steward of the duke's is 
 the very same with that of the Afflicted." Don Quixote 
 beheld him attentively, and, having viewed him, said to 
 Sancho, " There is no need of the devil's running away 
 witli you, Sancho, either as an honest man or a believer; 
 for, though I know not what you mean, I see plainly tlie 
 steward's face is the same with the Afflicted's, and yet 
 the steward is not the Afflicted ; for that would imply a 
 palpable contradiction. But this is no time to enter into 
 these inquiries, which would involve us in an intricate 
 labyrinth. Believe me, friend, we ought earnestly to 
 pray to our Lord to deliver us from wicked wizards and 
 enchanters." " It is no jesting matter, sir," replied 
 Saneho; " for I heard him speak before, and methought 
 the Trifaldi's voice sounded in my ears. Well, I say no 
 more ; but I will not fail to be upon the watch hencefor- 
 ward, to see whether I can discover any other sign to 
 confirm or remove my suspicion." " Do so, Sancho," 
 answered Don Quixote, " and give me advice of all you 
 discover in this affair, and all that happens to you in 
 your government."
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 361 
 
 At length Sancho set out with a gn>at number of follow- 
 ers. He was habited like one of the gown, having on a 
 wide surtout of murrey-coloured camlet, with a cap of 
 the same, and mounted, a la gineta^^ upon a mule. And 
 behind him, by the duke's order, was led his Dapple, 
 with ass-like furniture, all of flaming fine silk. Sancho 
 turned back his head every new and then to look at his 
 ass, with whose company he was so de-lighted, that he 
 would not have changed conditions with the emperor of 
 Germany. 
 
 At taking leave of the duke and duchess, he kissed 
 their hands, and begged his master's blessing, which he 
 gave with tears, and Sancho received blubbering. Now, 
 loving reader, let honest Sancho depart in peace, and in 
 a good hour, and expect two bushels of laughter from 
 the accounts how he demeaned himself in his employ- 
 ment ; and, in the mean time, attend to what befel his mas- 
 ter that night ; which, if it does not make you laugh, 
 you will at least open your lips with the grin of a mon- 
 key : for the adventures of Don Quixote must be cele- 
 brated eiiher with admiration or laughter. 
 
 It is related, then, that scarcely was Sancho departed, 
 when Don Quixote began to regret his own solitary con- 
 dition, and, had it been possible for him to have recalled 
 the commission, and taken the government from him, he 
 would certainly have done it. The duchess soon per- 
 ceived his melancholy, and asked him why he was so 
 sad: if for the absence of Sancho, there were squires, 
 duennas, and damsels, enough in her house, ready to 
 serve him to his heart's desire. " It is tru.*, madam,'' 
 answered Don Quixote, " that I am concerned for San- 
 cho's absence; but that is not the principal cause that 
 makes me appear sad ; and, of all your excellency's kind 
 offers, I accept and choose that only of the good will, 
 
 VOL. II. 3 A
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 with which they are tendered; and for (he rest I humbh 
 beseech your excellency, that you would be pleased to 
 consent and permit that J alone may wait upon myself iu 
 my chamber." " Truly, Signor Don Quixote," said 
 rtie duchess, " it must not be so, but you shall be served 
 by four of my damsels, all beautiful as flowers." u To 
 me," answered Don Quixote, " they will not be flowers, 
 but very thorns, pricking me to the soul : they shall no 
 more come into my chamber, nor any thing like it, than 
 they shall fly. If your grandeur would continue your fa- 
 vours to me, without my deserving them, suffer me to be 
 alone, and let me serve myself within my own doors, that 
 I may keep a wall betwixt my passions and my modesty : 
 a practice I woukl not forego for all your highness's libe- 
 rality towards me. In short, I will sooner lie in my 
 clothes, than consent to let any body help to undress 
 me." " Enough, enough, Signer Don Quixote," re- 
 plied the duchess: " I promise you I will give orders 
 that not so much as a fly shall enter your chamber, much 
 less a damsel. I would by no means be accessory to the 
 violation of Signor Don Quixote's decency ; for, by what 
 I can perceive, the most conspicuous of his many virtues 
 is his modesty. Your worship, sir, may undress and 
 dress by yourself, your own way, when and how you 
 please ; for nobodj* shall hinder you, and in your cham- 
 ber you will find all the necessary utensils; so that you 
 may sleep with the doors locked, and no natural want 
 need oblige you to open them. A thousand ages live the 
 grand Dulcinea del Toboso, and be her name extended 
 over the whole globe of the earth, for meriting the love of 
 so valiant and so chaste a knight : and may indulgent hea- 
 ven infuse into the heart of Sancho Panza, our governor, 
 a disposition to finish his whipping speedily, that the 
 A>orld may again rnjoy the beauty of so great a lady!"
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 363 
 
 To which Don Quixote said, " Your highness has spoken 
 like yourself, and from the mouth of such good lad res 
 nothing that is bad can proceed : and Dulcinca will be 
 more happy, and more known in the world, by the 
 praises your grandeur bestows on her, than by (hose of 
 the most eloquent on earth." " Signer Don Quixote," 
 replied the duchess, " the hour of supper draws near, 
 and the duke may be staying for us: come, sir, let us 
 sup, and to bod betimes; for your yesterday's journey 
 from Candaya was not so short, but it must have some- 
 what fatigued you." " Not at all, madam," answered 
 Don Quixote ; " for I can safely swear to your excellen- 
 cy, that in all my life I never bestrid a soberer beast, nor 
 of an easier pace, than Clavileno; and I cannot imagine 
 what possessed Malambruno to part with so swift and so 
 gentle a steed, and burn him so, without more ado." 
 " We may suppose," answered the duchess, u that, re- 
 penting of the mischief he had done to the Trifaldi and 
 her companions, and to other persons, and of the iniqui- 
 ties he had committed as a wizard and an enchanter, he 
 had a mind to destroy all the instruments of his art, and 
 as the principal, and that which gave him the most dis- 
 quiet, by having carried him up and down from country 
 to country, he burnt Clavileno ; and thus, with his ashes, 
 and the trophy of the parchment, has eternalized the va- 
 lour of the grand Don Quixote de la Mancha." Don 
 Quixote gave thanks afresh to the duchess, and, when 
 he had supped, he retired to his chamber alone, not con- 
 senting to let any body come in to Avait upon him; so 
 afraid was he of meeting with temptations to move or force 
 him to transgress that modest decency he had preserved 
 towards his lady Dulcinea ; bearing always in mind the 
 chastity of Amadis, the flower and mirror of knights-er- 
 rant. He shut his door after him, and by the light of 
 
 3 A 2
 
 364 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 two wax candles, pulled off his clothes, and, at strip- 
 ping off his stockings, (O mishap unworthy of such a 
 personage!) forth burst, not sighs, nor any thing else 
 that might discredit his cleanliness, but some two dozen 
 stitches of a stocking, which made it resemble a lattice- 
 window. The good gentleman was extremely afflicted, 
 and would have given an ounce of silver to have had 
 there a drachm of green silk ; I say green, because his 
 stockings were green. 
 
 Here Benengeli exclaims, and, writing on, says, " O 
 poverty ! poverty ! I cannot imagine what moved the 
 great Cordovan poet to call thee ( a holy thankless gift.' 
 I, though a Moor, know very well, by the intercourse I 
 have had with the Christians, that holiness consists in 
 charity, humility, faith, obedience, and poverty. But, 
 for all that, I say, a man must have a great share of the 
 grace of God, who can bring himself to be contented with 
 poverty, unless it be that kind of it, of which one of their 
 greatest saints speaks, saying, Possess all things as not 
 possessing them. And this is called poverty in spirit. 
 But thou, O second poverty ! (which is that I am speak- 
 ing of,) why dost thou choose to pinch gentlemen, and 
 such as are well-born, rather than other people ? Why 
 dost thou force them to cobble their shoes, and to wear 
 one button of their coats of silk, one of hair, and one of 
 glass? Why must their ruffs be, for the most part, ill- 
 ironed, -and worse starched ?" By this you may see the 
 antiquity of the use of ruffs and starch. Then he goes on : 
 " Wretched well-born gentleman! who is administering 
 jelly-broths to his honour, while he is starving his car- 
 cass, dining with his door locked upon him, and making 
 a hypocrite of his toothpick, with which he walks out in- 
 to the street, after having eaten nothing to oblige him to 
 this cleanliness. Wretched he, I say, whose skittish
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 365 
 
 honour is always ready to start, apprehensive that every 
 body sees, a league off, the patch upon his shoe, the 
 sweating-through of his hat, the threadbareness of his 
 cloke, and the hunger of his stomach !" 
 
 All these melancholy reflections recurred to Don Quix- 
 ote's thoughts upon the rent in his stocking: but his com- 
 fort was, that Sancho had left him behind a pair of tra- 
 velling boots, which he resolved to put on next day. 
 Finally, he laid himself down, pensive and heavy- 
 hearted, as well for lack of Sancho. as for the irreparable 
 misfortune of his stocking, whose stitches he would gladly 
 have darned, though with silk of another colour: which 
 is one of the greatest signs of misery a gentleman can give 
 in the course of his tedious neediness. He put out the 
 lights : the weather was hot, and he could not sleep : he 
 got out of bed, and opened the casement of a grate-win- 
 dow, which looked into a fine garden, and, at opening 
 it, he perceived and heard som body walking and talking 
 in the garden. He set himself to listen attentively ; and 
 those below raised their voice so high, that he could dis- 
 tinguish these words : " Press me not, O Emerencie, to 
 sing ; for you know, ever since this stranger came into this 
 castle, and my eyes beheld him, I cannot sing, but weep* 
 Besides, my lady sleeps not sound, and I would not have 
 her find us here for all the treasure of the world. But 
 suppose she should sleep, and not awake, my singing 
 will still be in vain, if this new ^Eneas, who is arrived in 
 my territories to leave me forlorn, sleeps on, and awakes 
 not to hear it." " Do not fancy so, dear Altisidora," 
 answered the other; " for doubtless the duchess, and 
 every body else in the house, is asleep, excepting the 
 master of your heart and disturber of your repose : for 
 even now I heard him open his casement, and, without 
 doubt, he must be awake. Sing, my afflicted creature, 
 in a low and sweet voice, to the sound of your harp;
 
 366 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 and, if the duchess should hear us, we will plead the ex- 
 cessive heat of the weather." " This is not the point, O 
 Eraerencia," answered Altisidora, " but that 1 am afraid 
 my song should betray ray heart, and so I may be taken 
 for a light longing hussy by those who are unacquainted 
 with the powerful effects of love. Rut come \\hat will: 
 better a blush in the face, than a blot in the heart ;"' and 
 presently she began to touch a harp most sweetly ; which 
 Don Quixote hearing, he was surprised ; and in that in- 
 stant came into his mind an infinite number of adventures 
 of the like kind, of casements, grates, and gardens, sere- 
 nades, courtships, and faintings away, of which he had 
 read in his idle books of chivalry. He straight imagined 
 that some damsel of the duchess's had fallen in love with 
 him, and that modesty obliged her to conceal her passion. 
 He was a little afraid of being captivated, but resolved in 
 his own thoughts not to yield ; and so, commending him- 
 self with all his soul and with all might to his mistress 
 Dulcinea del Toboso, he determined to listen to the mu- 
 Aic ; and, to let them know he was there, he gave a feigned 
 sneeze; at which the damsels were not a little glad, de- 
 siring nothing more than that Don Quixote should hear 
 them. Now the harp being tuned and put in order, Alti- 
 sidora began this song. 
 
 SOXG. 
 
 Gentle knight, La Mancha's glory, 
 Fam'd in never-dying gtory ; 
 Of a purer, finer, mould, 
 Than Arabia's finest gold : 
 Thou that in thy downy bed, 
 Wrapt in Holland sheet?, art laid, 
 And with out-stretch'd logs art yawning, 
 Or asleep till morrow's dawning: 
 Hear a woeful maid complaining, 
 Who must die by tky disdain: rg, 
 Since thy eyes have scorch'd her soul, 
 Ard bare burnt it to a roal.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 367 
 
 If the aim of thy adventures 
 In relieving damsels enters, 
 Canst thou wound a tender maid, 
 And refuse thy wonted aid ? 
 Tell, O tell me, I conjure thee, 
 (So may heav'nly help secure tbee,) 
 Wert thou born where lions roar 
 On remotest Afric's shore ? 
 Wert thou some bleak mountain's care, 
 And did'st suck, thy nurse, a bear? 
 Fair Dulcinny, tall and slender, 
 Well may boast thy heart's surrender, 
 Since those charms must stand confest, 
 That could tame a tiger's breast : 
 And henceforth she shall be known 
 From the Tagus to the Rhone. 
 Could I take Dulciuny's place, 
 And but swap with her's my face, 
 Oh ! I'd give my Sunday's suit, 
 And fring'd petticoat to boot. 
 Happy she, that, in those arms 
 Clusp'd, enjoys thy nmnly charms, 
 Or but, sitting by thy bed, 
 Chafes tliy feet, or rubs thy head ! 
 Ah ! I w ish and ask too much : 
 Let me but thy great toe touch; 
 'Twere to humble me a blessing, 
 And reward beyond expressing. 
 Oh ! how I would lavish riches, 
 Satin vests, and damask breeche.-, 
 To adorn and dress my dear ! 
 Oh! what night-caps he should wear!' 
 I'm a virgin, neat and clean, 
 And, in faith, not quite fifteen ; 
 Tall and strait, and very sound, 
 And my ringlets brush the ground. 
 Though my mouth be somewhat wide, 
 In my coral teeth I pride ; 
 And the flatness of my nose 
 Here for flnish'd beauty goe*. 
 How I sing, I need not say, 
 If perchance thou hear'st this lay, 
 These, and twenty graces more-a, 
 Court thee to Altisidora.
 
 368 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Here ended the song of the sore-wounded Altisidora, 
 and began the alarm of the courted Don Quixote, who, 
 fetching a deep sigh, said within himself, " Why am I 
 so unhappy a knight-errani, that no damsel can see me 
 but she must presently fall in love ^ ith me ? Why is the 
 peerless Dulcinea so unlucky, that she must not be suf- 
 fered singly to enjoy this my incomparable constancy ? 
 ^Queens! what would you have with her? Empresses! 
 why do you persecute her ? Damsels from fourtec n to 
 fifteen! why do yc plague her ? Leave, leave the poor 
 creature; let her triumph, glory, and plume herself in 
 the lot, which love bestowed upon her in the conquest of 
 my heart, and the surrender of my soul. Take notice, 
 enamoured multitude, that to Dulcinea alone I am paste 
 and sugar, and to all others flint: to her I am honey, and 
 to the rest of ye aloes. To me Dulcinea alone is beautiful, 
 discreet, lively, modest, and well-born ; and the rest of 
 her sex foul, foolish, fickle, and base-born . To be hers, 
 and hers alone, nature threw me into the world. Let 
 Altisidora weep or sing : let the lady despair, on whose 
 account I was buffeted in the castle of the enchanted 
 Moor 6 ^. Boiled or roasted, Dulcinea's I must be, clean, 
 well-bred, and chaste, in spite of all the necromantic 
 powers on earth." This said, he clapped-to the case- 
 ment, and, in despite and sorrow, as if some great mis- 
 fortune had befallen him, threw himself upon his bed ; 
 where at present we will leave him, to attend the great 
 Sancho Panza, who is desirous of beginning his famous 
 government.
 
 .y &-jf. M<fy.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 369 
 
 CHAP. XLV. 
 
 Hoic the great Sancho Panza took Possession of /tis 
 Island, andofthe Manner of his Beginning to govern it. 
 
 \J THOL, perpetual discoverer of the antipodes, torch 
 of the world, eye of heaven, sweet motive of wine-cool- 
 ing bottles TO ; here T ymbraeus, there Phoebus ; here 
 archer, there physician ; father of poesy, inventor of 
 music ; thou, who always risest, and, though thou 
 seemestto do so, never settest ! to thee I speak, O sun! 
 by whose assistance man begets man ; thee I invoke to 
 favour and enlighten the obscurity of my genius, that I 
 may be able punctually to describe the government of 
 the great Sancho Panza -, for, without thee, I find myself 
 indolent, dispirited, and confused. 
 
 I say then, that Sancho, with all his attendants, arrived 
 at a town that contained about a thousand inhabitants, 
 and was one of the best the duke had. They gave him 
 to understand, that it was called the island of Barataria, 
 either because Barataria was really the name of the 
 place, or because he obtained the government of it at so 
 cheap a rate 71 . At his arrival near the gates of the town, 
 which was walled about, the magistrates, in their robes 
 of office, came out to receive him, the bells rang, and the 
 people gave demonstrations of a general joy, and, with a 
 great deal of pomp, conducted him to the great church 
 to give thanks to God. Presently after, with certain 
 ridiculous ceremonies, they presented to hiru the keys 
 of the town, and admitted him as perpetual governor 
 of the island of Barataria. The garb, the beard, the 
 thickness and shortness of the new governor, held all, 
 
 VOL. ii. 3 a
 
 370 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 that were not in the secret, in astonishment, and even 
 those that were, who were not a few. In short, as soon 
 as they had brought him out of the church, they carried 
 him to the tribunal of justice, and placed him in the 
 chair, and the duke's steward said to him : " It is an 
 ancient custom here, my lord governor, that he, who 
 comes to take possession of this famous island, is obliged 
 to answer to a question put to him, which is somewhat 
 intricate and difficult ; and by his answer the people are 
 enabled to feel the pulse of their new governor's under- 
 standing, and, accordingly, are either glad or sorry for 
 his coming." 
 
 While the steward was saying this, Sancho was staring 
 at some capital letters written on the wall opposite to 
 his chair; and, because he could not read, he asked 
 what that painting was on the wall. He was answered, 
 " Sir, it is there written, on what day your honour took 
 possession of this island ; and the inscription runs thus : 
 " This day (such a day of the month and year) Signer 
 Don Sancho Panza took possession of this island, and 
 long may he enjoy it !" u And, pray," quoth he, " who 
 is it they call Don Sancho Punza ?" " Your lordship," 
 answered the steward : "for no other Panza, besides him 
 now in the chair, ever came into this island." "Take 
 notice, brother," quoth Sancho, u Don does not belong 
 to me, nor ever did to any of my family : I am called 
 plain Sancho Panza ; my father was a Sancho, and my 
 grandfather a Sancho, and they were all Panzas, without 
 any addition of Dons or Donnas ; and I fancy there are 
 more Dons than stones in this island : but enough ; God 
 knows my meaning, and, perhaps, if my government 
 last four days, I may weed out those Dons that overrun 
 the country, and, by their numbers, are as troublesome 
 ps enats. On with your question, master steward, and
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 371 
 
 I will answer the best I can, let the people be sorry, or 
 not sorry." 
 
 At this instant two men came into the court, the one 
 clad like a country-fellow, and the other like a tailor, 
 with a pair of shears in his band ; and the tailor said : 
 " My lord governor, I and this countryman come 
 before your worship, by reason this honest man came 
 yesterday to my shop (for, saving your presence, I am 
 a tailor, and have passed my examination, God be 
 thanked,) and, putting a piece of cloth into my hands, 
 asked me ; Sir, is there enough of this to make me a cap ? 
 I, measuring the piece, answered Yes. Now he ima- 
 gining, as I imagine, (and I imagined right,) that doubt- 
 less I had a mind to cabbage some of the cloth, grounding 
 his conceit upon his own knavery, and upon the common 
 ill opinion had of tailors, bid me view it again, and see 
 if there was not enough for two. I guessed his drift, 
 and told him there was. My gentleman, persisting in 
 his knavish intention, went on increasing the number of 
 caps, and I adding to the number of Yes's, till we came 
 to five caps ; and even now he carne for them. I offered 
 them to him, and he refuses to pay me for the making, 
 and pretends I shall either return him his cloth, or pay 
 him for it." " Is all this so, brother?" demanded 
 Sancho. " Yes," answered the man ; u but pray, my 
 Lord, make him produce the five caps he has made me." 
 " With all my heart," answered the tailor, and 
 pulling his hand from under his cloke, he showed the 
 five caps on the end of his fingers and thumb, saying: 
 " Here are the five caps this honest man would have 
 me make, and, on my soul and conscience, not a shred 
 of the cloth is left, and I submit the work to be viewed 
 by any inspectors of the trade." All that were present 
 laughed at the number of the caps, and the novelty of 
 the suit. Sancho set himself to consider a little, and
 
 072 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 said : " I am of opinion, there needs no great delay in 
 this suit, and it may be decided very equitably oil 
 hand ; and therefore I pronounce, that the tailor lose 
 the making, and the countryman the stuff, and that the 
 caps be confiscated to the use of the poor; aud there 
 is an end of that." If the sentence he afterwards passed 
 on the purse of the herdsman caused the admiration of 
 all the by-standers, this excited their laughter. In short, 
 what the governor commanded was executed. 
 
 The next that presented themselves before him, were 
 two ancient men, the one with a cane in his hand for a staff; 
 and he without a staff said : " My lord, some time ago 
 1 lent this man ten crowns of gold, to oblige and serve 
 him, upon condition he should return them on demand, 
 i let him alone a good while, without asking for them, 
 because I was loth to put him to a greater strait to pay 
 me than he was In when I lent them. But at length, 
 thinking he was negligent of the payment, I asked him 
 more than onre or t\\ ice for my money, and he not only 
 refuses payment, but denies the debt, and says I never 
 lent him any such sum, and, if I did, that he has already 
 paid me : and I having no witnesses of the loan, nor 
 lie of the payment, entreat your worship will take his 
 oath : and, if lie will swear he has returned me the 
 money, I acquit him from this minute before God and 
 the world." u What say you to this, old gentleman 
 with the staff ?" quoth Sancho. To which the old fellow 
 replied : " I confess my lord, he did lend me the mo- 
 ney : and, if your worship pleases to hold down your 
 wand of justice, since he leaves it to my oath, I w ill swear 
 I have really and truly returned it him." The go- 
 vernor held down the wand, and the okl fellow gave 
 the staff to his creditor to hold, while he was swearing, 
 as if it encumbered him ; and presently laid his hand 
 upon the cross of the wand, and said, it was true indeed
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 373 
 
 he had lent him those ten crowns he asked for ; but thai 
 he had restored them to him into his own hand : and 
 because, he supposed, he had forgot it, he was every 
 moment asking him for them. Which the great go- 
 vernor seeing, he asked the creditor, what he had to 
 answer to what his antagonist had alleged. He replied, 
 lie did not doubt but his debtor had said the truth ; for 
 lie took him to be an holiest man, and a good Christian ; 
 and that he himself must have forgotten when and where 
 the money was returned: and that, from henceforward, 
 he would never ask him for it again. The debtor took 
 his staff again, and, bowing his head, went out of court. 
 Sancho seeing this, and that lie was gone without more 
 ado, .and observing also the patience of the creditor, he 
 inclined his head upon his breast, and, laying the fore- 
 finger of his right hand upon his eyebrows and nose, 
 he continued, as it were, full of thought a short space, 
 and then, lifting up his head, he ordered the old man 
 with the staff, who was already gone, to be called back. 
 He was brought back accordingly; and Sahcho, seeing 
 him, said : "Give me that staff, honest friend; for 1 
 have occasion for it." " With all my heart," answered 
 the old fellow; and delivered it into his hand. Sancho took 
 it, and, giving it to the other old man, said : " Go about 
 your business, in God's name, for you are paid." "I, 
 my lord ?" answered the old man :- " what! is this cane 
 worth ten golden crowns ?" u Yes," quoth the governor, 
 " or I am the greatest dunce in the world ; and now 
 it shall appear, whether I have a head to govern a whole 
 kingdom." Straight he commanded the cane to be bro- 
 ken before them all. Which beins: done, there were found 
 
 O s 
 
 in the hollow of it ten crowns of gold. All w r ere struck 
 with admiration, and took their new governor for a second 
 Solomon. They asked him, whence he had collected, that 
 the ten crowns were in the cane. He answered, that, upon 
 seeing the old man j^ive it his adversary, while he was
 
 374 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 taking the oath ; and swearing, that he had really and 
 truly restored them into his own hands, and, when he 
 had done, ask for it again, it came into his imagination, 
 that the money in dispute must be in the hollow of the 
 cane. Whence it may be gathered, that God Almighty 
 often directs the judgment of those who govern, though 
 otherwise mere blockheads : besides, he had heard the 
 priest of his parish tell a like case; and, were it not 
 that he was so unlucky as to forget all he had a mind 
 to remember, his memory was so good, there would not 
 have been a better in the whole island. At length, 
 both the old men marched off, the one ashamed, and the 
 other satisfied : the by-standers were surprised, and the 
 secretary, who minuted down the words, actions, and 
 behaviour of Sancho Panza, could not determine with 
 himself, whether he should set him down for a wise 
 man or a fool. 
 
 This cause was no sooner ended, but there came into 
 court a woman, keeping fast hold of a man, clad like 
 a rich herdsman. She came crying aloud : " Justice, 
 my lord governor, justice: if I cannot find it on earth, 
 I will seek it in heaven : lord governor of my soul, 
 this wicked man surprised me in the middle of the field, 
 and made use of my body as if it had been a dishclout, 
 and, woe is me, has robbed me of what I have kept above 
 these three and twenty years, defended it against Moors 
 and Christians, natives and foreigners. I have been 
 as hard as a cork-tree, and preserved myselt as entire as 
 a salamander in the fire, or as AVOO! among briers, that this 
 honest man should come with his clean hands to handle 
 me." " It remains to be examined," quoth Sancho, 
 *' whether this gallant's hands arc clean or no ;" and, 
 turning to the man, he ask^d him what he had to say, 
 and what answer to make to the woman's complaint. 
 The man, all in confusion, replied : * Sirs, I am a poor 
 herdsman, and deal in swiue, and this morning I went
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 375 
 
 out of this town, after having sold (under correction be 
 it spoken) four hogs, and, what between dues and ex- 
 actions, the officers took from me little less than they 
 were worth. J was returning home, and by the way 
 I lighted upon this good dame, and the devil, the author 
 of all mischief, yoked us together. I paid her hand- 
 somely : but she, not contented, laid hold on me, and 
 has never let me go, till she has dragged me to this place : 
 she says 1 forced her ; but, by the oath I have taken, or 
 am to take, she lies : and this is the whole truth." Then 
 the governor asked him, if he had any silver money 
 about him. He said, Yes, he had about twenty ducats 
 in a leathern purse in his bosom. He ordered him to 
 produce it, and deliver it just as it was to the plaintiff. 
 He did so, trembling. The woman took it, and, making 
 a thousand courtesies, after the Moorish manner, and 
 praying to God for the life and health of the lord go- 
 vernor, who took such care of poor orphans and maidens, 
 out of the court she went, holding the purse with both 
 hands : but first she looked to see, if the money that was 
 in it was silver. She was scarcely gone out, when Sancho 
 said to the herdsman, who was in tears, and .whose eyes 
 and heart were gone after his purse: "Honest man, 
 follow that woman, and take away the purse from her, 
 whether she will or no, and come back hither with it." 
 This was not said to the deaf or the stupid ; for instantly 
 he flew after her like lightning, and went about what 
 he was bid. All present were in great suspense, ex- 
 pecting the issue of this suit ; and present^ after came 
 in the man and the woman, clinging together closer than 
 the first time, she with her petticoat tucked up, and the 
 purse lapped up in it, and the man struggling to take 
 it from her, but in vain, so tightly she defended it, cry- 
 ing out: "Justice from God and the world! See, my 
 lord governor, the impudence and the want of fear of 
 this varlet, who, in the midst of the town and of the street,
 
 376 DON QU1XOTK. 
 
 would take from me the purse your worship commanded 
 to be given me." " And has he got it?" demanded the 
 governor. "Got it!" answered the woman, " I would 
 sooner let him take away my life than my purse. A 
 pretty baby I should be, indeed : otherguise cats must 
 claw my beard, and not such pitiful sneukiug tools ; 
 pincers and hammers, crows and chisels, shall not <^et 
 it out of my clutches, nor even the paws of a lion ; my 
 soul and body shall sooner part." " She is in the right 
 quoth the man, " and I yield myself worsted and spent, 
 and confess I have not strength enough to take it from 
 her :" and so he left her. Then said the governor to the 
 troman: "Give me that purse, virtuous virago." She 
 presently delivered it, and returned it to the man, and said 
 to the forceful, but not forced, damsel : u Sister of mine, 
 had you shown the same, or but half as much courage and 
 resolution, in defending your chastity as you have done in 
 defending your purse, the strength of Hercules could 
 not have forced you. Begone, in God's name, and in 
 an ill hour, and be not found in all this island, nor in 
 six leagues round about it, upon pain of two hundred 
 stripes ; be gone instantly, I say, thou prating shameless 
 cheating hussy !" The woman was confounded, and went 
 away, hanging down her head and discontented ; and the 
 governor said to the man : " Honest man, go home, in the 
 name of God, with your money, and from henceforward, 
 unless you have a mind to lose il, take care not to yoke 
 with any body." The countryman gave him thanks after 
 the clownishest manner he could, and went his way ; and 
 the by-standers were in fresh admiration at the decisions 
 and sentences of their new governor. All which, being 
 noted down by his historiographer, was immediately 
 transmitted to the duke, who waited for it with a longing 
 impalience. And let here us leave honest Sancho ; for 
 his master, greatly disturbed at Altisidoru's music, calls 
 in hafctefor us.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 377 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 Of the dreadful Bell-ringing and cattish Consternation 
 Don Quixote was put into in the Progress of the en- 
 amoured Altisidora^ s Amour. 
 
 WE left the great Don Quixote wrapped up in the re- 
 flections occasioned by the music of the enamoured dam- 
 sel Altisidora. He carried them with him to bed ; and, 
 as if they had been fleas,, they would not suffer him to 
 sleep, or tike the least rest. To these was added the dis- 
 aster of the stocking. But as time is swift, and no bar 
 can stop him, he came riding upon the hours, and that of 
 the morning posted on apace ; which Don Quixote per- 
 ceiving, he forsook his downy pillow, and in haste put 
 on his shamois doublet, and his travelling boots, to con- 
 ceal the misfortune of his stocking. He threw over his 
 shoulders his scarlet mantle, and clapped on his head a 
 green velvet cap trimmed with silver lace. He hung bis 
 trusty trenchant blade in his shoulder-belt" 2 . On his 
 wrist he wore a large rosary, which he always carried 
 about him. And with great state and solemnity he 
 marched towards the anti-chamber, where the duke and 
 duchess, who were ready dressed, expected him : and as 
 he passed through a gallery, Altisidora, and the other 
 damsel, her friend, stood purposely posted, and waiting 
 for him. As soon as Altisidora espied Don Quixote, she 
 pretended to faint away > and her companion caught her in 
 her lap, and in a great hurry was unlacing her stays. 
 Don Quixote, seeing it, drew near to them, and said, 
 " J very well know whence these accidents proceed."* 
 VOL. ii. 3c
 
 378 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 ." I know not from whence," answered her friend; " for 
 Altisidora is the healthiest damsel in all this family, and 
 I have never heard so much as an Oh ! from her since I have 
 known her : ill betide all the knights-errant in the world, 
 if they are all ungrateful. Leave this place, Signor Don 
 Quixote ; for the poor girl will not come to herself so 
 long as your worship stays here." To which Don Quix- 
 ote answered, " Be pleased, madam, to give order that a 
 lute be left in my chamber to-night, and I will comfort 
 this poor damsel the best I am able : for, in the beginning 
 of love, to be early undeceived is the readiest cure.*' 
 And so saying, away he went, to avoid the observation 
 of those who might see him there. He was hardly gone, 
 when Altisidora, recovering from her swoon, said to her 
 companion, "By all means let him have the lute; for 
 doubtless he intends us some music, and it cannot be bad 
 if it be his." They presently went and gave the duchess 
 an account of what had passed, and of Don Quixote's de- 
 siring a lute : and she, being exceedingly rejoiced at it, 
 concerted with the duke and her damsels how they might 
 play him some trick which would be more merry than mis- 
 chievous. And, being pleased with their contrivance, 
 they waited for night, which came on as fast as the day 
 had done, which they spent in relishing conversation with 
 Don Quixote. That same day the duchess dispatched 
 one of her pages, being be who in the wood had per- 
 sonated the figure of the enchanted Dulcinea, to Teresa 
 Panza, with her husband Sanclio Panza's letter, and a 
 bundle he had left to be sent, charging him to bring back 
 an exact account of all that should pass. This being 
 done, and eleven o'clock at night being come, Don 
 Quixote found in his chamber a lute. Fie touched it ; he 
 opened his casement, and perceived that the people were 
 walking in the garden : and having again run over the
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 370 
 
 strings of the instrument, and tuned it as well as he could, 
 he hemmed, and cleared his pipes, and then, with a 
 hoarse, though not unmusical, voice, he sung the fol- 
 lowing song, which he himself had composed that day. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Love, with idleness its frjend, 
 O'er a maiden gains its end ; 
 But let business and employment 
 Fill up ev'ry careful moment, 
 These an antidote will prove 
 'Gainst the pois'nous arts of love. 
 Maidens that aspire to marry, 
 In their looks reserve should carry : 
 Modesty their price should raise, 
 And be herald of their praise. 
 Knights, whom toils of arms employ, 
 "With the free may laugh and toy ; 
 But the modest only choose, 
 When they tie the nuptial noose. 
 Lore, that rises with the sun, 
 "With his setting beams is gone ; 
 Love, that guest-like visits hearts, 
 When the banquet's o'er departs : 
 And the love, that comes to-day, 
 And to-morrow wings its way, 
 Leaves no traces on the soul, 
 Its affections to controul. 
 Where a sov'reign beauty reigns, 
 Fruitless are a rival's pains. 
 O'er a finish' d picture who 
 E'er a second picture drew ? 
 Fair Dulcinea, queen of beauty, 
 Rules my heart, and claims its duty : 
 Nothing there can take her place ; 
 Nought her image can erase. 
 Whether fortune smile or frown, 
 Constancy's the lover's crown ; 
 And, its force divine to prove, 
 Miracles performs in love.
 
 380 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Thus far Don Quixote had proceeded in his song, to 
 which the duke and duchess, Altisidora, and almost al! 
 the folks of the castle, were very attentive ; when, on a 
 sudden, from an open gallery directly over Don Quix- 
 ote's window, a rope was let down, to which above a 
 hundred bells were fastened ; and immediately after them 
 was emptied a great sackful of cats, which had smaller 
 bells tied to their tails. The noise of the jangling of the 
 bells, and the mewing of the cats, was so great, that the 
 duke and duchess, though the inventors of the jest, were 
 frightened at it, and Don Quixote himself was in a panic : 
 and fortune so ordered it, that two or three of the eats got 
 in at the casement of his chamber, and scouring about 
 from side to side, one would have thought a legion of de- 
 vils was broken loose in it. They extinguished the 
 lights that were burning in the chamber, and endea- 
 voured to make their escape. The cord, to which the 
 bells were fastened, was let down and pulled up inces- 
 santly. Most of the folks of the castle, who were not in 
 the secret, were in suspense and astonishment. Don 
 Quixote got upon his feet; and, laying liokl of his sword, 
 he began to make thrusts at the casement, and cried out 
 aloud, " Avaunt, ye malicious enchanters! avaunt, ye 
 rabble of wizards! for I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, 
 against whom your wicked arts are of no force nor effect." 
 And, turning to the cats, who were running about the 
 room, he gave several cuts at them. They took to the 
 casement, and got out at it all but one, which, finding it- 
 self hard pressed by Don Quixote's slashing, flew at his 
 face, and seized him by the nose with its claws and teeth, 
 the pain of which made him roar as loud as he was able z 
 which the duke and duchess hearing, and guessing the 
 occasion, they ran in all haste up to his chamber, and 
 opening it with a master-key, they found tlie poor gen-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 381 
 
 tleman striving with all his might to disengage the cat 
 from his face. They entered with lights, and beheld the 
 unequal combat. The duke ran to part the fray, and Don 
 Quixote cried aloud, " Let no one take him off; leave 
 me to battle it with this demon, this wizard, this enchan- 
 ter ; for I will make him know the difference betwixt him 
 and me, and who Don Quixote de la Mancha is." But 
 the cat, not regarding these menaces, growled on, and 
 kept her hold. At length the duke forced open her 
 claws, and threw her out of the window, 
 
 Don Quixote remained with his face like a sieve, and 
 his nose not over whole, though greatly dissatisfied that 
 they would not let him finish the combat, he had so 
 toughly maintained against that caitiff enchanter. They 
 fetched some oil of Aparicio, and Altisidora herself, with 
 her lily-white hands, bound up his wounds ; and, while 
 she was so employed, she said to him in a low voice, 
 <r All these misadventures befall you, hard-hearted 
 knight, for the sin of your stubborn disdain; and God 
 grant that Sancho, your squire, may forget to whip him- 
 self, that this same beloved Dulcinea of yours may never 
 be released from her enchantment, nor you ever enjoy 
 her, or approach her nuptial bed, at least while I live, 
 who adore you." To all this Don Quixote returned no 
 other answer than a profound sigh, and then stretched 
 himself at full length upon his bed, humbly thanking the 
 duke and duchess for their assistance, not as being afraid 
 of that cattish, bell-ringing, necromantic, crew, but as 
 lie was sensible of their good intention by their readiness 
 to succour him. They left him to his rest, and went 
 away, not a little concerned at the ill success of their 
 joke ; for they did not think this adventure would have 
 proved so heavy and so hard upon Don Quixote ; for it 
 cost him five days confinement to his bed ; where another
 
 'JUS DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 adventure befel him more relishing than the former, 
 which his historian will not relate at present, that he may 
 attend Sancho Panza, who went on very busily and very 
 pleasantly with his government. 
 
 CHAP. XLVII. 
 
 Giving a farther Account of Sancho 1 s Behaviour in his 
 Government. 
 
 1 HE history relates, that they conducted Sancho Panza 
 from the court of judicature to a sumptuous palace, 
 where, in a great hall, was spread an elegant and splen- 
 did table ; and as soon as Sancho entered the hall the 
 waits struck up, and in came four pages with water to 
 wash his hands, which Sancho received with great gra- 
 vity. The music ceased, and Sancho sat down at the 
 upper end of the table ; for there was but that one chair, 
 and no other napkin or plate. A personage, who after- 
 wards proved to be a physician, placed himself, stand- 
 ing, on one side of him, with a whalebone rod in his 
 hand. They removed a very fine white cloth, which co- 
 vered several fruits, and a great variety of eatables. 
 One, who looked like a student, said grace, and a page 
 put a laced bib under Sancho's chin. Another, who 
 played the sewer's part, set a plate of fruit before him ? 3 : 
 but scarcely had he eaten a bit, wheti he of the wand, 
 touching the dish with it, the waiter snatched it away 
 from before him with great haste, but the sewer set another
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 585 
 
 dish of meat in its place. Sancho was going to try it, 
 but before he could reach or taste it, the wand had been 
 already at it, and a page whipped that away also with as 
 much speed as he had done the fruit. Sancho, seeing it, 
 was surprised, and, looking about him, asked if this re- 
 past was to be eaten like a show of slight-of-hand. To 
 which he of the wand replied, " My lord governor, here 
 must be no other kind of eating but such as is usual and 
 customary in other islands, where there are governors. I, 
 sir, am a physician, and have /an appointed salary in this 
 island for serving the governors of it in that capacity ; 
 and I consult their healths much more than my own, stu- 
 dying night and day, and sounding the governor's con- 
 stitution, the better to know how to cure him when he is 
 sick : and my principal business is to attend at his meals, 
 to let him eat of what I think is most proper for him, and 
 to remove from him whatever I imagine will do him 
 harm, and be hurtful to his stomach. And therefore I 
 ordered the dish of fruit to be taken away, as being too 
 moist ; and that other dish of meat I also ordered away, 
 as being too hot, and having in it too much spice, which 
 increases thirst: for he who drinks much, destroys and 
 consumes the radical moisture in which life consists.'' 
 " Well then," quoth Sancho ; " yon plate of roasted 
 partridges, which seem to me to be very well seasoned, 
 will they do me any harm?" To which the doctor an- 
 swered, " My lord governor shall not eat a bit of them 
 while I have life." " Pray, why not ?" quoth Sancho. 
 The physician answered, " Because our master Hippo- 
 crates, the north star and luminary of medicine, says, 
 in one of his Aphorisms, Omnis saturatio mala, perdicis 
 autem pessima; that is to say, All repletion is bad, but 
 that of partridges the zcorst of all." <* If it be so," 
 quoth Saocbo, " pray see. signor doctor, of all the disbes
 
 384 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 upon this table, which will do me most good, and which 
 least harm, and let me eat of it, without conjuring it 
 away with your wand : for, by the life of the governor, 
 and as God shall give me leave to use it, I am dying with 
 hunger ; and to deny me my victuals, though it be against 
 the grain of signer doctor, and though he should say as 
 much more against it, I say, is rather the way to shorten 
 my life than to lengthen it."' " Your worship is in the 
 right, my lord governor," answered the physician, " and 
 therefore I am of opinion you should not eat of yon 
 stewed coneys, because they are a sharp-haired food : of 
 that veal perhaps you might pick a bit, were it not a la 
 daube y but as it is, not a morsel." " That great dish," 
 said Sancho, " smoking yonder, I take to be an olla- 
 podrida?*, and, amidst the diversity of things contained 
 in it, surely I may light upon something both wholesome 
 and toothsome." " Absit," quoth the doctor; " far 
 be such a thought from us : there is not worse nutriment 
 in the world than your olla-podridas : leave them to pre- 
 bendaries and rectors of colleges, or for country-wed- 
 dings ; but let the tables of governors be free from them, 
 where nothing but neatness and delicacy ought to preside ; 
 and the reason is, because simple medicines are more es- 
 teemed than compound, by all persons, and in all places ; 
 for in simples there can be no mistake, but in compounds 
 there may, by altering the quantities of the ingredients. 
 Therefore what I would advise at present for signor go- 
 vernor's eating, to corroborate and preserve his health, 
 is, about an hundred of rolled-up wafers, and some thin 
 slices of marmalade, that may sit easy upon the stomach, 
 and help digestion." Sancho, hearing this, threw 
 himself backward in his chair, and, surveying the 
 doctor from head to foot, with a grave voice, asked 
 him kis name, and where he had studied. To
 
 fubliffhed fy M kJI.OMy.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 385 
 
 which he answered : " My lord governor, I am called 
 Doctor Pedro Rezio de Aguero : I am a native of a place 
 called Tirteafuera, lying between Caraquel and Almoddo- 
 bar del Campo, on the right hand, and have taken my 
 doctor's degree in the university of Ossuna 75 ." To 
 \vhich Sancho, burning with rage, answered, " Why 
 then, Signor Doctor Pedro Rezio de Aguero ? 6 , native of 
 Tirteafuera, lying on the right hand as we go from Cara- 
 quel to Almoddobar del Campo, graduate in Ossuna, get 
 out of my sight this instant, or, by the sun, I will take a 
 cudgel, and, beginning with you, will so lay about me, 
 that there shall not be left one physician in the whole 
 island, at least of those I find to be ignorant : as for those 
 that are learned, prudent, and discreet, I shall, respect 
 and honour them as divine persons. And I say again, 
 let Pedro Rezio quit ray presence, or I shall take this 
 chair I sit upon, and fling it at bis head; and, if I am. 
 called to an account for it before the judge, when I am 
 out of office, I will justify myself by saying, I did God 
 service in killing a bad physician, the hangman of the 
 public. And give me to eat, or take back your govern- 
 ment; for an office that will not find a man in victuals, is 
 not worth two beans." 
 
 The doctor was frightened at seeing the governor so 
 choleric, and would have taken himself out of the hall, 
 had not the sound of a post-horn been heard that instant 
 in the street. The sewer, going to the window and look- 
 ing out, came back, and said, " A courier is arrived 
 from my lord duke, and must certainly have brought 
 some dispatches of importance." The courier entered 
 sweating, and in a hurry, and, pulling a packet out of 
 his bosom, he delivered it into the governor's hands, and 
 Sancho gave it to the steward, bidding him read the su- 
 perscription, which was this: " To Don Sancho Panza, 
 governor of the island of Barataria, to be delivered into 
 
 VOL. ii. 3i>
 
 386 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 his own hands, or into his secretary's." Which Sanclio 
 hearing, he said, " Which is my secretary here ?" One 
 of those present answered, " I am he, sir ; for I can read 
 and write, and am a Biscainer." u With that addi- 
 tion," quoth Sancho, " you may very well be secretary 
 to the emperor himself: open the packet, and see what it 
 contains." The new-born secretary did so, and, having 
 cast his eye over the contents, he said, it was a business 
 which required privacy. Sancho commanded the hall 
 to be cleared, and that none should stay but the steward 
 and the sewer ; and all the rest, with the physician, 
 being withdrawn, the secretary read the following let- 
 >er. 
 
 " It is come to my knowledge, Signor Don Sancho 
 Panza, that certain enemies of mine, and of the island, 
 intend one of these nights to assault it furiously. You 
 must be watchful and diligent, that they may not attack 
 you unprepared. I am informed, also, by trusty spies, 
 that four persons in disguise are got into the island, to 
 take away your life, because they are in fear of your abi- 
 lities. Have your eyes about you, and be careful who is 
 admitted to speak to you, and be sure eat nothing sent 
 you as a present. I will take care to send you assistance, 
 if you are in any want of it. And, upon the whole, I 
 do not doubt but you will act as is expected from your 
 judgment. 
 
 " From this place, the ifith of August, 
 at four in the morning. 
 
 " Your friend^ the Duke." 
 
 Sancho was astonished, and the rest seemed to be so 
 too; and, turning to the steward, he said, "The lirst 
 thing to be done, is, to clap Doctor Rezio into prison ; 
 for if any body has a design to kill me, it is he, and that 
 by a lingering, and the worst ofdeaXlis, by hunger." 
 " It is my opinion," answered the steward, " that your
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 387 
 
 honour would do well to cat nothing of all this meat here 
 upon the table ; for it was presented by some nuns ; and 
 it is a saying, The devil lurks behind the cross." " I 
 grant it," quoth Sancho ; " and, for the present, give 
 me only a piece of bread, and some four pounds of 
 grapes : no poison can be conwyed in them ; for, in 
 short, I cannot live without eating : and, if we must hold 
 ourselves in readiness for these wars that threaten us, it 
 will be necessary we should be well victualled ; for the 
 guts uphold the heart, and not the heart the guts. And 
 you, secretary, answer my lord duke, and tell him, his 
 commands shall be punctually obeyed, just as he gives 
 them ; and present my humble service to my lady duchess, 
 and beg her not to forget sending my letter and the bun- 
 dle, by a special messenger, to my wife Teresa Panza, 
 which I shall look upon as a particular favour, and will 
 be her humble servant to the utmost of my power. And, 
 by the way, you may put in a service to my master Don 
 Quixote de la Mancha, that he may see I am grateful 
 bread" 7 ; and, like a good secretary, and a stanch Bis- 
 cainer, you may add what you please, or what will turn 
 to best account : and, pray take away the cloth, and 
 give me something to eat ; for I will deal well enough 
 with all the spies, murderers, and enchanters, that shall 
 attack me or my island." 
 
 Now a page came in, and said, " Here is a countryman 
 about business, who would speak with your lordship con- 
 cerning an affair, as he says, of great importance." 
 " A strange case this," quoth Sancho, " that these men 
 of business should be so silly, as not to see, that such 
 hours as these are not proper for business ! What ! truly 
 \ve, who govern, and are judges, are not made of flesh 
 and bones, like other men ? Are we made of marble, 
 that we must not refresh at times, when necessity re-
 
 388 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 quires it? Before God, and upon my conscience, if my 
 government lasts, as I have a glimmering it will not, I 
 shall hamper more than one of these men of business. 
 Bid this honest man come in, for this once ; but first see, 
 that he be not one of the spies, or one of my murder- 
 ers." " No, my lord," answered the page ; t( he looks 
 like a pitcher-souled fellow ; and I know little, or he is 
 as harmless as a piece of bread." " You need not fear,*' 
 said the steward, ' c while we are present." u Is it not 
 possible, sewer," quoth Sancho, " now that the doctor 
 Pedro Rezio is not here, for me to eat something of sub- 
 stance and weight, though it were but a luncheon of 
 bread and an onion?" u To-night at supper," replied 
 the sewer, " amends shall be made for the defects of din- 
 ner, and your lordship shall have no cause to complain." 
 " God grant it," answered Sancho. 
 
 Then came in the countryman, who was of a goodly 
 presence ; and one might see, a thousand leagues off, 
 that he was an honest good soul. The first thing he 
 said was, " Which is the lord governor here ?" 
 < 4 Who should," answered the secretary, " but he who 
 is in the chair ?" " I humble myself in his presence," 
 said the countryman, kneeling down, and begging his 
 hand to kiss. Sancho refused it, and commanded him to 
 jise, and to tell his business. The countryman did so, 
 and then said, " My lord, I am a countryman, a native 
 of Miguel Turra, two leagues from Ciudad Real." 
 "What! another Tirteafuera?" quoth Sancho: " say 
 on, brother, for, let me tell you, I know Miguel Turra 
 very well: it is not so fur from our town." " The bu- 
 siness is this, sir," proceeded the peasant. " By the 
 mercy of God I was married in peace, and in the face of 
 the holy catholic Roman church. I have two sons, bred 
 scholars : the younger studies for bachelor, and the el-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 389 
 
 der for licentiate. I am a widower ; for my wife died, 
 or rather a wicked physician killed her, by purging her 
 when she was with child ; and, if it had been God's will 
 that the child had been born, and had proved a son, 1 
 would have put him to study for doctor, that he might 
 not envy his two brothers, the bachelor and licen- 
 tiate."" So that," quoth Sancho, if your wife had 
 not died, or had not been killed, you had not been a wi- 
 dower!" " No, certainly, my lord," answered the pea- 
 sant. u We are much the nearer," replied Sancho: 
 " go on, brother ; for this is an hour rather for bed than 
 business." " I say, then," quoth the countryman, 
 " that this son of mine, who is to be the bachelor, fell in 
 love, in the same vilkge, with a damsel called Clara 
 Perlerina, daughter of Andres Perlerino, a very rich far- 
 mer ; and this name of Perlerino came not to them by 
 lineal or any other descent, but because all of that race 
 are subject to the palsy ; and, to mend the name, they 
 call them Perlerinos : though, to say the truth, the dam- 
 sel is like any oriental pearl, and, looked at on the right 
 side, seems a very flower of the field : but, on the left, she 
 is not quite so fair ; for, on that side, she wants an eye, 
 which she lost by the small-pox ; and, though the 
 pits in her face are many and deep, her admirers say, 
 they are not pits, but sepulchres, Avherein the hearts of 
 her lovers are buried. She is so cleanly, that, to pre- 
 vent defiling her face, she carries her nose so crooked 
 up, that it seems to be flying from her mouth : and, for 
 all that, she looks extremely well : for she has a large 
 mouth, and, did she not lack half a score or a dozen 
 teeth and grinders, she might pass, and make a figure 
 among ladies of the best fashion. I say nothing of her 
 lips ; for they are so thin and slender, that, were it the 
 fashion to reel lips, as they do varn, one might make a
 
 390 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 skein of them: but, being of a different colour from 
 what is usually found in lips, they have a marvellous 
 appearance ; for they are marbled with blue, green, and 
 orange-tawny. And, pray, my lord governor, pardon 
 me, if I paint so minutely the parts of her, who, after 
 all, is to be my diiughter ; for I love her, and like her 
 mightily." " Paint what you will," quoth Sancho ; 
 " for I am mightily taken with the picture ; and, had 
 I but dined, I would not desire a better desert than your 
 portrait." " It shall be always at your service," an- 
 swered the peasant ; " and the time may come when we 
 may be acquainted, though we are not so now : and, I 
 assure you, my lord, if I could but paint her genteelness, 
 and the tallness of her person, you would admire : but 
 that cannot be, because she is crooked, and crumpled 
 up together, and her knees touch her mouth ; though, for 
 all that, you may see plainly, that, could &he but stand 
 upright, she would touch the ceiling with her head. 
 And she would ere now have given her hand to my 
 bachelor, to be his wife, but that she cannot stretch it 
 out, it is so shrunk : nevertheless her long guttered nails 
 show the goodness of its make," 
 
 " So far, so good," quoth Sancho; "and now, bro- 
 ther, make account that you have painted her from head 
 to foot : what is it you would be at ? Come to the point 
 without so many windings and turnings, so many fetches 
 and digressions." u What I desire, my lord," answer- 
 ed the countryman, " is, that your lordship would do me 
 the favour to give me a letter of recommendation to her fa- 
 ther, begging his consent to the match, since we are 
 pretty equal in our fortunes and natural endowments ; 
 for, to say the truth, my lord governor, my son is pos-i 
 sessed, and there is scarcely a day, in which the evil 
 spirits do not torment him three or four times ; and, by
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 3DJ 
 
 having fallen once into the fire, his face is as shriveled 
 as a piece of scorched parchment, and his eyes are some- 
 what bleared and running^ but he is as good condi- 
 tioned as an angel ; and, did he not buffet, and give him- 
 self frequent cuffs, he would be a very saint." " Would 
 you have any thing else, honest friend ?" replied Sancho. 
 " One thing more I would ask," quoth the peasant, 
 " but that I dare not : yet out it shall ; for, in short, ifr 
 shall not rot in my breast, come of it what will. I say 
 then, my lord, I could be glad your worship would give 
 me three or six hundred ducats towards the fortune of 
 my bachelor ; I mean towards the furnishing his house ; 
 for, in short, they are to live by themselves, without being 
 subject to the impertinences of their fathers-in-law." 
 " Well," quoth Sancbo, "see if you would have any 
 thing else, and be not ashamed to tell it." " No, for 
 certain," answered the peasant : and scarcely had he 
 said this, whejn the governor, getting up, and laying hold 
 of the chair he sat on, said : " I vow to God, Don Lub- 
 berly Saucy Bumpkin, if you do not get you gone, and 
 instantly avoid my presence, with this chair will I crack 
 your skull : son of a whore, rascal, painter for the devil 
 himself! at this time of day to come and ask me for six 
 hundred ducats ! Where should I have them, stinkard ? 
 And, if I had them, why should I give them to thee, 
 jibing fool ? What care I for Miguel Turra, or for the 
 whole race of the Perlerinos ? Begone, I say, or by the 
 life of my lord duke, I will be as good as my word. 
 You are no native of Miguel Turra, but some scoffer sent 
 from hell to tempt me. Impudent scoundrel ! I have not 
 yet had the government a day and a half, and you would 
 have me have six hundred ducats ?" The sewer made 
 signs to the countryman to go out of the hall, which he 
 did, hanging down his head, and seemingly afraid, lest
 
 392 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 the governor should execute his threat; for the knave 
 very well knew how to play his part. 
 . But let us leave Sancho in his passion, and peace be 
 with him and company: and let us turn to Don Quixote, 
 whom we left with his face bound up, and under cure of 
 his cattish wounds, of which he was not quite healed in 
 eight days ; in one of which there befel him what Cid Ha- 
 mete promises to relate, with that punctuality and truth 
 with which he relates every thing belonging to the his- 
 tory, be it never so minute. 
 
 CHAP. XLVIII. 
 
 Of what befel Don Quixote with Donna Rodriguez, 
 the Duchess's Duenna, together with other Accidents: 
 worthy to be written, and had in eternal Remembrance. 
 
 ABOVE measure discontented and melancholy was 
 the sore-wounded Don Quixote, having his face bound 
 up and marked, not by the hand of God, but by the 
 claws of a cat misfortunes incident to knight-errantry. 
 During six days he appeared not in public ; on one night 
 of which, lying awake and restless, meditating on his mis- 
 fortunes, and the persecution he suffered from Altisidora, 
 he perceived somebody was opening his chamber-door 
 with a key, and presently imagined that the enamoured 
 damsel was coming to assault his chastity, and expose 
 him to the temptation of failing in the fidelity he owed to 
 his Lady Dulcinea del Toboso. /* No," said he, be-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 393 
 
 lievingwhat he fancied, and so loud as to be overheard, 
 " not the greatest beauty upon earth shall prevail with 
 me to cease adoring her who is engraven and printed in 
 the bottom of my heart, and in the inmost recesses of my 
 entrails ; whether, my dearest lady, you be now trans- 
 formed into a garlic-eating country wench, or into a 
 nymph of the golden Tagus, weaving tissue webs with 
 gold and silken twist ; or whether you are in the power of 
 Merlin, or Montesinos : wherever you are, mine you are, 
 and wherever I am, yours I have been, and yours I will 
 remain." The conclusion of these words, and the open- 
 ing the door, were at the same instant. Up he stood 
 upon the bed, wrapped from top to toe in a quilt of yel- 
 low satin, a woollen cap on his head, and his face and 
 mustachoes bound up; his face, because of its scratches, 
 and his mustachoes, to keep them from flagging and fall- 
 ing down. In which guise he appeared the most extra- 
 ordinary phantasm imaginable. He nailed his eyes to 
 the door, and when he expected to see the poor capti- 
 vated and sorrowful Altisidora enter, he perceived ap- 
 proaching a most reverend duenna, in a long white veil, 
 that covered her from head to foot. She carried between 
 the fingers of her left hand half a lighted candle, and held 
 her right hand over it, to shade her face, and keep the 
 glare from her eyes, which were hidden behind a huge 
 pair of spectacles. She advanced very slowly, and trod 
 very softly. Don Quixote observed her from his watch- 
 tower, and, perceiving her figure, and noting her si- 
 lence, he fancied some witch, or sorceress, was come in 
 that disguise to do him some shrewd turn, and began to 
 cross himself apace. The apparition kept moving for- 
 ward, and, when it came to the middle of the room, it 
 lifted up its eyes, and saw in what a hurry Don Quixote 
 was crossing himself: and, if he was afraid at seeing such 
 
 VOL. II. 3 E
 
 394 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 a figure, A she \vas no less dismayed at sight of his ; and, 
 seeing him so lank and yellow, with the quilt, and the 
 bandages, which disfigured him, she cried out, saying, 
 " Jesus! what (\o I see?" With the fright, the candle, 
 fell out of her hand, and, finding herself in the dark, 
 she turned about to be gone, and, with the fear, treading 
 on her skirts, she tumbled, and fell down. Don Quixote, 
 trembling with affright, began to say, " I conjure thee, 
 phantom, or whatever thou art, tell me who thou art, and 
 what thou wouldest have with me: if thou art a soul in 
 torment, tell me, and I will do all I can for thee ; for I 
 am a Catholic Christian, and love to do good to all the 
 \Torld : for that purpose I took upon me the profession 
 of knight-errantry, an employment which extends to the 
 doing good even to souls in purgatory." The bruised 
 duenna, hearing herself thus exorcised, guessed at Don 
 Quixote's fear by her own, and, in a low and doleful 
 voice, answered, "Signor Don Quixote, (if peradventure 
 your worship be Don Quixote,) I am no phantom, nor 
 apparition, nor soul in purgatory, as your worship seems 
 to think, but Donna Rodriguez, duenna of honour to my 
 lady duchess ; and am come to your \yorship with one of 
 those cases of necessity your worship is wont to reme- 
 dy." " Tell me then, Signora Donna Rodriguez," said 
 Don Quixote, c< does your ladyship, peradventure, come 
 in quality of procuress ? If you do, 1 give you to under- 
 stand I am fit for nobody's turn, thanks to the peerless 
 beauty of my mistress Dulcinea del Toboso. In short, 
 Signora Donna Rodriguez, on condition you wave all 
 amorous messages, you may go and light your candle, 
 and return hither, and we will discourse of whatever you 
 please to command, with exception, as I told you, to all 
 kind of amorous excitements." " I bring messages, 
 good sir!" answered the duenna: "your worship mis-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 395 
 
 takes me very much : 1 am not yet so advanced in years, 
 to be forced to betake myself to so low an employment , 
 for, God be praised, my soul is still in my body, and all 
 my teeth in my head, excepting a few usurped from me 
 by catarrhs, so common in this country of Arragon. But 
 stay a little, sir, till I go and light my candle, and I will 
 return instantly, to relate my griefs to your worship, as 
 to the redresser of all the grievances in the world." And, 
 without staying for an answer, she went out of the room, 
 leaving Don Quixote in expectation of her return. 
 
 Straight a thousand thoughts crowded into his mind, 
 touching this new adventure, and he was of opinion he 
 had done ill, and judged worse, to expose himself to the 
 hazard of breaking his plighted troth to his lady ; and he 
 said to himself, " Who knows but the devil, who is sub- 
 tle and designing, means to deceive me now with a duen- 
 na, though he has not been able to effect it with em- 
 presses, queens, duchesses, marchionesses, or countesses ? 
 For I have often heard ingenious people say, the devil, 
 if he can, will sooner tempt a man with a flat-nosed than 
 a hawk-nosed woman : and who can tell, but this soli- 
 tude, this opportunity, and this silence, may awake my 
 desires, which are now asleep, and, in my declining 
 years, make me fall, where I never yet stumbled? In 
 such cases, it is better to fly than stand the battle. But 
 sure I am not in my right senses to talk so idly ; for it is 
 impossible, that a white-veiled, lank, and bespectacled, 
 duenna should move or excite a wanton thought in the 
 lewdest breast in the world. Is there a duenna upon 
 earth that has tolerable flesh and blood ? Is there a du- 
 enna upon the globe that is not impertinent, wrinkled, 
 and squeamish? Avaunt then, ye rabble of duennas! 
 useless to any human pleasure ! O how rightly did that 
 lady act, of whom it is said, that she had, at the foot of 
 
 3*2
 
 396 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 her state sopha, a couple of statues of duennas, with their 
 spectacles and bobbin-cushions, as if they were at work ; 
 which statues served every whit as well for the dignity of 
 her state-room as real duennas." And, so saying, he 
 jumped off the bed, designing to lock his door, and not 
 let Signora Rodriguez enter. But, before he could shut 
 it, Signora Rodriguez was just returned, with a lighted 
 taper of white wax ; and, seeing Don Quixote so much 
 nearer, wrapped up in his quilt, with his bandages and 
 nightcap, she was again frightened, and, retreating two 
 or three steps, she said, " Sir Knight, am I safe? for I 
 take it to be no very good sign of modesty, that your 
 worship is got out of bed." " I should rather ask you 
 that question, madam," answered Don Quixote; " and 
 therefore I do ask, if I am safe from being assaulted and 
 ravished?" "By whom, and from whom, sir knight, 
 do you expect this security?" answered the duenna. 
 " By you, and from you," replied Don Quixote : " for 
 I am not made of marble, nor you, I suppose, of brass; 
 nor is it ten o'clock in the morning, but midnight, and 
 somewhat more, as I imagine ; and we are in a room closer 
 and more secret than the cave in which the bold and trai- 
 torous ^Eneas enjoyed the beautiful and tender-hearted 
 Dido. But, madam, give me your hand ; for I desire no 
 greater security than my own continence and reserve, be- 
 sides what that most venerable veil inspires." And, so 
 saying, he kissed his right hand, and with it took hold 
 of hers, which she gave him with the same ceremony. 
 
 Here Cid Hametc makes a parenthesis, and swears by 
 Mahomet, he would have given the better of his two 
 rests, to have seen these two walking from the door to 
 the bed-side, handing, and handed, so ceremoniously. 
 
 In short, Don Quixote got into b^d, and Donna Ro- 
 driguez sat down in a chair at some little distance from it,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 397 
 
 without taking off her spectacles, or setting down her can- 
 dle. Don Quixote covered himself up close, all but his 
 face; and, they both having paused a while, the first 
 who broke silence, was Don Quixote, saying, " Now, 
 Signora Donna Rodriguez, you may unrip and unbosom 
 all that is in your careful heart and piteous bowels ; for 
 you shall be heard by me with chaste ears, and assisted 
 by compassionate deeds." " I believe it," answered the 
 duenna ; "for none but so Christian an answer could be 
 expected from your worship's gentle and pleasing pre- 
 sence. 
 
 " The business then is this, Signer Don Quixote, that, 
 though your worship sees me sitting on this chair, and 
 in the midst of the kingdom of Arragon, and in the garb 
 of a poor persecuted duenna, I was born in the Asturias 
 of Oviedo, and of a family allied to some of the best of 
 that province. But my hard fortune, and the negligence 
 of my parents, which reduced them, I know not which 
 way, to untimely poverty, carried me to the court of 
 Madrid, where, for peace' sake, and to prevent greater 
 inconveniences, my parents placed me in the service 
 of a great lady : and I would have your worship know, 
 that, in making needle-cases and plain-work, I was 
 never outdone by any body in all my life. My parents 
 left me in service, and returned to their own country ; 
 and, in a few years after, I believe they went to heaven ; 
 for they were very good and Catholic Christians. I re- 
 mained an orphan, and stinted to the miserable wages 
 and short commons usually given in great houses to 
 such kind of servants. About that time, without my 
 giving any encouragement for it, a gentleman-usher of 
 the family fell in love witli me ; a man in years, with 
 a fine beard, and of a comely person, and, above all, as 
 good a gentleman as the king himself; far he was a
 
 398 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 highlander. We did not carry on our amour so se- 
 cretly, but it came to the notice of my lady, who, without 
 more ado, had us married in peace, and in the face of 
 our holy mother the Catholic Roman church : from 
 which marriage sprang a daughter, to finish my good 
 fortune, if I had any ; not that I died in child-bed, (for 
 I went my full time, and was safely delivered,) but 
 because my husband died soon after of a certain fright 
 he took ; and had I but time to tell the manner how, 
 your worship, I am sure, would wonder*" 
 
 Here she began to weep most tenderly, and said : 
 " Pardon me, good Signer Don Quixote, for I cannot 
 command myself; but as often as I call to my mind my 
 unhappy spouse, my eyes are brimful. God be my aid ! 
 with what stateliness did he use to carry my lady behind 
 him on a puissant mule, black as the very jet ! for in 
 those times coaches and side-saddles were not in fa- 
 shion, as it is said they are now, and the ladies rode 
 behind their squires. Nevertheless I cannot help 
 telling you the following story, that you may see how 
 well bred and Tiow punctilious my good husband was. 
 At the entrance into Saint James's street in Madrid, 
 Avhich is very narrow, a judge of one of the courts 
 happened to be coming out with two of his officers 
 before him, and, as soon as my good squire saw him, he 
 turned his mule about, as if he designed to wait upon 
 him. My lady, who was behind him, said to him in a 
 low voice, ' What are you doing, blockhead, am not 
 I here ?' The judge civilly stopped his horse, and 
 said : ' Keep on your way, sir ; for it is my business 
 rather to wait upon my lady Donna Casilda :' that was 
 my mistress's name. My husband persisted, cap in 
 hand, in his intention to wait upon the judge. Which 
 my lady perceiving, full of choler and indignation, she
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 399 
 
 pulled out a great pin, or rather, I believe, a bodkin, 
 and stuck it into his back: whereupon my husband 
 bawled out, and, writhing his body, down he came" with 
 his lady to the ground. Two of her footmen ran to 
 help her up, as did the judge and his officers. The 
 gate of Guadalajara, I mean the idle people that stood 
 there, were all in an uproar. My mistress was forced 
 to walk home on foot, and my husband went to a barber- 
 surgeon's, telling him he was quite run through and 
 through the bowels. The courteousness and breeding 
 of my spouse was rumoured abroad, insomuch that the 
 boys got it, and teazed him with it in the streets ; and, 
 upon this account, and because he was a little short- 
 sighted, my lady turned him away; the grief whereof, 
 I verily believe, was the death of him. I was left a 
 widow^ and helpless, with a daughter upon my hands, 
 who went on increasing in beauty like the foam of the 
 sea. Finally, as I had the reputation of a good work- 
 woman at my needle, my lady duchess, who was then 
 newly married to my lord duke, would needs have me 
 with her to this kingdom of Arragon, together with my 
 daughter ; where in process of time, she grew up, and 
 with her all the accomplishments in the world. She 
 sings like any lark, dances quick as thought, capers as 
 if she would break her neck, reads and writes like a 
 schoolmaster, and casts accounts like any usurer. I say 
 pothing of her cleanliness, for the running brook is not 
 cleaner : and she is now, if I remember right, sixteen 
 years of age, five months, and three days, one more or 
 less. In a word, the son of a very rich farmer, who 
 lives not far off in a village of my lord duke's, grew 
 enamoured of this girl of mine ; and to be short, I know 
 not how it came about, but they got together, and, 
 under promise of being her husband, he has fooled my
 
 400 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 daughter, and now refuses to perform it. And, though 
 my lord duke knows the affair, and I have complained 
 again and again to him, and begged him to command 
 this young farmer to marry my daughter, yet he turns 
 the deaf ear, and will hardly vouchsafe to hear me : and 
 the reason is, because the cozening knave's father is 
 rich, and lends him money, and is bound for him on all 
 occasions; therefore he will not disoblige nor offend 
 him in any wise. Now, good sir, my desire is, that 
 your worship lake upon you the redressing this wrong, 
 either by entreaty, or by force of arms ; since all the 
 world says your worship was born in it to redress 
 grievances, to right the injured, and succour the 
 miserable. And be pleased, sir, to consider my daugh- 
 ter's fatherless condition, her genteelness, her youth, 
 and all the good qualities I have already mentioned ; for, 
 on my soul and conscience, of all the damsels my lady 
 has, there is not one that comes up to the. sole of her 
 shoe: and one of them, called Altisidora, who is reckoned 
 to be the liveliest and gracefullest of them all, falls above 
 two leagues short, in comparison with my daughter : for, 
 you must know, dear sir, that all is not gold that glitters, 
 and this same little Altisidora has more self-conceit than 
 beauty, and more assurance than modesty : besides, she 
 is none of the soundest; for her breath is so strong, there 
 is no enduring to be a moment near her. Nay, even my 
 lady duchess herself but mum for that ; for they say, 
 walls have ears." 
 
 " What of my lady duchess ?" said Don Quixote. 
 " Tell me, Madam Rodriguez, by my life." " Thus 
 conjured," replied the duenna, " I cannot but answer 
 to whatever is asked me, with all truth. Your worship, 
 Signer Don Quixote, must have observed the beauty of 
 my lady duchess ; that complexion like any bright
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 401 
 
 polished sword ; those checks of milk and crimson, with 
 the sun in the one, and the moon in the other ; and that 
 stateliness with which she treads, or rather disdains, the 
 very ground she walks on, that one would think she went 
 dispensing health wherever she passes. Let me tell you, 
 sir, she may thank God for it in the first place, and next 
 two issues she has, one in each leg, -which discharge all 
 the bad humours, of which the physicians say she is 
 full." " Holy Mary !" said Don Quixote, " is it possi- 
 ble my lady duchess has such drains? I should never 
 have believed it, had the bare-footed friars themselves 
 .told it me ; but, since Madam Donna Rodriguez says it, 
 it must needs be so. But such issues, and in such places, 
 must distil nothing but liquid amber : verily I am now 
 convinced, that this making of issues is a matter of great 
 consequence in respect to health." 
 
 Scarcely had Don Quixote said this, when with a great 
 bounce the chamber-door flew open ; which so much sur- 
 prised Donna Rodriguez, that she let fall the candle out 
 of her hand, and the room remained as dark as a wolf's 
 mouth, as the saying is; and presently the poor duenna 
 found herself griped so fast by the throat with two hands, 
 that she could not squall, and another person, very nim- 
 bly, without speaking a word, whipped up her petticoats, 
 and with a slipper, as it seemed, gave her so many slaps, 
 that it would have moved one's pity; and though it did 
 that of Don Quixote, he stirred not from the bed; and 
 not knowing the meaning of all this, he lay still and si- 
 lent, fearing lest that round and sound flogging should 
 come next to his turn : and his fear proved not in vain ; 
 for the silent executioners, leaving the duenna, who 
 durst not cry out, well curried, came to Don Quixote ; 
 and, turning down the bed-clothes, they pinched him so 
 often and so hard, that he could not forbear going to fisty- 
 
 vor, ii, 3 F
 
 402 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 cuffs in his own defence, and all this in marvellous .si- 
 lence. The battle lasted some half au hour: the phan- 
 toms went off: Donna Rodriguez adjusted her petticoats, 
 and, bewailing her misfortune, marched out at the door 
 without saying a word to Don Quixote, who, sad and 
 sorely bepinched, confused and pensive, remained alone ; 
 where we will leave him, impatient to learn, who that 
 perverse enchanter was that had handled him so roughly. 
 But that shall be told in its proper place ; for Sancho 
 Panza calls upon us, and the method of the history re- 
 quires it. 
 
 CHAP. XLIX. 
 
 Ofvhat befel Sancho Panza as he zcas going the round 
 of his Island. 
 
 WE left the grand governor moody, and out of humour 
 at the knavish picture-drawn peasant, who, instructed by 
 the steward, and he by the duke, played off Sancho; 
 who, maugre his ignorance, rudeness, and insufficiency, 
 held them all tack, and said to those about him, and to 
 Doctor Pedro Rezio, who, when the secret of the duke's 
 letter was over, came back into the hall: "I now plainly 
 perceive, that judges and governors must or ought to be 
 made of brass, if they would be insensible of the impor- 
 tunities of your men of business, who, being intent upon 
 their own affairs alone, come what will of it, at all hours, 
 and at all times, will needs be heard and dispatched; 
 and if the poor judge does not hea.r and dispatch them
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 403 
 
 either because he cannot, or because it is not the proper 
 time for giving them audience, presently they murmur 
 and traduce him, gnawing his very bones, and calum- 
 niating him and his family. Foolish man of business, 
 impertinent man of business, be not in such haste; wait 
 for the proper season and conjuncture for negotiation; 
 come not at dinner-time, nor at bed-time, for judges are 
 made of flesh and blood, and must give to their nature 
 what their nature requires ; except only poor I, who dp 
 not so by mine, thanks to Signor Pedro Rezto Tirteafuera 
 here present, who would have me die of hunger, and af- 
 firms, that this kind of dying is in order to live : God 
 grant the same life to him and all those of his tribe ; I 
 mean bad physicians ; for good ones deserve palms and 
 laurels." All who knew Sancho Panza were in admi- 
 ration to hear him talk so elegantly, and could not tell 
 what to ascribe it to, unless that offices arid weighty em- 
 ployments quicken and enliven some understandings, as 
 they confound and stapify others. In short, Doctor Pe- 
 dro Rezio Aguera de Tirteafuera promised he should sup 
 that night, though it were contrary to all the aphorisms 
 of Hippocrates. With this the governor rested satisfied, 
 and expected with great impatience the coming of the 
 night, and the hour of supper; and though time, to his 
 thinking, stood stock still, yet at length the wished-for 
 hour came, and they gave him some cow-beef, hashed 
 with onions and calves feet, somewhat of the stalest, 
 boiled. However, he laid about him with more relish 
 than if they had given him Milan godwits, Roman phea- 
 sants, veal of Sorrento, partridges of Moron, geese of 
 Lavajos; and in the midst of supper, turning to the doc- 
 tor, he said : " Look yon, master doctor, henceforward 
 take no care to provide me your nice things to eat, nor 
 your tid-bits ; far it will be throwing my stomach quite 
 
 3F2
 
 404 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 off the hinges, "which is accustomed to goat-s-flesli, cow- 
 beef, and bacon, with turnips and onions; and if per- 
 chance you give it court kickshaws, it receives them 
 with squeamishness, and sometimes with loathing. What 
 master-sewer here may do ? is, to get me some of those 
 eatables you call your qlla-podridas, and the stronger 
 they are the better" 8 , and you may insert and stuff them 
 in whatever you will ; for so it be an eatable, I shall take 
 it kindly, and will one day make you amends : and let 
 nobody play upon me ; for either we are, or we are nol : 
 let us all live and eat together in peace and good friend- 
 ship; for when God sends daylight, it is day -for every 
 body. I will govern this island without losing my own 
 right, or taking away another man'* ; and let every one 
 keep a good look-out, and mind each man his own busi- 
 ness; for I would have them to know, the devil is in the 
 wind, and, if they put me upon it, they shall see uon- 
 ders. Ay, ay, make yourselves honey, and the wasps 
 will devour you." " Certainly, my lord governor,*' 
 replied the sewer, " there is reason in all your worship 
 says, and I dare engage, in the name of all the islanders 
 of this island, that they will serve your worship with all 
 punctuality, love, and good will ; for your sweet way of 
 governing from the very first leaves us no room to do, or 
 to think, any thing, that may redound to the dis-service 
 of your worship." " 1 believe it," answered Sancho, 
 " and they would be fools if they did, or thought, other- 
 wise. And I tell you again to take care for my suste- 
 nance, and for my Dapple's, which is what is most im- 
 portant in this business ; and when the hour comes, we 
 will go the round ; for it is my intention to clear this 
 island of all manner of filth, of vagabonds, idlers, and 
 sharpers: for you must understand, friends, that idle 
 and lazy people in a commonwealth are the same as drones
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 405 
 
 in a bee-hive, which eat the honey that the industrious 
 bees lay up in store. My design is, to protect the pea-f 
 sants, preserve to the gentry their privileges, reward in- 
 genious artists, and, above all, to have regard to reli- 
 gion, and to tjie honour of the religious. What think 
 ye of this, my friends ? Do I say something, or do. I 
 crack my brain to no purpose ?" - u My lord governor," 
 said the steward, " speaks so well, that I wonder to hear 
 a man, so void of learning as your worship, who, I be- 
 lieve cannot so much as read, say such, and so many, 
 things, and all so sententious and instructive, and so far 
 beyond all that could be expected from your worship's 
 former understanding by those who sent us, and by us 
 who are come hither. But every day produces new 
 things ; jests turn into earnest, and jokers are joked 
 upon." 
 
 The night came, and, the governor having supped, 
 with the license of Signor Doctor Rczio, they prepared 
 for going the round, and he set out with the secretary, 
 the steward, the sewer, and the historiographer, who hacl 
 the care of recording his actions, together with sergeants 
 and notaries, enough to have formed a middling battalion. 
 In the midst of them marched Sancho, with his Avhite 
 rod of office ; and having traversed a few streets, they 
 heard the clashing of swords. They hasted to the place, 
 .nd found two men fighting ; who, seeing the officers 
 coming, desistec], and one of them said, " Help, in the 
 name of God and the king ! Is it permitted in this town 
 to rob folks, and set upon them in the streets ?" " Hold, 
 lionest man," quoth Sancho, " and tell me what is the 
 occasion of this fray; for I am the governor." The 
 other, his antagonist, said, " My lord governor, I will 
 briefly relate the matter : Your honour must understand, 
 that this gentleman is just come from winning, in that
 
 40(5 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 gaming-house yonder over the way, above a thousand 
 reals, and God knows how; and I, being present, gave 
 judgment in his favour, in many a doubtful point, against 
 the dictates of my conscience. Up he got with the win- 
 nings, and, when I expected he would have given me a 
 crown at least, by way of present, as is the usage and 
 custom among gentlemen of distinction, to such as I am, 
 who stand by, ready at all adventures to back unreason- 
 able demands, and to prevent quarrels, he pocketed up 
 his money, and went out of the house. I followed him 
 in dudgeon, and, with good words and civil expres- 
 sions, desired him to give me though it were but eight 
 reals, since he knows I am a man of honour, and have 
 neither office nor benefice, my parents having brought me 
 up to nothing, and left me nothing ; and this knave, as 
 great a thief as Cacus, and as arrant a sharper as Andra- 
 dilla, would give me but four reals. Judge, my lord 
 governor, how little shame, and how little conscience he 
 has. But, in faith, had it not been for your honour's 
 coming, I would have made him disgorge his winnings, 
 and have taught him Low many ounces go to the 
 pound." " What say you to this, friend?" quoth 
 Sancho. The other answered, that all his adversary 
 had said was true, and he did not intend to give him 
 any more than four reals; for he was often giving 
 him something, and they who expect the benevo- 
 lence '9 should be mannerly, and take with a cheerful 
 countenance whatever is given th em, and not stand upon 
 terms with the winners, unless they know them for cer- 
 tain to be sharpers, and that their winnings were unfairly 
 gotten; and, for demonstration of his being an honest 
 man, and no cheat, as the other alleged, there could 
 be no stronger proof than his refusal to comply with his 
 demand j for cheats are always tributaries to the lookers-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 40T 
 
 on, \vbo know them. " That is true," said ihe stew- 
 ard : " be pleased, ray lord governor, to adjudge what 
 shall be done with these men." " What shall be done, 
 is this," answered Sancho : "you, master winner, good, 
 bad, or indifferent, give your hackster here immediately 
 an hundred reals, and pay down thirty more for the 
 poor prisoners : and you, sir, who have neither office 1 
 nor benefice, and live without any employment in this 
 island, take these hundred reals instantly, and, some- 
 time to-morrow, get out of this island for ten years, 
 on pain, if you transgress, of finishing your banish- 
 ment in the next life ; for I will hang you on a gal- 
 lows, or at least the hangman shall do it for me; and 
 let no man reply, lest I punish him severely." The one 
 disbursed; the other received : the one went out of the 
 island ; the other went home to his house ; and the gover- 
 nor said, " It shall cost me a fall, or I will demolish 
 these gaming-houses ; for I have a suspicion that they 
 are very prejudicial." " This, at least," said one of 
 the scriveners, c< your honour cannot put down ; for a 
 great person keeps it, and what he loses in the year is 
 beyond comparison more than what he gets by the cards. 
 Your worship may exert your authority against petty 
 gaming-houses, which do more harm and cover more 
 abuses ; for in those, which belong to persons of quality, 
 notorious cheats dare not put their tricks in practice; 
 and, since the vice of play is become so common,' it is 
 better it should go forward in the houses of people of 
 distinction, than in those of mean quality, where they 
 take in unfortunate bubbles after midnight, and strip off 
 their very skin." " Well, master netary," quoth San- 
 cho, " there is a great deal to be said on this subject." 
 
 And now up came a servant, having laid hold of a 
 young man, and said, " My lord governor, this youth
 
 408 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 was coming towards us ; but, as soon as he perceived it 
 was the round, he faced about, and began to run like a 
 stag; a sign he must be some delinquent. I pursued 
 him, and had he not stumbled and fallen, I should never 
 .have overtaken him." " Why did you fly, young 
 man ?" quoth Sancho. The youth replied : " My lord, 
 to avoid answering the multitude of questions officers are 
 wont to ask." " What trade are you of?" quoth San- 
 cho. " A weaver," answered the youth. " And what 
 do you weave ?" quoth Sancho. " Iron heads for spears, 
 an it please your worship." " You are pleasant with 
 me, and value yourself upon being a jokerj" quoth San- 
 cho : " it is very well ; and whither were you going ?" 
 "To take the airj sir," replied the lad. "And pray, 
 where do people take the air in this island ?" said San- 
 cho. "Where it blows," answered the youth. "Good," 
 quoth Sancho ; " you answer to the purpose : you are a 
 discreet youth. But now, make account that I am the 
 air, and that I blow in your poop, and drive you to goal. 
 Here, lay hold on him, and carry him to prison ; I will 
 make him sleep thereto-night without air. " " Before 
 God," said the youth, " your honour can no more make 
 me sleep there, than you can make me a king." 
 " Why cannot I make you sleep in prison ?" demanded 
 Sancho : " have I not power to confine or release you, 
 as I please ?" " How much power soever your worship 
 may have, you have not enough to make me sleep in 
 prison." " Why not ?" replied Sancho : " away with 
 him immediately, where he shall see his mistake with 
 his own eyes ; and, lest the gaoler should put his in- 
 terested generosity in practice, I will sconce him in the 
 penalty of two thousand ducats, if he suffers you to stir 
 a step from the prison." " All this is matter of laugh- 
 ter," answered the youth ; " the business is, I defy all
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 409 
 
 the world to make me sleep this night in prison." 
 " Tell me, devil," quoth Sancho, " have you some 
 angel (o deliver you, and unloose the fetters I intend (o 
 have clapped on you?" " My lord governor," an- 
 swered the youth, with an air of pleasantry, " let us 
 abide by reason, and come to the point. Supposing 
 your worship orders me to goal, and to be loaded with, 
 chains and fetters, and clapped into the dungeon, with 
 heavy penalties laid upon the gaoler, if he lets me stir 
 out; and let us suppose these orders punctually obeyed; 
 yet, for all lhat, if I have no mind to sleep, but to keep 
 awake all night, without so much as shutting ir.y eyelids, 
 can your worship, with all your power, make me sleep 
 vvhether 1 will or no ?" " No, certainly," said the se- 
 cretary, " and the man has carried his point." u So 
 that," quoth Sancho, " you would forbear sleeping only 
 to have your own will, and not out of pure contradiction 
 to mine?" " No, my lord," said the youth, " not even 
 in thought." " Then God be with you," quoth San- 
 cho; " go home to sleep, and I wish you a good night's 
 rest; for I will not endeavour to deprive you of it; but I 
 would ad vise you, for the future, no.t to be so jocose with 
 officers of justice ; for you may meet with one that may 
 lay the joke over your noddle." 
 
 The youth went his way, and the governor continued 
 liis round ; and, a little while after, came a couple of 
 sergeants, who had hold of a man, and said, " My lord 
 governor, this person, who seems to be a man, is not so, 
 but a -.voman, and no ngly one neither, in man's clothes." 
 They lifted up two or three lanterns to her face, by the 
 light of which they discovered that of a woman, seemingly 
 sixteen years of age, or thereabouts. Her hair was tucked 
 up under a net-work cawl of gold and green silk, and she 
 herself beautiful as a thousand pearls. They viewed her 
 
 VOL. n. 3 fc
 
 410 DON QUIXOTE". 
 
 from head to foot, and saw she had on a pair of flesh-co- 
 loured stockings, with garters of white taffeta, and tas- 
 sels of gold and seed-pearl: her breeches were of greerr 
 and gold tissuc y and she had on a loose coat of the same, 
 under which she wore a very fine waistcoat of white and* 
 gold stuff: her shoes were white, and such as men wear. 
 She had no sword, but a very rich dagger; and on her 
 fingers were many rings, and those very good ones. In- 
 R word, every body liked the maiden ; but none of them 
 all knew her, and the inhabitants of the town said, they 
 could not imagine who she should be. They who were in 
 the seccct of the jests put upon Sancho, admired the most ; 
 for this adventure was not of their contriving, and there- 
 fore they were in suspense, expecting the issue of this 
 unforeseen accident. Sancho was struck with the beauty 
 of the young lady, and asked her who she was, whither 
 she w.as going, and what had moved her to dress herself 
 in that habit. She, fixing her eyes on the ground, with 
 a modest bash fulness, answered, " Sir, I cannot declare 
 so publicly what I am so much concerned to keep a se- 
 cret : only orre thing I must assure you, that I am no thief, 
 'nor criminal person, but an unhappy maiden, whom 
 the force of a certain jealousy has made break through 
 the respect due to modesty." The steward, hearing 
 this, said to Saneho, w My lord governor, order all your 
 attendants to go aside, that this lady may speak her mind 
 with less concern." The governor did so, and they all 
 went aside, excepting the steward, the sewer, and the 
 secretary. Then the damsel proceeded, saying: " I, 
 gentlemen, an* daughter to Pedro Perez Mazorca, who 
 farms the wool of this town, and comes frequently to my 
 father's house." " This will not pass, madam," said the 
 steward ; " for I know Pedro Perez very well, and am 
 sore he has no child, son nor daughter; and, besides
 
 PON QUIXOTE. 411 
 
 your saying he is yotrr father, you immediately add, 
 that he comes often to your father's house." u I took 
 notice of that," quoth Sancho. " Indeed, gentlemen," 
 answered the damsel, " I am in such confusion, that I 
 know not what I say; but the truth is, I am daughter to 
 Diego de la Liana, whom you must all know." " This 
 may pass," answered the steward ; " for I know Diego 
 de la Liana, that -he is a gentleman of quality, and rich, 
 and has a on and a daughter : and, since he has been a 
 widower, nobody in all this town can say they have^cca 
 the face of his daughter ; for he keeps her so confined, 
 that he will not give the sun leave to Hshine upon her; 
 and report says, she is extremely handsome." "That 
 is truc,"^ answered the damsel; " and that daughter ana 
 I. Whether fame lies or no, as te my beauty, you, 
 gentlemen, are judges, since you have seen me:" and 
 then she began to weep most bitterly. The secretary 
 perceiving this, whispered the sewer, and said very 
 softly, " Without doubt, something of importance must 
 have been the occasien, that so considerable a person, as 
 this young lady, -has -left .her own house, in .such a dress, 
 and at such an hour." u No doubt of that," answered 
 the sewer ; " besides, this suspicion is confirmed by her 
 tears." Sancho comforted her the best he could, and 
 desired her .to tell them the whole matter, without fear ; 
 for they would all endeavour to serve her with great sin- 
 cerity, and by all possible ways. 
 
 " The case is, gentlemen," replied she, '" that my 
 father has kept me locked up these ten years past : for so 
 long has my mother been under ground. Mass is said in 
 our house in a rich chapel, and, in all this time, I have 
 seen nothing but the sun in the heavens by day, and the 
 moon and stars, by night; nor do I know what streets, 
 squares, or churches, are, nor even men, excepting my
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 father and brother, and Pedro Perez the wool farmer, 
 whose constant visits to our house led me to say, he was 
 my father, to conceal the truth. This confinement, and 
 denying me leave to go out, though but to church, lias 
 for many days and months past disquieted me very much* 
 I had a mind to sec the world, or at least the town where 
 I was born, thinking this desire was no breach of ilia* 
 decency young ladies ought to preserve toward them- 
 selves. "When I heard talk of bull-feasts, of darting 
 canes on horseback, and the representation of plays, f 
 ashed my brother, who is a year younger than myself, to 
 tell me what those tilings were, and several others, that 
 J had never seen, which he used to do in the best manner 
 he could; and all this did but inflame the desire I had of 
 seeing thorn. In a word, to shorten the story of my 
 
 ruin, I prayed and entreated my brother O that I 
 
 had never prayed nor entreated him!" and then she fell 
 to weeping again. The steward said to her, " Proceed, 
 madam, and make an end of telling us what hrvs befallen 
 you ; for your words and tears hold us all in suspense." . 
 " I have but few words left to speak," answered tha 
 damsel, " though many tears to shed; for such mis- 
 placed desires as mine can be atoned for no other 
 way." 
 
 The beauty of the damsel had rooted i'self in the soul 
 of the sewer, who held up his lantern again, to havo 
 another view of her; and he fancied the tears she shed 
 nvere dew-drops of the morning, or even orient pearls; 
 and he heartily wished her misfortune mij^ht not 1; 
 great as her tears and sighs seemed to indicate. The 
 governor was out of all pafcieftceal the girl's dilatory man- 
 jior of telling her story, and bid her keep them no lon- 
 ger in suspense, for it grew late, and they had a 
 deal more of the town to go over. She. between in-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 413 
 
 terrupted sobs and broken sighs, said, <c All my mis- 
 fortunes and unhappincss is only this, that I desired my 
 brother to dress me in his clothes, and carry me out, 
 sorae night or other, when my father was asleep, to see 
 the town.- lie, importuned by my entreaties, con- 
 descended <o my desire; and, putting me on this habit, 
 and dressing himself in a suit of mine, which fits as if it 
 were made for him, for he has not one hair of a beard, 
 and one would take him for a very beautiful young girl; 
 this night, about an hour ago, we got out of our house; 
 and, guided by our footboy and our own unruly fancies, 
 we traversed the whole town; and, as we were returning 
 home, we saw a great company of people, and my bro- 
 ther said to mo, ' Sister, this must be the round ; put 
 wings to your feet, and fly after me, that they may not 
 know us, or it will be worse for us.' And, so saying, 
 he turned his back, and began, not to run, but to fly. 
 In less than six steps, I fell down through the fright, and 
 at that instant the officer of justice coming up, seized 
 and brought me before your honour, where my indiscreet 
 longing has covered me with shame before so many peo- 
 ple." u In effect, then, madam," quoth Sancho, " no 
 other mishap has befallen you : nor did jealousy, as you 
 (old us at the beginning of your story, carry you from 
 home?" " No other thing," said she, " has befallen 
 me, nor is there any jealousy in the case, but merely a 
 desire of seeing the world, which went no farther than 
 
 & J 
 
 seeing the streets of this town." 
 
 The coming up of two sergeants, one of whom had 
 overtaken and seized her brother, as he fled from his sis- 
 ter, confirmed the truth of what the damsel had said. 
 The youth had on nothing but a rich petticoat, and a blue 
 damask mantle, with a border of gold; no head-dress 
 ijor ornament, but his own hair, which was so fair aod
 
 414 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 curled, that it seemed so many ringlets of fine gold. 
 The governor, the steward, and the sewer, took him 
 aside, and, without letting his sister hear, they asked 
 him how he came to be in that disguise. He, with no 
 less bashfulness and concern, told the same story his sis- 
 ter had (Jone ; at which the enamoured sewer was much 
 pleased. But the governor said, " Really, gentlefolks, 
 this is a very childish trick, and, to relate this piece of 
 folly, there needed not half so many tears and sighs : 
 liad you but said, Our names are so and so, we got out 
 of our father's house by such a contrivance, only out of 
 curiosity, and with no other design at all, the tale had 
 been told, and all these weepings and waitings, and 
 takings-on at this rate, might have been spared."- 
 tl That is true," answered the damsel ; " but the con- 
 fusion I was in was so great, that it did not suffer me to 
 demean myself as I ought." " There is no harm," an. 
 swered Sancho : 4i we will see you safe to your father's ; 
 perhaps he has not missed you; and henceforward be 
 not so childish, nor so eager to see the world ; for the 
 maid that is modest, and a broken leg, should stay at 
 home ; and, the womau and the hen are lost by gadding 
 abroad ; and she, who desires to see, desires no less to 
 be seen. I say no more." The youth thanked the go- 
 vernor for the favour he intended them, in seeing them 
 safe home, and so they bent their course that way ; for 
 the house was not far off. When they were arrived, 
 the brother threw up a little stone to a grated window, 
 *nd that instant a servant-maid, who waited for them, 
 came down and opened the door, and they went in, 
 leaving every one ia admiration at their genteelness and 
 beauty, as well as at their desire of seeing the world by 
 night, and without stirring out of the town ; but thejr 
 imputed all to their tender years. The sewer's heart was
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 415 
 
 pierced through and through, and he proposed within 
 himself to demand her, the next day, of her father iu 
 marriage, taking it for granted he would not refuse him r 
 as being a servant of the duke's. Sancho too had some 
 thoughts of matching the young man with his daughter 
 Sanchica, and determined to bring it about the first op- 
 portunity, fancying to himself that no match would be 
 refused the governor's daughter. Thus ended that 
 night's round, and two days after the government too, 
 which put an end to all his designs and expectations, as> 
 shall hereafter be shown. 
 
 CHAP. L, 
 
 In which is declared who were the Enchanters and Exe- 
 cutioners that whipped the Duenna, and pinched and 
 scratched Don Quixote; with the success of the 
 Page, who carried the Letter to Teresa Panza, 
 Sancho's wife. 
 
 ClD Hamete, the most punctual searcher after the very 
 atoms of this true history, says, that, when Donna Ro- 
 driguez went out of her chamber to go to Don Quixote's, 
 another donna, who lay with her, perceived it ; and, as 
 all duennas have the itch of listening after, prying into, 
 and smelling out things, she followed her so softly, that 
 good Rodriguez did not perceive it; and", as soon as the
 
 416 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 duenna saw her enter Don Quixote's "chamber, that she 
 might not be wanting 1 in the general humour of all duen- 
 nas, which is, to be tell-tales, away she went that instant, 
 fo acquaint the duchess that Donna Rodriguez ANUS then 
 actually in Don Quixote's chamber. The duchess ac- 
 quainted the duke with it, and desired his leave that she 
 and Altisidora miijht sro and see what was the duenna's 
 
 o o 
 
 business with Don Quixote. The duke gave it her ; and 
 they both, very softly, and step by step, went and 
 posted themselves close to the door of Don Quixote's 
 chamber, and so close, that they overheard all that was 
 said within ; and when the duchess heard the duenna ex- 
 pose the fountains of her issues, she could not bear it, 
 nor Altisidora neither; and so, brimful of choler, and 
 longing for revenge, they bounced into the room, and 
 pinched Don Quixote, and whipped the duenna, in the 
 manner above related; for affronts, levelled against the 
 beauty and vanity of women, awaken their wrath in an 
 extraordinary manner, and inflame them with a desire of 
 revenging themselves. 
 
 The duchess recounted to the duke all that had passed, 
 with which he was much diverted ; and the duchess, 
 proceeding in her design of making sport with Don 
 Quixote, dispatched the page, who had acted the 
 part of Dulcinea in the project of her disenchantment; 
 to Teresa Panza, with her husband's letter, (for Sancho 
 was so taken up with his government, that he had quite 
 forgotten it,) and with another from herself, and a large 
 string of rich corals by way of present. 
 
 Now the history tells us, that the page was very dis- 
 creet and sharp, and, being extremely desirous to please 
 his lord and lady, he departed, with a very good will, 
 for Sancho's village; and, being arrived near it, lie saw 
 some women washing in a brook/ of \\hom he demanded,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 417 
 
 if they could tell him, whether one Teresa Panza, wife 
 of one Sancho Panza, squire to a knight called Don 
 Quixote de la Mancha, lived in that town. At which 
 question, a young wench, who was washing, started up, 
 and said, " That Teresa Panza is my mother, and that 
 Sancho my father, and that knight our master." " Come 
 then, damsel," said the page, <c and bring me to your 
 mother ; for I have a letter and a present for her from 
 that same father of yours." " That I will, with all my 
 heart, sir," answered the girl, who seemed to be about 
 fourteen years of age : and, leaving the linen she was 
 washing to one of her companions, without putting any 
 thing on her head or her feet, (for she was bare-legged 
 and dishevelled,) she ran skipping along before the page's 
 horse, saying, " Come along, sir ; for our house stands 
 just at the entrance of the village, and there you will 
 find my mother in pain enough for not having heard any 
 news of my father this great while." " I bring her suck 
 good news," said the page, " that she may well tluink 
 God for it." In short, with jumping, running, and 
 capering, the girl came to the village, and, before she 
 got into the house, she called aloud at the door, " Come 
 forth, mother Teresa, come forth, come forth ; for here 
 is a gentleman who brings letters and other things from 
 my good father." At which voice her mother Teresa 
 Panza came out, spinning a distaff full of tow, having 
 on a gray petticoat, so short, that it looked as if it had 
 been docked at the placket, with a gray boddice also, 
 and her smock-sleeves hanging about it. She was not 
 very old, though she seemed to be above forty; but 
 was strong, hale, sinewy, and hard as a hazel-nut. 
 She, seeing her daughter, and the page on horseback, 
 said, " What is the matter, girl? What gentleman is 
 tbis?" <( It is a humble servant of my Lady Donnu 
 VQL, ii. SH
 
 418 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Teresa Panza," answered the page. And, so saying, lie 
 flung himself from his horse, and, with great respect, 
 went and kneeled before the lady Teresa, saying: " Be 
 pleased, Signora l)onna Teresa, to give me your lady- 
 ship's hand to kiss, as being the lawful and only wife of 
 Signer Don Saneho Panza, sole governor of the island 
 of Barataria." " Ah, dear sir, forbear, do not so," 
 answered Teresa; " for I am no court dame, but a poor 
 countrywoman, daughter of a ploughman, and wife of a 
 squire-errant, and not of any governor at all." " Your 
 ladyship," answered the page, " is the most worthy 
 wife of an arch-worthy governor ; and, for proof of what 
 I say, be pleased, madam, to receive this letter, and 
 this present." Then he pulled out of his pocket a string 
 of corals, each bead set in gold ; and, putting it about 
 her neck, he said : " This letter is from my lord gover- 
 nor ; and another that I have here, and these corals, are 
 from my lady duchess, who sends me to your ladyship.'* 
 Teresa was amazed, and her daughter neither more nor 
 less, and the girl said: " May I die, if our master, Don 
 Quixote, be not at the bottom of this business, and has 
 given my father the government, or earldom, he so often 
 promised him." u It is even so," answered the page; 
 " and, for Signer Don Quixote's sake, my lord Saneho 
 is now governor of the island Barataria, as you will see 
 by this letter." " Pray, young gentleman," said Te- 
 resa, " be pleased to read it; for, though I can spin, I 
 cannot read a tittle." " Nor I neither," added San- 
 chica : " but stay a little, and I will go call somebody 
 that can, though it be the priest himself, or the bache- 
 lor Sampson Carrasco, who will come with all their hearts 
 to hear news of my father." " There is no need of 
 calling any body," replied the page ; " for, though I 
 cannot spin, I can read, and will read it." So he read
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 419 
 
 it ; but, it having been inserted before, it is purposely 
 omitted here. Then he pulled out that from the duchess, 
 which was as follows. 
 
 " Friend Teresa, 
 
 " The good qualities, both of integrity and capacity, 
 of your husband Sancho, moved and induced me to de- 
 sire the duke, my husband, to give him the government 
 of one of the many islands he has. I am informed he go- 
 verns like any hawk ; at which I and my lord duke are 
 mightily pleased ; and I give great thanks to heaven, 
 that I have not been deceived in my choice of him for 
 the said government : for, let me tell madam Teresa, it 
 is a difficult thing to find a good governor in these days, 
 and God make me as good as Sancho governs well. I 
 send you hereby, my dear, a string of corals set in gold r 
 I wish they were of oriental pearl ; but, whoever gives 
 thee an egg, has no mind to see thec dead. The time 
 will come, when we shall be better acquainted, and con- 
 verse together, and God knows what may happen. 
 Commend me to Sanchica your daughter, and tell her 
 from me to get herself ready ; for I mean to marry her 
 toppingly, when she least thinks of it. I am told the 
 acorns of your town are very large : pray send me some 
 two dozen of them ; for 1 shall esteem them very much, 
 as coming from your hand : and write to me immediate- 
 ly, advising me of your health and welfare ; and if you 
 want any thing, you need but open your mouth, and 
 your mouth shall be measured. So God keep you. 
 " Your loving friend, 
 
 " The Duchess." 
 
 " From this place.
 
 420 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 " Ah!" cried Teresa, at hearing the letter, " how 
 good, how plain, how humble, a ladjr ! Let me be bu- 
 ried with such ladies as this, and not with such gentle- 
 women as this town affords, who think, because they are 
 gentlefolks, the wind must not blow upon them: and they 
 go to church with as much vanity as if they were very 
 queens. One would think they took it for a disgrace to 
 look upon a countryw oman ; and you see here how this 
 good lady, though she be a duchess, calls me friend, 
 and treats me as if I were her equal, and equal may I see 
 her to the highest steeple in La Mancha. As to the 
 acerns, sir, I will send her ladyship a pocketful, and 
 such as, for their bigness, people may come to see and 
 admire from far and near. And for the present, San- 
 chica, see and make much of this gentleman ; tako care 
 of his horse, and bring some new-laid eggs out of the 
 stable, and slice some rashers of bacon, and let us enter- 
 tain him like any prince; for the good news he has 
 brought us, and his own good looks, deserve no less; 
 and, in the meanwhile, I will step and carry my neigh- 
 bours the news of our joy, and especially to our father, 
 the priest, and to master Nicholas, the barber, who are, 
 and always have been, your father's great friends." 
 " Yes, mother, I will," answered Sanchica: " but, 
 hark you, I must have half that string of corals; for I 
 do not take my lady duchess to be such a fool as to send 
 it all to you." " It is all for you, daughter," answered 
 Teresa ; " but let me wear it a few days about my neck; 
 for truly metli inks it cheers my very heart." " You will 
 be no less cheered," said the page, " when you see the 
 bundle I have in this portmanteau ; it is a habit of super- 
 fine cloth, which the governor wore only one day at a 
 hunting-match, and has sent it aH to Signora Sanchica." 
 " May he live a thousand years," answered Sanchica,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 421 
 
 " and the bearer neither more nor less, ay, and two thou- 
 sand, if need be." 
 
 Teresa now went out of the house with the letters, 
 and the beads about her neck, and playing, as she went 
 along, with her fingers upon the letters, as if they had 
 been a timbrel ; and, accidentally meeting the priest 
 and Sampson Carrasco, she began to dance, and say, 
 " In faith we have no poor relations now ; we have got a 
 government: ay, ay, let the proudest gentlewoman of 
 them all meddle with me ; I will make her know her dis- 
 tance."" What is the matter, Teresa Panza? What 
 extravagancies are these, and what papers are those ?" 
 demanded the priest. " No other extravagancies," said 
 she, u but that these are letters from duchesses and go- 
 vernors, and these about my neck are true coral; the ave- 
 raaries and the pater-nosters are of beaten gold, and I am 
 agoverness." " God be our aid, Teresa," replied they; 
 " we understand you not, nor know what you mean." 
 " Believe your own eyes," answered Teresa, giving 
 them the letters. The priest read them so that Sampson 
 Carrasco heard the contents ; and Sampson and the priest 
 stared at each other, as surprised at what they read. 
 The bachelor demanded, who had brought those letters. 
 Teresa answered, if they should come home with her to 
 her house, they would see the messenger, who was a 
 youth like any golden pine-tree ; and that he had brought 
 her another present, worth twice as much. The priest 
 took the corals from her neck, and viewed and reviewed 
 therm ; and, being satisfied they were right, he began to 
 wonder afresh, and said, " By the habit I wear, I know 
 not what to say, nor what to think of these letters, and 
 these presents. On one hand I see and feel the fineness 
 of these corals, and on the other hand I read, that a 
 duchess sends to desire a dozen or two of acorns."
 
 422 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 u Make these things tally, if you can,** replied Carrasco ; 
 u but let us go and see the bearer of this packet, who may 
 give us some light into these difficulties, which puz- 
 zle us." They did so, and Teresa went back with 
 them. 
 
 They found the page sifting a little barley for his horse, 
 and Sauchica cutting a rasher to fry, and pave it with 
 eggs for the page's dinner; whose aspect and good ap- 
 pearance pleased them both very much. After they had 
 saluted him, and he them, Sampson desired him to tell 
 them news both of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza; for, 
 though they had read Sancho's and the duchess's letters, 
 still they were confounded, and could not devise what 
 Sancho's government could mean, and especially of an 
 island, most or all those in the Mediterranean belonging 
 to his majesty. To which the page answered, " That 
 Signor Sancho Panza is a governor, there is no manner of 
 doubt ; but whether it be an island that he governs, or 
 not, I concern not myself at all : let is suffice, that it is a 
 place containing above a thousand inhabitants. As to 
 the acorns, I say, my lady duchess is so humble and affa- 
 ble, that her sending to beg acorns of a countrywoman is 
 nothing ; for, ere now, she has sent to borrow a comb of 
 oae of her neighbours: for you must know, gentlemen, 
 that the ladies of Arragon, though of as great quality, 
 are not so haughty, nor so ceremonious, as the ladies of 
 Castile ; they treat people more upon the level." 
 
 While they were in the midst of this discourse, in 
 came Sanchica with a lapful of eggs, and said to the 
 page, " Pray, sir, does my father, now he is a go- 
 vernor, wear trunk-hose 80 ?" " I never observed that," 
 answered the page; " but doubtless he does." " God's 
 my life!" replied Sanchica, " what a sight must it be to 
 see my father with laced breeches I Is it not strange,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 423 
 
 that, ever since I was born, 1 have longed to see my father 
 with his breeches laced to his girdle?" "I warrant you 
 will, if you live," answered the page : " before God, if 
 his government lasts but two months, he is in a fair way 
 to travel with a cape to his cap." The priest and the ba- 
 chelor easily perceived that the page spoke jestingly: 
 but the fineness of the corals, and the hunting suit, which 
 Sancho had sent, (for Teresa had already showed them 
 the habit,) undid all. Nevertheless, they could not for- 
 bear smiling at Sanchica's longing, and more, when Te- 
 resa said, " Master priest, do so much as inquire, if any 
 body be going to Madrid or Toledo, who may buy me a 
 farthingale round and completely made, and fashionable, 
 and one of the best that is to be had ; for, verily, verily, 
 I intend to honour my husband's government as much as I 
 can; and, if they vex me, I will get me to this court my- 
 self, and ride in my coach as well as the best of them 
 there ; for she, who has a governor for her husband, may 
 Very well have one, and maintain it too." " Ay, marry,'* 
 added Sanchica, " and would to God it were to-day rather 
 than to-morrow, though folks, that saw me seated in that 
 coach w ith my lady mother, should say, ' Do but see such 
 a one, daughter of such a one, stuffed with garlic ; how 
 she sits in state, and lolls in her coach like the pope's la- 
 dy !' but let them jeer, so they trudge in the dirt, and I 
 ride in my coach with my feet above the ground. A sad 
 year, and a worse month, to all the murmurers in the 
 world ; and, if I go warm, let folks laugh. Say I well, 
 mother r" "Ay, mighty well, daughter," answered Te- 
 resa : " and my good man Sancho foretold me all this, and 
 even greater good luck; and, you shall see, daughter, it 
 will never stop till it has made me a countess : for, to be 
 lucky, the whole business is to begin : and, as I have of- 
 ten heard your good father say (who, as he is yours, is 
 also the father of proverbs,) * Whon they give you a
 
 424 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 heifer, make haste with the halter ;' so, when a govern- 
 ment is given you, seize it ; when they give you an earl- 
 dom, lay your claws on it ; and when they whistle to you 
 with a good gift, snap at it. No, no, sleep on, and do 
 not answer to the lucky hits, and the good fortune, that 
 stand calling at the door of your house." " And what 
 care I," added Sanchica ; u let who will say, when they 
 see me step it stately and bridle it, ' The higher the mon- 
 key climbs, the more he exposes his ,' and so forth." 
 
 The priest, hearing this, said, " I cannot believe, but 
 that all of this race of the Panzas were born with a bushel 
 of proverbs in their bellies : I never saw one of them, who 
 did not scatter them about, at all times, and in all the 
 discourses they ever held." " I believe so too," replied 
 the page ; " for my lord governor Sancho utters them at 
 every step ; and though many of them are wide of the pur- 
 pose, still they please, and my lady duchess and the duke 
 commend them highly." " You persist then in affirming, 
 sir," said the bachelor, u that this business of Sancho's 
 government is real and true, and that these presents and 
 letters are really sent by a duchess ? For our parts, though 
 we touch the presents, and have read the letters, we believe 
 it not, and take it to be one of our countryman Don Quix- 
 ote's adventures, who thinks every thing of this kind done 
 by way of enchantment ; and therefore I could almost find 
 in my heart to touch and feel your person, to know, whe- 
 ther you are a visionary messenger, or one of flesh and 
 bones." u All I know of myself, gentlemen," answered 
 the page, << is, that I am a real messenger, and that Sig- 
 nor Saiicho Panza actually is a governor ; and that my 
 lord duke and my lady duchess can give, and have given, 
 the said government ; and I have heard it said, that the 
 said Sancho Panza behaves himself most notably in it. 
 Whether there be any enchantment in this, or not, you 
 may dispute by yourselves ; for, by the oath I am going
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 425 
 
 to take, which is, by the life of my parents, who are 
 living, and -whom I dearly love, I know nothing more of 
 the matter.." " It may be so," replied the bachelor: 
 " but dubitat Augustinus.." " Doubt who will," an- 
 swe-red the page, " tlie truth is what I tell you, and 
 truth will always get above a lie, like oil above water; 
 and, if you will not believe me, opcribus credite et non 
 verbis. Come one of you, gentlemen, along with me, 
 and you shall see with your eyes what you will not be- 
 lieve by the help of your ears." " That jaunt is for 
 me," cried Sanchica : X( take me behind you, sir, upon 
 your nag; for I will go with all my heart to see my ho- 
 noured father." u The daughters of governors." said 
 the page, " must not travel alone, but attended with 
 coaches and litters, and good store of servants." " Be- 
 fore God," answered Sanchica, " I can travel as well 
 upon an ass's colt as in a coach; I am none of your ten- 
 der squeamish folks." " Peace, wench," said Tere- 
 sa; " yeu know Hot what you say, aad the gentleman is 
 in the -right ; for, according to reason, each tiling in its 
 season: when it was Sancbo, it was Sancha; aud when 
 governor, madam. Said I amiss?" u Madam Teresa 
 says more than she imagines," replied .the page ; "and 
 pray give me to eat, and dispatc-h me quickly; for I in* 
 lend to return home this night.'' To which the priest 
 eaid : " Come, sir, and do penance with me ; for madam 
 Teresa has more good will than good cheer to welcome 
 so worthy a guest." The page refused at first, but at 
 length thought.it most for his good to comply, and the 
 .priest very willingly took him home with him, that he 
 might have an opportunity of inquiring at leisure after 
 Don Quixote and his exploits. The bachelor offered Te- 
 jresa to write answers to her letters ; but she would not let 
 him meddle in her matters, fo ishe looked upon him as 
 VOL. u. 3
 
 42(5 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 somewhat of a wag ; and so she gave a roll of bread and a 
 couple of eggs to a young noviciate friar, who could 
 write ; who wrote for her two letters, one for her husband , 
 and the other for the duchess, arid both of her inditing ; 
 and they are none of the worst recorded in this grand his- 
 tory, as will be seen hereafter. 
 
 CHAP. LI. 
 
 Of the progress of Sancho Panza's Government, nith 
 
 other entertaining events. 
 ' 
 
 j\ t^VV appeared the day succeeding the night of the 
 governor's round; which the sewer passed without sleep- 
 ing, his thoughts being taken up with the countenance, 
 air, and beauty, of the disguised damsel ; and the stew- 
 ard spent the remainder of it in writing to his lord and 
 lady what Sancho Panza said and did, equally wondering 
 at his deeds and sayings ; for his words and actions were 
 intermixed with strong indications both of discretion and 
 folly. In short, signor governor got up, and, by the 
 direction of Doctor Pedro Rezio, they gave him, to break 
 Iiis fast, a little conserve, and four draughts of cold 
 "water ; which Sancho would gladly have exchanged for 
 a piece of bread and a bunch of grapes : but, seeing it 
 was more by force than good-will, he submitted to it with 
 sufficient grief to his soul, and toil to his stomach : Pedro 
 Rezio making him believe, that, to eat but little, and 
 that of slight things, quickened the judgment, which 
 was the properest thing that could be for persons ap- 
 pointed to rule and bear offices of dignity ; in which there 
 is not so much occasion for bodily strength as for that
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 427 
 
 of the understanding. By means of this sophistry, Sar,- 
 cho endured hunger to a degree, that inwardly he cursed 
 the government, and even him that gave it. 
 
 However, with his hunger and his conserve, he sat in 
 judgment that day, and the first thing that offered, was 
 a question proposed by a stranger ; the steward and the 
 rest of the assistants being present all the while. It was 
 this: "My lord, a main river divides the two parts of 
 one lordship pray, my lord, be attentive ; for it is a caso 
 of importance, and somewhat difficult I say then, that 
 upon this river stood a bridge, and at the head of it a gal- 
 lows, and a kind of court-house, for a seat of judicature; 
 in which there were commonly four judges, whose office 
 it was to give sentence according to a law enjoined by 
 the owner of the river, of the bridge, and of the lord- 
 ship; which law was in this form: Jf'hoezer passes ozcr 
 this bridge, from one side to the other, must jirst take 
 an oath from whence he comes, and zchat business he is 
 going about ; and, if he shears true, they shall let him 
 pass ; but, if he tells a lie, he shall die for it upon yonder 
 gal/ozcs, tL-ithoutany remission. This law, and the rigorous 
 condition thereof, being known, several persons passed 
 over; for, by what they swore, it was soon perceived 
 they swore the truth, and the judges let them pass freelv. 
 Now it fell out, that a certain man, taking the oath, 
 swore, and said, by the oath he had taken, he was going 
 to die upon the gallows, which stood there, and that this 
 was his business, and no other. The judges deliberated 
 upon the oath, and said, ' If we let this man pass freel}-, 
 he swore a lie, and by the law he ought to die; and if we 
 hang him, he swore he went to die upon that gallows, 
 and, having sworn the truth, by the same law he oughr 
 to go free. It is now demanded of my lord governor, 
 how the judges shall proceed with this man; for they are 
 still doubtful and in suspense ; and, being informed of the 
 
 3 i 2
 
 DON QUIXOTEV' 
 
 ftcuteness and elevation of your lordship's understanding, 
 they have sent me to beseech your lordship, on their be- 
 half, to give your opinion in so intricate and doubtful a- 
 case.' To which Sancho answered : " For certain these 
 gentlemen, the judges, who sent yoo to me, might have 
 saved themselves, and you, the labour; for I Ira ve more 
 of the blunt than the acute in me : nevertheless, repeat 
 me the business over again, that I may understand it ; 
 perhaps I may hit the mark." Tire querist repeated what 
 he had said once or twice, and Sancho said, " In my 
 opinion/ this affair may be briefly resolved, and it is thus. 
 The man swear* he is going to die upon the gaHows, and, 
 if he is hanged, he swore the truth, and by the law esta- 
 blished, ought to be freey and to pass the bridge ; and, if 
 they do not hang him, he swore a- lie, and, by the same 
 l:iw, lit? ought to be hanged." " It is just as signor go- 
 vernor says," replied the messenger, " and nothing more 
 is wanting to the right stating and understanding of the 
 case." <& I say then," answered Sancho, " that they 
 ought to let pass that part of the man which swore tli? 
 fntth,. and hang that part whirh swore a lie: and thus 
 the condition of the passage will be literally fulfilled." 
 " If so, sighor governor," replied the querist, " it will 
 be necessary to divide the man into two parts, the fals.> 
 and Mie true; and, if he is cut asunder, he must necessa- 
 rily die, and so there is not a tittle of the law fulfilled, 
 and there rs an express necessity of fulfilling the law." 
 " Come hither, honest man," ansu eretl Sanche : "either 
 I am a very dunce, or there is as much reason to put this 
 passenger to deatb, as to let him live and pass the bridge; 
 kr, if the truth saves him, the lie equally condemns him ; 
 iind this being so, as ii really is, I am of opinion, that 
 you should tell those gentlemen, who sent you to me, 
 that, since the reasons for condemning him and acquitting 
 him are equal, they ought to lot him pass freely ; for it is
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 429 
 
 always commendable to do good rather than barm; and 
 this I would give under my hand, if I could write: and, 
 in this case, I speak not of my own head, but upon recol- 
 lection of a precept given me, among many others, by 
 my master, Don Quixote, the night before f set out to be 
 governor of this island; which was, that, when justice 
 happens to be in the least doubtful, I should incline and 
 lean to the side of mercy ; and God has been pleased to 
 make me remember it in the present case, in which it 
 comes in so pat." " It does so," answered the steward ; 
 " and, for my part, I think Lycurgus himself-, who gave 
 laws to the Lacedemonians,, coukl not have given a better 
 judgment than that now given by the great Panza : and 
 let us have no more hearings this morning, and I will give 
 order, that signer governor shall dine to-day much to his 
 satisfaction.'* " That is what I desire, and let us have 
 fair play," quoth Sancho. " Let me but dine, and bring- 
 me cases and questions never so thick, I will dispatch them 
 in the snuffing of a candle." 
 
 The steward was as good as his word, making it a mat- 
 ter of conscience to starve so discerning a governor; 
 especially since he intended to come to a conclusion with 
 him that very night, and to play him the last trick he had 
 in commission. 
 
 It fell out then, that, having dined that day against 
 all the rules and aphorisms of doctor Tirteafuera, at taking 
 away the cloth, a courier came in with a letter from Don 
 Quixote to the governor. Sancho bid the secretary read 
 it first to himself, and, if there was nothing in it that re- 
 quired secrecy, to read it aloud. The secretary did so, 
 and, glancing it over, said, " Well may it be read 
 aloud ; for what Signor Don Quixote writes to your 
 lordship deserves to be printed and written in letters of 
 gold ; and the contents are these.
 
 430 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Don Quixote de la Mane ha* s Letter to Sancho Panza, 
 
 Governor of the Island of Barataria. 
 u Wlicn I expected, friend Sancho, to have heard 
 news of your negligences and impertinences, I have had 
 accounts of your discretion; for which I give particular 
 thanks to heaven, that can raise the poor from the dung- 
 hill, and make wise men of fools. I am told, you go- 
 vern as if you were a man, and are a man as if you were 
 beast, such is the humility of your demeanour. But I 
 would have you take notice, Sancho, that it is often ex- 
 pedient and necessary, for the sake of authority, to act 
 in contradiction to the humility of the heart ; for the de- 
 cent adorning of the person in weighty employments, 
 must be conformable to what those offices require, and not 
 according to the measure of what a man's own humble 
 
 
 
 condition inclines him to. Go well clad ; for a broom- 
 stick well dressed does not appear a broomstick. I do 
 not mean, that you should wear jewels or fine clothes, nor, 
 being a judge, that you should dress like a soldier ; but 
 that you should adorn yourself with such an habit as suits 
 your employment, and such as is neat and handsomely 
 made. To gain the good-will of the people you govern, 
 two things, among others, you must do. One is, to be 
 civil to all, (though I have already told you this ;) and the 
 other is, to take care that there be plenty ; since nothing 
 is so discouraging to the poor as hunger and dearness of 
 provisions. Publish not many edicts, and, when you do, 
 see that they are good ones, and, above all, that they are 
 well observed ; for edicts that are not kept, are as if they 
 had not been made, and serve only to show, that the prince, 
 though he had wisdom and authority sufficient to make 
 them, had not the courage to see them put in execution: 
 and laws that intimidate at their publication, and are not 
 executed, become like the log kiiig of the frogs, which 
 terrified them at first ; but, in time, they contemned him, 
 and got upon his back. Be a father to virtue, and a step-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 431 
 
 father to vice. Be not always severe, nor always mild; 
 but choose the mean betwixt these two extremes ; for there- 
 in consists the main point of discretion. Visit the prisons, 
 the shambles, and the markets ; for the presence of the go- 
 vernor in sucli places is of great importance. Comfort the 
 prisoners, that they may hope to be quickly dispatched. 
 Be a bugbear to the butchers, who will then make their 
 weights true ; and be a terror to the market-people for the 
 same reason. Do not show yourself (though perchance you 
 may be so, but I do not believe it) given to covetousness, 
 to women, or gluttony : for, when the town, and those who 
 have to do with you, find your ruling passion, by that they 
 will play their engines upon you, till they have battered 
 you down into the depth of destruction. View and review, 
 consider and re-consider, the counsels and documents I 
 gave you in writing, before you went hence to your govern- 
 ment, and you will see how r you will find in them, if you 
 observe them, a choice supply to help to support you un- 
 der the toils and difficulties which governors meet with at 
 every turn. Write to your patrons, the duke and duchess, 
 and show yourself grateful ; for ingratitude is the daugh- 
 ter of pride, and one of the greatest sins ; and the person, 
 who is grateful to those that have done him good, shows 
 thereby that he will be so to God too, who has already 
 done him, and is continually doing him, so much good. 
 
 u My lady duchess has dispatched a messenger with 
 your suit, and another present, to your wife, Teresa Panza : 
 we expect an answer every moment. I have been a little 
 out of order with a certain cat-clawing, which befel not 
 much to the advantage of my nose : but it was nothing ; 
 for, if there are enchanters who persecute me, there are 
 others who defend me. Let me know, if the steward, who 
 is with you, had any hand in the actions of the Trifaldi, as 
 you suspected : give me advice, from time to time, of all 
 that happens to you, since the way is so short. I have 
 thoughts of quitting this idle iijfe very sooa ; for 1 was not
 
 432 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 bom for it. A business has fallen out, which will, I br- 
 lieve, go near to bring me into disgrace with the duke and 
 duchess : feut, though it afflicts me much, it affects me no- 
 thing; for, in short, I must comply with the rules of my 
 profession, rather than with their pleasure, according to 
 the old saying, amicus Plato , scd magis arnica "ceritas. I 
 write this in Latin, for I persuade myself you have learn- 
 ed it, since you have been a governor. And so farewell, and 
 God have you in his keeping, that nobody may pity you, 
 ** Your friend, 
 
 " Don Quixote de la Mancha.'* 
 
 Sancho listened with great attention to the letter, which 
 was applauded, and looked upon to be very judicious, by 
 all that heard it. Presently Sancho rose from table, and, 
 calling the secretary, he shut himself up with him in his 
 chamber, and, without any delay, resolved immediately to 
 send an answer to his lord Don Quixote. He bid the se- 
 cretary, without adding or diminishing a tittle, to write 
 what he should dictate to him. He did so, and the answer 
 was to the following purport, 
 
 Sancho Panza's Letter to Don Quixote de la Mancha. 
 
 <' The hurry of my business is so g-reat, that I have no 
 time to scratch my head, nor so much as to pare my nails, 
 and therefore I wear them very long ; which God remedy. 
 This I say, dear master of my soul, that your worship may 
 not wonder, if hitherto I have given you no account of my 
 well or ill being in this government ; in which I suffer more 
 hunger, than when we two wandered about tli rough woods 
 and deserts- 
 
 " My lord duke wrote to me the other day, giving me 
 advice, that certain spies were come into this island to kill 
 me ; but hitherto I have been able to discover no other 
 besides a certain doctor, who ha* a salary in this place 
 for killing as many governors as shall come hither. He 
 calls himself Doctor Pedro Rczio, and is a native qf
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 433 
 
 Tirteafuera; a name sufficient to make one fear dying by 
 his hands. This same doctor says, he does not cure dis- 
 tempers when people have them, but prevents them from 
 coming: and the medicines he uses are, diet upon diet, 
 till he reduces the patient to bare bones ; as if a consump- 
 tion were not a worse malady than a fever. In short, he 
 is murdering me by hunger, and I am dying of despite ; 
 for, instead of coming to this government to eat hot, 
 and drink cool, and to recreate my body between Holland 
 sheets, upon beds of down, I am come to do penance, 
 as if I were an hermit; and, as I do it against my will, I 
 verily think, at the long run, the devil svill carry me 
 a way. 
 
 " Hitherto I have touched no fee, nor taken any bribe, 
 and I cannot imagine what it will end in ; for here I am 
 told that the governors who come to this island, before 
 they set foot in it, used to receive a good sum of money, 
 by way of present or loan, from the people, and that 
 this is the custom with those who go to other govern- 
 ments, as well as with those who come to this. 
 
 " One night, as I was going the round, I met a very 
 handsome damsel in man's clothes, and her brother in 
 woman's. My sewer fell in love with the girl, and has, 
 as he says, already in his thoughts made choice of her 
 for his wife ; and I have chosen, the brother for my son- 
 in-law. To-day we both intend to disclose our minds to 
 their father, who is one Diego de la Liana, a gentleman > 
 and as old a Christian as one can desire. 
 
 " I visit the markets, as your worship advises me ; 
 and yesterday 1 found a huckster-woman who sold new 
 hazel-nuts, and it was proved upon her, that she had 
 mixed with the new a bushel of old rotten ones. I con- 
 fiscated them all to the use of the charity -boys, who well 
 knew how to distinguish them, and sentenced her not to 
 come into the market again in fifteen days. I am told, I 
 
 VOL. n. 3 K
 
 434 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 behaved bravely : what I can tell your worship is, that it 
 is reported in this town, that there is not a worse sort of 
 people than your market-women ; for they are all shame- 
 less, hard-hearted, and impudent ; and I verily believe 
 it so, by those I have seen in other places. 
 
 " As concerning my Lady Duchess's having written to 
 my wife Teresa Panza, and sent her the present your 
 worship mentions, I am mightily pleased with it, and 
 will endeavour to show my gratitude at a proper time : 
 pray kiss her honour's hand in my name, and tell her, 
 she has not thrown her favours into a rent sack, as she 
 will find by the effect. 
 
 " I would not wish you to have any cross-reckonings of 
 disgust with our patrons the duke and duchess ; for if 
 your worship quarrels with them, it is plain it must re- 
 dound to my damage; and since your worship advised 
 me not to be ungrateful, it will not be proper you should be 
 so yourself to those who have done you so many favours, 
 and who have entertained you so generously in their castle. 
 
 " The cat business I understand not, but suppose it must 
 be one of those unlucky tricks the wicked enchanters are 
 wont to play your worship ; I shall know more when we meet. 
 
 " I would willingly send your worship something or 
 other, but I cannot tell what, unless it be some little clys- 
 ter-pipes, which they make in this island very curiously. 
 If my employment holds, I will look out for something to 
 send, right or wrong. If my wife Teresa Panza writes to 
 me, be so kind as to pay the postage, and send me the 
 letter, for I have a mighty desire to know the estate of 
 my house, my wife, and my children. And so, God de- 
 liver your worship from evil-minded enchanters, and bring 
 me safe and sound out of this government, which I doubt ; 
 for I expect to lay my bones here/considering how Doctor 
 Pedro Rezio treats me. 
 
 " Your worship's servant, 
 
 " SANCHO PANZA, the governor.*'
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 435 
 
 The secretary made up the letter, and dispatched the 
 courier with it immediately. Then those who carried 
 on the plot against Sancho, contrived among themselves 
 how to put an end to his government. That evening 
 Sancho spent in making some ordinances for the good 
 government of that which he took to be an island. He 
 decreed that there should be no monopolizers of provi- 
 sions in the commonwealth ; that wines should not be im- 
 ported indifierently from any parts the merchant pleased, 
 with this injunction, thztt they should declare its growth, 
 that a price might be set upon it according to its good- 
 ness, character, and true value ; and that whoever dashed 
 it with water, or changed its name, should be put to 
 death for it. He moderated the prices of all sorts of 
 hose and shoes, especially the latter, the current price 
 of which he thought exorbitant. He limited the wages 
 of servants, which before were very extravagant. He 
 laid most severe penalties upon those who should sing 
 lascivious and indecent songs by day or by night. He 
 decreed, that no blind man should sing his miracles in 
 verse, unless he produced an authentic testimony of the 
 truth of them, esteeming most of those sung by that 
 sort of people to be false, in prejudice to the true ones. 
 He created an overseer of the poor, not to persecute 
 them, but to examine wheiherthey were such or no; for 
 under colour of feigned maimness and counterfeit sores, 
 they are often sturdy thieves and hale drunkards. In 
 short, he made such wholesome ordinances, that they are 
 observed in that town to this day, and are called, " The 
 constitutions of the great Governor Sancho Panza." 
 
 3 K2
 
 436 DON QUIXOTE, 
 
 CHAP. LII. 
 
 . 
 
 In which is related the Adventure of the Second afflicted or 
 distressed Matron^ 'otherwise called Donna Rodriguez. 
 
 C-ID HAMET relates, that Don Quixote, being now 
 healed of his scratches, began to think the life he led in 
 that castle was against all the rules of knight-errantry 
 which he professed ; and therefore he resolved to ask 
 leave of the duke and duchess to depart for Saragossa, 
 the celebration of the tournament drawing near, wherein 
 "he proposed to win the suit of armour, the usual prize at 
 that festival. And being one day at table with their 
 excellencies, and beginning to unfold his purpose, and 
 ask their leave, behold, on a sudden, there entered at the 
 door of the great hall, two women, as it afterwards ap- 
 peared, covered from head to foot with mourning weeds ; 
 and one of them coming up to Don Quixote, threw her- 
 self at full length on the ground, and incessantly kissing 
 his feet, poured forth such dismal, deep, and mournful 
 groans, that all who heard and saw her were confound- 
 ed : and though the duke and duchess imagined it was 
 some jest their servants were putting upon Don Quixote, 
 yet, seeing how vehemently the woman sighed, groaned, 
 and wept, they were in doubt and in suspense ; till the 
 compassionate Don Quixote, raising her from the ground, 
 prevailed with her to discover herself, and remove the 
 veil from before her blubbered face. She did so, and 
 discovered, what they little expected to see, the face of 
 Donna Rodriguez, the duenna of the house : and the 
 other mourner was her daughter, who had been deluded 
 by the rich farmer's son. All that knew her wondered, 
 and the duke and duchess more than any body ; for
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 437 
 
 though they took her for a fool and soft, yet not to the 
 degree as to act so mad a part. At length Donna Rodri- 
 guez, turning to her lord and lady, said; *' Be pleased, 
 your excellencies, to*give me leave to confer a little with 
 this gentleman, for so it behoves me to do, to get success- 
 fully out of an unlucky business, into which the presump- 
 tion of an evil-minded bumpkin has brought me." The 
 duke said, he gave her leave, and that she might confer 
 with Don Quixote as much as she pleased. She, direct- 
 ing her face and speech to Don Quixote, said: " It is 
 not long, valorous knight, since I gave you an account 
 how injuriously and treacherously a wicked peasant has 
 used my poor dear child, this unfortunate girl here pre- 
 sent, and you promised me to stand up in her defence, 
 and see her righted ; and now I understand that you are 
 departing from this castle in quest of good adventures, 
 (\vhich God send you !) and therefore my desire is, that, 
 before you begin making your excursions on the highway s, 
 you would challenge this untamed rustic, aud oblige him 
 to marry my daughter, in compliance with the promise he 
 gave her to be her husband, before he had his will of her : 
 for, to think to meet with justice from my lord duke, is 
 to look for pears upon an elm-tree, for trie reasons I have 
 already told your worship in private ; and so God grant 
 your worship much health, not forsaking us." 
 
 To which words Don Quixote returned this answer, 
 with much gravity and solemnity : " Good Madam Du- 
 enna, moderate your tears, or rather dry them up, and 
 spare your sighs; for I take upon me the charge of see- 
 ing your daughter's wrongs redressed ; though it had been 
 better if she had not been so easy in believing the pro- 
 mises of lovers, who, for the most part, are very ready at 
 promising, and very slow in performing: and therefore, 
 with my lord duke's leave, I will depart immediately in 
 . search of this ungracious youth, and will find and chal-
 
 438 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 lenge him, and will kill him, if he refuses to perform his 
 contract: for the principal end of my profession is, to 
 spare the humble, and chastise the proud ; I mean, to 
 succour the wretched, and destroy tjie oppressor." 
 
 " You need not give yourself any trouble," answered 
 the duke, " to seek the rustic, of whom this good duenna 
 complains; nor need you ask my permission to challenge 
 him: for suppose him challenged, and leave it to me to 
 give him notice of this challenge, and to make him ac- 
 cept it, and come and answer for himself at this castle of 
 mine; where both shall fairly enter the lists, and all the 
 usual ceremonies shall be observed, and exact justice dis- 
 tributed to each, as is the duty of all princes, who grant 
 the lists to combatants within the bounds of their terri- 
 tories." " With this assurance, and with your gran- 
 deur's leave," replied Don Quixote, " for this time I re- 
 nounce my gentility, and lessen and demean myself to 
 the lowness of the offender, and put myself upon a level 
 with him, that he may be qualified to fight with me: and 
 so, though absent, I challenge and defy him, upon ac- 
 count of the injury he has done in deceiving this poor 
 girl, who was a maiden, and by his fault is no longer 
 such; and he shall either perform his promise of being 
 her lawful husband, or die in the dispute." And imme- 
 diately pulling off his glove, he threw it into the middle 
 of the hall, and the duke took it up, saying, that, as he 
 had said before, he accepted the challenge in the name of 
 his vassal, appointing the time to be six days after, and 
 the lists to be in the court of the castle; the arms, those 
 usually among knights, a lance, shield, and laced suit of 
 armour, and all the other pieces, without deceit, fraud, 
 or any superstition whatever, being first viewed and exa- 
 mined by the judges of the field. But especially, he said, 
 it was necessary the good duenna, .and the naughty mai- 
 den, should commit the justice of their cause to the bauds
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 439 
 
 of Signer Don Quixote; for otherwise nothing could be 
 done, nor could the said challenge be duly executed. " I 
 do commit it," answered the duenna. " And I too," 
 added the daughter, all weeping, abashed, and con- 
 founded. 
 
 The day thus appointed, and the duke havin^ re- 
 solved with himself what was to be done in the business, 
 the mourners went their ways ; and the duchess ordered, 
 that henceforward they should be treated, not as her ser- 
 vants, but as lady adventurers, who were come to her 
 house to demand justice : and so they had a separate 
 apartment ordered them, and were served as strangers, to 
 the amazement of the rest of the family, who knew not 
 what the folly and boldness of Donna Rodriguez and of 
 her ill-errant daughter, drove at. 
 
 While they were thus engaged in perfecting the joy of 
 the feast , and giving a good end to the dinner, behold 
 there entered, at the hall-door, the page who carried the 
 letters and presents to Teresa Panza, wife of the Gover- 
 nor Sancho Panza: at whose arrival the duke and du- 
 chess were much pleased, being desirous to know the suc- 
 cess of his journey ; and they having asked him, the page 
 replied, he could not relate it so publicly, nor iu few 
 words, and desired their excellencies would be pleased to 
 adjourn it to a private audience, and in the mean time to 
 entertain themselves with those letters: and pulling out a 
 couple, he put them into the hands of the duchess. The 
 superscription of one was, " For my lady duchess such a 
 one, of I know not what place:" and the other, " To my 
 husband Sancho Panza, governor of the island Barataria, 
 whom God prosper more years than me." The duchess's 
 cake was dough, as the saying is, till she had read her 
 letter; and, opening it, she run it over to herself, and 
 finding it might be read aloud, that the duke and the 
 bystanders might hear it, she read what follows :
 
 ' , 
 440 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 TERESA PAVZA's LETTER TO THE DUCHESS. 
 
 " My Lady, 
 
 " The letter your grandeur wrote me gave me much 
 satisfaction, and indeed I wished for it mightily. The 
 string of corals is very good, and my husband's hunting- 
 suit comes not short of it. Our whole town is, highly 
 pleased that your ladyship has made my husband San- 
 cho a governor; though . nobody believes it, especially 
 the priest, and Master Nicholas the barber, and Sampson 
 Carrasco the bachelor. But what care I ? For so long as 
 the thing is so, as it really is, let every one say what they 
 list: though, if I may own the truth, I should not have 
 believed it myself, had it not been for the corals and the 
 habit : for in this village every body thinks my hus- 
 band a dunce, and, take him from governing a flock of 
 goats, they cannot imagine what government he can be 
 good for. God be his guide, and speed him as he sees 
 best for his children. I am resolved, dear lady of my soul, 
 with your ladyship's leave, to bring this, good day home to 
 my house, and hie me to court, to loll it in a coach, and 
 burst the eyes of a thousand people that envy me already. 
 And therefore I beg your excellency to order my husband 
 to sepd me a little money, and let it be enough : for at 
 court expences are great; bread sells for sixpence, and 
 .flesh for thirty maravedisthe pound ; which is a judgment: 
 and if he is not for my going, let him send me word in time 
 for my feet are in motion to begin my journey. My friends 
 and neighbours tell me, that if I and my daughter go fine 
 and stately at court, my husband will be known by me, 
 more than I by him; for folks, to be sure, will ask, 
 * What ladies are those in that coach ?' and a footman of 
 ours will answer ; ' The wife and daughter of Sancho 
 Panza, governor of the island Barataria:' and in this 
 manner Sancho will be known, and I shall be esteemed, 
 and to Rome for every thing.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 441 
 
 ct I am as sorry as sorry can be that there has been no 
 gathering of acorns this year in our village ; but for all 
 that, I send your highness about half a peck. I went to 
 the mountain to pick and cull them out one by one, and I 
 could find none larger ; I wish they hud been as big as 
 ostrich eggs. 
 
 " Let not your pomposity forget to write to me, and I 
 will take care to answer, advising you of my health, and 
 of all that shall offer worth advising from this place, where 
 I remain praying to our Lord to preserve your honour, 
 and not to forget me. My daughter Sanchica and my 
 son kiss your ladyship's hands. 
 
 " She, who has more mind to see your ladyship, than 
 to write to you, 
 
 " Your servant, 
 
 " TERESA PANZA." 
 
 Great was the pleasure all received at hearing Teresa 
 Panza's letter, especially the duke and duchess, who asked 
 Don Quixote, whether he thought it proper to open the 
 tetter for the governor, which must needs be most excel- 
 lent. Don Quixote said, to please "them, he would open 
 it ; which he did, and found the contents as follow : 
 
 TERESA FAKZA'S LETTER TO HER HUSBAND SANCHO 
 
 PANZA. 
 
 ** I received your letter, dear Sancho of my soul ; and 
 I vow and swear to you, upon the word of a catholic chris- 
 tian, that I was within two fingers breadth of running 
 mad with satisfaction. Look you, brother, when I came 
 to hear that you was a governor, methought I should have 
 dropped down dead for mere joy : for you know, it is 
 usually said, that sudden joy kills as effectually as exces- 
 sive grief. Your daughter Sanchica could not contain her 
 
 VOL, IL. 3 i
 
 442 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 water for pure ccstacy. I had before my eyes the suit 
 you sent me, and the corals sent by my lady duchess 
 about my neck, and the letters in my hands, and the bearer 
 of them present ; and for all that I believed and thought 
 all I saw and touched was a dream : for who could ima- 
 gine, that a goatherd should come to be a governor of 
 islands? You know, friend, my mother used to say, that 
 one must live long to see much. I say this, because I 
 think to see more if I live longer ; for I never expect to 
 stop till I see you a farmer- general, or a collector of the 
 customs ; offices in which, though the devil carries away 
 him that abuses them, in short, one is always taking and 
 fingering of money. My lady duchess will tell you how I 
 long to go to court : consider of it, and let me know your 
 mind ; for I will strive to do you credit there by riding in 
 a coach. The priest, the barber, the bachelor, and even 
 the sexton, cannot believe you are a governor, and say 
 that it is all delusion or matter of enchantment, like all 
 the rest of your master Don Quixote's affairs : and Samp- 
 son says, he will 6ndyou out, and take this government out 
 of your head, and Don Quixote's madness out of his skulL 
 I only laugh at them, and look upon my string of corals ; 
 and am contriving how to make our daughter a gown of 
 the suit you sent me. I sent my lady duchess a parcel of 
 acorns: I wish they had been of gold. Pr'ythee send me 
 some strings of pearl, if they are in fashion in that same 
 island. The news of this town is, that the Berrueca is 
 about marrying her daughter to a sorry painter, who is 
 come to this town to paint whatever should offer. The 
 magistrates ordered him to paint the king's arms over the 
 gate of the town-house : he demanded two ducats : they 
 paid him beforehand ; he worked eight days, at the end of 
 which he had made nothing of it, and said, he could not 
 hit upon painting such trumpery. He returned the mo- 
 ney, and for all that, he marries under the title of a good
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 443 
 
 workman. It is true he has already quitted the pencil 
 and taken the spade, and goes to the field like a gentle- 
 man. Pedro de Lobo's son has taken orders, and shaven 
 his crown in order to be a priest. Minguella, Mingo SiU 
 vato's niece, has heard of it, and is sueing him upon a 
 promise of marriage : evil tongues do not stick to say she 
 is with child by him; but he denies it with both hands. 
 We have had no olives this year, nor is there a drop or 
 vinegar to be had in all this town. A company of foot 
 soldiers passed through here, and by the way carried oft 
 three girls. I will not tell you who they are ; perhaps they 
 will return, and somebody or other will not fail to rnarry 
 them with all their faults. Sanchica makes bone-lace, and 
 gets eight maravedis a day, which she drops into a till- 
 box, to help towards household-stuff: but now that she it 
 a governor's* daughter you will give her a fortune, and 
 she need not work for it. The pump in our market-plac-? 
 is dried up. A thunderbolt fell upon the pillory, and 
 there may they all light ! I expect an answer to this, and 
 your resolution about my going to court. And so God 
 .keep you more years than myself, or as many ; for I would 
 cot willingly leave you in this world behind me. 
 
 " Your wife, 
 
 " TERESA PANZA." 
 
 The letters caused much laughter, applause, esteem, 
 and admiration : and to put the seal to the whole, arrived 
 the courier, who brought that which Sancho sent to Don 
 Quixote; which mas also publicly read, and occasioned 
 the governor's simplicity to be matter of doubt. The 
 duchess retired, to learn of the page what had befallen 
 him in Sancho's village : he related the whole very parti- 
 cularly, without leaving a circumstance unrecited. He 
 gave her the acorns, as also a cheese, which Teresa gave 
 iuai for a very good one, and better than those of Tron- 
 
 3 L 2
 
 444 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 chon. The Duchess received it with great satisfaction : 
 and so we will leave them, to relate how ended the govern- 
 ment of the great Sancho Panza, the flower and mirror 
 of all insulary governors. 
 
 CHAP. LIII. 
 
 Of the toilsome End and Conclusion of Sancho Panza'a 
 Government. 
 
 o think that the things in this life will continue always 
 in the same state, is a rain expectation : the whole seems 
 rather to be going round, I mean in a circle. The spring 
 is succeeded by the summer, the summer by the autumn, 
 the autumn by the winter, and the winter by the spring 
 again : and thus time rolls round with a continual wheel- 
 Human life only posts to its end, swifter than time itself, 
 without hope of renewal, unless in > the next, which is 
 limited by no bounds. This is the reflection of Cid 
 Hamet, the Mahometan .philosopher. For many, without 
 the light of faith, and merely by natural instinct, Lave 
 discovered the transitory and unstable condition of the 
 present life, and the eternal duration of that which is to 
 come. But here our author speaks with respect to the 
 swiftness with which Sancho's government ended, perish- 
 ed, dissolved, and vanished into smoke and a shadow. 
 
 Who being in bed the seventh night of the days of his 
 government, not satiated with bread nor wine, but with 
 sitting in judgment, deciding causes, and making statutes 
 and proclamations; and sleep, , maugre and in, despite 
 of hunger, beginning to close his eyelids; he heard so 
 great a noise of bells and voices, that he verily thought
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 445 
 
 the whole island had been sinking. He sat up m his bed, 
 and listened attentively, to see if he could guess at the 
 cause of so great an uproar. But so far was he from 
 guessing that, the din of an infinite number of trumpets 
 and drums joining the noise of the bells and voices, he 
 was in greater confusion, and in more fear and dread 
 than at first. And, getting upon his feet, he put on his 
 slippers, because of the dampness of the floor ; and 
 without putting on his night-gown, or any thing like it, 
 he went out at his chamber door, and instantly .perceived 
 more than twenty persons coming along the gallery, with 
 lighted torches in their hands, and their swords drawn, 
 all crying aloud : " Arm, arm, my Lord Governor, arm ; 
 for an infinite number of enemies are entered the island, 
 and we are undone, if your conduct and valour do not 
 succour us." With this noise and uproar, they came 
 where Sancho stood, astonished and stupified with what 
 he heard and saw. And when they were come up to him,, 
 one of them said, " Arm yourself straight, my Lord, 
 unless you would be ruined, and the whole island with 
 you." " What have I to do with, arming," replied Sancho, 
 " who know nothing of arms or succours t It were better 
 to leave these matters to my master Don Quixote, who 
 will dispatch them and secure us in a trice ; for, as I am 
 a sinner to God, I understand nothing at all of these hurly- 
 burlies." "Alack, Signor Governor," said another, 
 " what faint-heartcdness is this? Arm yourself, Sir: for 
 here we bring you weapons offensive and defensive; and 
 come forth to the market-place, and be our leader and 
 our captain, since you ought to be so, as being our 
 governor." " Arm me, then, in God's name," replied 
 Sancho : and instantly they brought him a couple of old 
 targets, which they had purposely provided, and clapped 
 them over his shirt (not suffering him to put on any other 
 gavment), the one before and the ether behind. They
 
 446 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 thrust his arms through certain holes they had made in 
 them, and tied them well with some cord ; insomuch that 
 he remained walled and boarded up straight like a spindle, 
 without being able to bend his knees, or walk one single 
 step. They put a lance into his hand, upon which he 
 leaned, to keep himself upon his feet. Thus accoutred, 
 they desired him to march, and to lead and encourage 
 them all ; for he being their north pole, their lantern, and 
 their morning-star, their affairs would have a prosperous 
 issue. " How should I march, wretch that I am," an- 
 swered Sancho, " when I cannot stir my knee-pans f 
 For I am hindered by these boards, which press so close 
 and hard upon my flesh. Your only way is, to carry me 
 in your arms, and lay me athwart, or set me upright at 
 some postern, which I will maintain, either with my lance 
 or my body." " Fie, Signor Governor," cried another, 
 <l it is more fear than the targets, that hinders your 
 marching. Have done, for shame, and bestir yourself; 
 for it is late, the enemy increases, the cry grows louder, 
 and the danger presses." 
 
 At which persuasions and reproaches the poor governor 
 tried to stir, and down he fell, with such violence that 
 he thought he had dashed himself to pieces. He lay like 
 a tortoise enclosed and covered with his shell, or like a 
 flitch of bacon between two trays, or like a boat with the 
 keel upwards upon the sands. And though they saw him 
 fall, those jesting rogues had not the least compassion 
 on him ; on the contrary, putting out their torches, they 
 reinforced the clamour, and reiterated the alarm witli 
 such hurry and bustle, trampling over poor Sancho, and 
 giving him an hundred thwacks upon the targets, that, 
 if he had not gathered himself up, nnd shrunk in his head 
 between the bucklers, it had gone, hard with the poor 
 goviTiior; who, crumpled up in that narrow compass, 
 sweated and sweated again, and recommended himsell'
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 1 if 
 
 to God from the bottom of his heart, to deliver him from 
 that danger. Some stumbled, others fell over him ; and 
 one there was, who getting upon him, stood there for a 
 good while, and from thence, as from a watch-tower, 
 commanded the troops, and, with a loud voice, cried : 
 " This way, brave boys ; here the enemy charges thick- 
 est ; guard that postern ; shut yon gate; down with those 
 scaling-ladders; this way with your caldrons of rosin, 
 pitch, and burning oil ; barricado the streets with wool- 
 packs." In short, he named, in the utmost hurry, all the 
 necessary implements and engines of war used in defence 
 of a city assaulted. The poor battered Sancho, who heard* 
 and bore all, said to himself: " Oh, if it were Heaven's 
 good pleasure that this island were once lost, and I could 
 see myself either dead or out of this great strait!" 
 Heaven heard this petition, and, when he least expected 
 it, he heard voices crying, " Victory, victory ! the enemy 
 is routed : rise, Signer Governor, enjoy the conquest, 
 and divide the spoils taken from the foe by the valour of 
 that invincible arm." " Let me be lifted up," quotli 
 the dolorous Sancho, with a doleful voice. They helped 
 him to rise; and when he was got upon his legs, he said : 
 " May all the enemies I have vanquished be nailed to my 
 forehead : I will divide no spoils of enemies ; but I en- 
 treat and beseech some friend, if I have any, to give me 
 a draught of wine, for I am almost choked ; and let me 
 dry up this sweat, for I am melting away, and turning 
 into water." They rubbed him down ; they brought him 
 wine; they untied the targets. He sat down upon his 
 bed, and swooned away with the fright, surprise, and 
 fcitigue he had undergone. Those who had played him 
 the trick, began to be sorry they had laid it on so heavily. 
 But Sancho's coming to himself moderated the pain they 
 $vere in at his fainting away. He asked what o'clock it 
 5-as : they told him it was day-break. He held his peace,
 
 448 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 and, without saying any more, he began to dress himself, 
 while' they remained buried in silence. They all stared 
 at him, in expectation of what would be the issue of his 
 dressing himself in such haste. 
 
 In short, having put on his clothes, by little and little, 
 (for he was so bruised he could not do it hastily) he 
 took the way to the stable, every body present following 
 him: and going to Dapple, he embraced him, and gave 
 him a kiss of peace on the forehead ; and, not without 
 tears in his eyes, he said : " Come hither, my companion, 
 my friend, and partner in my fatigues and miseries. 
 When I consorted with thee, and had no other thoughts, 
 but the care of mending thy furniture, and feeding thy 
 little carcass, happy were my hours, my days, and my 
 years. But since I forsook thee, and mounted upon the 
 towers of ambition and pride, a thousand miseries, a thou- 
 sand toils, and four thousand disquiets, have entered into 
 my soul." And while he was talking thus, he went on 
 pannelling his ass, without any body's saying a word to 
 him. Dapple being pannelled, he got upon him, with 
 great pain and heaviness, and directing his speech to 
 the steward, the secretary, the sewer, and Doctor Pedro 
 llezio, and many others that were present, he said : 
 " Give way, gentlemen, and suffer me to return to my 
 ancient liberty : suffer me to seek my past life, that I 
 may rise again from this present death. I was not born 
 to be a governor, nor to defend islands, or cities, from 
 enemies that assault them. I better understand how to 
 plough and dig, how to prune, and dress vines, than how 
 to give laws, and defend provinces and kingdoms. Saint 
 Peter is well at Home: I mean, that nothing becomes a 
 man so well as the employment he was born for. In 
 my hand a sickle is better than-, a governor's sceptre. 
 I had rather have my belly full of my own poor porridge, 81 
 than be subject to> the misery of $11 impertinent physician,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 449 
 
 Vvho kills me with hunger : and I had rather lay myself 
 down under the shade of an oak in summer, and equip 
 myself with a double sheep-skin jerkin in winter, at my 
 liberty, than lie under the slavery of a government, be- 
 tween bolland sheets, and be clothed in sables. Gentle- 
 men, God be with you; and tell my Lord Duke, that 
 naked was I born, and naked I am : I neither win rtor 
 lose ; I mean, that without a penny came I to this govern- 
 ment, and without a penny do I quit it, the direct reverse 
 of the governors of other islands. Give me way, and 
 let me be gone to plaster myself ; for I verily believe all 
 my ribs are broken ; thanks to the enemies, who have 
 been trampling upon me all nightlong." 
 
 " It must not be so, Signor Governor," said Doctor 
 Pedro Rezio ; " for I will give your Lordship a drink 
 good against falls and bruises, that shall presently restore 
 you to your former health and vigour. And, as to the 
 eating part, I give you my word I will amend that, and 
 let you eat abundantly of whatever you have a mind to." 
 " It comes too late," answered Sancho ; " I will as soon 
 stay as turn Turk. These are not tricks to be played 
 twice. Before God, I will no more continue in this, 
 nor accept of any other government, though it were 
 served up to me in a covered dish, than I will fly to 
 heaven without wings. I am of the race of the Panzas, 
 who are all headstrong ; and if they once cry odds, 
 odds it shall be, though it be even, in spite of all the world. 
 In this stable let the pismire's wings remain, that raised 
 me up in the air to be exposed a prey to martlets and 
 other small birds : and return we to walk upon plain 
 ground, with a plain foot ; for, if it be not adorned with 
 pinked Cordovan shoes, it will not want for hempen 
 sandals. 8 * Every sheep with its like ; and, stretch not 
 your feet beyond your sheet; and so let me be gone ; 
 
 VOL. II 3 M
 
 40 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 for it grovrs late. 1 ' To which the steward said : " Signer 
 Governor, we will let your lordship depart with all our hearts, 
 though we shall be very sorry to lose you ; for your judg- 
 ment, and Christian procedure, oblige us to desire your 
 presence : but you know, that every governor is bound, 
 before he leaves the 'place he has governed, to submit 
 to a judicature, and render an account of his administra- 
 tion. When your lordship has done so for the ten days 
 you have held the government, you shall depart, and 
 God's peace be with you." " Nobody can require that 
 of me," answered Sancho, " but whom my Lord Duke 
 shall appoint. To him I am going, and to him it shall 
 be given exactly: besides, departing naked as I do, there 
 needs surely no other proof of my having governed like 
 an angel." " Before God, the great Sancho is in the 
 right," cried Doctor Pedro Rezio, " and I am of opinion 
 we should let him go; for the Duke will be infinitely 
 glad to see him." They all consented, and suffered him 
 to depart, offering first to bear him company, and to 
 furnish every thing he desired, for the use of his person, 
 and the conveniency of his journey. Sancho said, he 
 desired only a little barley for Dapple, and half a cheese 
 and half a loaf for himself: for, since the way was so 
 short, he stood in need of nothing more, nor any other 
 provision. They all embraced him, and he, weeping, 
 embraced them again, and left them in admiration as 
 \vell at his discourse, as at his so resolute and discreet 
 determination.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAP. LIV. 
 
 Which treats of Matters relating to this History, and 
 to no other. 
 
 A HE Duke and Duchess resolved that Don Quixote's 
 challenge of their vassal, for the cause above-mentioned, 
 should go forward ; and, though the young man was in 
 Flanders, whither he was fled to avoid having Donna 
 Rodriguez for his mother-in-law, they gave orders for 
 putting in his place a Gascon lackey called Tosilos, in- 
 structing him previously in every thing he was to do. 
 About two days after, the Duke said to Don Quixote, 
 that his opponent would be there in four days, and pre- 
 sent himself in the lists, armed as a knight, and would 
 maintain that the damsel lied by half the beard, and even 
 by the whole beard, if she said he had given her a promise 
 of marriage. Don Quixote was highly delighted with 
 the news, and promised himself to do wonders upon the 
 occasion, esteeming it a special happiness that an oppor- 
 tunity offered of demonstrating to their Grandeurs how 
 far the valour of his puissant arm extended ; and so, 
 with pleasure and satisfaction, he waited the four days, 
 which, in the account of his impatience, were four hun- 
 dred ages. 
 
 Let us let them pass, as we let pass many other things, 
 and attend upon Sancho, who, between glad and sorry, 
 was making the best of his way upon Dapple toward his 
 master, whose company he was fonder of than of being 
 governor of all the islands in the world. Now he had 
 not gone far from the island of his government (for he 
 never gave himself the trouble to determine whether it 
 
 3 M 2
 
 452 DON QUIXOTE. , 
 
 was an island, city, town, or village, that he governed,) 
 when he saw coming along the road six pilgrims, with 
 their staves, being foreigners, such as ask alms singing ; 
 and, as they drew near to him, they placed themselves 
 in a row, and, raising their voices all together, began to 
 sing, in their language, what Sancho could not under- 
 stand, excepting one word, which they distinctly pro- 
 nounced, signifying alms; whence he concluded, that 
 alms was what they begged in their canting way. And 
 he being, as Cid Hamet says ; extremely charitable, he 
 took the half loaf and half cheese out of his wallet, ;;ml 
 gave it them, making signs to them that he had nothing 
 else to give them. They received it very willingly, and 
 cried, " Guelte, guelte M ." " I do not understand you," 
 answered Sancho ; " what is it you would have, good 
 people ? " Then one of them pulled out of his bosom 
 a purse, and showed it to Sancho ; whence he found that 
 they asked for money : and he, putting his thumb to 
 his throat, and extending his hand upward, gave them 
 to understand he had not a penny of money ; and, spur- 
 ring his Dapple, he broke through them ; and, as he 
 passed by, one of them, who had viewed him with much 
 attention, caught hold of him, and, throwing his arms 
 about his waist, with a loud voice, and in very good 
 Castilian, said : " God be my aid ! what is it I see ? Is 
 it possible I have in my arms my dear friend and good 
 neighbour Sancho Parrza ? Yes, certainly I have ; for I 
 am neither asleep, nor drunk." Sancho was surprised 
 to hear himself called by his name, and to find himself 
 embraced by the stranger pilgrim ; and, though he viewed 
 him earnestly a good while, without speaking a word, he 
 could not call him to mind ; but the pilgrim, perceiving 
 his suspense, said : ** How ! is it possible, brother Sancho 
 Panza, you do not know your neighbour Ricote, the 
 Morisco shopkeeper of your town ? ' Then Sancho
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 4:3 
 
 observed him more attentively, and began to recollect 
 iiim r and at last remembered him perfectly ; and, with- 
 out alighting from his beast, he threw his arms about 
 his neck, and said : " Who the devil, Ricote, should know 
 you in this disguise ? Tell me, how came you thus French- 
 ified ? And how dare you venture to return to Spain, where, 
 it'youare known and caught, it will fare but ill with your" 
 " If you do not discover me, Sancho," answered the pil- 
 grim, " I am safe enough ; for in this garb nobody can 
 know me. And let us go out of the road to yonder pop- 
 lar grove, where my comrades have a mind to dine 
 and repose themselves, and you shall eat with them, 
 for they are a very good sort of people ; and there I shall 
 have an opportunity to tell you what has befallen me since 
 I departed from our village, in obedience to his majesty's 
 proclamation, which so rigorously threatened the miserable 
 people of our nation, as you must have heard," 
 
 Sancho consented, and Ricote speaking to the rest of 
 the pilgrims, they turned aside toward the poplar grove 
 which they saw at a distance, far enough out of the high 
 road. They flung down their staves, and, putting off 
 their pilgrim's weeds, remained in their jackets. They 
 were all genteel young fellows, excepting Ricote, who 
 was pretty well advanced in years. They all carried wal- 
 lets, which, as appeared afterwards, were \* 11 provided 
 tvith incitatives, and such as provoke to tlvrst at two 
 leagues distance. They laid themselves along on the 
 ground, and ."naking the grass their table-cloth, they 
 spread their bread, salt, knives, nuts, slices of cheese, 
 and clean bones of gammon of bacon, which, if they would 
 not bear picking, did not forbid being sucked. They 
 produced also a kind of black eatable, called Caviere, 
 made of the roes of fish, a great awakener of thirst. 
 There wanted not olives, though dry, and without any 
 sauce, yet savoury, and well preserved. But, what carried
 
 4 ; DOX OUIXOTE. 
 
 the palm io the field of this banquet, was, six bottles of 
 wine, each producing one out of bis wallet. Even honest 
 Ricote, who bad transformed himself from a Moor into 
 a German, or Dutchman, polled oat his, which for big- 
 ness might rie with the other five. Now they began to 
 cat with the highest relish, and much at their leisure, 
 dwelling upon the taste of very bit they took upon the 
 point of a knife, and Terr KtUe of each thing ; and straight 
 ail together lifting np their arms and their bottles into 
 the air, mouth applied to mourn, and their eyes nailed to 
 the Heavens, as if they were taking aim at it, and in this 
 posture, waving their heads from side to side, in token 
 f the pleasure they received, they continued a good 
 while, transfusing the entrails of the vessels into their own 
 stomachs. Sancho beheld all this, and was nothing grieved 
 thereat ; bat rather, in compliance with the proverb be 
 very well knew, When you are at Borne, do as they do at 
 Home, be demanded of Rieote the bottle, and took bis 
 aim, as the others bad done, and not with less relish. 
 Four times the bottles bore being tilted ; but for the fifth, 
 it was not to be done ; for they were now as empty and 
 as dry* as a rush, which struck a damp upon the mirth 
 they had hitherto shown. One or other of them, from 
 tine to time, would take Sancbo by the right band, and 
 say : "-Spfeiiard and Dutchman, all one, goot com. 
 panHon:" and Sancbo would answer : ** Goot companion, 
 I vow to gad." And then be burst out into a fit of laugh- 
 ing, which held him an hour, without bis femembering 
 at that time any thing of what had befallen him in his 
 government: for cares have commonly bat very little 
 jurisdiction over the time that is spent in eating and 
 drinking. Finally, tte making an end of the trine was 
 the beginning^" a sound sleep, which seized them all, 
 upon their very board and table-cloth. Only Rieote and 
 fxuftcho remained awake, baring drank less, though eaten
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 more, than the rest. Ami they two, going :. 
 ilown at the foot cf a beech, leaving the pilgrims buried 
 in a sweet sJeep ;, and Ricote, laying aside hi* Momco, 
 said what follows, iii pure Casuliaa : 
 
 " You well know, O Sancbo, my^oeighbour and friend, 
 bow the proclamation and edict which his majesty com- 
 manded to be published against those of my nation, struck 
 a dread and terror into us all ; at least into me it did, in 
 such sort, that methought the rigour of the penalty was 
 already executed upon me and my children, before the 
 time limited for our departure from Spain. 1 provided 
 therefore, as I thought, like a wise man, who, knowing 
 at such a time the house he lives in will be taken from 
 him, secures another to remove to : I say, I left our town, 
 alone, and without my family, to find out a place whither 
 I might conveniently carry them, without that hurry the 
 rest went away in. For I well saw, as did all the wisest 
 among us, that those proclamations were not bare threaten- 
 ings, as some pretended they were, but effectual laws, 
 and such as would be put in execution at the appoiuted 
 time. And what confirmed me iu the belief of this, was 
 my knowing the mischievous extravagant designs pf our 
 people ; which were such, that, in iny opinion, it was a 
 ."e inspiration that moved his majesty to put so brave 
 a resolution in practice. Not that we were *!1 culpable; 
 for some of us were steady and true Christians : but these 
 . they could not be compared with those 
 that were otherwise ; and it is not prudent to nourish -a 
 s**rpent iu one's bosom, by keeping one's enemies wkhm 
 doors. In short, we were justly punished with the e- 
 ti-nce of banishment ; a soft and mild one, in the opinion 
 of some, but to us the most terrible that can be inflicted. 
 . -i for Spain ; for, in short, hers 
 were we born, e^id this is our native country. ^ 
 e reception our misfortune re-juk.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 in Bar! ary, and all other parts of Africa, where we ex- 
 pected to be received, cherished, and made much of, 
 there it is we are most neglected and misused. We 
 knew not our happiness till we lost it ; and so great is 
 the desire almost all of us have of returning to Spain, 
 that most of those (and they are not a few) who can speak 
 the language like myself, forsake their wives and children, 
 and come back again ; so violent is the love they bear 
 it. And it is now I know, and find by experience, the 
 truth of that common saying, Sweet is the love of one's 
 country. 
 
 " I went away, as I said, from our town : J entered into 
 France ; and, though there 1 met with a good reception, 
 1 had a desire to see otlur countries. I went into Italy, 
 and then into Germany, and there I thought we might 
 live more at liberty, the natives not standing much upon 
 niceties, and every one living as he pleases ; for, in most 
 parts of it, there is liberty of conscience, I took a house 
 in a village near Augsburgh, but soon left it, and joined 
 company with these pilgrims, who come in great num- 
 bers, every year, into Spain, to visit its holy places, 
 which they look upon as their Indies, and a certain gJ-in-, 
 and sure profit. They travel almost the kingdom over, 
 and there is not a village but they are sure of getting 
 meat and drink in it, and a real at least in money; and, 
 at the end of their journey, they go off with above a 
 hundred crowns clear, which being changed into gold, 
 they carry out of the kingdom, either in the hollow of 
 their staves, or in the patches of their weeds, or by some 
 other blcight they are nmsu>rs of, and get safe into their 
 own country, in spite of all theo fficers and searchers of 
 the passes and ports, where money is registered. Now 
 my design, Sancho, is, to carry oflf the treasure I left 
 buried (for, it being without tho town, , I can do it with 
 the less dangrr,} and to write or go over to my wife and
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 daughter, who I kno.v are in Algiers, and cont u 
 to bring them to some port of France, and from thence 
 carry them into Germany, where we will wait, and see 
 how God will be pleased to dispose of us. For, in short, 
 Sancho, I know for certain that Ricota, my daughter, 
 and Francisca Ricote, my wife, ajre catholic Christians, 
 and though I am not altogether such, yet I am more of 
 the Christian- than the Moor; and I constantly pray to 
 God to open the eyes of my understanding, and make 
 me know in what manner I ought to serve him. But 
 \vhat I wonder at is, that my wife and daughter should 
 rather go into Barbary, than into France, where thejr 
 might have lived as Christians." 
 
 *' Look you, Ricote," answered Sancho, " that per- 
 haps was not at their choice, because John Tiopeyo, 
 your wife's brother, who carried them away, being a rank 
 Moor, would certainly go where he thought it best to 
 stay : and I can tell you another thing, which is, that I 
 believe it is in vain for you to look for the money you 
 left buried, because we had news that your brother-in- 
 law, and your wife, had abundance of pearls, and a great 
 deal of money in gold, taken from them, as not having 
 been registered." " That may be," replied Ricote: 
 " but I am sure, Sancho, they did not touch my hoard ; 
 for I never discovered it to them, as fearing some mis- 
 chance : and therefore, Sancho, if you will go along with 
 me, and help me to carry it off and conceal it, I may 
 give you two hundred crowns, with which you may relieve 
 your wants ; for you know I am not ignorant they ai^e 
 many." " I would do it," answered Sancho, "but 
 that I am not at all covetous : for had I been so, I quitted 
 an employment this very morning, out of which I could 
 Lave made the walls of my house of gold, and, before 
 Six months had been at an end, have eaten in plate : so 
 that, for this f-eason, and because I think I should betray 
 
 VOL. II, 3 N
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 my king by favouring his enemies, I will not go with you, 
 though, instead of two hundred crowns, you should lay 
 me down four hundred upon the nail." " And what 
 employment is it you have quitted, Sancho ?" demanded 
 Ricbte. " I left being governor of an island," answered 
 Sancho, " and such a one as, in faith, you will scarcely, 
 at three pulls, meet with its fellow. 1 " " And where i* 
 this island?" demanded Ricote. "Where!" answered 
 Sancho; " why, two leagues from hence, and it is called 
 the island Barataria." " Peace, Sancho,'* said Ricote ; 
 " for islands are out at sea: there are no islands on the 
 main land/' " No!" replied Sancho: "I tell you, 
 friend Ricote, that I left it this very moniing ; and yester- 
 day 1 was in it, governing at my pleasure, like any Sagit- 
 tarius : but, for all that, 1 quitted it, looking upon the 
 office of a governor to be a very dangerous thing." 
 " And what have you got by the government r" demand- 
 ed Ricote. " I have got," answered Sancho, " this ex- 
 perience, to know I am fit to govern nothing but a herd 
 of cattle, and that the riches got in such governments, 
 are got at the expence of one's ease and sleep, yea, and 
 of one's sustenance; for, in islands, governors eat but 
 little, especially if they have physicians to look after 
 their health." " I understand you not, Sancho," said 
 Ricote ; " and all you say s,eems to me extravagant : 
 for who should give you islands to govern ? Are there 
 wanting men in the world abler than you are, to be gover- 
 nors ? Hold your peace, Sancho, recall your senses, and 
 consider whether you will gd along with me, as I said, 
 and help me to take up the treasure I left buried ; for, 
 in truth, it may very well be called a treasure ; and I 
 will give you wherewithal to live, as I have already told 
 you." " And I have told you, Ricote," replied Sancho, 
 "that I will not: be satisfied, I will not discover you; 
 and go your way, in God's name, and let me go mine :
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 459 
 
 for I know, that wliat is well got may meet with disaster, 
 and what is ill got destroys both it and its master." 
 
 " I will not urge you farther, Sancho," added Ricote : 
 " but, tell me, were you in our town when my wife and 
 daughter, and my brother-in-law, went away ? " " Was 
 I? Aye," answered Sancho ; " and I can tell you that 
 your daughter went away so beautiful, that all the town 
 went out to see her, and every body said she was the 
 finest creature in the world. She went away weeping, 
 and embraced all her friends and acquaintance, and all 
 that came to see her ; and desired them all to recommend 
 her to God, and to our lady, his mother : and this so 
 feelingly, thai she made me weep, who am no great 
 whimperer: and, in faith, many had a desire to conceal 
 her, and to go and take her away upon the road : but the 
 fear of transgressing the king's command restrained them. 
 Don Pedro Gregorio, the rich heir you know, showed 
 himself the most affected ; for they say he was mightily 
 in love with her ; and since she went away, he has never 
 been seen in our town ; and we all think he followed to 
 steal her away ; but hitherto nothing farther is known." 
 " I ever had a jealousy," answered Ricote, " that this 
 gentleman was smitten with my daughter: but trusting 
 to the virtue of my Ricota, it gave me no trouble to find 
 he was in love with her : for you must hare heard, Sancho, 
 that the Moorish women seldom or never mingle in love 
 with old Christians; and my daughter, who, as I believe, 
 minded religion more than love, little regarded this rich 
 heir's courtship." "God grant it," replied Sancho: 
 " for it would be very ill for them both : and let me be- 
 gone, friend Ricote ; for I intend to be to-night with my 
 master Don Quixote." " God be with you, brother 
 Sancho," said Ricote; "for my comrades are stirring, 
 and it is time for us also to be on our way." And then 
 
 3 N 2
 
 460 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 they embraced each other : Sancho mounted his Dapple, 
 and Ricote leaned on his pilgrim's staff'; and so they 
 parted. 
 
 CHAP. LV. 
 
 Of what befell Sancho in the Way, and other Matters, 
 which you have only to see. 
 
 SANCHO staid so long with Ricote, that he had not time to 
 reach the duke's castle that day ; though he was arrived 
 within half a league of it when the night somewhat dark 
 and close overtook him : but it being summer-time, it gave 
 him no great concern ; and so he struck out of the road, 
 purposing to wait for the morning. But his ill luck would 
 have it, that in seeking a place where he might best ac- 
 commodate himself, he and Dapple fell together into a 
 deep and very dark pit, among some ruins of old build- 
 jngs; and as he was falling, he recommended himself to 
 God with his whole hear*, not expecting to stop till he 
 came to the depth of the abyss. But it fell out otherwise; 
 for a little beyond three fathom Dapple felt ground, and 
 Sancho found himself on his back, without having received 
 any damage or hurt at all. He; fell to feeling his body 
 all over, and held his breath to see if he was sound, or 
 bored through in any part: and finding himself well, 
 whole, and in catholic health, he thought he could never 
 give sufficient thanks to God for the mercy extended to 
 him ; for he .verily thought he had been beaten into a 
 thousand pieces. He felt also with his hands about the 
 sides of the pit, to see if it was possible to get out of it
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 4GI 
 
 help ; but he found them all smooth, and without 
 /any hold or footing : at which Sancho was much grieved, 
 and especially when he heard Dapple groan most tenderly 
 and sadly : and no wonder; nor did he lament out of wan- 
 tonness, being, in truth, not over well situated. " Alas!" 
 .said Sancho Panza, " what unexpected accidents perpe- 
 tually befall those who live in this miserable world ! Who 
 could have thought that he, who yesterday saw himself 
 enthroned a governor of an island, commanding his ser- 
 vants and his vassals, should to-day find himself buried in 
 a pit, without any body to help him, and without servant 
 or vassal to come to his assistance ? Here must I and my 
 ass perish with hunger, unless we die first, he by bruises 
 and contusions, and I by grief and concern. At least I 
 shall not be so happy as my master I}on Quixote de la 
 Mancha was, when he descended and went down into the 
 cave of the enchanted Montesinos, where he met with 
 better entertainment than in his own house, and where it 
 seems he found the cloth ready laid, and the bed ready 
 made. There saw he beautiful and pleasant visions ; and 
 here I shall see, I suppose, toads and snakes. Unfortu- 
 nate that I am ! What are my follies and imaginations 
 come to ? Hence shall my bones be taken up, when it shall 
 please God that I am found, clean, white, and bare, and 
 those of my trusty Dapple with them ; whence, perad- 
 venture, it will be conjectured who we were, at least by 
 those who have been informed that Sancho Panza never 
 parted from his ass, nor his ass from Sancho Panza. And 
 I say, miserable we ! that our ill luck would not suffer us 
 to die in our own country, and among our friends, where, 
 though our misfortunes had found no remedy, there would 
 not be wanting some to grieve for them, and at our last 
 gasp to ; close our eyes. Oh, my con.'^anion and my 
 friend ! how ill have I repaid thy good services ! forgive 
 ine, and beg of fortune in the b^st manner thou art able,
 
 462 DON QUIXOTE. . 
 
 to faring us out of this miserable calamity, in which we 
 are both involved ; and I promise to put a crown of laurel 
 upon thy head, that thou mayest look like any poet-lau- 
 reat, and to double thy allowance." Thus lamented 
 Sancho Panza, and his beast listened to him without an- 
 swering one word ; such was the distress and anguish the 
 poor creature was in. 
 
 Finally, having passed all that night in sad lamentations 
 and complainings, the day came on, by the light and splen- 
 dour of which Sancbo soon perceived it was of all impos- 
 sibilities the most impossible to get out of that pit with- 
 out help. Then he began to lament and to cry out aloud, 
 to try if any body could hear him : but all his cries were 
 in the desert; for there was not a creature in all those 
 parts within hearing ; and then he gave himself over for 
 dead. Dapple lay with his mouth upwards, and Sanciio 
 contrived to get him upon his legs, though he could scarce 
 stand ; and pulling out of his wallet, which had also shared 
 the fortune of the fall, a piece of bread, he gave it his 
 beast, who did not take it amiss ; and Sancho, as if the 
 ass understood him, said to him: " Bread is relief for all 
 kind of grief." At length he discovered a hole in one 
 side of the pit, wide enough fora man to creep through, 
 stooping. Sancho squatting down, crept through upon 
 all four, and found it was spacious and large within : and 
 be could see about him ; for a ray of the sun glancing iu 
 through what might be called the roof, discovered it all. 
 He saw also, that it enlarged and extended itself into an- 
 other spacious concavity. Which having observed, he 
 came back to where his ass was, and with a stone began 
 to break away the earth of the hole, and soon made room 
 for his ass to pass easily through, which he did : the* tak- 
 ing him by the alter, he advanced forward along the ca- 
 vern, to see if he could find a way to get out on the other 
 bide. He went on, sometimes darkling, and sometimes
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 without light, but never without fear. " The Almighty 
 God be my aid," quoth he to himself; " this, which to 
 me is a mishap, to my master Don Quixote had been art 
 adventure: he would, no doubt, have taken these depths 
 and dungeons for flowery gardens ana palaces of Gali- 
 ana;* 4 and would have expected to issue out of this ob- 
 scurity by some pleasant meadow. But, unhappy I, de- 
 void of counsel, and dejected in mind, at every step ex- 
 pect some other pit deeper than this to open on a sudden 
 under my feet, and swallow me downright: welcome the 
 ill that comes alone." In this manner, and with these 
 thoughts, he fancied he had gone somewhat more than 
 half a league when he discovered a glimmering light, like 
 that of the day breaking in, and opening an entrance into 
 what seemed to him the road to the other world. Here 
 Cid Hamet Benengeli leaves him, and returns to treat of 
 Don Quixote, who with joy and transport, was waiting for 
 the appointed day of combat with the ravisher of Donna 
 Rodriguez"^ daughter's honour, resolving to see justice 
 done her, and to take satisfaction for the affront and in- 
 jury offered her. 
 
 It happened then, that riding out one morning to exer- 
 cise and assay himself for the business of the combat he 
 was to be engaged in within a day or two, as he was now 
 reining, now running, Kozinante, he chanced to pitch his 
 feet so near a pit, that had he not drawn the reins in very 
 strongly, he must inevitably have fallen into it. At last 
 he stopped him and fell not, and getting a little nearer, 
 without alighting, he viewed the chasm, and as he was 
 looking at it, he heard a loud voice within, and listening 
 attentively, he could distinguish and understand that be 
 who spoke from below, said : " Ho, above there ! is there 
 any Christian that hears me, or any charitable gentleman 
 to take pity of a sinner buried alive, an unfortunate dis- 
 governed governor?" Don Quixote thought he heard
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Sancho Panz^'s voice ; at which he was surprised and 
 amazed; and raising his voice as high as he could, he 
 cried : " Who is below there ? Who is it complains?" 
 " Who should he here, or who should complain," replied 
 the voice, " but the forlorn Sancho Panza, governor, for 
 his sins and for his evil-errantry, of the island of Bara- 
 taria, and late squire of the famous Knight Don Quixote 
 cle la Mancha r" Which Don Quixote hearing, his asto- 
 nishment was doubled, and his amazement increased ; for 
 it came into his imagination that Sancho Panza was dead, 
 and that his soul was there doing penance ; and being car- 
 ried away by this thought, he said: " I conjure thee, by 
 all that can conjure thee as a catholic Christian, to ttll me 
 who thou art ; and if thou art a soul in purgatory, let me 
 know what I can do for thee ; for since it is my profession 
 to be aiding and assisting the needy of this world, I shall 
 also be ready to aid and assist the distressed in the other, 
 who cannot help themselves." " So then," answered the 
 voice, *' you who speak to me are my master Dorr 
 Quixote de la Mancha, and by the tone of the voice it 
 can be nobody else for certain." " Don Quixote! am," 
 replied Don Quixote, " he who professes to succour and 
 assist the living and the dead in their necessities. Tell 
 me, then, who thou art, for thou amazest me: if you are 
 my squire, Sancho Panza, and chance to be dead, since 
 the devils have not got you, but through the mercy of 
 God you are in purgatory, our holy mother the Roman 
 catholic church has supplications sufficient to deliver you 
 from the pains you are in ; and I, for my part, will solicit 
 her m your behalf, as far as my estate will reach: there- 
 fore explain, and without more ado tell me who you. 
 are." " 1 vow to God," said the voice, " and I sweat 1 
 by ihe birth of whom you worship pleases, Signer Don 1 
 Quixote de la Mancha, that 1 am 3 our squire Sancho 
 Punza. and that I never \vas dead in all the days of my
 
 DON QUIXOTE, 465 
 
 life, but that, having left my government for causes and 
 considerations that require more leisure to relate them, 
 this night I fell into this cavern, where I now am,~'and 
 Dapple with me, who will not let me lie, by the same to- 
 ken he stands here by me : and would you have any 
 more?" One would think the ass had understood what 
 Sancho said; for at that instant he began to bray, and that 
 so lustily, that the whole cave resounded with it. u A 
 credible witness," cried Don Quixote : " I know that bray 
 as well as if I had brought it forth; and I know your 
 voice, my dear Sancho : stay a little, and I will go to the 
 duke's castle hard by, and will fetch people to get you 
 out of this pit, into which your sins have certainly cast 
 you." " Pray go, for the Lord's sake," quoth Sancho, 
 * { and return speedily ; for I cannot longer endure being 
 buried alive here, and am dying with fear." 
 
 Don Quixote left him, and went to the castle to tell the 
 duke and duchess what had befallen Sancho Panza ; at 
 which they wondered not a little, though they easily 
 conceived how he might fall, by the corresponding cir- 
 cumstance of the pit, which had been there time out of 
 mind : but they could not imagine how he had left 
 the government without their having advice of his com- 
 ing. Finally, they sent ropes and pullies, and by dint of 
 a great many hands, and a great deal of labour, Dapple 
 and Sancho Panza were drawn out of those gloomy shades 
 to the light of the sun. A certain scholar seeing him, 
 said : " Thus should all bad governors come out of their 
 governments, as this sinner cornes out of the depth of this 
 .abyss, starved with hunger, wan, and, I suppose, penny- 
 less." Sancho hearing him, said : " It is about eight or 
 ten days, brother murmurer, since I entered upon the 
 government of the island that was bestowed upon me, in 
 all which time I had not my belly full one hour : I was 
 persecuted by physicians, and had my bones broken by 
 VOL, n. 3 a
 
 4*6 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 enemies ; nor had I leisure to make perquisites, or receive 
 my dues; and this being so, as it really is, methinks I de- 
 served not to be papked off in this manner : but man pro- 
 poses, and God disposes ; and he knows what is best and 
 fittest for every body ; and, as is the reason, such is the 
 season ; and let nobody say, I will not drink of this wa- 
 ter ; for where one expects to meet with gammons of ba- 
 con, there are no pins to hang them on. Cod knows my 
 mind, and that is enough : I say no more, though I could. " 
 " Be not angry, Sancho, nor concerned at what you 
 hear," replied Don Quixote ; " for then you will never 
 have done : come but you with a safe conscience, and let 
 people say what they will ; for you may as well think 
 to barricade the highway, as to tie up the tongue of 
 slander. If a governor comes rich from his government, 
 they say he has plundered it ; and if he leaves it poor, 
 that he has been a good-for-nothing fool." " I warrant," 
 answered Saneho, " that for this bout, they will rather 
 take me for a fool than a thief." 
 
 In such discourse, and surrounded by a multitude of 
 boys and other people, they arrived at the castle, where 
 the duke and duchess were already in a gallery waiting for 
 Don Quixote, and for Sancho, who would not go up to 
 see the duke, till he had first taken the necessary care of 
 Dapple in the stable, saying, the poor tiling had had but 
 an indifferent night's lodging : and that done, up he went 
 to see the duke and duchess, before whom kneeling, he 
 said : " I, my lord and lady, because your grandeurs 
 would have it so, without any desert of mine, went to go- 
 vern your island of Bai-ataria, into which naked I entered, 
 and naked I have left it : I neither win nor lose : whether 
 
 # 
 
 I have governed well or ill, there are witnesses who may 
 say what they please. I have resolved doubts, and pro- 
 nounced sentences, and all the while ready to die with 
 hunger, because Doctor Pedro Rczio, native of Tirtea-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 467 
 
 fuera, and physician in ordinary to the island and its go- 
 vcrnors, would have it so. Enemies attacked us by night, 
 and though they put us in great danger, the people of the 
 island say they were delivered and got the victory, by thf 
 valour of my arm ; and, according as they say true, so 
 help them God. In short, in this time I have summed up 
 the cares and burdens that governing brings with it, and 
 find by my account, that my shoulders cannot bear them, 
 neither are they a proper weight for my ribs, or arrows 
 for my quiver ; and therefore, lest the government should 
 forsak me, I resolved to forsake the government; and 
 yesterday morning I left the island as I found it, with the 
 same streets, houses, and roofs it had before I went into 
 it. I borrowed nothing of any body, nor set about mak- 
 ing a purse ; and though I thought to bave 'made some 
 wholesome laws, I made none, fearing they would not be 
 observed, which is all one as if they were not made. I 
 quitted, I say, the island, accompanied by nobody but 
 Dapple: I fell into a pit, and went along under ground, 
 iill this morning, by the light of the sun, I discovered a 
 way out, though not so easy a one, but that, if heaven 
 had not sent my master Don Quixote there, I had staid 
 till the end of the world. So that, my Lord Duke, and 
 Lady Duchess, behold here your governor Sancho Panza, 
 who, in ten days only that he held the government, has 
 gained the experience to knovv, that he would not give 
 a. farthing to be governor, not of an island only, but even 
 of the whole world. This then being the case, kissing 
 your honour's feet, and imitating the boys at play, who 
 cry, * Leap you, and then let me leap,' I give a leap out 
 of the government, and again pass over to the service of 
 my master Don Quixote: for, after all, though with him 
 I eat my bread in bodily 'fear, at least I have my belly 
 full ; and, for my part, so that be well filled, all is one 
 to me, whether it be with carrots or partridges." 
 
 3 o 2
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Here Sancho ended his long speech, Don Quixote 
 fearing all the while he would utter a thousand extrava- 
 gancies ; and, seeing he had ended with so few, he gave 
 thanks to heaven iu his heart. The duke embraced 
 Sancho, and assured him, that it grieved him to the soul 
 he had left the government so soon ; but that he would 
 take care he should have some other employment in 
 his territories, of less trouble and more profit. The 
 duchess also embraced him, and ordered he should be 
 made much of; for he seemed to be sorely bruised, and 
 |n wretched plight. 
 
 HAP. LVI. 
 
 Of the prodigious and never-seen Battle between Don 
 Quixote.de la Mancha and the Lackey Tosilos, in Defence 
 of the fhienna Donna Rodriguez's Daughter. 
 
 THE duke and duchess repented not of the jest put 
 upon Sancho Panza, in relation to the government they 
 had given him, especially since their steward came home 
 that very day, and gave them a punctual relation of almost 
 all the words and actions Sancho had said and done during 
 that time. In short, he exaggerated the assault of the 
 island, with Sancho's fright and departure ; at which 
 they were not a little pleased. 
 
 After this, the history tells us, the appointed day of 
 combat came; and the duke having over and over again 
 instructed his lackey Tosilos how he should behave to- 
 wards Don Quixote, so as to overcome him without kill- 
 ing or wounding him, commanded that the iron heads 
 should be taken off their lances ; telling Don Quixote,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 469 
 
 that Christianity, upon which he valued himself, did not 
 allow that this battle should be fought with so much peril 
 and hazard of their lives, and that he should content him- 
 self with giving them free field-room in his territories, 
 though in opposition to the decree of the holy council, 
 which prohibits such challenges ; and therefore he would 
 not push the affair to the utmost extremity. Don Quixote 
 replied, that his excellency might dispose matters re- 
 lating to this business as he liked best, for he would obey 
 him in every thing. The dreadful day being now come, 
 and the duke having commanded a spacious scaffold to 
 be erected before the court of the castle for the judges 
 of the field, and the two duennas, mother and daughter, 
 appellants ; an infinite number of people, from all the 
 neighbouring towns and villages, flocked to see the 
 novelty of this combat, the like having never been heard 
 of in that country, neither by the living nor the dead. 
 
 The first who entered the field and the pale, was the 
 master of the ceremonies, who examined the ground, 
 and walked it all over, that there might be no foul play, 
 nor any thing covered to occasion stumbling or falling. 
 Then entered the duennas, and took their seats, covered 
 with veils to their eyes and even to their breasts, with 
 tokens of no small concern. Don Quixote presented 
 himself in the lists. A while after appeared on one side 
 of the place, accompanied by many trumpets, and mount- 
 ed upon a puissant steed, making the earth shake under 
 him, the great lackey Tosilos, his visor down, and quite 
 stiffened with strong and shining armour. The horse 
 seemed to be a Friselander, well spread and flea-bitten, 
 with a quarter of a hundred weight of wool about each 
 fetlock. The valorous combatant came well instructed 
 by the duke his lord how to behave towards the valorous 
 Don Quixote de la Mancha, and cautioned in no wise to 
 Jnirt him, but to endeavour to shun the first onset, to
 
 470 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 avoid the danger of his own death, which must be , 
 table, should he- encounter him full-butt. He traversed 
 the lists, and coming where the duennas were, he set 
 himself to view awhile her who demanded him for her 
 husband. The marshal of the field called Don Quixote, 
 who had presented himseif in the lists, and, together witli 
 Tosilos, asked the duennas, whether they consented that 
 Don Quixote de la Mancha should maintain their right. 
 They answered that they did, and that whatever he should 
 do in the case, they allowed it for well done, firm, and 
 valid. By this time "the (Juke and duchess were seated 
 in a balcony over the barriers, which were crowded with 
 an infinite number of people, all expecting to behold this 
 dangerous and unheard-of battle. It was articled between 
 the combatants, tljat if Don Quixote should conquer his 
 adversary, the latter should be obliged to marry Donna 
 Rodriguez's daughter ; and if he should be overcome, his 
 adversary should be at his liberty, and free from the 
 promise the women insisted upon, without giving any 
 other satisfaction. The master of the ceremonies divided 
 the sun equally between them, and fixed each in the post 
 he was to stand in, The drums beat ; the sound of the 
 trumpets filled the air ; the earth trembled beneath their 
 feet ; the hearts of the gazing multitude were in suspense, 
 some fearing, others hoping, the good or ill success of 
 this business. Finally, Don Quixote recommending him- 
 self -with all his heart to God our Lord, and to the Lady 
 Dulcinca del Toboso, stood waiting when the precise 
 signal for the onset should be given. But our lackey's 
 thoughts were very differently employed ; for he thought 
 of nothing but of what I am going to relate. 
 
 It seems, while he stood looking at his Com ale enemy, 
 he fancied her the most beautiful woman he had ever 
 seen in his life, and the little blind boy, called up ami 
 down the f-trcets Love, would not lose the opportunity
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 47 i 
 
 offered him of triumphing over a lacqueian 8 ' heart, and 
 placing it in the catalogue of his trophies ; and so ap- 
 proaching him fair and softly without any body's seeing 
 him, he shot the poor lackey in at the left side with an 
 arrow two yards long, and pierced his heart through and 
 through : and he might safely do it ; for love is invincible, 
 and goes in and out where he lists, without being ac- 
 countable to any body for his actions. 
 
 I say then, that when the signal was given for the onset, 
 our lackey stood transported, thinking on her he had novr 
 made the mistress of his liberty, and therefore regarded 
 not the trumpet's sound, as did Don Quixote, who had 
 scarcely heard it, when bending forward, he ran against 
 his enemy, at Rozinante's best speed ; and his trusty 
 squire Sancho, seeing him set forward, cried aloud : 
 *' God guide you, cream and flower of knights-errant; 
 God give you victory, since you have right on your 
 side." And though Tosilos saw Don Quixote making 
 towards him, he stirred not a step from his post, but 
 called as loud as he could to the marshal of the field ; 
 who coming up to see what he wanted, Tosilos said ; 
 " Sir, is not this combat to decide, whether I shall marry, 
 or not marry, yonder young lady ?" s " It is," answered 
 the marshal. " Then," said the lackey, " my conscience 
 will not let me proceed any farther; and I declare, that 
 I yield myself vanquished, and am ready to marry that 
 gentlewoman immediately." The marshal was surprised 
 at what Tosilos said, and as he was in the secret of the 
 contrivance, he could not tell what answer to make him, 
 Don Quixote, perceiving that his adversary did not 
 come on to meet him, stopped short in the midst of his 
 career. The duke could not guess the reason why the 
 combat did not go forward : but the marshal went and 
 told him what Tosilos had said : at which he was sur- 
 prised and extremely angry. In the mean time ? Tosilos
 
 472 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 went up to the place where Donna Rodriguez was, and 
 said aloud : " I am willing, madam, to marry your aaugh* 
 ter, and would not obtain that by strife and contention, 
 which I may have by peace, and without danger of death. 1 * 
 The valorous Don Quixote, hearing all this, said : " Since 
 it is so, I am absolved from my promise : let them be 
 married in God's name, and since God has given her, 
 Saint Peter bless her." The duke was now come down 
 to the court of the castle, and going up to Tosilos, he 
 said : " Is it true, knight, that you yield yourself van- 
 quished, and that, instigated by your timorous conscience, 
 you will marry this damsel?" " Yes, my Lord," an- 
 swered Tosilos. " He does very well," quoth Sancho 
 Panza at this juncture ; "for what you would give to 
 the mouse, give it the catj and you will have no trouble." 
 Tosilos was all this while unlacing his helmet, and desired 
 them to help him quickly, for his spirits and breath were 
 just failing him, and he could not endure to be so long 
 pent up in the strait ness of that lodging. They presently 
 unarmed him, and the face of the lackey was exposed to 
 view. Which Donna Rodriguez and her daughter seeing^- 
 they cried aloud : "A cheat, a cheat ! Tosilos^ my Lord 
 Duke's lackey is put upon us instead of our true spouse; 
 justice from God and the king against so much deceit, 
 not to say villainy." " Afflict not yourselves, ladies," 
 said Don Quixote ; " for this is neither deceit nor villany, 
 and if it be, the duke is not to blame, but the wicked 
 enchanters who persecute me, and who, envying me the 
 glory of this conquest, have transformed the countenance 
 of your husband into that of this person, who, you say, 
 is a lackey of the Duke's. Take my advice, and in spite 
 of the malice of my enemies, marry him ; for without 
 doubt he is the very man you desire to take for your 
 husband." The duke hearing this, was ready to vent 
 his anger in laughter, and said : " The things which
 
 BON QUIXOTE. 473 
 
 tjefal Signor Don Quixote, are so extraordinary, that 
 I am inclined to believe this is not, ray lackey : but let 
 us make use of this stratagem and device ; let us post- 
 pone the wedding for fifteen days, if you please, and in 
 the mean-time keep this person, who holds us in doubt, 
 in safe custody : perhaps, during that time, he may re- 
 turn to his pristine figure ; for the grudge the enchanters 
 bear to Signor Don Quixote cannot surely last so long, 
 and especially since these tricks and transformations avail 
 them so little." " O Sir," quoth Sancho, " those wicked 
 wretches make it their practice and custom to change 
 things relating to my master from one shape to another. 
 A knight, whom he vanquished a few days ago, called 
 the Knight of the Looking-glasses, was changed by them 
 into the shape and .figure of the Bachelor Sampson Car- 
 rasco, a native of our town, and a great friend of ours ; 
 and they have turned my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso mtq 
 a downright country wench : therefore I imagine this 
 lackey will live and die a lackey all the days of his life." 
 To which Rodriguez's daughter said : " Let him be who 
 he will, that demands me to wife, I take it kindly of him; 
 for I had rather be a lawful wife to a lackey, than a cast 
 mistress, and tricked by a gentleman, though he who 
 abused me is not one." In short, all these accidents and 
 events ended in Tosilos's confinement, till it should ap- 
 pear what his transformation would come to. The victory 
 was adjudged to Don Quixote by a general acclamation ; 
 but the greater part of the spectators were out of humour 
 to find, that the so-much-expected combatants had not. 
 hacked one another to pieces; just as boys are sorrjr 
 when the criminal they expected to see hanged is pardon- 
 ed, either by the prosecutor or the court. 
 
 The crowd dispersed : the duke aud Don Quixote 
 returned to the castle : Tosilos was confined : and Donna 
 
 VOL, II. 3 f
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Rodriguez and her daughter were extremely well pleased 
 to see, that, one way or other, this business was like to 
 end in matrimony, and Tosilos hoped no less. 
 
 CHAP. LVII. 
 
 Which relates how Don Quixote took his leave of the Duke, 
 and of what befel him with the witty and wanton 
 Altisidora, one of the Duchess's waiting Women. 
 
 DON Quixote now thought it higlf 4ime to quit so idle 
 a life as that he had led in the castle, thinking: he com- 
 
 * O 
 
 mitted a great fault in suffering his person to be thus 
 confined, and in living lazily amidst the infinite pleasures 
 and entertainments the duke and duchess provided for 
 him as a knight-errant ; and he was of opinion he must 
 give a strict account to God for this inactivity. And 
 therefore he one day asked leave of those princes that 
 he might depart, which they granted him, with tokens 
 of being mightily troubled that he would leave them. 
 The Duchess gave Sancho Panza his wife's letters, which 
 he wept over, and said : " Who could have thought 
 that hopes so great as those conceived in the breast of 
 my wife Teresa Panza at the news of my government, 
 should end in my returning to the toilsome adventures of 
 my master Don Quixote de la Mancha ? Nevertheless, 
 I am pleased to find, that mjr Teresa has behaved like 
 herself, in sending the acorns to the duchess ; for, had 
 she not sent them, I had been sorry, and she had showed 
 herself ungrateful. But my comfort is, that this present 
 cannot be called a bribe ; for I was already in possession
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 415 
 
 of the government when she sent them : and it is very 
 fitting, that those who receive a benefit, should show them- 
 selves grateful, though it be with a trifle. In short, naked 
 I went into the government, and naked am I come out 
 of it ; and so I can say with a safe conscience (which is 
 no small matter), naked I was born, naked I am ; I neither 
 win nor lose." This Sancho spoke in soliloquy on the 
 day of their departure ; and Don Quixote sallying forth 
 one morning, having taken leave of the duke and duchess 
 the night before, presented himself completely armed 
 in the court of the castle. All the folks of the castle be- 
 held him from the galleries : the duke and duchess also 
 came out to see him. Sancho was upon his Dapple, 
 his wallets well furnished, and himself highly pleased; 
 for the duke's steward, who had played the part of 
 Trifaldi, had given him a little purse with two hundred 
 crowns in gold, to supply the occasions of the journey ; 
 and this Don Quixote, as yet, knew nothing of. Whilst 
 all the folks were thus gazing at him, as has been said, 
 among the other duennas and damsels of the duchess 
 who were beholding him, on a sudden the witty and 
 wanton Altisidora raised her voice, and in a piteous 
 tone, said : \ 
 
 Stay, cruel knight, 
 
 Take not thy flight, 
 Nor spur thy batter'd jade } 
 
 Thy haste restrain, 
 
 Draw in the rein, 
 And hear a love-sick maid. 
 
 Why dost thou fly, 
 
 No snake am I, 
 Nor poison those I love : 
 
 Gentle I am 
 
 As any lamb, 
 And harmless as a dove. 
 3P2
 
 4-76 DON QUIXOTE, 
 
 Thy cruel scorn 
 Has left forlorn 
 
 A nymph, whose charms may vie 
 \Vith theirs who sport 
 In Cynthia's court, 
 Tho' Venus' self were by. 
 
 Since, fugitive knight, to no purpose I woo thee 
 Barabbas's fate still pursue and undo 
 
 Like rav 'nous kite, 
 
 That takes its flight 
 Soon as't has stol'n a chicken, 
 
 Thou hear'st away 
 
 My heart, thy prey, 
 And leav'st me here to sicken ^ 
 
 Three night-caps, too, 
 
 And garters blue, 
 That did to legs belong ; 
 
 Smooth to the sight, 
 
 As marble white, 
 And, faith, almost as strong . 
 
 Two thousand groans, 
 
 As many moans, 
 And sighs enough to fire 
 
 Old Priam's town, 
 
 And burn it down, 
 Did it again aspire. 
 
 Since, fugitive knight, to no purpose I woo thee, 
 Barabbas's fate still pursue and undo thee. 
 
 May Sancho ne'er 
 
 His buttocks bare 
 Fly-flap, as is his duty ; 
 
 And thou still want 
 
 To disenchant 
 Dulcinea's injur'd beauty. 
 
 May still transform'd, 
 
 And still deform'd, 
 Toboso's nymph remain, 
 
 In recompence
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Of thy offence, 
 Thy scorn and cold disdain. 
 
 When thou dost wield 
 
 Thy sword in field, 
 In combat or in quarrel, 
 
 III luck and harms 
 
 Attend thy arms, 
 Instead of fame and laurel. 
 
 Since, fugitive knight, to no purpose I woo thee, 
 Barabbas's fate still pursue and undo thee. 
 
 May thy disgrace 
 
 Fill ev'ry place, 
 Thy falshood ne'er be hid, 
 
 But round the world 
 
 Be toss'd and hurl'd, 
 From Seville to Madrid. 
 
 If, brisk and gay, 
 
 Thou sitt'st to play 
 At Ombre or at Chess, 
 
 May ne'er Spadille 
 
 Attend thy will, 
 Nor luck thy movements bless. 
 
 Though thou with care 
 
 Thy corns dost pare, 
 May blood the-penknife follow j 
 
 May thy gums rage, 
 
 And taought assuage 
 The pain of tooth that's hollow. 
 Since, fugitive knight, to no purpose I woo thee, 
 Barabbas's fate still pursue and undo thee. 
 
 While the afflicted Altisidora was complaining in the 
 manner you have heard, Don Quixote stood beholding 
 her, and without answering her a word ; and then turning 
 his face to Sancho, he said: u By the age of your ances- 
 tors, my dear Sancho, I conjure you to tell me the truth : 
 have you taken away the three nightcaps and the garters 
 this enamoured damsel mentions ?" To which Sancho
 
 478 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 answered : " The three nightcaps I have : but as to the 
 garters, I know no more of them than the man in the 
 moon." The duchess was surprised at the liberty Altisi- 
 dora took ; for though she knew her to be bold, witty, 
 and free, yet not to that degree as to venture upon such 
 freedoms; and, as she knew nothing of this jest, her 
 surprise increased. The duke resolved to carry on the 
 humour, and said.: " I think it does not look well, Sir 
 Knight, that, having received so civil an entertainment 
 in this castle of mine, you should dare to carry off three 
 nightcaps, at least, if not my damsel's garters besides : 
 these are indications of a naughty heart, and ill become 
 your character. Return her the garters : if not, I defy 
 yon to mortal combat, without being afraid that your 
 knavish enchanters should change or alter my face, as 
 they have done that of Tosilos my lackey, your intended 
 adversary." " God forbid," answered Don Quixote, 
 " that I should draw my sword against your illustrious 
 person, from whom I have received so many favours. 
 The nightcaps shall be restored ; for Sancho says he has 
 them : but for the garters, it is impossible ; for I have 
 them not, nor he either; and if this damsel of yours 
 will search her hiding-boles, I warrant she will find them. 
 I, my lord duke, never was a thief, and think, if heaven 
 forsakes me not, I never shall be one as long as I live. 
 This damsel talks (as she owns) like one in love, which 
 is no fault of mine, and therefore I have no reason to ask 
 her's, or your excellency's pardon, whom I beseech to 
 have a better opinion of me, and, once again, to give 
 me leave to depart." *' Pray God, Signor Quixote/* 
 said the duchess, " send you so, good a journey, that 
 we may continually hear good news of your exploits : 
 and God be with you ; for the longer you stay, the 
 more you increase the fire in the breasts of the damsels 
 that behold j-ou; and, as for mine, I will take her to
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 task so severely, that henceforward she shall not dare to 
 transgress with her eyes, or her words." " Do but hear 
 one word more, O valorous Don Quixote, and I am 
 silent," cried Aitisidora ; " which is, that I beg your 
 pardon for saying you had stolen my garters ; for, on 
 my conscience and soul, I have them on: but I was 
 absent in thought, like, the man who looked for his ass 
 while he was upon his back." " Did I not tell yon," 
 quoth Sancho, " I am a rare one at concealing thefts? 
 Had I been that way given, I had many a fair op- 
 portunity for it in my government," Don Quixote 
 bowed his head, and made his obeisance to the duke 
 and duchess, and to all the spectators, and turning 
 Rozinante's head, Sancho following upon Dapple, he 
 sallied out at the castle gate, taking the road to Saragossa. 
 
 CHAR 
 
 fflurwing how Adventures crowded so fast upon Don 
 Quixote, that they trod upon one anothei's Heels. 
 
 DON QUIXOTE, seeing himself in the open 6eld free, and 
 delivered from the courtship of Aitisidora, thought himself 
 in his proper element, and that his spirits were reviving 
 in him to prosecute afresh his scheme of knight-errantry ; 
 and turning to Sancho, he said: " Liberty, Sancho, is 
 one of the most valuable gifts Heaven has bestowed 
 upon men : the treasures which the earth encloses, or 
 the sea covers, are not to be compared with it. Life may, 
 and ought to ,be risked for liberty, as well as for honour: 
 and, on the contrary, slavery is the greatest evil that can 
 befal us. I tell you this, Sancho, because you have ob-
 
 430 DON QUIXOT. 
 
 served the civil treatment and plenty we enjoyed in the cas* 
 tie we have left. In the midst of those seasoned banquets, 
 those iey draughts, I fancied myself starving, because I 
 did not enjoy them with the same freedom I should have- 
 done had they been my" own. For the obligations of re- 
 turning benefits and favours received are ties that obstruct 
 the free agency of the mind. Happy the man to whom 
 Heaven has given a morsel of bread, without laying him 
 under the obligation of thanking any other for it than 
 Heaven itself." " Notwithstanding all your worship has 
 said," quoth Sancho, " it is fit there should be some 
 small acknowledgment on our part for the two hundred 
 crowns in gold, which the duke's steward gave me in a 
 little purse ; which, as a cordial and comfortative, I carry 
 next my heart, against whatever may happen, for we shall 
 not always find castles where we shall be made much of: 
 now and then we must expect to meet with inns, where 
 we may be soundly thrashed." 
 
 In these, and other discourses, our crrants, knight and 
 squire, went jogging on, when, having travelled a little 
 above a league, they espied a dozen men clad like pea- 
 sants sitting at dinner upon the grass, and their cloaks 
 spread under them, in a little green meadow. Close by 
 them were certain white sheets, as it seemed, undec 
 which something lay concealed. They were raised above 
 the ground, and stretched out at some little distance from 
 each other. Don Quixote approached the eaters, and 
 first courteously saluting them, asked them what they had 
 under those sheets ? One of them answered : " Sir, under 
 that Hnen are certain wooden images, designed to be 
 placed upon an altar we are erecting in our village. We 
 carry them covered, that they may not be sullied, and 
 upon our shoulders, that they may not be broken." " If 
 you please," answered Don Quixote, " I should be glad 
 to see them ; for images that are carried with so much
 
 bON aUIXOTE. 481 
 
 precaution, must doubtless be good ones." " Aye, and 
 very good ones too," said another, " as their price will 
 testify ; for, in truth, there is not one of them but stands 
 us in above fifty ducats. And, to convince your worship 
 of this truth, stay but a little while, and you shall see it 
 with your own eyes." And rising up from eating, he 
 toent and took off the covering from the first figure, which 
 appeared to be a St. George on horseback, with a serpent 
 coiled up at his feet, and his lance run through its mouth, 
 with all the fierceness it is usually painted with. The 
 whole image seemed to be, as we say, one blaze of gold. 
 Don Quixote seeing it, said: " This knight was one of 
 the best errants the divine warfare ever had. He was 
 called Don St. George, and was besides a defender of 
 damsels ; let us see this other." The man uncovered it, 
 and it appeared to be that of St. Martin on horseback, di- 
 viding his cloak with the poor man. And scarcely had 
 Don Quixote seen it, when he said : " This knight also 
 Was one of the Christian adventurers ; and I take it he was 
 more liberal than valiant, as you may perceive, Sancho, 
 by his dividing his cloak with the beggar, and giving him 
 half of it: and doubtless it must have been then winter; 
 otherwise he would have given it him all, so great was his 
 charity." " That was not the reason," quoth Sancho; 
 " but he had a mind to keep to the proverb^ which says : 
 What to gKe, find what to keep, requires an understand- 
 ing deep." 1 Don Quixote smiled, and desired another 
 sheet might be tak'en off, underneath which was discover- 
 ed the image of the patron of Spain on horseback, his 
 s \vord all bloody, trampling on Moors, and treading upori 
 heads. And, at sight of it, Don Quixote said: "Aye, 
 marry > this is a knight indeed, one of Christ's own squa- 
 dron. He is called Don St. Diego, the Moor-killer, on 
 of the most valiant saints and knights the world had for- 
 merly, or Heaven has now." Then they removed anothef 
 
 VOL. II, ^
 
 482 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 sheet, .which covered St. Paul falling from his horse, witJt 
 all the circumstances that are usually drawn in the picture 
 of his conversion. When Don Quixote save it repre- 
 sented in so lively a manner, that one would almost say 
 Christ was speaking to him, and St. Paul answering, he 
 said : " This was the greatest enemy the church of God 
 our Lord had in his time, and the greatest defender it will 
 ever have ; a knight-errant in his life, and a stedfast saint 
 in his death ; an unwearied labourer in the Lord's vine- 
 yard ; a teacher of the gentiles ; whose school was He"a- 
 ven, and whose professor and master Jesus Christ him- 
 self." There were no more images, and so Don Quixote 
 bid them cover them up again, and said : " I take it for 
 a good omen, brethren, to have seen what I have seen : 
 for these saints and knights professed what I profess, 
 which is, the exercise of arms : the only difference be- 
 tween them and me is, that they were saints, and fought 
 after a heavenly manner, and I am a sinner, and fight after 
 an earthly manner. They conquered Heaven by force of 
 arms (for Heaven suffers violence), and I hitherto cannot 
 tell what I conquer by force of my sufferings. But, could 
 my Dulcinea del Toboso get out of hers, my condition 
 being bettered, and my understanding directed aright, I 
 might perhaps take a better course than I do." " God 
 hear him," quoth Sancho straight, " and let sin be deaf." 
 The men wondered as well at the figure, as at the words 
 of Don Quixote, without understanding half wha> he meant 
 by them. They finished their repast, packed up their 
 images, and taking their leave of Don Quixote, pursued 
 their journey. 
 
 Sancho remained as much in ( admiration at his master's 
 knowledge, as if he had never known him before, think- 
 ing there was not an history, nor event in the world, which 
 he had not at his fingers' ends, and fastened down to his 
 memory, and he said: " Truly, master of mine, if this
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 483 
 
 that lias happened to us to-day, may be called an adven- 
 ture, it has been one of the softest and sweetest that has 
 befallen us in the whole course of our peregrinations : we 
 are got clear of it without blows, or any heart-beating ; 
 we have neither laid our hands to our swords, nor beaten 
 the earth with our bodies, nor are we starved with hunger. 
 Blessed be God for letting me see this with my own 
 eyes!" ft You say well, Sancho," replied Don Quixote ; 
 " but you must consider that all times are not alike, nor 
 do they take the same course : and what the vulgar com- 
 monly call omens, though not founded upon any natural 
 reason, a discreet man will yet look upon as lucky en- 
 counters. One of these superstitious rises and goes 
 abroad early in the morning, and meeting with a friar of 
 die order of the blessed St. Francis, turns his back, as if 
 he had met a griffin, and goes home again. Another, a 
 Mendoza, spills the salt upon the table, and presently 
 melancholy overspreads his heart, as if nature was 
 bound to show signs of ensuing mischances, by such tri- 
 vial accidents as the afore-mentioned. The wise man 
 and good Christian ought not to pry too curiously into 
 the counsels of Heaven. Scipio, arriving in Africa, stum- 
 bled at jumping ashore: his soldiers took it for an ill 
 omen ; but he, embracing the ground, said : * Africa, 
 thou canst not escape me, for I have thee fast between, 
 my arms.' So that, Sancho, the meeting with these im- 
 ages has been a most happy encounter to me." f( I verily 
 believe it," answered Sancho, "and I should be glad 
 your worship would inform me, why the Spaniards, when 
 they join battle, invoke that saint Diego the Moor-killer, 
 and cry, Saint Jago, and Close Spain. Is Spain, perad- 
 venture, so open as to want closing ? Or what ceremony 
 is this?" "You are a very child, Sancho," answered 
 Don Quixote ; " for take notice, God gave this great 
 knight of the red cross to Spain for its patron and pro- 
 
 3 Q 2
 
 484 DON QUIXOf E. 
 
 teeter, especially in those rigorous conflicts the Spaniard* 
 have had with the Moors ; and therefore they pray to, and 
 invoke him as their defender, in all the battles they fight ; 
 and they have frequently seen him, visibly overthrowing, 
 trampling down, destroying, and slaughtering the Haga- 
 rene squadrons f 6 smd of this I could produce many ex- 
 a,mples recorded in the true Spanish histories." 
 
 Sapcho changed the discourse, and said to his master : 
 " I am amazed, Sir, at the assurance of Altisidora, the 
 duchess's waiting-woman. He they call Love must surely 
 have wounded her sorely, and pierced her through and 
 through. They say he is a boy, who, though blear- 
 eyed, or, to say better, without sight, if he takes aim at 
 any heart, how small spever, he hits, and pierces it through 
 ami through with his arrows. I have also heard say, mat 
 the darts 'of Love are blunted and rendered pointless by 
 the modesty and reserve of maidens: but, in this same 
 Altisidora, metbwks, they are rather whetted than blunt- 
 ed."-^-" Look you, Saucho," answered Don Quixote, 
 " Love, regards no respects, nor observes any rulesof rea- 
 son in his proceedings, and is of the same nature with 
 Death, which assaults the stately palaces of kings, as well 
 as the lowly cottages of shepherds ; and when he takes 
 entire possession of a soul, the first thing he does, is to 
 divest it of fear and shame ; and thus vYltisidora, being 
 without both, made an open declaration of her desires, 
 which produced rather confusion than compassion in my 
 breast." "Notorious, cruelty!" quoth Sancho ; "un- 
 heard-of ingratitude ! I dare say for myself, that the least 
 amorous bint of her's would have subdued me, and made 
 me her vassal. O whoreson ^. what a heart of marble, 
 what bowels of brass, and what a soul of plaster of Paris ! 
 But I cannot conceive what it is this damsel saw in your 
 worship, that subdued and captivated her to that degree. 
 \Vhat finery > what gallantry, what gaiety, what face ;
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 485 
 
 of these, jointly or severally, made her fall in love 
 with you? for, in truth, I have often surveyed vour 
 worship, from the tip of your toe. to the top of your 
 head, and I see in you more things to cause affright than 
 love. And having also heard say, that beauty is the first 
 and principal thing that enamours, your worship having 
 none at all, I wonder what the poor thing was in love 
 jvith."-r- u Look you, Sancho," answered Don Quixote, 
 " there are two sorts of beauty, the one of the mind, 
 the other of the body. That of the mind, shines and 
 discovers itself in the .understanding, in modesty, good 
 behaviour, liberality, and good-breeding: and all these 
 qualities may subsist and be found in an ill-favoured man ; 
 and when the aim is at this beauty, and not at that of the 
 bod} 7 , it produces love with impetuosity and advantage. I 
 know very well, Sancho, that I am not handsome; but I 
 know also, that I am not deformed; and an honest man, 
 who is not a monster, may be beloved, provided he^has 
 the qualities of the mind I have mentioned." 
 
 Amidst these discourses they entered into a wood, not 
 far out of the road ; and on a sudden Don Quixote found 
 himself entangled in some nets of green thread, which 
 hung from one tree to another ; and not being able to im- 
 agine what it might be, he said to Sancho : " The busi- 
 ness of these nets, Sancho, must, I think, be one of the 
 newest adventures imaginable: let me die, if the enchant- 
 ers who persecute me, have not a mind to entangle me in 
 them, and stop my journey, by way of revenge for the 
 rigorous treatment Altisidora received from me. But I 
 would have them to know, that, though these nets, as they 
 are made of thread, were made of the hardest diamonds, 
 or stronger than that, in which the jealous god of black- 
 smiths entangled Venus and Mars, I would break them as 
 easily as if they were made of bulrushes or yarn." And 
 as lie was going to pass forward, and break through .all,
 
 436 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 unexpectedly, from among some trees, two most beauti- 
 ful shepherdesses presented themselves before him ; fit 
 least they were clad like shepherdesses, excepting that 
 their waistcoats and petticoats were of fine brocade. 
 Their habits were of rich gold tabby ; their hair, which 
 for brightness might come in competition with the rays of 
 the -sun, hanging loose about their shoulders, and their 
 heads crowned with garlands of green laurel and red 
 flower-gentles interwoven. Their age seemed to be not 
 under fifteen, nor above eighteen. This was a sight 
 which amazed Sancho, surprised Don Quixote, made the 
 sun stop in his career to behold them, and held them all 
 in marvellous silence. At length one of the shepherdesses 
 spoke, and said to Don Quixote: " Stop, Signer cava- 
 lier, and break not the nets placed here, not for your 
 hurt, but our diversion ; and because I know you will ask 
 us why they are spread, and who we are, I will tell you in 
 a few words. In a. town about two leagues off, where there 
 are several people of (juality, and a great irany gentle- 
 men, and those rich, it was agreed among .several friends 
 and relations, that their sons, wives, and daughters, neigh- 
 bours, friends, and relations, should all come to make 
 merry in this place, which is one of the pleasantest in these 
 parts, forming among ourselves a new pastoral Arcadia, 
 and dressing ourselves, the maidens like shepherdesses, 
 and the young men like shepherds.. We have got by 
 heart two eclogues, one of the famous poet Garcilasso, 
 and the other of the most excellent Catnoens, in his own 
 Portuguese tongue, which we have not yet acted. Yester- 
 day xvas the first day of our coming hither: we have some 
 field-tents pitched among the trees, on the margin of a 
 copious stream, which spreads fertility over all these mea- 
 dows. Last night we hung our nets opon these trees, to 
 deceive the simple little birds, which should come at the 
 noise we make, and be caught in them. If, Sir, you
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 437 
 
 please to be our guest, you shall be entertained gene- 
 rously and courteously ; for into this place neither sorrow 
 nor melancholy enter." 
 
 She held her peace, and said no more. To which Don 
 Quixote answered : " Assuredly, fairest Lady, Actaeon 
 was not in greater surprise and amazement, when una- 
 wares he saw Diana bathing herself in the water, than I 
 have been in at beholding your beauty. I applaud the 
 scheme of your diversions, and thank you, for your J,ind 
 offers; and, if I can do you any service, you may lay 
 your commands upon me, in full assurance of being obey- 
 ed ; for my profession is no other than to show myself 
 grateful, and a benefactor to all sorts of people, especi- 
 ally to those of the rank your presence denotes you to be 
 of: and should these nets, which probably take up but a 
 small space, occupy the whole globe of the earth, I would 
 seek out new worlds to pass through, rather than hazard 
 the breaking them. And, that you may afford some credit 
 to this exaggeration of mine, behold, he who makes you 
 this promise, is no less than Don Quixote de la Mancha, 
 if perchance this name has ever reached your ears." 
 " Ah ! friend of my soul !" cried the other young she- 
 pherdess then, " what good fortune is this, that has be- 
 fallen us ? See you this gentleman here before us ? I as- 
 sure you, he is the most valiant, the most enamoured, the 
 most complaisant knight in the world, unless a history 
 which goes about of him in print, and which I have read, 
 lies, and deceives us. I will lay a wager this honest man. 
 who comes with him is that very Sancho Panza, his 
 squire, whose pleasantrk-s none can equal." " That is 
 true," quoth Sancho; " lam that same jocular person, 
 and that squire you say ; and .this gentleman is my master, 
 the very Don Quixote de la Mancha aforesaid, and histo- 
 rjfied." " Ah!" cried the other, " my dear, let us en- 
 treat him to stay ; for our fathers and brothers will be in-
 
 48$ DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 finitely pleased to have him here ; for I have heard the 
 same tilings of his valour and wit that you tell me : and 
 particularly they say, he is the most constant and n 
 faithful lover in the world ; and that his mistress is one 
 Dulcinea del Toboso, who bears away the palm from all 
 the beauties in Spain." " And with good reason," said 
 Don Quixote, " unless your matchless beauty brings it 
 into question. But weary not yourselves, ladies, in en- 
 deavouring to detain me; for the precise obligations of 
 my profession will suffer me to rest no where." 
 
 By this time there came Up to where the 10111" stood, a,, 
 brother of one of the young shepherdesses; he was also 
 in a shepherd's dress, answerable in richness and gallant ry 
 to theirs. They tolcl him that the person he saw was the 
 ,ralorous Don Quixote de la Manclia, and fchc other San- 
 cho, his squire, of whom he h?.d some knowledge by hav- 
 ing read their history. The gallant shepherd saluted himy 
 and desired him to come with him to the tents. Dou 
 Quixote could not refuse, and therefore went with him. 
 Then the nets were drawn, and filled with a variety of 
 little birds, who, deceived by the colour of the nets, fell 
 into the very danger they endeavoured to rly from. Above 
 thirty persons, genteelly dressed in pastoral habits, were 
 assembled together in that place, and presently WM 
 acquainted who Don Quixote and his squire were : which 
 was no small satisfaction to them, being already no stran- 
 gers to his history. They hastened to the tents, where 
 they found the table spread, rich, plentiful, and neat. 
 They honoured Don Quixote with placing him at the up- 
 per end. They all gazed at him, and admired at the 
 s-ight. Finally t the cloth being ta*ken away, Don Quixote, 
 with great gravity raised his voice, and said : 
 
 *' Of all the grievous sins men commit, though some 
 say pride, I say ingratitude is the worst, adhering to 
 the- common opinion, that hell is full of the ungrateful
 
 DON QUIXOTE 439 
 
 This sin I have endeavoured to avoid, as much as possibly 
 I could, ever since I came to the use of reason ; and, if 
 I cannot repay the good offices done me with the like, 
 I place in their stead the desire of doing them ; and, when 
 this is not enough, I publish them ; for he who tells and 
 publishes the good deeds done him, would return them 
 in kind if he could for generally the receivers are in- 
 ferior to the givers, and God is therefore above all, be- 
 cause he is bountiful above all. But though the gifts 
 of men are infinitely disproportionate to those of God, 
 gratitude in some measure supplies their narrowness and 
 defect. I then, being grateful for the civility offered 
 me here, but restrained by the narrow limits of my ability 
 from making a suitable return, offer what I can, and 
 what is in my power ; and therefore, I say, I will main- 
 tain, for two whole days, in the middle of this the king's 
 highway, which leads to Saragossa, that these Lady 
 Shepherdesses in disguise are the most beautiful and most 
 courteous damsels in the world, excepting only the peer- 
 less Dulcinea del Toboso, the sole mistress of my thoughts ; 
 without offence to any that hear me be it spoken." 
 Sancho, who had been listening to him with great at- 
 tention, hearing this, said with a loud voice: "Is it 
 possible there should be any persons in the world, who 
 presume to say and swear that this master of mine is a 
 madman? Speak, Gentlemen Shepherds; is there a 
 country vicar, though ever so discreet, or ever so good 
 a scholar, who can say all that my master has said ? Is 
 there a knight-errant, though ever so renowned for valour, 
 who can offer what my master has now offered ? Don 
 Quixote turned to Sancho, and, with a wrathful coun- 
 tenance, said: " Is it possible, O Sancho, there is any 
 body upon the globe who will say you are not an idiot, 
 lined with the same, and edged with I know not what of 
 mischievous and knavish ? Who gave you authority to 
 VOL. ir. 3 R
 
 490 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 meddle with what belongs to me, and to call in question 
 my folly or discretion ? Hold your peace, and make no 
 reply ; but go and saddle Rozinante, if lie be unsaddled, 
 and let us go and put my offer in execution ; for, con- 
 sidering how much I am in the right, you may conclude 
 all those who shall contradict me already conquered." 
 Then, with great fury, and tokens of indignation, he ros 
 from his seat, leaving the company in admiration, and in 
 doubt, whether they should reckon him a madman or a 
 man of sense. In short, they would have persuaded him 
 not to put himself upon such a*- trial, since they were 
 satisfied of his gratefyl nature, and wanted no other proofs 
 of his valour than those related in the history of his 
 exploits. But for all that Don Quixote persisted in his 
 design, and, being mounted upon Rozinante, bracing 
 his shield, and taking his lance, he planted himself in 
 the middle of the highway, which was not far from the 
 verdant meadow. Sancho followed upon his Dapple, 
 with all the pastoral company, being desirous to see 
 what would be the event of this arrogant and unheard-of 
 challenge. 
 
 Don Quixote being posted, as I have said, in the middle 
 of the road, wounded the air witlj such words as these: 
 " O ye passengers, travellers, knights, squires, people 
 on foot or on horseback, who now pass this way, or are 
 to pass in these two days following, know that Don 
 Quixote de la Mancha, Knight-errant, is posted here, 
 ready to maintain that the nymphs who inhabit these 
 meadows and groves, exceed all the world in beauty and 
 courtesy, excepting only the mistress of my soul, Dul- 
 cinea del Toboso : and let him, who is of a contrary 
 opinion, come ; for here I stand, ready to receive him." 
 Twice he repeated the same words, and twice they were 
 not heard by any adventurer. But fortune, which was 
 disposing his affairs from good'lo better, so ordered it,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 491 
 
 that soon after they discovered a great many men on 
 horseback, and several of them with lances in their hands, 
 all trooping in a cluster, and in great haste. Scarcely 
 had they who were with Don Quixote seen them, when 
 they turned their backs, and got far enough out of the 
 way, fearing, if they staid, they might be exposed to 
 some danger. Don Quixote alone, with an intrepid heart, 
 stood firm, and Sancho Panza screened himself with 
 Rozinante's buttocks. The troop of lance-men came up, 
 and one of the foremost began to cry aloud to Don 
 Quixote : " Get out of the way, devil of a man, lest 
 these bulls trample you to pieces."-" Rascals," replied 
 Don Quixote, <( I value not your bulls, though they were 
 the fiercest that Xarama "' ever bred upon its banks : 
 confess, ye scoundrels, unsight unseen, that what I have 
 here proclaimed is true ; if not, I challenge ye to battle." 
 The herdsmen had no time to answer, nor Don Quixote 
 to get out of the way, if he would : and so the whole 
 herd of fier.ce bulls and tame kind, with the multitude of 
 herdsmen, and others, who were driving them to a certain 
 town, where they were to be baited in a day or two, 
 ran over Don Quixote, and over Sancho, Rozinante, and 
 Dapple, leaving them all sprawling and rolling on the 
 ground. Sancho remained bruised, Don Quixote as- 
 tonished, Dapple battered, and Rozinante not perfectly 
 sound. But at length they all got up, and Don Quixote, 
 in a great hurry, stumbling here and falling there, began 
 to run after the herd, crying aloud : " Hold, stop, ye 
 scoundrels : for a single knight defies ye all, who is not 
 of the disposition or opinion of those who say, ' Make 
 a bridge of silver for a flying enemy.' But the hasty run- 
 ners stopped not the more for this, and made no more 
 account of his menaces than of last year's clouds. Weari- 
 ness stopped Don Quixote, and, more enraged than re- 
 venged, he sat down in the road, expecting the coming 
 
 3R2
 
 492 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 up of Sancho, Rozinante, and Dapple. They came up ; 
 master and roan mounted again, and, without turning 
 back to take their leaves of the feigned or counterfeit 
 Arcadia, and with more shame than satisfaction, pursued 
 their journey 
 
 CHAP. LIX. 
 
 Wherein is related an extraordinary Accident which 
 befel Don Quixote, and which way pass fur an 
 Adventure. 
 
 THE dust and weariness Don Quixote and Sancho un- 
 derwent through the rude encounter of the bulls, were 
 relieved by a clear and limpid fountain they met with in 
 a cool grove ; on the brink of which, leaving Dapple and 
 Rozinante free without halter or bridle, the way-beaten 
 couple, master and man, sat them down. Sancho had 
 recourse to the cupboard of his wallet, and drew out what 
 he was wont to call his sauce. He rinsed his mouth, and 
 Don Quixote washed his face : with which refreshment 
 they recovered their fainting spirits. Don Quixote would 
 eat nothing out of pure chagrin, nor durst Sancho touch 
 the victuals out of pure good manners, expecting his 
 master should first be his taster. But seeing him so car- 
 ried away by his imaginations, as to forget to put a bit 
 in his mouth, he said nothing* but breaking through all 
 kind of ceremony, began to stuff his hungry maw with 
 the bread and cheese before him. " Eat, friend Sancho," 
 aaid Don Quixote; "and support life, which is of more 
 importance to you than to me, and leave me to die by
 
 IK)N QUIXOTE. 493 
 
 the hands of my reflections, and by the force of my mis- 
 fortunes. I, Sanchp, was born to Jive dying, and you 
 o die eating : and, to show you that I speak the truth, 
 consider me printed in histories, renowned in arms, 
 courteous in my actions, respected by princes, courted 
 by damsels; and, after all, when 1 expected palms, 
 triumphs, and crowns, earned and merited by my valorous 
 exploits, this morning have I seen myself trod upon, 
 kicked, and bruised under the feet of filthy and impure 
 beasts. This reflection sets my teeth on edge, stupih'es 
 my grinders, benumbs my hands, and quite takes away 
 my appetite ; so that 1 intend to suffer myself to die with 
 hunger, the crudest of all deaths." "At this rate." 
 quoth Sancho (chewing all the while apace), " your 
 Worship will not approve of the proverb which says : 
 let Martha die, but die with her belly full. At least, 
 J do not intend to kill myself, but rather to imitate the 
 shoemaker, who pulls the leather with his teeth till he 
 stretches it to what he would have it, I will stretch my 
 Jife by eating, till it reaches the end heaven has allotted 
 it; and let me teil you, Sir, there is no greater madness 
 than to despair as you do : believe me, and, after you 
 have eaten, try to sleep a little upon the green matrass of 
 this grass, and you will see, when you awake, you will 
 find yourself much eased." Don Quixote complied, 
 thinking Sancho reasoned more like a philosopher than 
 a fool; and he said : " If, O Sancho, you would now do 
 for me what I am going to tell you, my comforts would 
 be more certain, and my sorrows not so great: and it 
 is this, that while I, in pursuance of your advice, am 
 sleeping, you will step a little aside from hence, and 
 with the reins of Kozinante's bridle, turning up your flesh 
 to the sky, give yourself three or four hundred lashes, 
 in part of the three thousand and odd you are bound 
 to give yourself for the disenchantment o DulcineA;
 
 494 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 for it is a great pity the poor lady should continue under 
 enchantment through' your carelessness and neglect." 
 " There is a great deal to be said as to that," quoth 
 Sancho : " for the present, let us both sleep, and after- 
 wards God knows what may happen. Pray, consider, 
 Sir, that this same whipping one's-self in cold blood is a 
 cruel thing, and more so, when the lashes light upon a 
 body ill sustained and worse fed. Let my Lady Dulciuea 
 have patience ; for, when she least thinks of it, she shall 
 see me pinked like a sieve by dint of stripes ; and, until 
 death all- is life : I mean, I am still alive, together with 
 the desire of fulfilling my promise." Don Quixote thank- 
 ed him, ate a little, and Sancho much ; and both of 
 them addressed themselves to sleep, leaving Rozinante 
 and Dapple, those inseparable companions and friends, 
 at their own discretion, and without any controul, to feed 
 upon the plenty of grass with which that meadow 
 abounded. 
 
 They awoke somewhat of the latest; they mounted 
 again, and pursued their journey, hastening to reach 
 an inn, which seemed to be about a league off; I say an 
 inn, because Don Quixote called it so, contrary to his 
 custom of calling all inns castles. They arrived at it, 
 and demanded of the host if he had any lodging ? He 
 answered, he had, with all the conveniences and entertain- 
 ment that was to be found even in Saragossa. They 
 alighted, and Sancho secured his travelling cupboard in 
 a chamber, of which the landlord gave him the key. lie 
 took frhe beasts to the stable, gave them their allowance, 
 and went to see what commands Don Quixote, who \vas 
 sat down upon a stone bench, had for him, giving parti- 
 cular thanks to heaven that this inn hud not been taken 
 by his master for a castle. Supper- time came: they be- 
 took them to their chamber. Sancho asked the host what 
 he had to give them for supper. The host answered, his
 
 BON QUIXOTE. 495 
 
 mouth should be measured, and he might call for what- 
 ever he pleased ; for the inn was provided, as far as birds 
 of the air, fowls of the earth, and fishes of the sea, could 
 go. " There is no need of quite so much," answered 
 Sancho : " roast us hut a couple of chickens, and we shall 
 have enough ; for my master is of a nice stomach, and 
 I am no glutton." The host replied, he had no chickens, 
 for the kites had devoured them. '^ Then order a 
 pullet, Signer host," quoth Sancho, "to he roasted ; 
 but see that it be tender." " A pullet ? My father I" 
 answered the host : " truly, truly,! sent above fifty yester- 
 day to the city to be sold; but, excepting pullets, ask 
 for whatever you will." " If it be so," quoth Sancho, 
 " veal or kid cannot be wanting." " There is none in 
 
 O 
 
 the house at present," answered the host ; "for it i> all 
 made an end of: but next week there will be enough, 
 
 o y 
 
 and to spare." "We are much the nearer for that," 
 answered Sancho : " I will lay a wager, all these deficien- 
 cies will be made up with .a superabundance of bacon and 
 eggs." " Before God," answered the host, " my guest 
 has an admirable guess with him : I told him I had neither 
 pullets nor hens, and he would have me have eggs : talk 
 of other delicacies, but ask no more for hens." " Body 
 of me ! .let us come to something." quoth Sancho : ( ' te.li 
 me, in short, what you have, and lay aside your flourish- 
 ings, master host." " Then," said the innkeeper, " what 
 I really and truly have, is, a pair of cow-heels, that look 
 like calves-feet, or a pair of calves-feet, that look like 
 cow-heel : they are stewed with pease, onions, and bacon, 
 and, at this very minute are crying, ' Come eat me, come 
 eat me.' " I mark them for my own, from this moment," 
 quoth Sancho, " and let nobody touch ihem ; for I will 
 pay more for them than another shall, because I could 
 wish for nothing that I like better ; and I care not a fig 
 what heels they are, so they are not hoofs." " Nobody
 
 496 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 shall touch them," said the host ; " for some other gitesf* 
 in the house, out of pure gentility, bring their own cook, 
 their caterer, and their provisions with them." "If 
 gentility be the business," quoth Sancho, " nobody is? 
 more a gentleman than my master: but the calling he is 
 of allows of no catering nor butlering : alas 1 we clap us 
 down in the midst of a green field, and fill our bellies 
 with acorns, or medlars." This discourse Sancho held 
 with the innkeeper, because he did not care to answer 
 him any farther; for he had already asked him of what 
 calling or employment his master was. 
 
 Supper-time being come, Don Quixote withdrew to 
 his chamber : the host brought the flesh-pot just as it 
 was, and fairly sat himself down to supper. It seems in 
 the room next to that where Don Quixote was, and 
 divided only by a partition of lath, Don Quixote heard 
 somebody say ; " By your life, Signor Don Jeronimo, 
 while supper is getting ready, let us read another chapter 
 of the second part of Don Quixote de la Mancha." Scarce- 
 ly had Don Quixote heard himself named, when up he 
 stood, and, with an attentive ear, listened to their dis- 
 course, and heard the aforesaid Don Jeronimo answer : 
 *' Why, Signor Don John, would you have us read such 
 absurdities? For he who lias read the first parLof the 
 history of Don Quixote de la Mancha, cannot possibly 
 be pleased with reading the second." " But for all that," 
 said Don John, " it will not be amiss to read it ; for there 
 is no book so bad but it has something good in it. What 
 displeases me most in it is, that the author describes Don 
 Quixote as no longer in love with Dulcinea del Toboso." 
 Which Don Quixote overhearing, full of wrath and indig- 
 nation, he raised his voice, and said : " Whoever shall 
 that Don Quixote de la Mancha has forgotten, or 
 can forget, Dulcinea del Toboso, I will make him know, 
 with equal arms, thjat he is very wide of the truth j for
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 457 
 
 the peerless Dulcinea can neither be forgotten, nor is 
 Don Quixote capable of forgetting : his motto is constancy, 
 and his profession is to preserve it with sweetness, and 
 without doing himself any violence." " Who is it that 
 answers us?" replied one in the other room. "Who 
 should it be," quoth Sancho, " but Don Quixote de la 
 Mancha himself ? who will make good all he says, and 
 all he shall say. For, a good paymaster is in pain for 
 no pawn." Scarcely had Sancho said this, when into the 
 room came two gentlemen ; for such they seemed to be : 
 and one of them throwing his arms about Don Quixote's 
 neck, said : '* Your presence can neither belie your name, 
 nor your name do otherwise than credit you presence. 
 Doubtless, Signer, you are the true Don Quixote de la 
 Mancha, the north and morning star of knight-errantry, 
 maugre and in despite of him, who has endeavoured to 
 usurp your name, and annihilate your exploits, as the 
 author of this book I here give you has done." And, 
 putting a book that his companion brought into Don 
 Quixote's hands; he took it, and, without answering a 
 word, began to turn over the leaves, and presently after 
 returned it, saying: " In the little I have seen I have 
 found three things in this author that deserve reprehen- 
 sion. The first is, some words I have read in the pre- 
 face : the next, that the language is Arragonian ; for he 
 sometimes writes without articles: and the third, which 
 chiefly convicts him of ignorance, is, that he errs and 
 deviates from the truth in a principal point of the history. 
 For here he says, that the wife of my squire Sancho Panza 
 is called Mary Gutierrez, whereas that is not her name, 
 but Teresa Panza; and he who errs in so principal a 
 point, may very well be supposed to be mistaken in the 
 rest of the history." Here Sancho said : " Prettily done 
 indeed of this same historian! he must be well informed, 
 truly, of our adventures, since he calls Teresa Panza, my 
 
 VOL. II. 3 S
 
 498 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 wife, Mary Gutierrez. Take the book again, Sir, and 
 see whether I am in it, and whether he has changed my 
 name. 1 ' " By what I have heard you speak, friend," said 
 Don Jeronimo, " without doubt, you are Sancho Panza, 
 Don Quixote's squire." " I am so," answered Sancho, 
 " and value myself upon it." " In faith then," said the 
 gentleman, " this modern author does not treat you with 
 that decency which seems agreeable to your person. 
 He describes you a 'glutton, and a simpleton, and not 
 at all pleasant, and a quite different Sancho from him 
 described in the first part of your master's history." 
 "God forgive him," quoth Sancho; "he might have 
 let me alone in my corner, without remembering me at 
 all : for let him who knows the instrument play on it ; 
 and, Saint Peter is no where so well as at Rome." The 
 two gentlemen desired of Don Quixote that he would 
 step to their chamber, and sup with them ; for they' knew 
 very well, there was nothing to be had in that inn fit for 
 his entertainment. Don Quixote, who was always cour- 
 teous, condescended to their request, and supped with 
 them. Sancho staid behind with the flesh-pot, cum mero 
 mirto imperio : he placed himself at the head of the table, 
 and by him sat down the innkeeper, as fond of the calves- 
 feet, or cow-heels, as he. 
 
 While they were at supper, Don John asked Don. 
 Quixote; what news he had of the Lady Dulcinea del 
 Toboso ; whether she was married ; whether yet brought 
 to bed, or with child ; or if, continuing a maiden, she 
 still remembered with the reserve of her modesty and 
 good decorum the amorous inclinations of Signor Don 
 Quixote. To which our knight replied : " Dulcinea 
 is still a maiden, and my inclinations more constant 
 than ever; our correspondence upon the old foot, and 
 her beauty transformed into the visage of a coarse country 
 wench." Then he recounted every particular of the en-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. _ 499 
 
 chantment of the Lady Dulcinea, arid what had befallen 
 him in Montesinos's cave, with the direction the sage 
 Merlin had given him for her disenchantment, namely, 
 by Sancho's lashes. Great was the satisfaction the two 
 gentlemen received to hear Don Quixote relate the strange 
 adventures of his history, admiring equally at his extrava- 
 gancies, and at his elegant manner of telling them. One 
 while they held him for a wise man, then for a fool ; nor 
 could they determine what degree to assign him between 
 discretion and folly. 
 
 Sancho made an end of supper, and leaving the inn- 
 keeper fuddled, went to the chamber where his master 
 was, and, at entering, he said : " May I die, gentlemen, 
 if the author of this book you have got has a mind he 
 and I should eat a good meal together : I wish, since as 
 you say he calls me a glutton, he may not call me drunkard 
 too." " Ay, marry, does he," replied Don Jeronimo; 
 "but I do not remember after what manner: though I 
 know the expressions carried but an ill sound, and were 
 false into the bargain, as I see plainly by the countenance 
 of honest Sancho here present." " Believe me, gentle- 
 men," quoth Sancho, " that the Sancho and Don 
 Quixote of that history are not the same with those of 
 the book composed by Cid Hamet Benengeli, who are 
 we ; my master, valiant, discreet, and in love j and I, 
 simple, and pleasant, and neither a glutton nor a drunk- 
 ard."-" I believe it," answered Don John, " and, if 
 it were possible, it should be ordered that none should 
 dare to treat of matters relating to Don Quixote, but 
 only Cid Hamet, his first author; .in like manner as 
 Alexander commanded, that none should dare to draw 
 his picture but Apelles." " Draw me who will," said 
 Don Quixote; " but let him not abuse me.; for patience 
 is apt to fail, when it is overladen with injuries." 
 " None," replied Don John, " can be offered Signer 
 
 3s2
 
 500 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Don Quixote, that he cannot revenge ; unless he wards 
 it off with the buckler of his patience, which, in my 
 opinion, is strong and great." 
 
 In these, and the like discourses, they spent great part 
 of the night ; and though Don John had a mind Don 
 Quixote should read more of the book, to see what it 
 treated of, he could not be prevailed upon, saying, he 
 deemed it as read, and pronounced it as foolish : besides, 
 he was unwilling its author should have the pleasure of 
 thinking he had read it, if peradventure he might come 
 to hear he had had it in his hands ; for the thoughts, and 
 much more the eyes, ought to be turned from every 
 thing filthy and obscene. They asked him which way 
 he intended to bend his course ? He answered, to Sara- 
 gossa, to be present at the jousts for the suit of armour, 
 which are held every year in that city. Don John told 
 him, how the new history related that Don Quixote, 
 whoever he was, had been there at the funning at the ring, 
 and that the description thereof was defective in the con- 
 trivance, mean and low in the style, miserably poor in 
 Devices, and rich only in simplicities. " For that very 
 reason," answered Don Quixote, " I will not set a foot 
 in Saragossa, and so I will expose to the world the falsity 
 of this modern historiographer, and all people will plainly 
 perceive I am not the Don Quixote he speaks of." " You 
 will do very well," said Don Jeronimo, " and there are 
 to be other jousts at Barcelona, where Signer Don Quixote 
 may display his valour." " It is my intention so to do," 
 answered Oon Quixote; " and, gentlemen, be pleased 
 to give me leave to go to bed, for it is time, and place 
 me among the number of your best friends and faithful 
 servants."" And me too," quoth Sancho : " perhaps I 
 may be good for something." Having thus taken leave 
 of one another, Don Quixote and Sancho retired lo their 
 chamber, leaving Don John and Don Jeronimo in
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 50 1 
 
 astonishment at the mixture he had discovered of wit and 
 madness ; and they verily believed these were the true 
 Don Quixote and Sancho, and not those described by the 
 Arragonese author. Don Quixote got up very early, 
 and tapping at the partition of the other room, he again 
 bid his new friends adieu : Sancho paid the innkeeper 
 most magnificently, and advised him to brag less of the 
 provision of his inn, or to provide it better. 
 
 CHAP. LX. 
 
 Of what befel Don Quixote in his Way to Barcelona. 
 
 THE morning was cool, and the day promised to be so 
 too, when Don Quixote left the inn, first informing him- 
 self which was the directest road to Barcelona, without 
 touching at Saragossa ; so great was his desire to give the 
 lie to that new historian, who, it was said, had abused him 
 so much. Now it happened, that in above six days, no- 
 thing fell out worth setting down in writing : at the end 
 of which, going out of the road, night overtook them 
 among some shady oaks, or cork, trees; for in this Cid 
 Hamet does not observe that punctuality he is wont do in 
 other matters. Master and man alighted from their beasts, 
 and seating themselves at the foot of the trees, Sancho, 
 who had had his afternoon's collation that day, entered 
 abruptly the gates of sleep. But Don Quixote, whose 
 imaginations, much more than hunger, kept him waking, 
 could not close his eyes : on the contrary, he was hurried 
 in thought to and from a thousand places : now he fancied 
 himself in Moutesinos's cave ; now, that he saw Dulcinea, 
 transformed into a country wench, mount upon her ass at
 
 502 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 a spring ; the next moment, that he was hearing the words 
 of the sage Merlin, declaring to him the conditions to be 
 observed, and the dispatch necessary for the disenchant- 
 ment of Dulcinea. He was ready to run mad to see the 
 carelessness and little charity of his squire Sancho, who, 
 as he believed, had given himself five lashes only j a num- 
 ber, poor, and disproportionate to the infinite still behind : 
 and hence he conceived so much chagrin and indignation, 
 that he spoke thus to himself: <; If Alexander the Great 
 cut the Gordian knot, saying, < To cut is the same as to 
 untie,' and became, nevertheless, universal lord of all Asia, 
 the same, neither more nor less, ruay happen now, in the 
 disenchantment of Dulcinea, if I should whip Sancho, 
 whether he will or no : for if the condition of this remedy 
 consists in Sancho's receiving upwards of three thousand 
 lashes, what is it to me whether he gives them himself, 
 or somebody else for him, since the essence lies in his re- 
 ceiving them, come they from what hand they will?" x 
 
 With this conceit, he approached Sancho, having first 
 taken Rozinante's reins, and adjusted them so that he 
 might lash bim with them, and began to untruss his 
 points ; though it is generally thought that he had none 
 but that before, which kept up his breeches. But no 
 sooner had he begun than Sancho awoke, and said : 
 " What is the matter ? Who is it that touches and un- 
 trusses me ?" " It is I," answered Don Quixote, " who 
 come to supply your defects, and to remedy my own trou- 
 bles : I come to whip you, Sancho, and to discharge, at 
 least in part, the debt you stand engaged for. Dulcinea 
 is perishing ; you live unconcerned ; I am dying with de- 
 sire ; and therefore untruss of* your own accord, for I 
 mean to give you in this solitude, at least tw thousand 
 lashes." "Not so," quoth Sancho; "pray be quiet, 
 or, by the living God, the deaf shall hear us. The lashes 
 I stand engaged for must be voluntary, and not upon com-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 503 
 
 pulsion; and at present I have no inclination to whip 
 myself: let it suffice, that I give your worship my word 
 to flog and flay myself, when I have a disposition to it." ' 
 " There is no leaving it to your- courtesy, Sancho," said 
 Don Quixote ; tc for you are hard-hearted, and though a 
 peasant, of very tender flesh." Then he struggled with 
 Sancho, and endeavoured to urrtruss him. Which Sancho 
 Panza perceiving he got upon his legs, and closing with 
 his master, he flung his arms ahout him, and tripping up 
 his heels, he laid him flat on his back, and setting his 
 right knee upon his breast, with his hands he held both 
 his master's so fast, that he could neither stir nor breathe. 
 Don Quixote said to him : " How, traitor! do you rebel 
 against your master and natural lord ? Do you lift up your 
 hand against him who feeds you?" "I neither make 
 nor unmake kings," answered Sancho: " I only assist 
 myself, who am my own lord. If your worship will pro- 
 mise me to be quiet, and not meddle with whipping me 
 for the present, I' will let you go free, and at your liberty : 
 if not, here thou diest, traitor, enemy to Donna Sancha." 
 Don Quixote promised him he would, and swore, by the 
 life of his thoughts, he would not touch a hair of his gar- 
 ment, and would leave the whipping himself entirely to 
 to his own choice and free will, whenever he was so dis- 
 posed. 
 
 Sancho got up, and went aside some little distance 
 from thence ; and leaning against a tree, he felt some- 
 thing touch his head, and lifting up his hands, he felt a 
 couple of feet dangling, with hose and shoes. He began 
 to tremble with fear ; he went to another tree, and the 
 like befel him again : he called out to Don Quixote for 
 help. Don Quixote going to him, asked him, what the 
 matter was, and what he was frightened at Sancho an- 
 swered, that all those trees were full of men's legs and 
 feet. Don Quixote felt them, and immediately guessed
 
 504 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 what it was, and said to Sancho : " You need not be 
 afraid ; for what you feel, without seeing, are doubtless 
 the feet and legs of some robbers and banditti, who are 
 hung upon these trees : for here the officers of justice 
 hang them, when they can catch them, by twenties and 
 thirties at a time, in clusters : whence I guess I am not far 
 from Barcelona." And in truth, it was as he imagined. 
 
 And now, the day breaking, they lifted up their eyes, 
 and perceived that the clusters hanging on those trees were 
 so many bodies of banditti : and if the dead had scared 
 them, no less were they terrified by above forty living 
 banditti, who surrounded them unawares, bidding them, 
 in the Catalan tongue, be quiet, and stand still, till their 
 captain came. Don Quixote was on foot, his horse un- 
 bridled, his lance leaning against a tree, and, in short, 
 defenceless ; and therefore he thought it best to cross his 
 hands, and hang his head, reserving himself for a better 
 opportunity and conjuncture. The robbers fell to rifling 
 Dapple, and stripping him of every thing he carried in the 
 wallet or the pillion : and it fell out luckily for Sancho, 
 that he had secured the crowns given him by the duke, 
 and those he brought from home, in a belt about his mid- 
 dle. But for all that, these good folks would have searched 
 and examined him, even to what lay hid between the skin 
 and the flesh, had not their captain arrived just in the 
 nick. He seemed to be about thirty-four years of age, 
 robust, above the middle size, of a grave aspect, and a 
 brown complexion. He was mounted upon a puissant 
 steed, clad in a coat of mail, and armed with two case of 
 pistols, or firelocks. He saw that his squires (for so they 
 call men of that vocation) vrere going to plunder Sancho 
 Panza : he commanded them to forbear, and was instantly 
 obeyed, and so the girdle escaped. He wondered to see 
 a lance standing against a tree, a target on the ground, 
 and Don Quixote in armour and pensive, with the most
 
 CON QUIXOTE, 505 
 
 Sad and melancholy countenance, that sadness itself could 
 frame. He went up to him, and said : " Be not so de- 
 jected, good Sir; for you are not fallen into the hands of 
 a cruel Osiris, but into those of Roque Guinart, who is 
 more compassionate than cruel." " My dejection," an- 
 swered Don Quixote, " is not upon account of my hav- 
 ing fallen into your hands, O valorous Roque, whose re- 
 nown no bounds on earth can limit, but for being so care- 
 less, that your soldiers surprised me. my horse unbridled : 
 whereas I am bound, by the order of knight-errantry, 
 which I profess, to be continually upon the watch, aud at 
 all hours my own sentinal: for let me tell you, illustrious 
 Roque, had they found me on horseback with my lance 
 and ray target, it had not been very easy for them to have 
 made me surrender ; for I am Don Quixote tie la Mancha, 
 he of whose exploits the whole globe is full." Roque 
 Guinart presently perceived that Don Quixote's infirmity 
 had in it more of madness than valour ; and though he had 
 sometimes heard him spoken of, he never took what was 
 published of him for truth, nor could he persuade himself 
 that such an humour should reign in the heart of man : so 
 that he was extremely glad he had met with him, to be 
 convinced near at hand of the truth of what lie had heard 
 at a distance; and therefore he said to him: "Be not 
 concerned, valorous Knight, nor look upon this accident 
 as a piece of sinister fortune : for it may chance, among 
 these turnings and windings, that your crooked lot may 
 be set to rights ; for heaven, by strange, unheard-of, and- 
 by men unimagined, ways, raises those that are fallen^ 
 and enriches those that are poor." 
 
 Don Qui-xote was just going to return him thanks, when 
 they heard behind them a noise like that of a troop of. 
 horses ; but it was occasioned by one only, upon which 
 came riding full speed a youth, seemingly about twenty 
 years of age, clad in green damask with a gold-laee trim- 
 VOL, n, 3 T
 
 506 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 ming, trowsers, and a loose coat : his hat cocked in the 
 Walloon fashion, with straight waxed boots, and his spurs, 
 dagger, and sword, gilt ; a small carabine in his hand, and 
 a brace of pistofe by his side. Roque turned about his 
 bead at the noise, and saw this handsome figure, which , 
 at coming up to him, said : " In quest of you I come, O 
 valorous Roque, hoping to find in you, if not a remedy, 
 at least some alleviation of my misfortune j and not to 
 keep you in suspence, because I perceive you do not 
 know me, I will tell you who I am. I am Claudia Jero- 
 nhna,' K daughter of Simon Forte, your singular friend, and 
 particular enemy to Clauquel Torellas, who is also yours, 
 being of the contrary faction : and you know, that this 
 Torellas has a son, called Don Vincente de Torellas, or 
 at least was called so not two hours ago. He then (to 
 shorten the story of my misfortune, I will tell you in a, 
 few words what he has brought upon me), he, I say, saw 
 me, and courted me : I hearkened to him, and fell in love 
 with him, unknown to my father : for there is no woman, 
 be she never so retired, or never so reserved, but has time 
 enough to effect and put in execution her unruly desires. 
 In short, he promised to be my husband, and I gave him 
 my word to be his, without proceeding any farther. Yes- 
 terday I was informed, that, forgetting his obligations to 
 me, he had contracted himself to another, and this morn- 
 ing was going to be married. This news confounded me r 
 and I lost all patience : and my father happening to be 
 out of town, I had an opportunity of putting myself into 
 this garb you see me in, and spurring this horse, I over- 
 took Don Vincente about a league from hence, and with- 
 out urging reproaches, or hearing excuses, I discharged 
 this carabine, and this parr of pistols into the bargain, and, 
 as I believe, lodged more than a brace of balls in his body, 
 opening a door through which my honour, distained in 
 his blood, might issue out. I left him among his servants, 
 who durst not, ot could not, interpose in his defence. I
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 507 
 
 am come to seek you, that by your means I may escape 
 to France, where I have relations, and to entreat you 
 likewise to protect my father, that the numerous relations 
 of Don Vincente may not dare to take a cruel revenge 
 upon him." 
 
 Roque, surprised at the gallantry, bravery, fine shape, 
 and accident of the beautiful Claudia, said : " Come, 
 Madam, and let us see whether your enemy be dead, 
 and afterwards we will consider what is most proper to be 
 done for you." Don Quixote, who had listened atten- 
 tively to what Claudia had said, and what Roque Guinart 
 answered, said : (f Let no one trouble himsejf about de- 
 fending this lady ; for I take it upon myself i give me my 
 horse and my arms, and stay here for me, while I go in 
 quest of this knight, and, dead or alive, make him fulfil 
 his promise made to so much beauty." " Nobody doubts 
 that," quoth Sancho: " my master has a special hand at 
 match-making; for not many days ago he obliged an- 
 other person to marry, who also had denied the promise 
 he had given to another maiden ; and had not the en- 
 chanters, who persecute him, changed his true shape into 
 that of a lackey, at this very hour that same maiden would 
 not have been one." 
 
 Roque, who was more intent upon Claudia's business, 
 than the reason ing of master and man, understood them not ; 
 and commanding his squires to restore to Sancho all they 
 had taken from Dapple, ordering them likewise to retire 
 to the place where they had lodged the night before, he 
 presently went off with Claudia, in all haste, in quest of 
 the wounded, or dead, Don Vincente. They came to 
 the place where Claudia had come up with him, and found 
 nothing there but blood newly spilt ; then looking round 
 about them, as far as they could extend their sight, they 
 discovered some people upon the side of a hill, and guessed 
 (as indeed it proved) that it must be Don Vincente, whom. 
 
 3 T 2
 
 508 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 his sen-ants were carrying off, alive or dead, in order eU 
 thcr to his cure, or his burial. They made all the haste 
 they could to overtake them ; which they easily did, the 
 others going but softly. They found Don Vincente in 
 the arms of his servants, and with a low and feeble voice, 
 desiring them to let him die there, for the anguish of his 
 wounds would not permit him to go any further. Claudia 
 and Roque, flinging themselves from their horses, drew 
 near. The servants were startled at the sight of Roque, 
 and Claudia was disturbed at that of Don Vincente : and 
 so, divided betwixt tenderness and cruelty, she approached 
 him, and- taking hold of his hand, she said: " If you had 
 given me this, according to our contract, you had not been 
 reduced to this extremity." The wounded cavalier open- 
 ed his almost closed eyes ; and knowing Claudia, he said : 
 *' I perceive, fair and mistaken lady, that to your hand I 
 6we my death ; a punishment neither merited by me, nor 
 due to my wishes ; for neither my desires, nor my actions, 
 could, or would offend you." " Is jt not true then/* 
 said Claudia, " that this very morning you were going to 
 "be married to Leonora, daughter of the rich Balvastro r" 
 "No, in truth," answered Don Vincete: " my evil 
 fortune must have carried you that news, to excite your 
 jealousy to bereave me of life, which since I leave in youc 
 hands, and between your arms, I esteem myself happy ; 
 and to assure you of this truth, take my hand, and 
 receive me 'for your husband, if you are willing; for I 
 can give you no greater satisfaction for the injury you 
 imagine you have received.' 
 
 Claudia pressed his hand, and so wrung her own heart, 
 that she fell into a swoon upofi the bloody bosom of Don 
 Vincente, and he into a mortal paroxysm. Iloque was 
 confounded, and knew not what to do. The servants ran 
 for water to fling in their faces, 'and bringing it, sprinkled 
 them vyith it. Claudia returned from her swoon, but not.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 509 
 
 Pen Vincente from bis paroxysm; fork put an end to 
 his life. Which Claudia seeing, and being assured that 
 her sweet husband was no longer alive, she broke the air 
 with her sighs, wounded the heavens with her complaints, 
 tore her hair, and gave it to the winds, disfigured her 
 face with her own hands, with all the signs of grief and 
 affliction that can be imagined to proceed from a sorrow- 
 ful heart. " Oh cruel and inconsiderate woman 1" said 
 she ; " with what facility wert thou moved to put so evil 
 a thought in execution! O raging force of jealousy, to 
 what a desperate end dost thou lead those who harbour 
 thee in their breasts ! Oh my husband ! whose unhappy 
 lor, for being mine, hath sent thee, for thy bridal bed, 
 to the grave !" Such and so great were the lamentations 
 of Claudia, that they extorted tears from the eyes of 
 Roque, not accustomed to shed them upon any occasion. 
 The servants wept ; Claudia fainted away at every step, 
 and all around seemed to be a field of sorrow, and seat of 
 misfortune. Finally, Roque Guinart ordered Don Vin- 
 eente's servants to carry his body to the place where his 
 father dwelt, which was not far off, there to give it burial. 
 Claudia told Roque she would retire to a nunnery, of 
 which an aunt of hers was abbess ; where she designed to 
 end her life, in the company of a better and an eternal 
 Spouse. Roque applauded her good intention, and offer- 
 ed to bear her company whithersoever she pleased, and to 
 defend r>er father against Don Vincente's relations, and 
 all who should desire to hurt hini. Claudia would by no 
 means accept of his company, and thanking him for his 
 offer in the best manner she could, took her leave of him 
 weeping. Don Vincente's servants carried off his body, 
 and Roque returned to his companions. Thus ended the 
 loves of Claudia Jeronimar and no wonder, since the web 
 of her doleful history was woven by the cruel and irresist- 
 ibly hand of jealousy.
 
 510 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Roque Guinart found his squires in the place he had 
 Appointed them, and Don Quixote among them, mounted 
 upon Rozinante, and making a speech, wherein he was 
 persuading them to leave that kind of life, so. dangerous 
 both to soul and body. But most of them being Gascons, 
 a rude and disorderly sort of people, Don Quixote's har-. 
 angue made little or no impression upon them. Roque 
 being arrived, demanded of Sancho Panza, whether they 
 had returned and restored him all the moveables and jewels 
 his folks had taken from Dapple, Sancho answered, they 
 had, all but three nightcaps, which were worth three cities, 
 " What does the fellow say ?" cried one of the by-stand- 
 ers: " I have them, and they are not worth three reals." 
 " That is true," said Don Quixote; " but my squire 
 values them at what he has said, for the sake of the person 
 who gave them." Roque Guinart ordered them to be re- 
 stored that moment, and commauding his men to draw up 
 in a line, he caused all the clothes, jewels, and money, 
 and, in short, all they had plundered since the last distri- 
 bution, to be brought before them ; and making a short 
 appraisement, and reducing the undividables into money, 
 he shared it among his company with so much equity and 
 prudence, that he neither went beyond, nor fell the least 
 .short of distributive justice. This done, with which all 
 were paid, contented, and satisfied, Roque said to Don 
 Quixote: " If this punctuality were not strictly observed, 
 there would be no living among these fellows." To which 
 Sancho said : " By what I have seen, justice is so good a 
 tiling, that it is necessary even among thieves them- 
 selves." One of the squires hearing him, lifted up the 
 but-end of a musket, and hatl doubtless split Sancho' s 
 head therewith, had not Roque Guinart called out aloud 
 to him to forbear. Sancho was frightened, and resolved 
 not to open his lips, while he continued among those 
 people.
 
 BON QUIXOTE. 511 
 
 At this juncture, came two or three of the squires, who 
 were posted as sentinels on the highway, to observe travel- 
 lers, and give notice to their chief of what passed, and 
 said to him : " Not far from hence, Sir, in the road that 
 leads to Barcelona, comes a great company of people.'* 
 To which Roque replied: "Have you distinguished 
 whether they are such as seek us, or such as we seek r" 
 " Such as we seek," answered the squire. " Then sally 
 forth," replied Roque, " and bring them hither pre- 
 sently, without letting one escape." 
 
 They obeyed ; and Don Quixote, Sancho, and Roque, 
 remaining by themselves, stood expecting what the squires 
 would bring; and, in this interval, Roque said to Don 
 Quixote: " This life of ours must needs seem very new 
 to Signor Don Quixote ; new adventures, new accidents, 
 and all of them full of danger : nor do I wonder it should 
 appear so to you ; for, I confess truly to you, there is 
 no kind of life more unquiet, nor more full of alarms, 
 than ours. I was led into it by I know not what desire 
 of revenge, which has force enough to disturb the most 
 sedate minds. I am naturally compassionate and good- 
 natured : but, as I have said, the desire of revenging 
 an injury done me so bears down this good inclination in 
 me, that I persevere in this state, in spite of knowing 
 better: and, as one mischief draws after it another, and 
 one sin is followed by a second, my revenges have been 
 so linked together, that I not only take upon me my 
 own, but those of other people. But it pleases God, that 
 though I see myself in the midst of this labyrinth of con- 
 fusions, I do not lose the hope of getting out of it, and 
 arriving at last in a safe harbour." 
 
 Don Quixote was in admiration to hear Roque talk 
 such good and sound sense ; for he thought that amongst 
 those of his trade of robbing, murdering, and waylaying, 
 there could be none capable of serious reflection ; and
 
 51 2 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 he answered ; " Signer Iloque, the beginning of heahfr 
 consists in the knowledge of the distemper, and in the. 
 patient's being willing to take the medicines prescribed 
 him by the physician. You are sick ; you know your 
 disease; and heaven, or rather God, who is our physician^ 
 will apply medicines to heal you, such as usually heal 
 gradually, by little and little, and not suddenly, and by 
 miracle. Besides, sinners of good understanding are nearer 
 to amendment than foolish ones ; and since, by your 
 discourse, you have shown your prudence, it remains only 
 that you be of good cheer, and hope for a bettering of 
 your conscience ; and, if you would shorten the way, 
 and place yourself with ease in that of your sakation, 
 come with me, and I will teach you tobe a knight-errant ;" 
 in which profession there are so many troubles and dis- 
 asters, that, being placed to the account of penance, they 
 will carry you to heaven in two twinklings of an eye." 
 Roque smiled at Don Quixote's counsel, to whom, chang- 
 ing the discourse, he related the tragical adventure of 
 Claudia Jeronima, which extremely grieved Sancho, who 
 did not dislike the beauty, freedom, and sprightliness 
 of the young lady. 
 
 By this time the squires returned with their prize,? 
 bringing with them two gentlemen on horseback, two 
 pilgrims on foot, and a coach full of women, with about 
 six servants, some on foot and some on horseback, ac- 
 companying them, and two muleteers belonging to the 
 gentlemen. The squires enclosed them round, the van- 
 quishers and vanquished keeping a profound silence, 
 waiting till the great Roque should speak ; who asked the 
 gentlemen who they were, wliither they werq going, and 
 what money they had. One of them answered : " Sir, 
 we are two captains of Spanish foot ; our companies are at 
 Naples, and we are going to embark in four gallies, which 
 are said to be at Barcelona, with orders to pass over to-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 51$ 
 
 Sicily. We have about two or three hundred crowns, 
 with which we think ourselves rich and happy, since the 
 Usual penury of soldiers allows no greater treasures." 
 Roque put the same question to the pilgrims, who replied, 
 the.y were going to embark for Rome> and that, between 
 them both, they might have about s.Kty reals. He de- 
 manded also, who those were in the coach, where they 
 were going, and what money they carried; and one of 
 those pn horseback answered:. " The persons in the 
 coach are, my Lady Donna Guiomar de Quinones, wife 
 of the regent of the vicarship of Naples, a little daughter, 
 a waiting-maid, and a duenna. Six Servants of us ac- 
 company them ; and the money they carry is six hun- 
 dred crowns." " So then," said Roque Guinart, " we 
 have here nine hundred crowns, and sixty reals : my 
 soldiers are sixty ; see how much it comes to apiece, for 
 I am but an indifferent accomptant. 
 
 The robbers, hearing him say this, lifted up their 
 voices, saying : " Long live Roque Guinart, in spite 
 of all the wretches who seek his destruction," The 
 captains showed signs of affliction, the Lady Regent was 
 dejected, and the pilgrims were not at all pleased, at 
 seeing the confiscation of their effects. Roque held them 
 thus for some time in suspense, but would not let their 
 sorrow, which might be seen a musketshot off, last any 
 longer; and, turning to the captains, be said: "Be 
 pleased, gentlemen, to do me the favour to lend me sixty 
 crowns, and you, Lady Regent, fourscore, to satisfy this 
 squadron of my followers: for, the abbot must eat, that 
 sings for his meat : and then you may depart free and 
 unmolested, with a pass I will give you, that if you meet 
 with any more of my squadrons, which I keep in several 
 divisions up and down in these parts, they may not hurt 
 you; for it is not my intention to wrong soldiers, nor 
 any woman, especially if she be of quality. Infinite and 
 
 VOL. ir. 3 u
 
 51* DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 weH expressed were the thanks the captains returned 
 Roqne for his courtesy fend liberality ; for such they 
 esteemed his leaving them part of their own money. 
 Donna Goiomar de Quinones was ready to throw herself 
 out of her coach, to kiss the feet and 'hands of the great 
 Rcrqtie 1 : but tie would in no wise consent to it, bat rather 
 begged pardon for the injury be was forced to do them, 
 in compliance with the precise duty of his wicked office. 
 The Lady Regent ordered one of her servants immediately 
 to -give the eighty crowns, her share of ttoe assessment, 
 and the captains had already disbursed their sixty. The 
 pilgrims were going to offer their little all : but Roque 
 bid them stay a little, and turning about to his men, he 
 said : " Of these -crown*, two fall to each man's share, 
 and twenty remain : let ten be given to these pilgrims, 
 and the other ten to tliis 'honest squire, that be may have 
 it in his power to speak well of this adventure :" and call- 
 ing for pen, "ink, and paper, with which be always was 
 provided, Roque gave them a pass, directed to the chiefs 
 of his band, and taking leave of them, he let them go 
 free, in admiration at -his generosity, bis graceful de- 
 portment, and strange procedure, and looking upon him 
 rather a-s an Alexander the Great, than a notorious robber. 
 
 One of the squires said, in his Gascon and Catalan 
 language; " This captain of ours is fitter for a friar 
 than a felon : for the future, if he has a mind to show 
 himself liberal, let it be of his own goods, and not of 
 ours." The wretch spoke not so low, but Roque over- 
 heard -him, and drawing his sword, he almost cleft his. 
 head in two, saying: " Thus I chastise the ill-tongued 
 and -saucy." All the rest were frightened, and no one 
 durst utter a wdrd ; such was the awe and obedience they 
 were held in. Roque went a little aside, and wrote a 
 ktter to a friend of his at Barcelona, acquainting him, 
 that the famous Don Quixote de la Mancha, that knight-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 515 
 
 errant of whom so many things were reported, was in 
 his company ; giving him to understand that he was the 
 pleasantest and most ingenious person in the world ; and 
 that, four days after, OH the feast of Saint John Baptist, 
 he would appear on the strand of the city, armed at all points, 
 mounted on his horse Rozinante, and his squire Sancho 
 upon an ass ; desiring him to give notice thereof to his 
 friends the Niarri, that they might make themselves 
 merry with him; and expressing his wishes, that his 
 enemies the Cadelli might not partake of the diversion ; 
 though that was impossible, because the wild extrava- 
 gances and distraction of Don Quixote, together with 
 the witty sayings of his squire Sanoho Panza, could not 
 fail to give general pleasure to all the world. He dis- 
 patched this epistle by one of his squires, who changing 
 the habit of an outlaw for that of a peasant, entered into 
 Barcelona, and delivered it into the hands of the person 
 it was directed to. 
 
 CHAR LXL 
 
 Of what befel Don Quixote at his entrance into Barcelona; 
 with other Events more true tlian ingenious. 
 
 THREE days and three nights Don Quixote staid with 
 Boque ; and, had he staid three hundred years, he would 
 not have wanted subject matter for observation and ad- 
 miration in his way of life. Here they lodge, there they 
 dine : one while they fly, not knowing from whom ; 
 another, they lie in wait they know not for whom. They 
 slept standing, with interrupted slumbers, and shifting 
 
 3u 2
 
 516 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 from one place to another: they were perpetually sending 
 out spies, posting sentinels, blowing the matches of their 
 muskets; though they had but few, most of them making 
 use of firelocks. Roque passed the nights apart from his 
 followers, in places to them unknown : for the many pro- 
 clamations the viceroy of Barcelona had published against 
 him, kept him in fear and disquiet, not daring to trust 
 any body, and apprehensive lest his own men should either 
 kill or deliver him up to justice, for the price set upon 
 his head : a life truly miserable and irksome. In short, 
 Roque, Don Quixote, and Sancho, attended by six squires, 
 set out for Barcelona, through unfrequented ways, short 
 cuts, and covered paths. They arrived upon the stranc^ 
 on the eve of Saint John, in the night-time ; and Roque 
 embracing Don Quixote and Sancho, to whom he gave 
 the ten crowns promised, but not yet given him, left 
 them with a thousand offers of service made on both sides. 
 Roque returned back, and Don Quixote staid expect- 
 ing the day on horseback, just as he was ; and it was not 
 long before the face of the beautiful Aurora began to dis- 
 cover itself through the balconies of the east, rejoicing 
 the grass and flowers, instead of rejoicing the ears; though 
 at the same instant, the ears also were rejoiced by the 
 sound of abundance of waits and kettle-drums, the jingling 
 of morrice-bells, with the trampling of horsemen, 
 seemingly coming out of the city. Aurora gave place to 
 the sun, which was rising > by degrees from below the 
 horizon, with a face bigger than a target. Don Quixote 
 and Sancho, casting their eyes around on every side, 
 saw the sea, which till then they had never seen. It ap- 
 peared to them very large and spacious, somewhat bigger 
 than the lakes of Ruydera, which they had seen in La 
 Mancha. They saw the gallies lying close to the shore, 
 which, taking in their awnings, appeared full of streamers 
 and pennarits trembling in the wind, and kissing and
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 517 
 
 brushing the water. From within them sounded clarions, 
 trumpets, and waits, filling the air all around with sweet 
 and martial music. Presently the gallics began to move 
 and to skirmish, as it were, on the still waters : and, at 
 the same time corresponding with. them, as it were, on the 
 the land, an infinite number of cavaliers mounted on 
 beautiful horses, and attended with gay iiveries, issued 
 forth from the city. The soldiers on board the gallics, 
 discharged several rounds of cannon, which were answered 
 by those on che wails and forts of the city. The heavy- 
 artillery, with dreadful noise, rent the wind, which was 
 echoed back by the cannon on the forecastles of the gallies. 
 The sea was cheerful, the land jocund, and the air bright, 
 only now and then obscured a little by the smoke of 
 the artillery. All which together seemed to infuse and 
 engender a sudden pleasure iii all the people. Sancho 
 could not imagine how those bulks, which moved back- 
 wards and forwards in the sea, came to have so many 
 legs. 
 
 By this time those with the liveries came up on a full 
 gallop, with lelilies and shouts, after the Moorish fashion, 
 to the place where Don Quixote was standing, wrapped 
 in wonder and surprise; and one of them (the person to 
 whom Roque had sent the letter) said in aloud voice to 
 Don Quixote: "Welcome' to o:ir city, the mirror, the 
 beacon, and polar star of knight-erranty, in its greatest 
 extent: welcome, I say, the valorous Don Quixote de la 
 Mancha; not the spurious, the fictitious, the apocryphal, 
 lately exhibited among us in lying histories, but the true, 
 the legitimate, the genuine, described to us by Cid 
 Hamet Benengeli,the flower of historians. Don Quixote 
 answered not a word, nor did the cavaliers wait for any 
 answer; but, wheeling about with all their followers, 
 they began to career and curvet it round Don Quixote, 
 who, turning to Sancho, said : " These people seem to
 
 SIS DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 know us well; I wilt lay a wager they have read eur 
 history, and even that of the Arragonese lately printed." 
 The gentleman, who spoke to Don Quixote, said again 
 to him : " Be pleased, Signor Don Quixote, to come 
 along with us; for we are all very humble servants, and 
 great friends of Roque Guinart." To which Don Quixote 
 replied : " If courtesies beget courtesies, yours, good 
 Sir, is daughter, or very near kinswoman, to those of 
 the great Roque: conduct me whither you please; for 
 I have no other will but yours, especially if you please 
 to employ it in your service." The gentleman answered 
 in expressions no less civil ; and enclosing him in the 
 midst of them, they all marched with him to the sound 
 of waits and drums, toward the city, at the entrance of 
 which the wicked one, who is the auther of all mischief, 
 so ordered it, that, among the boys, who are more wicked 
 than the wicked one himself, two bold and unlucky rogues 
 crowded through the press, and one of them lifting up 
 Dapple' s taH, and the other that of Rozinante, they thrust 
 under each a handful of briers. The poor beasts felt the 
 jjew spurs, and by clapping their tails the closer, augment- 
 ed their smart in such sort, that, after several plunges, 
 they flung their riders to the ground. Don Quixote, 
 out of countenance, and affronted, hastened to free his 
 horse's tail from this new plumage, and Sancho did the 
 like by Dapple. Those who conducted Don Quixote, 
 would have chastised the insolence of the boys; but it 
 was impossible, for they were soon lost among above a 
 thousand more that followed them. Don Quixote and 
 Sancho mounted again, and, with the same acclamations 
 and music, arrived at their conductor's house, which was 
 large and fair, such, in short, as became a gentleman of 
 fortune : where we will leave them for the present ; foe 
 so Cid Hamet Bencngeli will have it.
 
 DOX QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAP. LXII. 
 
 Which treats of the Adventure of the Enchanted Head t 
 with other Trifles that must not be omitted, 
 
 l^ox Quixote's host was called Don Antonio Moreno, 
 a rich and discreet gentleman, and a lover of mirth in 51 
 decent and civil way. And so having Don Quixote in 
 his house, he began to contrive methods how, without 
 prejudice to his guest, he might take advantage of Don ' 
 Quixote's madness ; for jests that hurt are no jests, nor 
 are those pastimes good for any thing which turn to the 
 detriment of a third person. The first thing therefore 
 he did, was to cause Don Quixote to be unarmed, and 
 exposed to view in his strait shamois doublet (as we have 
 already described and painted it) in a balcony, which 
 looked into one of the chief streets of the city, in sight 
 of the populace and of the boys, tvho stood gazing at 
 him as if he had been a monkey. The cavaliers with the 
 liveries began to career it afresh before him, as if for him 
 alone, and not in honour of that day's festival, they had 
 provided them. Sancho was highly delighted, thinking 
 he had found, without knowing how or which way, another 
 Camacho's wedding, another house like Don Diego de 
 Miranda's, and another castle like the Duke's. 
 
 Several of Don Antonio's friends dined with him that 
 day; all honouring and treating Don Quixote as a knight- 
 errant ; at which he was so puffed up with vain-glory, 
 that he could scarcely conceal the pleasure it gave him. 
 Saiicho's witty conceits were such, and so many, that all 
 the servants of the house hung as it were upon his lips,
 
 520 EOX QUIXOTE. 
 
 and so did all that heard him. While they were at table, 
 Don Antonio said to Sancho: " We are told here, hones* 
 Sancho, that you are so great a lover of capons and sau- 
 sages, that, when you have filled your belly, you stuff your 
 pockets with the remainder for next day." " No, Sir, it 
 is not so,'* answered Sancho ; " your worship is misin- 
 formed; for I am more cleanly than gluttonous; and my 
 roaster Don Quixote, here present, knows very well, how 
 he and I often live eight days upon a handful of acorns or 
 hazel-nuts: it is true, indeed, if it so falls out that they 
 give me a heifer, I make haste with a halter; I mean, 
 that I eat whatever is offered me, and take the times as 
 I find them ; and whoever has said that I am given to eat 
 much, and am not cleanly, take it from me, he is very 
 much out: and I would say this in another manner, were 
 it not out of respect to- the honourable beards here at 
 table." " In truth," added Don Quixote, " Sancho' s 
 parsimony and cleanliness in eating deserve to toe written 
 and engraved on plates of brass, to remain an eternal 
 memorial for ages to come. I must confess, when lie is 
 hungry, he seems to be somewhat of a glutton : for he 
 cats fast, and chews at both sides at once : but, as fof 
 cleanliness, he always strictly observes it ; and, when he 
 was a governor, he learned to eat so nicely, that he took 
 up grapes, and even the grains of a pomegranate, with 
 the point of a fork." "How!" cried Don Antonio, "has 
 Sancho then been a governor?" " Yes," answered 
 Sancho, " and of an island, called Barataria. Ten days 
 I governed it, at my own will and pleasure ; in which time 
 I lost my rest, and learned to despise all the governments 
 in the world : I fled ,away from it, and fell into a pit, 
 where I looked upon myself as a dead man, and out of 
 which I escaped alive by a miracle." Don Quixote related 
 minutely all the circumstances of Sancho's government ' f 
 which gave great pleasure to the hearers.
 
 DOtt QUIXOTE. 521 
 
 The cloth being taken away, Don, Antonio taking Don 
 Quixote by the hand, led him into a distant apartment, 
 in which there was no other furniture but a table seem- 
 ingly of jasper, standing upon a foot of the same : upon 
 which there was placed, after the manner of the busts of 
 the Roman emperors, a head which seemed to be of brass. 
 Don Antonio walked with Don Quixote up and down the 
 room, taking several turns about the table; after which he 
 said : " Signer Don Quixote, now that I am assured no- 
 body is within hearing, and that the door is fast, I will 
 tell yon one of the rarest adventures, or rather one of the 
 greatest novelties that can be imagined, upon condition, 
 that what I shall tell you be deposited in the inmost re- 
 cesses of secrecy." " I swear it shall," answered Don 
 Quixote, " and I will clap a grave-stone over it, for the 
 greater security ; for I would have your Worship know, 
 Signer Don Antonio (for by this time he had learned his 
 name), that yon are talking to one, who, though he has 
 ears to hear, has no tongue to speak : so that you may 
 safely transfer whatever is in your breast into mine, and 
 make account you have thrown it into the abyss of silence." 
 " In confidence of this promise," answered Don Antonio, 
 <l I will raise your admiration by what you shall see and 
 hear, and procure myself some relief from the pain I 
 suffer by not having somebody to communicate my secrets 
 to, which are not to be trusted with every body." Don 
 Quixote was in suspense, expecting what so many pre- 
 cautions would end in. Don Antonio then taking hold of 
 his hand, made him pass it over the brazen head, the 
 table, and the jasper pedestal it stood upon, and then 
 said: " This head, Signor Don Quixote, was wrought 
 and contrived by one of the greatest enchanters and 
 wizards the world ever had. He was, I think, by birth a 
 Polander, and disciple of the famous Escotillo, 88 of whom 
 so many wonders are related. He was here in my housa, 
 VOL. ii. 3 x
 
 522 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 and, for the reward of a thousand crowns, made me this 
 head, which has the virtue and property of answering to 
 every question asked at its ear. After drawing figures, 
 erecting schemes, and observing the stars, he brought it 
 at length to the perfection we shall see to-morrow ; for it 
 is mute on Fridays, and, this happening to be Friday, we 
 must wait till to-morrow. In the mean while you may 
 bethink yourself what questions you will ask ; for I kno%v 
 by experience, it tells the truth in all its answers." Don 
 Quixote wondered at the property and virtue of the head, 
 and was ready to disbelieve Don Antonio : but, consider- 
 ing how short a time was set for making the experiment, 
 he would say no more, but only thanked him for having 
 discovered to him so great a secret. They went out of 
 the chamber: Don Antonio locked the door after him; 
 and they came to the hall where the rest of the gentlemen 
 were; and in this time Sancho had recounted to them 
 many of the adventures and accidents that had befallen 
 bis master. 
 
 That evening they carried Don Quixote abroad to 
 take the air, not armed, but dressed like a citizen, in a 
 long loose garment of tawny -coloured cloth, which would 
 have made frost itself sweat at that season. They ordered 
 their servants to entertain and amuse Sancho, so as not 
 to let him go out of doors. Don Quixote rode, not upon 
 Kozinante, but upon a large easy-paced mule, handsomely 
 accoutred. In dressing him, imperceived by him, they 
 pinned at his back a parchment, whereon was written in 
 capital letters ; THIS is DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA. 
 They no sooner began their march, but the soroll drew 
 the eyes of all that passed by, and they read aloud, 
 " This is Don Quixote de la Mancha." Don Quixote 
 wondered that every body who saw him, named, and knew 
 him; and, turning to Don Antonio, who was riding by 
 his side, he said : "Great is the prerogative inherent in
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 523 
 
 knight-errantry, since it makes all its professors known 
 and renowned throughout the limits of the earth: for, 
 pray observe, Signer Don Antonio, how the very boys 
 of this city know me, without having ever seen me." 
 " It is true, Signer Don Quixote," answered Don Anto- 
 nio ; " for, as fire cannot be hidden nor confined, so 
 virtue will be known : and that which is obtained by the 
 profession of arms, shines with a brightness and lustre 
 superior to that of all others." 
 
 Now it happened that, as Don Quixote was riding 
 along with the applause aforesaid, a Castilian, who had 
 read the label on his shoulders, lifted up bis voice, saying : 
 " The devil take thee for Don Quixote de la Mancha ! 
 What ! are you got hither, without being killed by the 
 infinite number of bangs you have had upon your back ? 
 You are mad, and, were you so alone, and within the 
 doors of your own folly, the mischief were the less : but 
 you have the property of converting into fools and mad- 
 men all that converse, or have any communication with 
 .you ; witness these gentlemen who accompany you. 
 Get you home, fool, and look after your estate, your wife, 
 and children, and leave off these vanities, which worm- 
 eat your brain, and skim off the cream of your under- 
 standing." " Brother," replied Don Antonio, " keep 
 on your way, and do not be giving counsel to those who 
 do not ask it. Signer Don Quixote de la Mancha is 
 wise, and \ve who bear him company are not fools. 
 Virtue challenges respect wherever it is found : and be 
 gone in an evil hour, and meddle not, where you are not 
 called." " Before God," answered the Castilian, " your 
 worship is in the right ; for to give advice to this good 
 man, is to kick against the pricks. But for all that it 
 <rrieves me very much, that the good sense, it is said, 
 this madman discovers in all other things, should run to 
 waste through the channel of his knighuerrantry : and 
 
 3x2
 
 524 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 the evil hour your worship wished me, be to me and to 
 all my descendants, if, from this day forward, though t 
 should live more years than Methusalem, I give advice 
 to any body, though they should ask it inc." The adviser 
 departed ; the procession went on : but the boys and 
 the people crowded so to read the scroll, that Don Anto- 
 nio was forced to take it off, under pretence of taking 
 off something else. 
 
 Night came : the processioners returned home, where 
 was a ball of ladies: for Don Antonio's wife, who was a 
 lady of distinction, cheerful, beautiful, and discreet, had 
 invited several of her fiiends to honour her guest, and to 
 entertain them with his unheard-of madness. Several ladies 
 came : they supped splendidly, and the ball began about 
 ten o'clock at night. Among the ladies, there were two 
 of an arch and pleasant disposition, who, though they 
 were very modest, yet behaved with more freedom than 
 usual, that the jest might divert without giving distaste. 
 These were so eager to take Don Quixote out to dance, 
 that they teased, not only his body, but his very soul. 
 It was a perfect sight to behold the figure of Don Quixote, 
 long, lank, lean, and yellow, straitened in his clothes, 
 awkward, and especially not at all nimble. The ladies 
 courted him, as it were by stealth, and he disdained them 
 by stealth too. But, finding himself hard pressed by their 
 courtships, he exalted his voice, and said : " Fugite, paries 
 aditrsa ; leave me to my repose, ye unwelcome thoughts : 
 avaunt, ladies, with your desires; for she who is queen 
 of mine, the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, will not con- 
 sent that any others but hers should subject and subdue 
 me." And, so saying, he sat down in the middle of the 
 hall upon the floor, quite fatigued and disjointed by this 
 dancing exercise. Don Antonio ordered the servants to 
 take him up, and carry him to bed ; and the first who 
 Jent an helping hand was Sancho, who said : " What, iu
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 525 
 
 God's name, master of mine, put you upon dancing? 
 Think you that ail who are valiant must be caperers, or 
 all knights-errant dancing-masters? If you think so, I say 
 you are mistaken : I know those who would sooner cut a 
 giant's windpipe than a caper. Had you been for the 
 shoe-jig, 89 1 would have supplied your defect; for I slap it 
 away like any gerfalcon : but as for regular dancing, I 
 cannot work a stitch at it." With this, and similar dis- 
 course, Sancho furnished matter of laughter to the com- 
 pany, and laid his master in bed, covering him up stoutly, 
 that he might sweat out the cold he might have got by his 
 dancing. 
 
 The next day Don Antonio thought fit to make an ex- 
 perimentof the enchanted head ; and so, with Don Quix- 
 ote, Sancho, and two other friends, with the two ladies who 
 had worried Don Quixote in dancing (for they staid that 
 night with Don Antonio's wife), he locked himself up in the 
 room where the head stood. He told them the property 
 it had, charged them all with the secret, and told them 
 this was the first day of his trying the virtue of that en- 
 chanted head. Nobody but Don Antonio's two friends 
 knew the trick of the enchantment; and, if Don Antonio 
 had not first discovered it to them, they also would have 
 been as much surprised as the rest, it being impossible 
 not to be so, so cunningly and curiously was it contrived. 
 The first who approached the ear of the head was Don 
 Antonio himself, who said in a low voice, yet not so low 
 but he was overheard by them all : " Tell me, head, by 
 the virtue inherent in thee, what am I now thinking of?" 
 The head answered, without moving its lips, in a clear 
 and distinct voice, so as to be heard by every body : "I 
 am no judge of thoughts." At hearing of which they 
 were all astonished, especially since, neither in the room, 
 u'or any where about the table, was there any human crea- 
 ture that could answer. " How many of us are here?"
 
 526 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 demanded Don Antonio again. Answer was made him in 
 the same key : " You and your wife, with two friends of 
 yoars, and two of hers, and a famous knight, called Don 
 Quixote de la Mancha, with a certain squire of his, San- 
 cho Panza by name." Here was wondering indeed ; here 
 was every body's hair standing on end out of pure affright. 
 Don Antonio, going aside at some distance from the head, 
 said : " This is enough to assure me I was not deceived 
 by him who sold you to me, sage head, speaking head, 
 answering head, and admirable head ! Let somebody else 
 go, and ask it what they please." Now, as women are 
 commonly in haste, and inquisitive, the first who went 
 up to it was one of the two fnends of Don Antonio's wife, 
 -and her question was : " Tell me, head, what shall I do to 
 be very handsome r" It was answered : " Be very mo- 
 dest." " I ask you no more," said the querist. Then her 
 companion came up, and said : " I would know, head, 
 whether my husband loves me, or no." The answer was : 
 " You may easily know that by his usage of you." The 
 married woman going aside, said : " The question might 
 very well have been spared; for, in reality, a man's ac- 
 tions are the best interpreters of his affections." Then one 
 pf Don Antonio's two friends went and asked him : " Who 
 am I?" The answer was: " You know." " I do not ask 
 you that," answered the gentleman, " but only, whether 
 you know me?" " I do," replied the head ; " you are 
 Don Pedro Noriz." " I desire to hear no more," said he ; 
 " since this is sufficient, O head, to convince me that 
 you know every thing." Then the other friend stepped 
 up, and demanded : " Tell jne, head, what desires has 
 my eldest son ?" It was answered ; " Have I not told you 
 already, that I do not judge of thoughts? But, for all 
 that, I can tell you, that your son's desire is to bury you.'' 
 " It is so," replied the gentleman ; " I see it with my 
 eyes, and touch it with my ringer ; and I ask no more
 
 .ENCHANTED
 
 DON QUIXOTE. &7 
 
 questions." Then came Don Antonio's wife> and said : 
 ' I know not, O head, what to ask you: only I would 
 know of you, whether I shall e^joy my dear husband many 
 years.' 1 The answer was : " You shall ; for his good con- 
 stitution, and his temperate way of living, promise many 
 years of life, which several are wont to shorten by intem- 
 perance." Next came Don Quixote, and said : " Tell 
 me, O answerer, was it truth, or a dream, what I related 
 as having befallen me in Montesinos's cave ? Will the 
 whipping of Sancho, my squire, be certainly fulfilled ? 
 Will the disenchantment of Uulciiiea take effect?" " As 
 to the business of the cave," it was answered, " there is 
 much to be said : it has something of both : Sancho's whip- 
 ping will go on but slowly : the disenchantment of Dulci- 
 nea will be brought about in due time." " I desire to 
 know no more," replied Don Quixote; " for, so I may 
 but see Dulcinea disenchanted, I shall make account, that 
 all the good fortune I can desire comes upon me at a clap." 
 The last querist was Sancho, and his question was this : 
 " Head, shall I, peradventure, get another government ? 
 Shall I quit the penurious life of a squire? Shall I return 
 to see my wife and children ?" To whicli it was answer- 
 ed : " You shall govern in your own house ; and if you 
 return to it, you shall see your wife and your children, 
 and quitting service, you shall cease to be a squire." 
 " Very good, in faith," quoth Sancho Panza : " I could 
 have told myself as much, and the prophet Perogrullo 
 could have told me no more." " Beast," cried Don 
 Quixote, " what answer would you have ? Is it not enough, 
 that the answers this head returns, correspond to the 
 questions put to it ?" " Yes, it is enough," answered 
 Sancho : " but I wish it had explained itself, and told me 
 a little more." 
 
 Thus ended the questions and answers, but not the 
 amazement of the whole company, excepting Don Anto-
 
 528 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 nio's two friends, who knew the secret: which Cid Hamet 
 Benengeli would immediately discover, not to keep the 
 world in suspense, believing there was some witchcraft, 
 or extraordinary mystery, concealed in that head : and 
 therefore he says, that Don Antonio Moreno procured it 
 to he made, in imitation of another head he had seen at 
 Madrid, made by a statuary for his own diversion, and to 
 surprise the ignorant ; and the machine was contrived m 
 this manner. The table v. as of wood, painted, and var- 
 nished over like jasper; and the foot it stood upon was of 
 the same, with four eagle-claws, to make it stand the fir- 
 mer, and bear the weijjht the better. The head resemb- 
 
 * O 
 
 ling that of a Roman emperor, and coloured like copper, 
 was hollow, and so was the table itself, in which the bust 
 was so exactly fixed, that no sign of a joint appeared. 
 The foot also was hollow, and answered to the neck and 
 breast of the head ; and all this corresponding with an- 
 other chamber just under that, where the head stood. 
 Through all this hollow of the foot, table, neck, and 
 breast of the figure aforesaid, went a pipe of tin, which 
 could not be seen. The answerer was placed in the cham- 
 ber underneath, with his mouth close to the pipe, so that 
 the voice descended and ascended in clear and articulate 
 sounds, as through a speaking-trumpet; and thus it was 
 impossible to discover the juggle. A nephew of Don Anto- 
 nio's, a student acute and discreet, was the respondent ; 
 who, being informed beforehand by his uucle, who were 
 to be with him that day in the chamber of the head, could 
 easily answer, readily and exactly, to the first question : 
 to the rest he answered by conjectures, and as a discreet 
 person, discreetly. Cid Hainet says farther, that this 
 wonderful machine lasted about eight or ten days : but it 
 being divulged up and down the city, that Don Antonio 
 kept in his house an enchanted head, which answered to 
 all questions, he, fearing lest it should come to the ear*
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 529 
 
 of the watchful sentinels of our faiih, acquainted the gen- 
 tlemen of the Inquisition with the secret; who ordered 
 him to break it in pieces, lest the ignorant vulgar should 
 be scandalized at it : but still, in the opinion of Don Quix- 
 ote and of Sancho Panza, the head continued to be en- 
 chanted, and an answerer of questions, more indeed to 
 the satisfaction of Don Quixote than of Sancho. 
 
 The gentlemen of the town, in complaisance to Don 
 Antonio, and for the better entertainment of Don Quixote, 
 as well as to give him an opportunity of discovering his fol- 
 lies, appointed a running at the ring six days after, which 
 was prevented by an accident that will be told hereafter. 
 Don Quixote had a mind to walk about the town, without 
 ceremony, and on foot, apprehending that if he went on 
 horseback he should be persecuted by the boys : and so 
 he, and Sancho, with two servants assigned him by Don 
 Antonio, walked out to make the tour. Now it fell out, 
 that as they passed through a certain street, Don Quixote 
 lifting up his eyes, saw written over a door in very large 
 letters ; " HERE BOOKS ARE PRINTED." At which he was 
 much pleased ; for till then he had never seen any print- 
 ing, and was desirous to know how it was performed. In 
 he went, with all his retinue, and saw drawing off the 
 sheets in one place, correcting in another, composing in 
 this, revising in that, in short, all the machinery to be 
 seen in great printing-houses. Don Quixote went to one 
 of the boxes, and asked, what they had in hand there. 
 The workman told him : he wondered, and went on. He 
 came to another box, and asked one what he was doing. 
 The workman answered : " Sir, that gentleman yonder," 
 pointing to a man of a good person and appearance, and 
 of some gravity, " has translated an Italian book into our 
 Castilian language, and I am composing it here for the 
 press." What title has the book ?" demanded Don Quix- 
 ote. To which the author answered : " Sir, the book in 
 VOL. II. 3 Y
 
 530 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Italian is called, Le Bagetelle." " And what answers to 
 Bagetelle in our Castilian ?" asked Don Quixote. " Le 
 Bagetelle," said the author, " is, as if we should say, 
 . Trifles. But though its title be mean, it contains many 
 very good and substantial things." Don Quixote added : 
 " I know a little of the Tuscan language, and value my- 
 self upon singing some stanzas of Ariosto. But, good 
 Sir, pray tell me (and I do not say this with design to ex- 
 amine your skill, but out of curiosity, and nothing else), 
 in the course of your writing, have you ever met with the 
 word Pignata?" "Yes, often," replied the author. 
 " And how do you translate it in Castilian ?" said Don 
 Quixote. " How should I translate it," replied the au- 
 thor, " but by the word Olla?"" Body of me," said 
 Don Quixote, " what a progress has your worship made 
 in the Tuscan language ! I would venture a good wager, 
 that where the Tuscan says Piace, you say, in Castilian, 
 Place; and where it says Pm, you say Mas ; and Su, you 
 translate Arriba, and Giti by Abaxo" " I do so, most 
 certainly," replied the author ; "for these are their pro- 
 per renderings." *' I dare swear," added Don Quixote, 
 " you are not known in the world, which is ever an enemy 
 to rewarding florid wits, and laudable pains. What abi- 
 lities are lost, what geniuses cooped up, and what virtues 
 undervalued ! But for all that, I cannot but be of opinion, 
 that translating out of one language into another, unless 
 it be from those queens of the languages, Greek and La- 
 tin, is like setting to view the wrong side of a piece of ta- 
 pestry, where, though the figures are seen, they are full 
 of ends and threads, which obscure them, and are not 
 seen with the smoothness and evenness of the right side. 
 And the translating out of easy languages shows neither 
 .genius nor elocution, any more than transcribing one pa- 
 per from another. But I would not hence infer that trans- 
 lating is not a laudable exercise ; for a man may be em-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 531 
 
 ployed in things of worse consequence, and less advan- 
 tage. Out of this account are excepted the two celebrated 
 translators, Doctor Christopher de Figueroa in his Pastor 
 Fido, and Don John de Xauregui in his Aminta ; in which, 
 with a curious felicity, they bring it in doubt, which is 
 the translation, and which the original. But, tell me, 
 Sir, is this book printed on your own account, or have 
 you sold the copy to some bookseller?" " I print it on 
 my own account," answered the author ; " and I expect 
 to get a thousand ducats by this first impression, of which 
 there will be two thousand copies, and they will go off 
 at six reals a set, in a trice." " Mighty well. Sir," an- 
 swered Don Quixote: "it is plain you know but lit- 
 tle of the turns and doubles of the booksellers, and the 
 combination there is among them. I promise you, when 
 you find the weight of two thousand volumes upon your 
 back, it will so depress you, that you will be frightened, 
 especially if the book be any thing dull, or not over- 
 sprightly." " What! Sir," cried the author, " would you 
 have me make over my right to the bookseller, who, per- 
 haps, will give me three maravedis for it, and even think 
 he does me a kindness in giving me so much ? I print no 
 more books to purchase fame in the world ; for I am al- 
 ready sufficiently known by my works. Profit I seek, 
 without which fame is not worth a farthing." " God 
 send you good success," answered Don Quixote ; and go- 
 ing on to another box, he saw they were correcting a 
 sheet of another book, entitled, " The Light of the Soul.'* 
 And seeing it, he said: " These kind of books, though 
 there are a great many of them abroad, are those that 
 ought to be printed : for there are abundance of sinners 
 up and down, and so many benighted persons stand in 
 need of an infinite number of lights." He went forward, 
 and saw they were correcting another book ; and asking 
 it title, he was answered, that it was called the Second 
 
 3 Y 2
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Part of the ingenious gentleman Don Quixote de la 
 Mancha, written by such a one, an inhabitant of Torde- 
 sillas. " I know something of that book," said Don Quix- 
 ote; " and, in truth, and on my conscience, I thought it 
 had been. burnt before now, and reduced to ashes, for its 
 impertinence : but its Martinmass will come, as it does to 
 every hog : 9 for all fabulous histories are so far good and 
 entertaining as they come near the truth, or the resem- 
 blance of it ; and true histories themselves are so much the 
 better, by how much the truer." And, so saying, he 
 went out of the printing-house with some show of disgust : 
 and that same day Don Antonio purposed to carry him to 
 see the gallies, which lay in the road : at which Sancho 
 rejoiced much, having never in his life seen any. Do* 
 Antonio gave notice to the commodore of the four gallies, 
 that he would bring his guest, the renowned Don Quixote 
 de la Mancha, that afternoon to see them, of whom the 
 commodore and all the inhabitants of the city had some 
 knowledge ; and what befel him there shall be told in the 
 following chapter. 
 
 CHAP. LXIII. 
 
 Of the unlucky Occident which befel Sancho Panza in vi- 
 siting the Gallies, and the strange Adventure of the 
 beautiful Morisca. 
 
 MANY were the reflections Don Quixote made upon the 
 answer of the enchanted head, none of them hitting upoa 
 the trick of it, and all centering in the promise, which he 
 looked upon as certain, of the disenchantment of Dulci-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 533 
 
 nea. He rejoiced within himself, believing he should soon 
 see the accomplishment of it; and Sancho, though he 
 abhorred being a governor, as has been said, had still a 
 desire to command again, and be obeyed : such is the 
 misfortune power brings along with it, though but in jest. 
 In short, that evening Don Antonio Moreno and his two 
 friends, with Don Quixote and Sancho, went to the gal- 
 lies. The commodore of the four gallies, who had notice 
 of the coming of the two famous personages, Don Quix- 
 ote and Sancho, no sooner perceived them approach the 
 shore, but he ordered ail the gallies to strike their awn- 
 ings, and the waits to play : and immediately he sent out 
 the pinnace, covered with rich carpets, and furnished 
 with cushions of crimson velvet ; and just as Don Quix- 
 ote set his foot into it, the cap tain -galley discharged her 
 forecastle piece, and the other gallies did the like ; and 
 at his mounting the ladder on the starboard side, all the 
 crew of slaves saluted him, as the custom is when a per- 
 son of rank comes on board, with three " Hu, hu, hu's." 
 The general, for so we shall call him, who was a gentle- 
 man of quality of Valencia, gave Don Quixote his hand, 
 and embraced him, saying : " This day will I mark with 
 a white stone, as one of the best I ever wish to see, while 
 I live, having seen Signor Don Quixote de la Mancha, in 
 whom is composed and abridged the whole worth of 
 knight-errantry." Don Quixote answered him in expres- 
 sions no less courteous, being overjoyed to find himself 
 treated so like a lord. All the company went to the poop, 
 which was finely adorned, and seated themselves upon 
 the lockers. The boatswain passed along the middle 
 gangway, and gave the signal with his whistle for the slaves 
 to strip ; which was done in an instant. Sancho, seeing 
 so many men in buff, was frightened ; and more so, when 
 he saw them spread an awning so swiftly over the galley, 
 that he thought all the devils in hell were there at work.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 But all this was tarts and cheesecakes to what I am going 
 to relate. 
 
 Sancho was seated near the stern, on the right hand, 
 close to the hindmost rower, who, being instructed what 
 he was to do, laid hold on Sancho, and lifted him up in 
 his arms. Then the whole crew of slaves standing up, 
 and beginning from the right side, passed him from bank 
 to bank, and from hand to hand, so swiftly, that poor 
 Sancho lost the very sight of his eyes, and verily thought 
 the devils themselves were carrying him away ; and they 
 had not done with him, till they brought him round by 
 the left side, and replaced him at the stern. The poor 
 wretch remained bruised, out of breath, and in a cold 
 sweat, without being able to imagine what had befallen 
 him. Don Quixote, who beheld Sancho's flight withou 
 wings, asked the general if that was a ceremony com- 
 monly used at people's first coming aboard the gallies : 
 for, if so, he, who had no intention of making profession 
 in them, had no inclination to perform the like exercise, 
 and vowed to God, that if any one presumed to lay hold 
 of him to toss him, he would kick their souls out. And, 
 saying this, he stood up, and laid his hand on his sword. 
 At that instant they struck the awning, and with a great 
 noise, let fall the main-yard from the top of the mast to 
 the bottom. Sancho thought the sky was falling off its 
 hinges, and tumbling upon his head, and shrinking it 
 down, he clapped it for fear between his legs. Don Quix- 
 ote knew not what to think of it, and he too quaked, 
 shrugged his shoulders, and changed countenance. The 
 slaves hoisted the main-yard with the same swiftness and 
 noise they had struck it ; and all this without speaking 
 a word, as if they had neither voice nor breath. The 
 boatswain made a signal for weighing anchor, and jump- 
 ing into the middle of the forecastle, with his bull's pizzle, 
 he began to flyflap the shoulders of the slaves at the oar*
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 535 
 
 and by little and little to put off to sea. Sancho, seeing 
 BO many red feet (for such he took the oars to be) 
 move all together, said to himself: "Aye, these are en- 
 chanted things indeed, and not those my master talks of. 
 What have these unhappy wretches done to be whipped 
 at this rate ? And how has this one man, who goes whist- 
 ling up and down, the boldness to whip so many ? I main- 
 tain it this is hell, or purgatory at least." Don Quixote 
 seeing with what attention Sancho observed all that passed, 
 said : " Ah, friend Sancho, how quickly and how cheaply 
 might you, if you would strip to the waist, and, placing 
 yourself among these gentlemen, put an end to the en- 
 chantment of Dulcinea ! for, having so many companions 
 in pain, you would feel but little of your own : besides, 
 perhaps, the sage Merlin would take every lash of theirs, 
 coming from so good a hand, up> ccount for ten of 
 those you must, one day or other, mrself." 
 
 The general would have asked vv^at lashes he spoke of, 
 and what he meant by the disenchantment of Dulcinea; 
 when a mariner said : " The fort of Montjuy makes a 
 signal, that there is a vessel with oars on the coast, on 
 the western side." The general hearing this, leaped upon 
 the middle gangway, and said : " Pull away, my lads, let 
 her not escape us : it must be some brigantine belonging 
 to the corsairs of Algiers that the fort makes the signal 
 for." Then the other three gallies came up with the 
 captain to receive his orders. The general commanded 
 that two of them should put out to sea as fast as they could, 
 and he with the other would go along shore, and so the 
 vessel could not escape. The crew plied the oars, im- 
 pelling the gallies with such violence that they seemed to 
 fly. Those that stood out to sea, about two miles off 
 discovered a sail, which they judged to carry about four- 
 teen or fifteen banks of oars : and so it proved to be. 
 The vessel discovering the gallies, put herself in chase,
 
 5H DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 with design and in hope to get away by her swiftness. 
 But, unfortunately for her, the captain-galley happened 
 to be one of the swiftest vessels upon the sea, and there- 
 fore gained upon the brigantine so fast, that the corsairs 
 saw they could not escape ; and so the master of her 
 ordered his men to drop their oars, and yield themselves 
 prisoners, that they might not exasperate the captain of 
 our gallies. But fortune, that would have it otherwise, 
 so ordered, that just as the captain-galley came so near 
 that the corsairs could hear a voice from her, calling to 
 them to surrender, two Toraquis, that is to say two Turks, 
 that were drunk, who came in the brigantine with twelve 
 others, discharged two muskets, with which they killed 
 two of our soldiers upon the prow. Which the general 
 seeing, he swore not to leave a man alive he should take 
 in the vessel, ancf Awning up with all fury to board her, 
 she slipped away <yftder the oars of the galley. The galley 
 ran ahead a good way : they in the vessel, perceiving they 
 were got clear, made all the way they could while the 
 galley was coming about, and again put themselves in 
 chase with oars and sails. But their diligence did them 
 not so much good as their presumption did them harm ; 
 for the captain-galley, overtaking them in little more than 
 half a mile, clapped her oars on the vessel, and took them 
 all alive. 
 
 By this time the two other gallies were come up, and 
 all four returned with their prize to the strand, where a 
 vast concourse of people stood expecting them, desirous 
 to see what they had taken. The general cast anchor 
 near the land, and knowing that the viceroy was upon 
 the shore, he ordered out the4x>at to bring him on board, 
 and commanded the main-yard to be let down, immediately 
 to hang thereon the master of the vessel, and the rest of 
 the Turks he had taken in her, being about six and thirty 
 persons, all brisk fellows, and most of them Turkish
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 537 
 
 ttiusqueteers. The general inquired which was the master 
 of the brigantine; and one of the captives, who after- 
 wards appeared to be a Spanish renegado, answered him 
 in Castilian : " This youth, Sir, you see here, is our 
 master ;" pointing to one of the most beautiful and most 
 graceful young men that human imagination could paint. 
 His age, in appearance, did not reach twenty years. The 
 general said to him : " Tell me, ill-advised dog, what 
 moved you to kill my soldiers, when you saw it was im- 
 possible to escape ? Is this the respect paid to captain- 
 gallies ? Know you not, that temerity is not valour, and 
 that doubtful hopes should make men daring, but not 
 rash?" The youth would have replied ; but the general 
 could not hear him then, because he was going to receive 
 the viceroy, who was just then entering the galley; with 
 whom there came several of his servants, and some people 
 of the town. " You have had a fine chase of it, Signor- 
 general," said the viceroy. " So fine," answered the 
 general, " that your excellency shall presently see the cause 
 of it hanged up at the yard-arm." " How so ? " said the 
 viceroy. " Because," replied the general, " against all 
 law, against all reason, and the custom of war, they have 
 killed me two of the be^t soldiers belonging to the gallies, 
 and I have sworn to hang every man I took prisoner, 
 especially this youiij here, who is master of the brigan- 
 tine ; pointing to one who had his hands already tied, and 
 a rope about his neck, and stood expecting death. The 
 viceroy looked at him, and, seeing him so beautiful, so 
 genteel, and so humble (his beauty giving him, in that 
 instant, a kind of letter of recommendation), he had a 
 mind to save him, and therefore he asked him : " Tell 
 me, Sir,, are you a Turk, a Moor, or a renegado ?" To 
 which the youth answered in the Castilian tongue: "I 
 am neither a Turk, nor a Moor,. nor a renegado." 
 " What are you then?" replied the viceroy. " A 
 VOL. u. 3 z
 
 53S BON QUIXOTK. 
 
 Christian woman/' answered the youth. " A Christian 
 woman in such a garb, and in sucli circumstances," said 
 the viceroy, " is a thing rather to be wondered at than 
 believed." "Gentlemen," said the youth, "suspend 
 the execution of my death : it vriH be no great loss to 
 defer your revenge, while I recount the story of my life." 
 What heart could be so hard as not to relent at these 
 expressions, at least so far as to hear what the sad ami 
 afflicted youth had to say ? The general bid him say 
 what he pleased, but not to expect pardon for his notorious 
 offence. With this license the youth began his story in 
 the following manner : 
 
 " I was born of Moorish parents, of that nation more 
 unhappy than wise, so lately overwhelmed under a sea 
 of misfortunes. In the current of their calamity, I was 
 carried away by two of my uncles into Baibary, it avail- 
 ing me nothing to say I was a Christian, as indeed I am, 
 and not of the feigned or pretended, but of the true and 
 catholic ones. The discovery of this truth had no in- 
 fluence on those who were charged with our nnhappy 
 ^banishment ; nor would my uncles believe it, but rather 
 took it for a lie, and an invention of mine, in order to 
 .remain in the country where I was born ; and so, by force 
 rather than by my good- will, they carried me witb them. 
 My mother was a Christian, and my father a discreet man, 
 and a Christian too. I sucked in the Catholic faith with 
 my mttk. I was virtuously brought up, and, neither in 
 my language nor behaviour, did J, as I thought, give any 
 indication of being a Morisca. My beauty, if I have 
 any, grew up, and kept equal pace with these virtues ; 
 for such I believe them to* be : and, though my modesty 
 and reserve were great, I could not avoid being seen by a, 
 young gentleman, called Don Caspar Gregorio, eldest son 
 of a person of distinction, whose estate joins to our town. 
 JTcw lie saw me, how we conversed together, how he was
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 539 
 
 undone for me, and how I was little less for him, would be 
 tedious to relate, especially at a time when I am under 
 apprehensions that the cruel cord which threatens me 
 may interpose between my tongue and my throat ; and 
 therefore I will only say, that Don Gregorio resolved to 
 bear me company in our banishment. And so, mingling 
 with the Moors, who came from other towns (for he spoke 
 the language well), in the journey he contracted an inti- 
 macy with my two uncles, who had the charge of me; for 
 my father being a prudent aud provident person, as soon. 
 as he saw the first edict for our banishment, left the town, 
 and went to seek some place of refuge for us in foreign 
 kingdoms. He left a great number of pearls, and precious 
 stones of great value, hid and buried in a certain place* 
 known to me only, with some money in crusadoes and 
 pistoles of gold, commanding me in nowise to touch the 
 treasure he left, if peradveuture we should be banished 
 before he returned. I obeyed, and passed over into 
 JSarbary with my uncles and other relations and acquaint- 
 ance, as I have already said ; and the place we settled in 
 was Algiers, or rather hell itself. The King heard of my 
 beauty, and fame told him of my riches, which partly 
 proved my good fortune. He sent for me, and asked 
 jne of what part of Spain I was, and what money and 
 jewels I had brought with me. I told him tha town, and 
 that the jewels and money were buried in it; but that 
 they might easily be brought off, if I myself went to fetch 
 them. All this I told him, in hopes that his own covetous- 
 riess, more than my beauty, would blind him. 
 
 ''While he was thus discoursing with me, information 
 was given him, that one of the genteelest and handsomest 
 youths imaginable came in my company. I presently 
 understood, that they meant Don Caspar Gregorio, whose 
 beauty is beyond all possibility of exaggeration. I was 
 disturbed when I considered the danger Don
 
 540 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 Gregorio was in : for, among those barbarous Turks, a 
 beautiful boy or youth is more valued and esteemed, than 
 ft woman, ( be she never so beautiful. The king com- 
 manded him to be immediately brought before him, that 
 he might see him, and asked me, if it was true, what he 
 was told of that youth. I, as if inspired by heaven, 
 answered, Yes, it was; but that I must inform him, he 
 was not a man, but a woman, as I was : and I requested 
 that he would let me go and dress her in her proper garb, 
 that she might shine in full beauty, and appear in his 
 presence with the less concern. He said, I might go in 
 a good hour, and that next day he would talk with me 
 of the manner how I might conveniently return to Spain, 
 to get the hidden treasure. I consulted with Don Gaspar ; 
 I told him the danger he ran io appearing as a man : and 
 I dressed him like a Morisca, and that very afternoon in- 
 troduced him as a woman to the king, who was in ad- 
 miration at the sight of her, and proposed to reserve her 
 for a present to the Grand Signior ; and, to prevent the 
 jisk she might run in the seraglio among his own wives, 
 and distrusting himself, he ordered her to be lodged in the 
 house of a Moorish lady of quality, there to be kept and 
 waited upon : whither she was instantly conveyed. What 
 we both felt (for I cannot deny that I love him) I leave 
 to the consideration of those who mutually love each other, 
 and are forced to part. The king presently gave order 
 for my returning to Spain, in this brigantine, accompanied 
 by two Turks, being those who killed your soldiers. 
 There came with me also this Spanish renegado (pointing 
 to him who spoke first), whom I certainly know to be a 
 Christian in his heart, and that he comes with a greater 
 desire to stay in Spain, than to return to Barbary. The 
 rest of the ship's crew are Moors and Turks, who serve 
 for nothing but to row at the oar. The two druken and 
 insolent Turks disobeying the orders given them to set
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 5U 
 
 ire and the renegado on shore in the first place of Spain 
 we should touch upon, in the habit of christians, with which 
 we came provided, would needs first scour the coast, and 
 make some prize, if they could ; fearing, if they should 
 land us first, we might be induced by some accident or 
 other to discover, that such a vessel was at sea, and, if 
 perchance there were any gallies abroad upon this coast, 
 she might be taken. Last night we made this shore, and 
 not knowing any thing of these four galiies, were dis- 
 covered ourselves, and what you have seen has befallen 
 us. In short, Don Gregorio remains among the women, 
 in woman's attire, and in manifest danger of being un- 
 done ; and I find myself, with my hands tied, expecting, 
 or rather fearing, to lose that life, of which I am already 
 weary. This, Sir, is the conclusion of my lamentable 
 story, as true as unfortunate. What I beg of you, is, 
 that you will suffer me to die like a Christian, since, as 
 I have told you, I am nowise chargeable with the blame, 
 into which those of my nation have fallen." Here she 
 held her peace, her eyes pregnant with tender tears, which 
 were accompanied by many of those of the standers-by. 
 
 The viceroy being of a kind and compassionate dis- 
 position, without speaking a word, went to her, and with 
 his own hands unbound the cord that tied the beautiful 
 ones of the fair Morisca. While the Moriscan Christian 
 was relating her strange story, an old pilgrim, who came 
 aboard the galley with the viceroy, fastened his eyes on 
 her, and, scarcely had she made an end, when, throwing 1 
 himself at her feet, and embracing them, with words in- 
 terrupted by a thousand sobs and sighs, he said: " O 
 Anna Felix ! my unhappy daughter ! I am thy father 
 Ricote, who am returned to seek thee, not being able to 
 jive without thee, who art my very soul." At which 
 words, Sancho opened his eyes, and lifted up his head, 
 which he was holding dovrn, ruminating upon his late
 
 542 DON QUIXOTK. 
 
 disgrace ; and looking at the pilgrim, he knew him to 
 be the very Ricote he met with upon the day he left 
 his government, and was persuaded this must be his 
 daughter: who, being now unbound, embraced her father, 
 mingling her tears with his. Ricote said to the general 
 and the viceroy : " This, Sirs, is my daughter, happy 
 in her name alone: Anna Felix she is called, \\ % ith the 
 surname of Ricote, as famous for her own beauty, as for 
 her father's riches.' I left my native country,' to seek, 
 in foreign kingdoms, some shelter and safe retreat : and, 
 having found one in Germany, I returned in this pilgrim's 
 weed, in the company of some Germans, in quest of my 
 daughter, and to take up a great deal of wealth I had left 
 buried. My daughter I found not; but the treasure I 
 did, and have it in my possession : and now, by the strange 
 turn of fortune you have seen, I have found the treasure 
 which roost enriches me, my beloved daughter. If our 
 innocence, and her tears and mine, through the upright- 
 ness of your justice, can open the gates of mercy, let 
 us partake of it, who never had a thought of offending 
 you, nor in any ways conspired with the designs of our 
 people, who have been justly banished." Sancho then 
 said : " I know Ricote very well, and am sure what he 
 $ays of Anna Felix's being his daughter is true: but as 
 for the other idle stones of his going and coming, and of 
 his having a good or bad intention, I meddle not with 
 them." 
 
 All that were present wondered at the strangeness of 
 the case ; and the general said : " Each tear of yours 
 hinders me from fulfilling my oath: live, fair Anna Felix, 
 all the years heaven has allotted you, and let the daring 
 and the insolent undergo the punishment their crime 
 deserves." Immediately he ordered that the two Turks 
 who had killed his soldiers should be hanged at the yard* 
 arm. But the viceroy earnestly entreated him not to
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 hang them, their fault being rather the effect of madness 
 than of valour. The general yielded to the viceroy's 
 request ; for it is riot easy to execute revenge in cold blood 4 
 Then they consulted how to deliver Don Caspar Gregorio 
 from the danger he was left in. llicote offered above two 
 thousand ducats, which he had in pearls and jewels, to- 
 wards it. Several expedients were proposed, but none 
 so likely to succeed as that of the Spanish renegado afore- 
 mentioned, who offered to return to Algiers in a small 
 bark of about eight banks, armed with Christian rowers; 
 for he knew where, how, and when he might land ; nor 
 was he ignorant of the house in which Don Caspar was 
 kept. The general and the viceroy were in doubt 
 whether they should rely on the renegado, or trust him 
 with the Christians, who were to row at the oar. Anna 
 Felix answered for him, and her father Ricote said, he 
 would be answerable for the ransom of those Christians, 
 if they should be betrayed. Matters being thus settled, 
 the viceroy went ashore, and Don Antonio Moreno took 
 the Morisca and her father along with him, the viceroy 
 charging him to regale and welcome them as much as 
 possible, offering, ou his own part, whatever his house 
 afforded for their better entertainment ; so great was the 
 kindness and charity that the beauty of Anna Felix in- 
 fused into his breast.
 
 544 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 CHAP. LXIV. 
 
 Treating of the Adventure, vhich gave Don 2ui.ro(c tnord 
 Sorrow than any which had hitherto befallen him. 
 
 THE history relates, that the wife of Don Antonio Moreno 
 took a great deal of pleasure in seeing Anna Felix in her 
 house. She gave her a kind welcome, enamoured as well 
 of her beauty as of her discretion ; for the Morisca ex- 
 celled in both : and all the people of the city flocked to 
 see her,, as if they had been brought together by ringing 
 the great bell. Don Quixote said to Don Antonio, that 
 the method they had resolved upon, for the redemption 
 of Don Gregorio was quite a wrong one, there being 
 more danger than probability of success in it ; and that 
 they would do better to land him, with his horse and 
 arms, in Barhary ; for he would fetch him off, in spite 
 of the whole Moorish race, as Don Gayferos had done 
 by his wife Melisendra. " Take notice, Sir," quoth 
 Sancho, hearing this, " that Signor Don Gayferos re- 
 scued his spouse on firm land, and carried her overland 
 into France : but here, if, peradventure, we rescue Don 
 Gregorio, we have no way "to bring him into Spain, since 
 the sea is between." " For all things there is a remedy, 
 excepting for death," replied Don Quixote; " for, Jet 
 but a vessel come to the sea- side, and we can embark in 
 it, though the whole world should endeavour to oppose 
 it." " Your worship," quoth Sancho, " contrives and 
 makes the matter very easy : but, between the saying 
 and the fact is a verV large tract : and I stick to the 
 renegadoj who seems po na a very honest and good-
 
 DON QUIXOTE; 545 
 
 hatured man." Don Antonio said, if the renegade should 
 miscarry in the business, it would be time enough to put 
 in practice the expedient of the great Don Quixote's 
 passing over into Barbary. Two days after, the rene.gado 
 set sail in a small bark of six oars on a side, manned with 
 a stout crew ; and, two days after that, the gallies de- 
 parted for the Levant, the general having engaged the 
 viceroy to give him advice of all that should happen in 
 respect to the deliverance of Don Gregorio, and the 
 fortune of Anna Felix. 
 
 One morning Don Quixote being sallied forth to take 
 the air on the strand, armed at all points (for, as he was 
 wont to say, his arms were his finery, and his recreation 
 fighting, and so he was seldom without them), he perceived 
 advancing toward him a knight, armed likewise at all 
 points. On his lueld was painted a resplendent moon : 
 and, when he was come near enough to be heard, he 
 raised his voice, and, directing it to Don Quixote, he 
 said : " Illustrious knight^ and never-enough-renowned 
 Don Quixote de la Mancha, I am the knight of the White 
 Moon, whose unheard of exploits, perhaps, may bring 
 him to your remembrance. I come to enter into combat 
 with you, and to try the strength of your arm, in order 
 to make you know and confess, that my mistress, be she 
 who she will, is, without comparison, more beautiful 
 than your Dulcinea ciel Toboso : which truth if you do 
 immediately and fairly confess, you will save your own 
 life, and me the trouble of taking it from \ou : and if 
 you fight, and are vanquished by me, all the satisfaction 
 I expect, is, that you lay aside arms, forbear going in 
 quest of adventures, and retire home to your house for 
 the space of one year, where you shall lire, without laying 
 hand to your sword, in profound peace, and profitable 
 repose; which will redound both to the improvement 
 of your estate, and the salvation of your soul : and if you 
 
 VOL. II. 4 A
 
 540 DON QUTXOTE. 
 
 sball vanquish me, my head shall lie at your mercy, the 
 spoils of my horse and arms shalt be yours, and the fame 
 of my exploits shall be transferred from me to you. Con- 
 sider which is best for you , and answer me presently : for 
 this business must be dispatched this very day." 
 
 Don Quixote was surprised and amazed, as well at the 
 arrogance of the Knight of the White Moon, as at the 
 reason of his being challenged by him : and so, with 
 gravity composed, and countenance severe, he answered r 
 " Knight of the White Moon, whose achievements have 
 not as yet reached my ears, I dare swear, you never sa\r 
 the illustrious Ddcinea ; for, had you seen- her, I am 
 confident you would have taken care not to engage in 
 this trial, since the sight of her must have undeceived, 
 and convinced you, that there never was, nor ever can 
 be, a beauty comparable to hers : and therefore, without 
 giving you the lie, and only saying you are mistaken, I 
 accept your challenge, with the aforementioned con- 
 ditions ; and that upon the spot, that the day allotted for 
 this business may not first elapse : and out of the con- 
 ditions I only except the transfer of your exploits, be- 
 cause I do not know what they are, nor that they are : T 
 am contented with my own, such as they are. Take, 
 then, what part of the field you please, and I will do the 
 like, and, to whom God shall give her, Saint Peter give 
 his blessing." 
 
 The Knight of the White Moon was discovered from 
 the city, and the viceroy was informed, that he was in 
 conference with Don Quixote de la Mancha. The viceroy,, 
 believing it was some new adventure, contrived by Don 
 Antonio Moreno, or by some other gentleman of the town, 
 immediately rode out to the strand, accompanied by Don 
 Antonio, and a great many other gentlemen ; and arrived 
 just as Don Quixote had wheeled Rozinante about, to 
 take the necessary ground for his career. The viceroy
 
 , DON QUIXOTE. 547 
 
 perceiving they were both ready to turn for the encounter, 
 interposed, asking, what induced them to so sudden a 
 fight. The Knight of the White Moon answered, it was 
 the precedency of beauty ; and told him, in a few words, 
 what he had said to Don Quixote, and that the conditions 
 of the combat were agreed to on both sides. The viceroy 
 asked Don Antonio, in his ear, whether he knew who the 
 Knight of the White Moon was, and whether it was some 
 jest designed to be put upon Don Quixote. Don Antonio 
 answered, that he neither knew who he was, nor whether 
 this challenge was in jest or earnest. This answer per- 
 plexed the viceroy, putting him in doubt whether he 
 should suffer them to proceed to the combat : but, inclin- 
 ing rather to believe it could be nothing but a jest, he 
 went aside, saying : "If there is no other remedy, 
 Knights, but to confess or die, and if Signer Don Quixote 
 persists in denying^ and your Worship of the White Moon 
 in affirming, at it, in God's name." He of the White 
 Moon thanked the viceroy in courtly and discreet terms 
 for the leave he gave them ; and Don Quixote did the 
 same: who, recommending himself to heaven with all 
 his heart, and to his Dulcinea (as was his custom at the 
 beginning of the combats that offered), wheeled about 
 again, to fetch a larger compass, because he saw his ad- 
 versary did the like; and without sound of trumpet or 
 other warlike instrument, to give the signal for the onset, 
 they both turned their horses about at the same instant: 
 and he of the White Moon, being the nimblest, met Don 
 Quixote at two thirds of the career, and there encountered 
 him with such impetuous force (not touching him with 
 his lance, which he seemed to raise on purpose), that he 
 gave Rozinante and Don Quixote a perilous fail to the 
 ground. Presently he was upon him, and clapping his 
 lance to his visor, he said : " Knight, you are vanquished, 
 a dead man, if you do not confess the conditions of 
 4 A 2
 
 5 IS DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 our challenge." Don Quixote bruised and stunned, with- 
 out lifting up his visor, as if he was speaking from within 
 a tomb, in a feeble and low voice, said: " Dulcinea del 
 Toboso is the most beautiful woman in the world, and I 
 the most unfortunate Knight on earth, and it is not fit that 
 my weakness should discredit this truth : Knight, push on 
 your lance, and take away my life, since you have spoiled 
 me of my honour." " By no means," said he of the 
 White Moon : " live, live the fame of the beauty of the 
 Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, in its full lustre : all the satis- 
 faction I demand, is, that the great Don Quixote retire 
 home to his own town for a year, or till such time as I 
 shall command, according to our agreement before we 
 began this battle." All this was heard by the viceroy, 
 Don Antonio, and many other persons there present ; who 
 also heard Don Quixote reply, that, since he required 
 nothing of him to the prejudice of Dulcinea, he would 
 perform all the rest like a punctual and true Knight. 
 
 This confession being made, he of the White Moon 
 turned about his horse, and making a bow with his head 
 to the viceroy, at a half gallop entered into the city. The 
 viceroy ordered Don Antonio to follow him, and by all 
 means to learn who he was. They raised Don Quixote 
 from the ground, and uncovering his face, found him 
 pale, and in a cold sweat. Rozinante, out of pure ill 
 plight could not stir for the present. Sancho, quite sor- 
 rowful, and cast down, knew not what to do, or say. He 
 fancied all that had happened to be a dream, and that all 
 this business was matter of enchantment : he saw his mas- 
 ter vanquished, and under An obligation not to bear arms 
 during a whole year : he imagined the light of the glory 
 of his achievements obscured, and the hopes of his late 
 promises dissipated as smoke by the wind : he was afraid 
 Kozinante's bones were quite broken, and his master's 
 disjointed, and wished it might prove no worse. Finally,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 495 
 
 Don Quixote was carried back to the city in a chair the 
 viceroy had commanded to be brought: and the viceroy 
 also returned thither, impatient to learn who the Knight 
 of the White Moon was, that had left Don Quixote in 
 such evil plight. 
 
 CHAP. LXV. 
 
 In 'which an Account is given who the Knight of the White 
 Moon was, with the Liberty of Don Gregorio, and other 
 Accidents. 
 
 JJoN Antonio Moreno followed the Knight of the White 
 Moon. A great number of boys also pursued and perse- 
 cuted him, till they had lodged him at an inn within tl.e 
 city. Don Antonio went in after him, being desirous to 
 know who he was. His squire came out to receive and 
 unarm him. He shut himself up in a lower room, and 
 with him Don Antonio, whose cake was dough till he 
 knew who he was. He of the White Moon, perceiving that 
 this gentleman would not leave him, said : " I very well 
 know, Sir, the^design of your coming, which is, to learn 
 who I am ; and, because there is no occasion for conceal- 
 ing it, while my servant is unarming me, I will inform 
 you, without deviating a tittle from the truth. Know, Sir, 
 that I am called the Bachelor Sampson Carrasco: I am of 
 the same town with Don Quixote de la Mancha, whose 
 madness and folly move all that know him to compas- 
 sion. Of those who had mo.-t pity for him, was I ; and, 
 believing his recovery to depend upon his being quiet, and 
 staying at home in his own house, I contrived how to
 
 550 DOX QUIXOTE. 
 
 make him continue there. And so, about three mouths 
 ago, I sallied forth to the highway like a knight-errant, 
 styling myself Knight of the Looking-glasses, designing 
 to fight with him, and vanquish him, without doing him 
 harm, the condition of our comhat being, that the van- 
 quished should remain at the discretion of the vanquisher : 
 and what I, concluding him already vanquished, intend- 
 ed to enjoin him, was that he should return to his village, 
 and not stir out of it in a whole year ; in which time he 
 mi^ht be cured. But fortune ordained it otherwise ; for 
 
 O ' 
 
 he vanquished me, and tumbled me from my horse, and 
 so my design did not take effect. He pursued his jour- 
 ney, and I returned home, vanquished, ashamed, and 
 bruised with the fall, which was a very dangerous one. 
 Nevertheless I lost not the desire of finding him, and van- 
 quishing him, as you have seen this day. And, as he is 
 so exact and punctual in observing the laws of knight-er- 
 rantry, he will doubtless .keep that 1 have laid upon hinr > 
 and will be as good as his word. This, Sir, is the busi- 
 ness; and I have nothing to add, but only to entreat you 
 not to discover me, nor to let Don Quixote know who I 
 am, that my good intentions may take effect, and his 
 understanding be restored to a man, who has a very good 
 one, if the follies of the follies of chivalry do but leave 
 him." " Oh ! Sir," replied Don Antonio, " God forgive 
 you the injury you have done the tvhole world, in endea- 
 vouring to restore to his senses the most diverting mad- 
 man in it. Do you not see, Sir, that the benefit of his 
 recovery will not counterbalance the pleasure his extrava- 
 gancies afford ? But, I fancy, that all Signor Bachelor's 
 industry will not be sufficient to recover a man so consum- 
 mately mad ; and were it not against the rule of charity, 
 I would sav, may Don Quixote never be recovered : for 
 by his cure, we not only lose his pleasantries, but those of 
 his squire Saucho Panza too ; any one of which is enough
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 551 
 
 to make Melancholy herself merry. Nevertheless I will 
 hold my peace, and tell him nothing, to try if I am right 
 in suspecting that all Signer Carrasco's diligence is likely 
 to be fruitless." Carrasco answered, " that all things 
 considered, the business was in a promising way, and he 
 hoped for good success." Don Antonio, having offered 
 his service in whatever else he pleased to command him, 
 took his leave. The same day, the Bachelor, having 
 caused his armour to be tied upon the back of a mule, 
 rode out of the city upon the same horse, on which he en- 
 tered the fight, and returned to his native place, nothing 
 befalling him by the way worthy to be recorded in this 
 faithful history. Don Antonio recounted to the viceroy all 
 that Carrasco had told him ; at which the viceroy was not 
 much pleased, considering that Don Quixote's confine- 
 ment would put an end to all that diversion which his fol- 
 lies administered to those that knew him. 
 
 Six days Don Quixote lay in bed, chagrined, melan- 
 lanohoty, thoughtful, and peevish, his imagination still 
 dwelling upon the unhappy business of his defeat. San- 
 eho strove to comfort him, and among other things, said : 
 " Dear Sir, hold up your head, and be cheerful if you 
 can, and give heaven thanks, that though you got a swing- 
 ing fall, you did not come off with a rib broken ; and since 
 you know, that they who will give must take, and that 
 there are not always bacon-flitches where there are pins, 
 cry, t A fig for the physician,' since you have no need of 
 his help in this distemper. Let us return home, and leave 
 this rambling in quest of adventures, through countries- 
 and places unknown: and if it be well considered, I an* 
 the greater loser, though your worship be the greater suf- 
 ferer. I, who with the government, quitted the desire of 
 ever governing more, did not quit the desire of being an 
 earl, which will never come to pass, if your worship re- 
 fuse* being a fcing, by quitting the exercise of chivalry ;
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 and so my hopes vanish into smoke." " Peace, Saitcho," 
 replied Don Quixote, " since you see my confinement 
 and retirement is not to last above a year, and then I will 
 resume ray honourable profession, and shall not want a 
 kingdom to win for myself, nor an earldom to bestow oi> 
 you." '* God hear it," quoth Sancho, " and let sin be 
 deaf; for I have always been told, that a good expecta- 
 tion is better than a bad possesbkn." 
 
 They were thus discoursing, when Do Antonio entered 
 with signs of great joy, saying: " My reward, Signer 
 Don Quixote, for the good news I bring : Don Gregorio, 
 and the renegado who went to bring him, are in the har- 
 bour: in the harbour, do I say ? By this time they must 
 be come to the viceroy's palace, and will be here pre- 
 sently :" Don Quixote was a little revived, and said : tf la 
 truth, I was going to say, I should be glad if it had fallen 
 out quite otherwise, that I might have been obliged to go 
 over to Barbary , where, by the force of my arm, I should 
 have given liberty, not only o Don Gregorio, but to all 
 the Christian captives that are in Barbary. But what do 
 I say, wretch that I am ? Am I not he who is vanquished ? 
 Am I not he who is overthrown ? Am I not he who has- 
 it not in his power to take arms in a twelvemonth ? 
 Why then do I promise ? Why do 1 vaunt, if I am fitter 
 to handle a distaff than a sword r" " No more, Sir," 
 quoth Sancho : " let the hen live, though she have the 
 pip. To-day for you, and to-morrow for me : and, as 
 for these maters of encounters and bangs, never trouble 
 your head about them ; for he that falls to-day, may rise 
 to-morrow, unless he has a mind to lie a-bed ; I mean, 
 by giving way to despondency, and not endeavouring to 
 recover fresh spirits for fresh encounters. And pray, Sir, 
 rise, and welcome Don Gregorio; for there seems to be 
 a great bustle in the house, and by this time he is come." 
 He said the truth ; for Don Greuorio and the rcnegada
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 553 
 
 having given the viceroy an account of the expedition, 
 Don Gregorio, impatient to see Anna Felix was come 
 with the renegado to Don Antonio's house; and though 
 Don Gregorio when he made his escape from Algiers 
 was in a woman's dress, he had exchanged it in the bark 
 for that of a captive, who escaped with him. But in what- 
 ever dress he had come, he would have had the appear- 
 ance of a person worthy to he loved, served ; and esteem- 
 ed; for he was ahove measure beautiful, and seemed to 
 be about seventeen or eighteen years of age. Ricote and 
 his daughter went out to meet him, the father with tears, 
 and the daughter with modesty; The young couple did 
 not embrace each other ; for where there is much lovej 
 there are usually but few freedoms. The joint beauties 
 of Don Gregorio and Anna Felix surprised all the behold- 
 ders. Silence spoke for the two lovers, and their eyes 
 were the tongues that proclaimed their joyful and modest 
 sentiments. The renegado acquainted the company with 
 the artifices and means he had employed to bring off Don 
 Gregorio. Don Gregorio recounted the dangers .and 
 straits he was reduced to among the women he remained 
 with, not in a tedious discourse, but in few words, by 
 which he shewed, that his discretion outstripped his years* 
 In short, Ricote generously paid and satisfied) as well the 
 renegado, as those that rowed at the oar. The renegado 
 was reconciled and restored to the bosom of the church, 
 and of a rotten member, became clean and sound through 
 penance and repentance. 
 
 Two days after the viceroy and Don Antonio consulted 
 together about the means how Anna Felix and her father 
 might remain in Spain^ thinking it no manner of inconve- 
 nience, that a daughter so much a Christian, and a father 
 to appearance so well inclined, should continue in the 
 kingdom. Don Antonio offered to solicit the affair himself 
 at court, being obliged to go thither about other business ; 
 
 VOL, ik 4 B
 
 SS*. DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 intimating, that by means of favonr and bribery, many 
 difficult matters are there brought about. " No," said 
 Ricote, who was present at this discourse, " there is no- 
 thing to be expected from favour or bribes : for which the 
 great Bernardino cle Veksco, Count of Salazar, to whom 
 his Majtsty has given the charge of our expulsion, na 
 entreaties, no promises, no bribes, no pity are of any 
 avail : for though it is true, he tempers justice with mercy, 
 yet, because he sees the whole body of our nation tainted 
 and putrefied, he rather makes use of burning caustics, 
 than mollifying ointments: so that by prudence, by saga- 
 city, by diligence, by terrors, he has supported on his 
 able shoulders the weight of this great m.ichine, and 
 brought it to due execution and perfection: our artifices r 
 stratagems^ diligence, and policies, not being able to 
 blind his Argus' eyes, continually open to see, that none 
 of us stay or lurk behind, that like a concealed root, may 
 hereafter spring up, and spread venomous fruit through 
 Spain, already cleared, already freed from the fears our 
 vast numbers kept the kingdom in. A most heroic reso- 
 lution of the great Philip the Third, and unheard-of wis- 
 dom in committing this charge to the said Don Bernar- 
 dino de Vetasco!" " However, when I am at court," 
 said Don Antonio, " I will use all the diligence and means 
 possible, and leave the success to Heaven. Don Gregorio 
 shall go with me, to comfort his parents under the afflic- 
 tion they mst be in for his absence : Anna Felix shall 
 stay at my house with my wife, or in a monastery ; and I 
 am sure the viceroy will be glad, that honest Ricote re- 
 main in his house, till he sees the success of my negotia- 
 tion." The viceroy consented to all that was proposed. 
 But Don Gregorio, knowing what passed, expressed great 
 vriwillingness to leave Anna Felix : but resolving to visit 
 his pareirts, and to concert the rtteans of returning for her, 
 he came at length into the proposal. Anna Felix remain-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 555 
 
 cd with Don Antonio's lady, and Ricote in the viceroy's 
 house. 
 
 The day of Don Antonio's departure came, and that of 
 Don Quixote's and Sancho' s two days after, his fall not 
 permitting him to travel sooner. At Don Gregorio's part- 
 ing from Anna Felix, all was tears, sighs, swoonings, and 
 sobbings. Ricote offered Don Gregorio a thousand crowns, 
 if he desired them ; but he would accept only of five, that 
 Don Antonio lent him, to be repaid when they met at 
 court. With this they both departed ; and Don Quixote 
 and Sancho afterwards, as has been said ; Don Quixote 
 unarmed, and in a travelling dress, and Sancho on foot, 
 feecause Dapple was loaded with the armour. 
 
 CHAP. LXVI. 
 
 Treating of Matters, which he who reads will see; and 
 he who hears them read, will hear. 
 
 AT going out of Barcelona, Don Quixote turned about 
 to see the spot, where he was overthrown, and said : 
 *' Here stood Troy ; here my misfortunes, not my cow- 
 ardice, despoiled me of my acquired glory : here I expe- 
 rienced the fickleness of fortune ; here the lustre of my 
 exploits was obscured ; and lastly, here fell my happiness, 
 never to rise again." Which Sancho hearing, he said : 
 " It is as much the part of valiant minds, dear Sir, to bo 
 patient under misfortunes, as to rejoice in prosperity: 
 and this I judge by myself: for as, when a governor, I 
 was merry, now that I am a squire on foot, I am not sad : 
 
 4B2
 
 556 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 for I have heard say, that she they commonly call For. 
 tune, is a drunken, capricious dame, and above all, very- 
 blind ; so that she does not see what she is about, nor 
 knows whom she casts down, or whom she exalts." 
 " You are much of a philosopher, Sancho, 1 ' answered Don 
 Quixote, " and talk very discreetly ; I know not whence 
 you had it. What I can tell you is, that there is no such 
 thing in the world as Fortune, nor do the things which 
 happen in it, be they good or bad, fall out by chance, 
 but by the particular appointment of heaven ; and hence 
 comes the saying, that every man is the maker of his own 
 fortune. I have been so of mine, but not with all the 
 prudence necessary ; and my presumption has succeeded 
 accordingly : for I ought to have considered that the 
 feebleness of Rpzinante was not a match for the ponderous 
 bulk of the Knight of the White Moon's steed. In short, 
 I, adventured it; I did my best ; I was overthrown ; and, 
 though I lost my honpur, I lost not, nor could I lose, the 
 virtue of performing my promise. When I was a knight- 
 errant, daring and valiant, by my works I gained credit 
 to my exploits ; and now that I am but a walking squire, 
 I will gain reputation to my words, by performing my 
 promise. March on then, friend Sancho, and let us pass 
 at home the year of our noviciate ; by which retreat we 
 shall acquire fresh vigour, to retarn to the never-by-me- 
 forgotten exercise of arms." " Sir," answered Sancho, 
 " trudging on foot is no such pleasant thing, as to en- 
 courage or incite me to tr.avel great days journeys : let 
 us leave this armour hanging upon some tree, instead of a 
 hanged man ; and when I am mounted upon Dapple, my 
 feet from the ground, we will travel as your worship shall 
 like and lead the way ; for to think that I am to foot it, 
 and make large stages, is to expect what cannot be." - 
 " You have said well, Sancho," answered Don
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 551 
 
 rt hang up my armour for a trophy ; and under them, or 
 round about them, \ve will carve on the tree that, which 
 was written on the trophy of Orlando's arms : 
 
 " These arms let none attempt to wear 
 " Unless they Roldan's rage can bear." 
 
 " All this seems to me extremely right," answered San- 
 cho, " and were it not for the want we should have of 
 Rozinante upon the road, it would not be amiss to leave 
 him hanging too," " Neither him, nor the armour," re- 
 plied Don Quixote, *' will I suffer to be hanged, that it 
 may not be said for good service, bad recompense." 
 " Your worship says well," answered Sancho; " for ac- 
 cording to the opinion of the wise, the ass's fault should 
 not be laid upon the pack-saddle, and since your worship 
 is in fault for this business, punish yourself, and let not 
 your fury spend itself upon the already shattered and 
 bloody armour, nor upon the gentleness of Rozinante, nor 
 upon the tenderness of my feet, making them travel more 
 than they can bear." 
 
 In these reasonings and discourses they passed all that 
 day, and even four more, without encountering any thing 
 to put them out of their way. And on the fifth, at enter- 
 ing into a village they saw at the door of an inn, a great 
 number of people, who, it being a holyday, were there 
 solacing themselves. When Don Quixote came up to 
 them, a peasant said aloud : " One of these two gentle- 
 men who are coining this way, and who know not the 
 parties, shall decide our wager." " That I will," an- 
 swered Don Quixote, " most impartially, when I am made 
 acquainted with it." " The business, good Sir," said the 
 peasant, " is, that an inhabitant of this town, who is so 
 corpulent, that he weighs about twenty-three stone," has 
 challenged a neighbour who weighs not above ten and a 
 half, to run with him an hundred yards, upon condition
 
 353 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 of carrying equal weight ; and the challenger, being'asked 
 how the weight should be made equal, said, that the chal- 
 lenged, who weighed but ten and a half, should carry 
 thirteen stone of iron about him, and so both the lean and 1 
 the fat would carry equal weight." " Not so," quoth 
 Sancho immediately, before Don Quixote could answer ; 
 *' and to me, who have so lately left being a governor 
 and a judge, as all the world knows, it belongs to resolve 
 these doubts, and give my opinion in every controversy." 
 " Answer in a good hour, friend Sancho," cried Don 
 Quixote ; " for I am not fit to feed a cat," my brain is so 
 disturbed and turned topsy-turvy.'* With this license, 
 Sancho said to the country-fellows, who crowded about 
 him, gaping, and expecting his decision : " Brothers, 
 the fat man's proposition is unreasonable, nor is there the 
 least shadow of justice in it ; for if it be true what is com- 
 monly said, that the challenged may choose his weapons, 
 it is not reasonable the other should choose for him such as 
 will hinder and obstruct his coming off conqueror: and 
 therefore my sentence is, that the fat fellow, the chal- 
 lenger, pare away, slice off, or cut out, thirteen stone of 
 bis flesh, somewhere or other, as he shall think best and 
 propcrest ; and so being reduced to ten and a half stone 
 weight, he will be equal to, and matched exactly with his 
 adversary : and so they may run upon even terms." " I 
 vow," cried one of the peasants, who listened to Sancho's 
 decision, " this gentleman has spoken like a saint, and 
 given sentence like a canon : but I warrant the fat fellow 
 will have no mind to part with an ounce of his flesh, much 
 less thirteen stone."" The, best way," answered another, 
 " will be, not to run at all, that the lean may not break 
 his back with the weight, nor the fat lose flesh ; and let 
 half the wager be spent in wine, and let us take these gen^ 
 tlemen to the tavern that has the best, and give me the 
 cloak when it rains." " I thank ye, gentlemen," an-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 55* 
 
 swered Don Quixote, " but cannot stay a moment: for 
 melancholy thoughts, and disastrous circumstances, oblige 
 ine to appear uncivil, and to travel faster than ordinary." 
 And so, clapping spurs to Rozinante, he went on, leaving 
 them in admiration, both at the strangeness of his figure, 
 and the discretion of his man (for such they took Sancho 
 to be) ; and another of the peasants said : " If the man be 
 so discreet, what must the master be ? I will lay a wager 
 if they go to study at Salamanca, in a trice they will come 
 to be judges at court ; for there is nothing easier ; it is but 
 studying hard, and having favour and good luck, and when 
 a man least thinks of it, he finds himself with a white wand 
 in his hand, or a mitre on his head." 
 
 That night master and man passed in the middle of the 
 fields, exposed to the smooth and clear sky ; and the next 
 day, going on their way, they saw coming towards them 
 a man on foot, with a wallet about his neck, and a javelin 
 or half-pike in his hand, the proper equipment of a foot- 
 post; who, when he was come pretty near to Don Qnix- 
 ote, mended his pace, and half running, went up to hirn, 
 and embracing his right thigh (for he could reach no 
 higher) with signs of great joy, he said: " Oh! Signor 
 Don Quixote de la Mancha, with what pleasure will my 
 Lord Duke's heart be touched, when he understands, that 
 your worship is returning to his castle, where he still 
 is with my Lady Duchess!" " I know you not, friend," 
 answered Don Quixote, " nor can I guess who you are, 
 unless you tell me."" I, Signer Don Quixote," an- 
 ftwered the foot-post, " am Tosilos the Duke's lackey, 
 who would not fight with your worship about the marriage 
 of Donna Rodriguez's daughter."" God be my aid!" 
 cried Don Quixote, " are you he, whom the enchant- 
 ters, my enemies, transformed into the lackey, to defraud 
 me of the glory of that combat ?" " Peace, good Sir," 
 replied the foot- post : " for there was not any enchant-
 
 560 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 ment, nor change of face : I was as much the lackey 
 silos, when I entered the lists, asTosilos the lackey, when 
 I came out. I thought to have married without fighting/ 
 because I liked the girl : but my design succeeded quite 
 otherwise ; for as soon as your worship was departed from: 
 our castle, my Lord Duke ordered a hundred bastinadoes* 
 to be given me for having contravened the directions he 
 gave me before the battle : and the business ended in the 
 girl's turning nun, and Donna Rodriguez's returning to 
 Castile : and I am now going to Barcelona, ta carry a 
 packet of letters from my Lord to the viceroy. If your 
 worship pleases to take a little draught, pure, though 
 warm, I have here a calabash full of the best, with a few 
 slices of Trochon cheese, which will serve as a provoca- 
 tive and awakener of thirst, if perchance it be asleep." 
 " I accept of the invitation," quoth Sancho ; " and throw 
 aside the rest of the compliment, and fill, honest Tosilos, 
 maugre and in spite of all the enchanters that are in the 
 Indies." " In short, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "your 
 are the greatest glutton in the world, and the greatest ig- 
 norant upon earth, if you cannot be persuaded that this 
 foot-post is enchanted, and this Tosilos a counterfeit. 
 Stay you with him, and sate yourself; for I will go on 
 fair and softly before, and wait your coming." The 
 lackey laughed, unsheathed his calabash, and unwal- 
 Jeted his cheese ; and taking out a little loaf, he and. San- 
 cho sat down upon the green grass, and in peace and 
 good fellowship, quickly dispatched, and got to the bot- 
 tom of the provisions in the wallet, with so good an ap- 
 petite that they licked the very packet of letters, because 
 it smelt of cheese. Tosilos said to Sancho : " Doubtless, 
 friend Sancho, this master of yours ought to be reckoned 
 a madman." "Why ought r"" replied Sancho; " he 
 owes nothing to any body ; for he pays for every thing, 
 especially where madness is current. I see it fullwH 1 ,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 561 
 
 ad full well I tell him of it : but what boots it, especially 
 now that there is an end of him ? For he is vanquished by 
 the Knight of the White Moon." Tosilos desired him to 
 tell him what had befallen him : but Sancho said it was 
 unmannerly to let his master wait for him, and that some 
 other time, if they met, he should have leisure to do it. 
 And rising up, after he had shaken his loose upper coat, 
 and the crumbs from his beard, he drove Dapple before 
 him, and bidding Tosilos adieu, he left him, and over- 
 took his master, who was staying for him under the shade 
 of a tree. 
 
 CHAP. LXVII. 
 
 Of the Resolution Don Quixote took to turn Shepherd, and 
 lead a rural Life, till the Year of his Promise should be 
 expired ; with other Accidents truly pleasant and good. 
 
 IF various cogitations perplexed Don Quixote before 
 his defeat, many more tormented him after his overthrow. 
 He staid, as has been said, under the shade of a tree, 
 where reflections, like flies about honey, assaulted and 
 stung him ; some dwelling upon the disenchantment of 
 Dulcinea, and others upon the life he was to lead in his 
 forced retirement. Sancho came up, and commended to 
 him the generosity of the lackey Tosilos. " Is it possible, 
 Sancho," said Don Quixote, " that you persist in think- 
 ing that he is a real lackey ? You seem to have quite for- 
 gotten, that you saw Dulcinea converted and transformed 
 into a country wencb, and the Knight of the Looking- 
 glasses into the Bachelor Sampson Carraseo : all the work 
 VOL, n. 4 c
 
 562 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 of enchanters who persecute me. But tell me, did you 
 inquire of this Tosilos, what God has done with Altisi- 
 dora ; whether she still bewails my absence, or has already 
 left in the hands of oblivion the amorous thoughts that 
 tormented her whilst I was present ?" " Mine," answer- 
 ed Sancho, " were not of a kind to afford me leisure to 
 inquire after fooleries : body of me, Sir, is- your wor- 
 ship now in a condition to be inquiring after other folk's 
 thoughts, especially amorous ones ?" " Look you, San- 
 cho," said Don Quixote, " there is a great deal of differ- 
 ence between what is done out of love, and what out of 
 gratitude : it is very possible, a gentleman may not be in 
 love; but it is impossible, strictly speaking, he should be 
 ungrateful Altisidora to all appearance loved me : she 
 gave me three nightcaps you know of: she wept at my 
 departure: she cursed me, vilified me, and in spite of 
 shame, complained publicly of me ; all signs that she 
 adored me ; for the anger of lovers usually ends in male- 
 dictions. I had neither hopes to give her, nor treasures 
 to offer her ; for mine are all engaged to Dulcinea, and 
 the treasures of knights-errant, like those of fairies, are 
 delusions, not realities, and I can only give her these 
 remembrances I have of her, without prejudice however 
 to those I have of Dulcinea, whom you wrong through 
 3'our remissness in whipping yourself, and in disciplining 
 that flesh of yours, (may I see it devoured by wolves!) 
 which had rather preserre itself for the worms, than for 
 the relief of that poor lady." " Sir," answered Sancho, 
 " if I must speak the truth, I cannot persuade myself y 
 that the lashing of my posteriors can have any thing to do 
 with disenchanting the enchanted ; for it is as if one should 
 say, * If your head aches, anoint your kneepans.' At 
 least I dare swear, that in all the histories your worship- 
 has read, treating of knight-errantry, you never met with 
 any body disenchanted by whipping. But be that as it
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 563 
 
 will, I will lay it on, when the humour takes me, and time 
 gives me conveniency of chastising myself." " God grant 
 it," answered Don Quixote, " and heaven give you 
 grace to see the duty and obligation you are under to aid 
 my lady, who is yours too, since you are mine." 
 
 With these discourses they went on their way, when 
 they arrived at the very place and spot, where they had 
 been trampled upon by the bulls. Don Quixote knew it 
 again, and said to Sancho. " This is the meadow, where 
 we lighted on the gay shepherdesses and gallant shepherds, 
 who intended to revive in it, and imitate, the pastoral 
 Arcadia : a thought, as new as ingenious ; in imitation of 
 which, if you approve it, I could wish, O Sancho, we 
 might turn shepherds, at least for the time I must live 
 retired. I will buy sheep, and all other materials necessary 
 for the pastoral employment; and I calling myself the 
 shepherd Quixotiz, and you the shepherd Panzino, we 
 will range the mountains, the woods and meadows, sing- 
 ing here, and complaining there, drinking the liquid 
 crystal of the fountains, of the limpid brooks, or of the 
 mighty rivers. The oaks with a plentiful hand shall give 
 their sweetest fruit; the trunks of the hardest cork-trees 
 shall afford us seats ; the willows shall furnish shade, and 
 the roses scent ; the spacious meadow shall yield us carpets 
 of a thousand colours ; the air, clear and pure, shall supply 
 breath ; the moon and stars afford light, in spite of the 
 darkness of the night: singing shall furnish pleasure, and 
 complaining yield delight; Apollo shall provide verses, 
 and love conceits; with which we shall make ourselves 
 famous and immortal, not only in the present, but in 
 future ages." " Before God," quoth Sancho, " this kind 
 of life squares and corners with me exactly. Besides, 
 no sooner will the Bachelor Sampson Carrasco, and master 
 Nicholas, the barber, have well seen it, but they will have 
 a mind to follow and turn shepherds with us, and God 
 
 4C2
 
 564 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 grant that the priest have not an inclination to make one 
 in the fold, he is of so gay a temper, and such a lover 
 of mirth." "You have said very well," replied Don 
 Quixote; " and the Bachelor Sampson Carrasco, if he 
 enters himself into the pastoral society, as doubtless he 
 will, may call himself the shepherd Sampsonino, or Car- 
 rascon. Nicholas the barber may be called Niculoso, as 
 old Boscan called himself Nemoroso. 94 As for the priest, 
 I know not what name to bestow upon him, unless it be 
 some derivative from his profession, calling him the shep- 
 herd Curiambro. As for the shepherdesses, whose lovers 
 we are to be, we may pick and choose their names, as we 
 do pears ; and since that of my Lady quadrates alike 
 with a shepherdess and a princess, I need not trouble my- 
 self about seeking another that may suit her better. You, 
 Sancho, may give yours what name you please." " I do 
 not intend," answered Sancho, " to give mine any other 
 than Teresona, which will fit her fat sides well, and is 
 near her own too, since her name is Teresa. Besides, 
 when I come to celebrate her in verse, I shall discover my 
 chaste desires : for I am not for looking in other folk's 
 houses for better bread than made of wheat. As for the 
 priest, it will not be proper be should have a shepherdess, 
 that he may set a good example ; and if the Bachelor 
 Sampson will have one, his soul is at his own disposal." 
 
 " God be my aid ! " cried Don Quixote, " what a life 
 shall we lead, friend Sancho! what a world of bagpipes 
 shall we hear ! what pipes of Zamora ! what tambourets ! 
 what tabors! and what rebecs ! And, if to all these dif- 
 ferent musics be added the aibogues, we shall have almost 
 all the pastoral instruments." " What are your albo- 
 gues?" demanded Sancho; "for I never heard them 
 named, nor ever saw one of them in all my life." " Al- 
 bogues," answered Don Quixote, " are certain plates of 
 brass like candlesticks, which, being hollow, and strucK
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 565 
 
 against each other, give a sound, if not very agreeable, 
 or harmonious, yet not offensive, and agreeing well enough 
 with the rusticity of the tabor and pipe. And this name 
 Albogues is Moorish, as are all those in Spanish, that begin, 
 with al : as Almohaza, Almorzar, Alhombra, Alguacil, 
 Aluzema, Almacen, Alcancia, and the like, with very few 
 more : and our language has only three Moorish words 
 ending in 2", namely Borcegui, Zaquizami, and Maravedi: 
 Alheliand Alfaqui, as well for beginning with al, as end- 
 ing in 2, are known to be Arabic. This I have told you, 
 by the by, the occasion of naming aibogues having brought 
 it into my mind. One main help, probably, we shall 
 have toward perfecting this profession, is, that T, as you 
 know, am somewhat of a poet, and the Bachelor Samp- 
 son Carrasco an extremely good one. Of the priest I 
 say nothing : but I will venture a wager, he has the points 
 and collar of a poet 94 , and that master Nicholas, the bar- 
 ber, has them too, I make no doubt : for most or all of 
 that faculty are players on the guitar and song-makers. 
 I will complain of absence: you shall extol yourself fora 
 constant lover : the shepherd Carrascon shall lament his 
 being disdained ; and the priest Curiambro may say, or 
 sing, whatever will do him most service : and so the busi- 
 ness will go on as well as heart can wish." 
 
 To which Sancho answered: " I am so unlucky, Sir, 
 that I am afraid I shall never see the day wherein I shall 
 be engaged in this employment. Oh ! what neat wooden 
 spoons shall I make, when I am a shepherd ! what crumbs ! 
 what cream ! what garlands ! what pastoral gimcracks ! 
 which, though they do not procure me the reputation of 
 being wise, will not fail to procure me that of being in- 
 genious. My daughter Sanchica shall bring us our dinner 
 to the sheep fold : but have a care of that; she is a very 
 sightly wench, and shepherds there are who are more of 
 the knave than the fool ; and I would not have my girl
 
 566 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 come for wool, and return back shorn : and your loves, 
 and wanton desires, are as frequent in fields as in the 
 cities, and to be found in shepherds' cottages as well as 
 in kings' palaces : and, take away the occasion, and you 
 take away the sin : and, what the eye views not, the 
 heart rues not : a leap from behind a bush has more force 
 than the prayer of a good man." " No more proverbs, 
 good Sancho," cried Don Quixote; "for any one of 
 those you have mentioned is sufficient to let us know your 
 meaning. I have often advised you not to be so prodigal 
 of your proverbs, and to keep a strict hand .over them : 
 but, it seems, it is preaching in the desert, and the more 
 my mother whips me the more I rend and tear." " Me- 
 thinks," answered Sancho, " your Worship makes good 
 the saying, the kettle called the pot black-face. You are 
 reproving me for speaking proverbs, and you string them 
 yourself by couples." " Look you, Sancho," answered 
 Don Quixote, " I use mine to the purpose, and, when I 
 speak them, they are as fit as a ring to the finger: but 
 you drag them in by head and shoulders. If I remember 
 right, I have already told you, that proverbs are short 
 sentences drawn from experience, and the speculations 
 of our ancient sages ; and the proverb that is not to the 
 purpose is rather an absurdity than a sentence. But 
 enough of this ; and, since night approaches, let us retire 
 a little way out of the high road, where we will pass this 
 night, and God knows what will be to-morrow." 
 
 They retired : they supped late and ill, much against 
 Sancho's inclination, who now began to reflect upon the 
 difficulties attending knight-errantry, among woods and 
 mountains ; though now and then plenty showed itself in 
 castles and houses, as at Don Diego de Miranda's, at the 
 wedding of the rich Cauiacho, and at Don Antonio More- 
 no's : but he considered it was not possible it should 
 always be day, nor always night; and so he spent the. 
 remainder of that sleeping, and his master waking.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. .50? 
 
 CHAP. LXVIII. 
 
 Of the bristled Adventure which befd Don Quixote. 
 
 IHE night was somewhat dark, though the moon was 
 in the heavens, but not in a part, where she could be 
 seen; for sometimes Signora Diana takes a trip to the 
 antipodes, and leaves the mountains black, and the vallies 
 in the dark. Don Quixote gave way to nature, taking his 
 first sleep, without giving place to a second ; quite the 
 reverse of Sancho, who never had a second, one sleep 
 lasting him from night to morning ; an evident sign of 
 his good constitution, and few cares. Those of Don 
 Quixote kept him so awake, that he awakened Sancho, 
 and said : " I am amazed, Sancho, at the insensibility of 
 your temper ; you seem to me to be made of marble, or 
 brass, not susceptible of any emotion or sentiment : I 
 wake, while you sleep ; I weep, when you are singing ; 
 I am fainting with hunger, when you are lazy and unwieldy 
 with pure cramming : it is the part of good servants to 
 share in their masters' pains, and to be touched with what 
 affects them, were it but for the sake of decency. Behold 
 the serenity of the night, and the solitude we are in, 
 inviting us, as it were to intermingle some watching with 
 our sleep. Get up, by your life, and go a little apart 
 from hence, and, with a willing mind and a good courage, 
 give yourself three or four hundred lashes, upon account, 
 for the disenchantment of Dulcinea : and this I ask as a 
 favour; for I will not come to wrestling with you again, 
 as I did before, because I know the weight of your arms. 
 After you have laid them on, we will pass the remainder
 
 563 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 of the night in singing, I my absence, and you your 
 stancy, beginning from this moment our pastoral employ- 
 ment, which we are to follow in our village." " Sir," 
 answered Sancho, "I am of no religious order, to rise 
 out of the midst of ray sleep, and discipline myself; 
 neither do I think, one can pass from the pain of whipping 
 to music. Suffer me to sleep, and urge not this whipping 
 myself, lest you force me to swear never to touch a hair 
 of my coat, much less of my flesh." " O hardened soul !" 
 cried Don Quixote; "O remorseless squire! O bread 
 ill employed, and favours ill considered, those I have 
 already bestowed upon you, and those I still intend to 
 bestow upon you ! To me you owe, that you have been 
 a governor; and to me you owe, that you are in a fair 
 way of being an earl, or of having some title equivalent ; 
 and the accomplishment of these things will be delayed 
 no longer than the expiration of tin's year ; for post tcncbras 
 spero lucem." " 1 know not what that means," replied 
 Sancho : " I only know, that, while I am asleep, I have 
 neither fear, nor hope, neither trouble, nor glory : and 
 blessings on him who invented sleep, the mantle that 
 covers all human thoughts ; the food that appeases hun- 
 ger; the drink that quenches thirst; the fire that warms 
 cold ; the cold that moderates heat ; and, lastly, the general 
 coin that purchases all things ; the balance and weight 
 that makes the shepherd equal to the king, and the simple 
 to the wise. One only evil, as I have heard, sleep has in 
 it, namely, that it resembles death ; for between a man 
 asleep and a man dead, there is but little difference."- 
 " I never heard you, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, 
 " talk so elegantly as now ; whence I come to know the 
 truth of the proverb, you often apply, Not with whom thou 
 art bre.dj but -jcitk whom thou art fed? " Dear master of 
 mine," added Sancho, "it is not I that am stringing of 
 proverbs now ; for they fall from your Worship's moutU
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 569 
 
 also, by couples, faster than from me : only between yours 
 and mine there is this difference, that your Worship's 
 corrie at the proper season, and mine out of season : but, 
 in short, they are all proverbs." 
 
 They were thus employed, when they heard a kind of 
 deaf noise, and harsh sound, spreading itself through all 
 those rallies. Don Quixote started up, and hid his hand 
 to his sword ; and Sancho squatted down under Dapple, 
 and clapped the bundle of armour on one side of him, 
 and the ass's pannel on the other, trembling no less with 
 fear, than Don Quixote with surprise. The noise increased 
 by degrees, and came nearer to the two tremblers, one 
 at least so, for the other's courage is already sufficiently 
 known. Now the business was, that certain fellows were 
 driving above six hundred hogs to sell at a fair, and were 
 upon the road with them at that hour; and so great was 
 the din they made with gruntling and blowing, that they 
 deafened the ears of Don Quixote and Sancho, who could 
 not presently guess the occasion of it. The far-spreading 
 and gruntling herd came crowding on, and, without an}* 
 respect to the authority of Don Quixote, or to that of 
 Sancho, trampled over them both, demolishing Sancho' s 
 intrenchment, and overthrowing, not only Don Quixote, 
 but Rozinante to boot. The crowding, the gruntling, the 
 hurrying on of those unclean animals put into confusion, 
 and overturned, the pack-saddle, the armour. Dapple, 
 Kozinante, Sancho, and Don Quixote. Sancho got up 
 as well as he could, and desired his master to lend him 
 his sword, saying, he would kill half a dozen of those un- 
 rnannerlv gentlemen swine, for such by this time he knew 
 them to be. Said Don Quixote to him : " Let them 
 alone, friend ; for this affront is a punishment for my sin : 
 and it is a just judgment of heaven, that wild dogs should 
 devour, wasps sting, and hogs trample upon, a vanquished 
 
 VOL. ir. 4 D
 
 570 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 knight-errant." " It is also, I suppose, a judgment of 
 heaven," answered Sancho, " that the squires of van- 
 quished knights-errant should be stung by flies, eaten up 
 by lice, and besieged by hunger. If we squires were the 
 sons of the knights we serve, or very near of kin to them, 
 it would be no wonder if the punishment of their fault* 
 should overtake us to the fourth generation : but what 
 have the Panzas to do with the Quixotes ? Well, let us 
 compose ourselves again, and sleep out the little remainder 
 of the night, and God will send us a new day, and we shall 
 have better luck." " Sleep you, Sancho," answered Don 
 Quixote ; " for you were born to sleep ; whilst I who was 
 born to watch, in the space between this and day, give the 
 reins to my thoughts, and cool their heat in a little madri- 
 gal, which, unknown to you, I composed to-night in my 
 inind." " Methinks," quoth Sancho, "the thoughts 
 which give way to the making of couplets, cannot be 
 many. Couplet it as much as your Worship pleases, and 
 I will sleep as much as I can." Then taking as much 
 ground as he wanted, he bundled himself up, and fell 
 into a sound sleep, neither suretiship, nor debts, nor any 
 troubles disturbing him. Don Quixote, leaning against a 
 beech or cork-tree (for Cid Hamet Benengeli does not 
 distinguish what tree it was), to the music of his own 
 sighs siing as follows : 
 
 
 
 O Love, whene'er I think of thee. 
 
 Whose torments rend my anxious breast, 
 
 I fain would seek that peaceful rest, 
 Which death alone can give to me. 
 
 But when I reach the destin'd spot, 
 
 The tranquil port from restless seas, 
 
 I haste me back, my mind's at ease, 
 <nd sooth'd the sorrows of my lot.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 571 
 
 Thus life is death yet (stranger thing 1) 
 
 Thus dying leads to life again. 
 
 Oh ! state unknown to other men, 
 Which life and death at once can bring ! 
 
 He accompanied each stanza with a multitude of sighs, 
 and not a few tears, like one whose heart was pierced 
 through by the grief of being vanquished, and by the 
 absence of Dulcinea. Now the day appeared, and the 
 sun began to dart his beams in Sancho's eyes. He awaked, 
 roused, and shook himself, and stretched his lazy limbs, 
 and beheld what havoc the hogs had made in his cupboard : 
 uiid cursed the drove, and somebody else besides. 
 
 Finally, they both set forward on their journey ; and, 
 toward the decline of the afternoon, the*y discovered about 
 half a score men on horseback, and four or five on foot, 
 advancing toward them. Don Quixote's heart leaped 
 with surprise, and Sancho's with fear: for the men that 
 were coming up, carried spears and targets, and advanced 
 in very warlike array. Don Quixote turned to Sancho, 
 and said : " Sancho, if I could but make use of my arms, 
 and my promise had not tied up my hands, this machine, 
 lhat is coming towards us, I would make no more of than 
 I would of so many tarts and cheesecakes. But it may 
 be something else than what we fear." By this time the 
 horsemen were come up : and lifting up their lances, 
 without speaking a word, they surrounded Don Quixote, 
 and clapped their spears to his back and breast, threaten- 
 ing to kill him. One of those on foot, putting his finger 
 to his mouth, to signify he should be silent, laid hold on. 
 Rozinante's bridle, and drew him out of the road : and 
 the others on foot, driving Sancho and Dapple before 
 them, all keeping a marvellous silence, following the steps 
 of him who led Don Quixote, who had a mind three or 
 four times to ask, whither they were carrying him, ov 
 
 4 D 2
 
 572 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 what they would have. Bat scarcely did he begin to. 
 move his lips, when they were, ready to close them with 
 the points of their spears. And the same befel Sancho ; 
 for no sooner did he show an inclination to talk, than one 
 of those en foot pricked him with a goad, and did as much 
 to Dapple, as if he had a mind to talk too. It grew night ; 
 they mended their pace; the fear of the two prisoners 
 increased, especially, when they heard the fellows evi-r 
 and anon say to them : "On, on, ye Troglodytes ; peace, 
 ye barbarous slaves ; pay, ye Anthropophagi ; complain 
 hot, ye Scythians; open not your eyes, ye murdering 
 Polyphemuses, ye butcherly lions; and other the like 
 names, with which they tormented the ears of the miserable 
 pair, master and man. Sancho went along, saying to 
 himself: "We ortolans? We barbers' slaves? We An- 
 drew popinjays? We citadels? We Polly fatnous's ? I 
 do not like these names at all : this is a bad wind for 
 winnowirig our corn ; the whole mischief comes upon us 
 together, like kicks to a cur ; and would to God this dis- 
 venturous adventure that threatens us, may end in no 
 worse !" Don Quixote marched along, quite confounded, 
 and not being able to conjecture, by all the conclusions 
 Tie could make, why they called them by those reproachful 
 names ; from which he could only gather, that no good 
 was to be expected, and much harm to be feared. In 
 this condition, about an hour after nightfall, they arrived 
 at a castle, which Don Quixote presently knew to be tlie 
 duke's, where he had so lately been. " God be my aid !" 
 said he, as soon as he knew the place, " what will this 
 end in ? In this house all is courtesy and civil usage: 
 but to the vanquished, good is converted into bad, and 
 bad into worse." They entered into the principal court 
 of the castle, and saw it decorated and set out in such a 
 manner, that their admiration increased, and their fear 
 doubled, as will be seen in the following chapter.
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 573 
 
 CHAP. LXIX. 
 
 Of the newest and strangest Adventure of all that befel Dan 
 Quixote in the whole course of this grand History. 
 
 THE horsemen alighted, and, together with those on foot, 
 taking Sancho and Don Quixote forcibly in their arms, 
 carried them into the court-yard, round which near an 
 hundred torches were placed in sockets, and above five 
 hundred lights about the galleries of the court ; insomuch 
 that, in spite of the night, which was somewhat darkish, 
 there seemed to be no want of the day. In the middle 
 of the court was erected a tomb, about two yards from the 
 ground, and over it a large canopy of black velvet ; round 
 which, upon its steps, were burning above an hundred 
 wax tapers in silver candlesticks. On the tomb was seen 
 the corpse of a damsel so beautiful, that her beauty made 
 death itself appear beautiful. Her head lay upon a cushion 
 of gold brocade, crowned with a garland interwoven with 
 odoriferous flowers of divers kinds : her hands lying cross- 
 wise upon her breast, and between them a branch of 
 never-fading victorious palm. On one side of the court 
 was placed a theatre, and in two chairs were seated two 
 personages, whose crowns on their heads, and sceptres in 
 their hands, denoted them to be kings, either real or 
 feigned. On the side of the theatre, to which the ascent 
 was by steps, stood two other chairs ; upon which they 
 who brought in the prisoners, seated Don Quixote and 
 Sancho, all. this in profound silence, and by signs giving 
 them to understand they must be silent too : but, without 
 bidding, they held their peace ; for the astonishment they 
 jvere in Pt what they beheld tied up their tongues. And
 
 314: DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 now two great persons ascended the theatre with a nu- 
 merous attendance, whom Don Quixote presently knew 
 to be the duke and duchess, whose guest lie had been. 
 They seated themselves in two very rich chairs, close by 
 those who seemed to be kings. Who would not have 
 admired at all this, especially considering that Don 
 Quixote had now perceived that the corpse upon the 
 tomb was that of the fair Altisidora ? At the duke and 
 dutchess's ascending the theatre, Don Quixote and Sancho 
 rose up, and made them a profound reverence, and their . 
 Grandeurs returned it by bowing their heads a little. At 
 this juncture, an officer crossed the place, and coming to 
 Sancho, threw over him a robe of black buckram, all 
 painted over with flames, and taking off his cap, put on 
 his head a pasteboard mitre three foot high, like those . 
 used by the penitents of the inquisition ; bidding him in 
 his ear not to unsew his lips; if he did, they would clap 
 a gag in his mouth, or kill him. Sancho viewed himself 
 from top to toe, and saiv himself all over in flames; but, 
 finding they did not burn him, he cared not two farthings. 
 He took off his mitre, and saw it all painted over with 
 .devils : he put it on again, saying within himself: " Wei! 
 enough yet, these do not burn me, nor those carry me 
 away." Don Quixote also surveyed him, and though 
 fear suspended bis senses, he could not but smile to be- 
 hold Sancho's figure. 
 
 And now, from under the tomb, proceeded a low and 
 pleasing sound of flutes; which not being interrupted by 
 any human voice, for silence herself kept silence there, 
 the music sounded both soft and amorous. Then on a 
 sudden, by the cushion of the seemingly dead body, ap- 
 peared a beautiful youth in a Roman habit, who, in a 
 sweet and clear voice, to the sound of a harp, \yhich he 
 played on himself, sung the two following stanzas :
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 575 
 
 Whilst the high pow'rs of magic lend their aid 
 
 To call thy spirit back to realms of day, 
 Thy spir't, Altisidora, luckless maid ! 
 
 Of unrequited love the early prey ; 
 Whilst dames, of this enchanted court the grace, 
 
 Sit richly rob'd in silken weeds of woe, 
 And she, the sov'reign Lady of the place, 
 
 fn humble vestment clad, stands far belovr, 
 Will I declare thy beauty and thy pain, 
 With wilder notes, and in a sweeter strain, 
 Than ever was attun'd by the sad Thracian swain, 
 
 Nor deem, fair maiden, that I should forbear. 
 
 E'en in the grasp of death, my votive songf 
 My cold and lifeless tongue will still declare 
 
 The charms, the graces, which to thee belong, 
 And when my soul, from its dull load releas'd, 
 
 Shall trace with flitting step the Stygian bound, 
 Thee will I sing, in words so pure, so chaste, 
 
 That Lethe's self, rous'd from her sleep profound, 
 Her drowsy head, with poppies crown'd, shall raise, 
 Stop her slow course, and listen to my lays, 
 Charm'd into living joy by more than mortal praise. 
 
 ** Enough," said one of the supposed kings, " enough, 
 divine enchanter; for there would be no end of describing 
 to us the death and graces of the peerless Altisidora, not 
 dead, as the ignorant world supposes, but alive in the 
 mouth of fame, and in the penance Sancho Panza here 
 present must pass through, to restore her to the lost light : 
 and therefore, O Rhadamanthus, who with me judgest 
 in the dark caverns of Pluto, since thou knowest all that 
 is decreed by the inscrutable destinies, about bringing 
 this damsel to herself, speak and declare it instantly, that 
 the happiness we expect from her revival may not be 
 delayed." Scarcely had Minos, judge, and companion 
 of Rhadamanthus, said this, when Rhadamanthus, rising
 
 DON QUIXOTfc. 
 
 p, said: "Ho, ye officers of this household, high and 
 low, great and small, run one after another, and seal 
 Sancho's face with four-and-twenty twitches, and his arms 
 and sides with twelve pinches, and six pricks of a pin ; 
 for in the performance of this ceremony consists the re- 
 storation of Altisidora." Which Sanclio Panza hearing, 
 he broke silence, and said: " I vow to God, I will no 
 more let my face be sealed, nor my flesh be handled, than 
 I will turn Turk : body of me ! what has handling my 
 countenance to do with the resurrection of this damsel ? 
 The old woman has had a taste, and now her mouth waters* 
 Dnlcinea is enchanted, and I must be whipped to dis- 
 enchant her; and now Altisidora dies, of some distemper 
 it pleases God to send her, and she must be brought 
 to life again, by giving me foar-and-tvventy twitches, 
 and making a sieve of my body by pinking it with 
 pins, and pinching my arms black and blue. Put 
 these jests upon a brother-in-law : I am an old dog, 
 and tus, tus, will not do with me." "Thou shalt 
 die, then," cried Rhadamnthus, in a loud voice: 
 " relent, thon tiger ; humble thyself, thou proud Nim- 
 Tod ; suffer and be silent, since no impossibilities are re- 
 quired of thee ; and set not thyself to examine the diffi- 
 culties of this business : twitched thou shalt be, pricked 
 thou shalt see thyself, and pinched shalt thou groan. Ho, 
 J say, officers, execute my command ; if not, upon the 
 faith of an honest man, you shall see what you were 
 born to." 
 
 Now there appeared, coining in procession along the 
 Court, six dnennas, four of them with spectacles, and ali 
 of them with their right hancls lifted up, and four fingers 
 breadth of their wrists naked, to make their hands set in 
 the longer, as is now the fashiop. Scarcely had Sane ho 
 laid his eyes on them, when bellowing like a bull, he said: 
 " I might, perhaps, let all the world beside handle we ;
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 577 
 
 but to consent that duennas touch me by no means: let 
 them cat-daw my face, as my master was served in this 
 very castle ; let them pierce my body through and through 
 with the points of the sharpest daggers ; let them tear off 
 my rlesh with red hot pincers; and I will endure it pati- 
 ently, to serve these noble persons: but to let duennas 
 touch me, I will never consent, though the devil should 
 carry me away." Don Quixote also broke silence, say- 
 ing to Sancho : " Be patient, son; oblige these noble 
 persons, and give many thanks to heaven, for having in- 
 fused such virtue into your person, that by its martyrdom, 
 you disenchant the enchanted, and raise the dead." By 
 this time the duennas were got about Sancho ; and he, 
 being mollified and persuaded, and seating himself well in 
 his chair, held out his face and beard to the first, who 
 gave him a twitch well sealed, and then made him a pro- 
 found reverence. " Less complaisance, less daubing, 
 Mistress Duenna," quoth Sancho; "for, before God, 
 your fingers smell of vinegar." In short, all the duennas 
 sealed him, and several others of the house pinched him : 
 but what he could not bear, was the pricking of the pins ; 
 and so up he started from his seat, quite out of all pa- 
 tience, and catching hold of a lighted torch that was near 
 him, he laid about him with it, putting the duennas, and 
 all his executioners to flight, and saying: " Avaunt, ye 
 infernal ministers ; for I am not made of brass, to be in- 
 sensible of such extraordinary torments." 
 
 Upon this Altisidora, who could not but be tired with 
 lying so long upon her back, turned herself on one side : 
 which the by-standers perceiving, almost all of them with 
 one voice, cried: " Altisidora is alive, Altisidora lives!" 
 Then Rhadamanthus bid Sancho lay aside his wrath, since 
 they had already attained the desired end. Don Quixote 
 no sooner saw Altisidora stir, than he went and kneeled 
 down before Sancho, and said : " Now is the time, dear 
 
 VOL. ii. 4 E
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 son of ray bowels, rather than my squire, to give yoarselF 
 some of those lashes you stand engaged for, in order to 4 
 the disenchantment of Dulcinea. This, I say, is the time, 
 now that your virtue is seasoned, and of efficacy to ope- 
 rate the good expected from you." To which Sancho 
 answered : " This seems to me to be reel upon reel, and' 
 not honey upon fritters: a good jest indeed, that twitches 
 pinches, and pin-prickings, must be followed by lashes : 
 but take a great stone once for all, and tie it about my 
 neck, and toss me into a well : it will not grieve me much, 
 if, for the cure of other folk's ailments, I must still be the 
 wedding-heifer : let them not meddle with me ; else, by 
 the living God, all shall out." 
 
 And now Altisidora had seated herself upright on the 
 tomb, and at the same instant the waits struck up, accom- 
 panied by flutes, and the voices of all, crying aloud : 
 " Live Altisidora, Altisidora live!" The duke and duch- 
 ess, and the kings, Minos and Rhadamanthus, rose up, 
 and all in a body with Don Quixote and Sancho, went to 
 receive Altisidora, and help her down from the tomb : 
 who, counterfeiting a person fainting, inclined her head 
 to the duke and duchess, and to the kings, and looking 
 askew at Don Quixote, said: " God forgive you, unre- 
 lenting knight, through whose cruelty I have been in the 
 other world, to my thinki-ng, above a thousand years : 
 and thee I thank, O most compassionate squire of all the 
 globe contains, for the life I enjoy. From this day, friend 
 Sancho, six of my smocks are at your service, to be made 
 into so many shirts for yourself; and, if they are not all 
 whole, at least they are all clean." Sancho, with his mi- 
 tre in his band, and his knee on the ground, kissed her 
 hand. The duke ordered it to be taken from him, and 
 his cap to be returned him, and his own garment instead' 
 of the flaming robe. Sancho begged the duke to let him 
 keep the mitre and frock, having a mind to carry them to-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 579 
 
 his won country, in token and memory of this unheard 
 of adventure. The duchess replied, he should have them, 
 for he knew how much she was his friend. Then the duke 
 ordered the court to be cleared, and every body to retire 
 to their own apartment, and that Don Quixote and 
 should be conducted to their old lodgings. 
 
 CHAP. LXX, 
 
 Which follows the Sixty-ninth, and treats of Matters in- 
 dispensably Necessary to the perspicuity of this History. 
 
 OANCHO slept that night on a truckle-bed, in the same 
 chamber with Don Quixote; a thing he would have ex- 
 cused if he could ; for he well knew his master would dis- 
 turb his sleep with questions and answers, and he was not 
 much disposed to talk ; the smart of his past sufferings be- 
 ing still present to him, and an obstruction to the free use 
 of his tongue ; and he would have liked better to have lain 
 in a hovel alone, than in that rich apartment in company. 
 His fear proved so well founded, and his suspicion so just, 
 that scarcely was his master got into bed, when he said: 
 "What think you, Sancho, of this night's adventure? 
 Great and mighty is the force of rejected love, as your 
 own eyes can testify, which saw Altisidora dead, by no 
 other darts, no other sword, nor any other warlike instru- 
 ment, nor by deadly poison, but merely by the conside- 
 ration of the rigour and disdain with which I always treat- 
 ed her." " She might have died in a good hour, as much 
 as she pleased, and how she pleased," answered Sancho: 
 4 E 2
 
 580 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 " and she might have left me in my own house, since I 
 neither made her in love, nor ever disdained her in my 
 life. I know not, nor can I imagine how it can be, that 
 the recovery of Altisidora, a damsel more whimsical than 
 discreet, should have any thing to do (as I have already 
 said) with the torturing of Sancho Panza. Now indeed I 
 plainly and distinctly perceive, there are enchanters and 
 enchantments in the world, from which good Lord deliver 
 me, since I know not how to deliver myself. But for the 
 present, I beseech your worship to let me sleep, and ask 
 me no more questions, unless you have a mind I should 
 throw myself out of the window."" Sleep, friend San- 
 cho," answered Don Quixote, " if the pin-prickings, 
 pinchings, and twitchings you have received, will give 
 yon leave." " No smart," replied Sancho, " came up 
 to the affront of the twitches, and for no other reason, but 
 because they were given by duennas, confound them ! 
 and once more I beseech your worship to let me sleep ; 
 for sleep is the relief of those, who are uneasy awake." 
 " Be it so," replied Don Quixote, " and God be with 
 you." 
 
 They both fell asleep, and in this interval Cid Hamet, 
 author of this grand history, had a mind to write, and 
 give an account, of what moved the duke and duchess to 
 raise the edifice of the aforementioned contrivance, and 
 says, that the Batchelor Sampson Carrasco, not forgetting 
 how, when Knight of the Looking-glasses, he was van- 
 quished and overthrown by Don Quixote, which defeat 
 and overthrow baffled and put a stop to all his designs, 
 had a mind to try his hand again, hoping for better suc- 
 cess than the past. And so, informing himself by the 
 page, who brought the letter and presents to Teresa 
 Panza, Sancho's wife, where Don Quixote was, he pro- 
 cured fresh armour, and a horse, and painted a white 
 moon on his shield, carrying the whole magazine upon
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 581 
 
 a he-mule, and conducted by a peasant, not Thomas 
 Cecial, his former squire, lest Sancho Panza or Don 
 Quixote should know him. He arrived at the duke's cas- 
 tle, \vho informed him what way and route Don Quixote 
 had taken, to be present at the tournaments of Saragossa. 
 He also related to him the jests that had been put upon 
 him, with the contrivance for the disenchantment of Dul- 
 cinea, at the expense of Sancho's posteriors. In short, he 
 gave him an account how Sancho had imposed upon his 
 master, making him believe that Dulcinea was enchanted 
 and transformed into a country wench ; and how the duch- 
 ess his wife had persuaded Sancho, that he himself was 
 deceived, and that Dulcinea was really enchanted. At 
 which the Bachelor laughed, and .wondered not a little, 
 considering as well the acuteness and simplicity of San- 
 cho, as the extreme madness of Don Quixote. The duke 
 desired if he found him, and overcame him, or not, to re- 
 turn that way, and acquaint him with the event. The 
 Bachelor promised he would : he departed in search of 
 him; and not finding him at Saragossa, he went forward, 
 and there befel him what you have already heard. He 
 came back to the duke's castle, and recounted the whole 
 to him, with the conditions of the combat, and that Don 
 Quixote was now actually returning to perform his word, 
 like a true knight-errant, and retire home to his village 
 for a twelvemonth, in which time perhaps, said the Ba- 
 chelor, he may be cured of his madness. This, he said, 
 was the motive of these disguises, it being a great pity, 
 that a gentleman of so good an understanding as Don 
 Quixote should be mad. Then he took leave of the duke, 
 and returned home, expecting there Don Quixote, who 
 was coming after him. 
 
 Hence the duke took occasion to play him this trick, so 
 great was the pleasure he took in every thing relating to 
 Don Quixote and Sancho : and sending a great many oi
 
 582 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 kis sen-ants, on horseback and on foot, to beset all the 
 roads about the castle, every way by which Don Quixote 
 might possibly return, he ordered them if they met with 
 him, to bring him, with or without his good will, to the 
 castle. They met with him, and gave notice of it to the 
 duke, who, having already given orders for what was to 
 be done, as soon as he heard of his arrival, commanded 
 the torches, and other illuminations to be lighted up in 
 the court-yard, and Altisidora to be placed upon the 
 tomb, with all the preparations before related ; the whole 
 represented so to the life, that there was but little differ- 
 rence between that and truth. And Cid Hamet says be- 
 sides, that to his thinking, the mockers were as mad as 
 the mocked ; and that the duke and duchess were within 
 two ringers breadth of appearing to be mad themselves, 
 since they took so much pains to make a jest of two fools: 
 one of whom was sleeping at full swing, and the other 
 waking with his disjointed thoughts; in which state the 
 day found them, and the desire to get up ; for Don Quix- 
 ote, whether conquered, or conqueror, never took plea- 
 sure in the downy bed cf sloth. 
 
 Altisidora, who, in Don Quixote's opinion, was just re- 
 turned from death to life, carrying on the humour of the 
 duke and duchess, crowned with the same garland she 
 wore on the tomb, and clad in a robe of white taffeta, 
 flowered with gold, and her hair dishevelled, and leaning 
 on a black staff of polished ebony, entered the chamber 
 of Don Quixote, who was so amazed and confounded at 
 the sight of her, that he shrunk down, and covered him- 
 self almost over head and ears with the sheets and quilts, 
 his tongue mute, and with no "inclination to show her any 
 kind of civility. Altisidora sat down in a chair by his 
 bed's head, and after fetching a profound sigh, with a 
 tender and enfeebled voice, she said : " When women of 
 distinction, and reserved maidens, trample upon honour,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 and give a loose to the tongue, breaking through every 
 inconveniency, and giving public notice of the secrets of 
 their hearts, they must sure be reduced to a great 'strait.. 
 I, Signer Don Quixote de la Mancha, am one of these 
 distressed, vanquished, and enamoured; but, for all that y 
 patient, long-suffering, and modest, to such a degree r 
 that my soul burst through my silence, and I lost my life, 
 It is now two days since, by reflection on your rigour, oh' 
 flinty knight, and harder than any marble to my com- 
 plaints, I have been dead, or at least judged to be so by 
 those that saw me ; and were it not that love taking pity 
 on me, placed rny recovery in the sufferings of this good: 
 squire, there had I remained in the other world." 
 " Love," quoth Sancho, " might as well have placed it 
 in those of my ass, and I should have taken it as kindly. 
 But, pray tell me, Signora, so may heaven provide you- 
 with a more tender-hearted lover than my master, what is- 
 it you saw in the other world ? What rs there in heU ? 
 For whoever dies in despair must perforce take up his rest 
 m that place." "In truth," said Altisidora, " I did not 
 die quite, since I went not to hell : for had I once set foot 
 in it, I could not have got out again, though I had never 
 so great a desire. The truth is, I came to the gate, where 
 about a dozen devils were playing at tennis, in theh* 
 waistcoats and drawers, their shirt-collars ornamented 
 with Flanders lace, and ruffles of the same, with four 
 inches of their wrists bare, to make their hands seem the 
 longer, 96 in which they had rackets of fire. But what I 
 wondered most at, was, that instead 1 of tennis-balls, they 
 made use of books, seemingly stuffed- with wind and 
 flocks ; a thing marvellous, and new ; but this I did not so 
 much wonder at, as to see, that whereas it is natural for 
 winning gamesters to rejoice, and losers to be sorry, among 
 the gamesters of that place, all grumbled, all were upon 
 the fret, and all cursed one another." " That is not ai
 
 3S4 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 all strange," anwered Sancho : " for devils, play or not 
 play, win or not win, can never be contented." " That 
 is true," said Altisidora: " but there is another thing I 
 wonder at ; I mean, I wondered at it then ; which was, 
 that, at the first toss, the ball was demolished, and could 
 not serve a second time ; and so they whipped them away, 
 new and old, that it was marvellous to behold ; and to one 
 of them, flaming new, and neatly bound, they gave such 
 a smart stroke, that they made its guts fly out, and scat- 
 tered its leaves all about ; and one devil said to another : 
 * See what book that is ;' and the other devil answered : 
 ' It is The Second Part of the History of Don Quixote 
 de la Mancha, not composed by Cid Hamet, its first au- 
 thor, but by an Arragonese, who calls himself a native of 
 Tordesillas.' ' Away with it,' cried the other devil, * and 
 down with it to the bottom of the infernal abyss, that my 
 eyes may never see it more.' 'Is it so bad?' answered 
 the other. * So bad,' replied the first, l that had I myself 
 undertaken to make it worse, it had been past my skill.' 
 They went on with their play, tossing other books up and 
 down; and I, for having heard Don Quixote named, 
 whom I so passionately love, endeavoured to retain this 
 vision in my memory." " A vision, doubtless, it must 
 be," said Don Quixote ; " for there is no other I in the 
 world, and this history is tossed about from hand to hand, 
 but stays in none ; for every body has a kick at it. It 
 gives me no concern to hear, that I wander, like a phan- 
 tom, about the shades of the abyss, or about the light of 
 this earth, because I am not the person this history treats 
 of. If it be good, faithful, and true, it will survive for 
 ages ; but, if it be bad, from its birth to its grave the pas- 
 sage will be but short." 
 
 Altisidora was going on with her complainings of Don 
 Quixote, when Don Quixote said to her : " I have often 
 told you, Madam, that I am very sorry you have placed
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 585 
 
 your affections on me, since from mine you must expect 
 no other return but thanks. I was born to be Dulcinea 
 del Toboso's, and to her the fates, if there be any, have 
 devoted me ; and to think that any other beauty shall 
 occupy the place she possesses in my soul, is to think 
 what is impossible. This may suffice to disabuse you, and 
 prevail with you to retreat within the bounds of your own 
 modesty, since no creature is tied to the performance of 
 impossibilities." Which Altisidora hearing, she assumed 
 an air of anger and fury, and said : " God's my life ! Don 
 poor-jack 97 , soul of a mortar, stone of a date, and more 
 obdurate and obstinate than a courted clown, if I come 
 at you, I will tear your very eyes out. Think you, Don, 
 vanquished, and Don cudgelled, that I died for you ? 
 All that you have seen this night has been but a fiction ; 
 for I am not a woman to let the black of my nail ake for 
 such camels, much less to die for them." " That I verily 
 believe," quoth Sancho ; " for the business of dying for 
 love is a jest: folks may talk of it; but, for doing it, 
 believe it Judas." 
 
 While they were engaged in this discourse, there en- 
 tered the musician, singer, and poet, who had sung the 
 two forementioned stanzas : who, making a profound re- 
 verence to Don Quixote, said : " Be pleased, Sir Knight, 
 to reckon and look upon me in the number of your most 
 humble servants ; for I have been most affectionately so this 
 great while, as well on account of your fame, as of your 
 exploits." Don Quixote answered ; " Pray, sir, tell me 
 who you are, that my civility may correspond with your 
 merits." The young man answered, that he was the 
 musician and panegyrist of the foregoing night. In- 
 deed," replied Don Quixote, " you have an excellent 
 voice : but what you sung did not seem to me much to 
 the purpose ; for what have the stanzas of Garcilasso to 
 do with the death of this gentlewoman ?" " Wonder not 
 VOL. n. 4 F
 
 586 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 at that, sir," answered the musician ; " for, among the 
 upstart poets of our age, it is the fashion for every one to 
 write as he pleases, and to steal from whom he pleases, be 
 it to the purpose or not ; and, in these times, there is no 
 silly thing sung or written, but is ascribed to poetical 
 license." 
 
 Don Quixote would have replied: but the duke and 
 duchess coming to visit him, prevented him : and between 
 them there passed a long and delicious conversation, in 
 which Sancho said so many pleasant and waggish things, 
 that their Grandeurs admired afresh, as well at his sim- 
 plicity, as his acuteness. Don Quixote beseeched them 
 to grant him leave to depart that very day, for it was more 
 becoming such vanquished knights as he to dwell in a 
 hogsty, than a royal palace. They readily granted his 
 request, and the duchess asked him, whether Altisidora 
 remained in his good graces. He answered : " Your 
 Ladyship must know, dear Madam, that the whole of this 
 damsel's distemper proceeds from idleness, the remedy 
 whereof consists in some honest and constant employment. 
 And she has told me here, that lace is much worn in hell, 
 and since she must needs know how to make it, let her 
 stick to that ; for, while her fingers are employed in mana- 
 ging the bobbins, the image or images of what she loves 
 will not be roving so much in her imagination. This is 
 the truth, this is my opinion, and this my advice." 
 " And mme too," added Sancho; " for I never in my 
 life saw a maker of lace that died for love ; for your 
 damsels that are busied, have thek thoughts more intent 
 upon performing their tasks, than upon their loves. I 
 know it by myself ; for while I am digging, I never think 
 of my deary, I mean my Teresa Panza, whom 1 love 
 better than my very eyelids." " You say very well, 
 Sancho," added the duchess, " and I will take care, 
 that my Altisidora shall henceforward be employed in
 
 DON QUIXOTE. $87 
 
 needle-work, at which she is very expert." " There is 
 no need, madam," answered Altisidora, " of this remedy, 
 since the consideration of the cruel treatment I have 
 received from this ruffian and monster, will blot him out 
 of my memory, without any other expedient ; and, with 
 your grandeur's leave, I will withdraw, that I may not 
 have before my eyes, I will not say his sorrowful figure, 
 but his abominable and hideous aspect." " I wish," cried 
 the duke, " this may not prove^like the saying, a lover 
 railing is not far from forgiving." Altisidora, making 
 show of wiping the tears from her eyes with a handkerchief, 
 and then making a low courtesy to her lord and lady, 
 went out of the room. " Poor damsel !" quoth Sancho, 
 " I forebode thee ill luck, since thou hast to do with a 
 heart of matweed, and a soul of oak ; for, in faith, if thou 
 hadst had to do with me, another guise cock would have 
 crowed." The conversation was at an end : Don Quixote 
 dressed himself, dined with the duke and duchess, and 
 departed that afternoon. 
 
 CHAP. LXXI. 
 
 
 Of -what befd Don Quixote with his Squire Sancho, in the 
 
 way io his Village. 
 
 THE vanquished and forlorn Don Quixote travelled 
 along, exceedingly pensive on the one hand, and very 
 joyful on the other. His defeat caused his sadness, and 
 his joy was occasioned by considering, that the disenchant- 
 ment of Dulcinea was likely to be effected by the virtue 
 inherent in Sancho, of which he had just given a manifest 
 
 4F2
 
 588 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 proof in the resurrection of Altisidora; though he could 
 not readily bring himself to believe, that the enamoured 
 damsel was really dead. Sancho went on, not at all pleased 
 to find that Altisidora had not been as good as her word, 
 in giving him the smocks: and, revolving it in his mind, 
 he said to his master : " In truth, sir, I am the most un- 
 fortunate physician that is to be met with in the world ; 
 in which there are doctors who kill the patient they have 
 under cure, and yet are paid for their pains, which is no 
 more than signing a little scroll of certain medicines, 
 which the apothecary, not the doctor, makes up : while 
 poor I, though another's qure cost me drops of blood, 
 twitches, pinchings, pin-prickings, and lashes, get not a 
 doit. But, I vow to God, if ever any sick body falls into 
 my hands again, they shall grease them well before I per- 
 form the cure ; for, the abbot must eat, that sings for his 
 meat ; and I cannot believe heaven has endued me with 
 the virtue I have, that I should communicate it to others 
 for nothing." " You are in the right, friend Sancho," 
 answered Don Quixote ; " and Altisidora has done very 
 ill by you, not to give you the promised smocks ; though 
 the virtue you have was given you gratis, and without any 
 studying on your part, more than studying how to receive 
 a little pain in your person. For myself, I can say, if you 
 had a mind to be paid for disenchanting Dulcinea, I would 
 have made it good to you ere now : but I do not kno^ 
 whether payment will agree with the conditions of the 
 cure, and I would by no means have the reward hinder 
 the operation of the medicine. But, for all that, I think 
 there can be no risk in making a small trial. Consider, 
 Sancho, what you would demand, and set about the whip- 
 ping straight, and pay yourself in ready money, since 
 you have cash of mine in your hands." 
 
 At these offers Sancho opened his eyes and ears a span 
 wider, and in his heart consented to whip himself heartily,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 585 
 
 and he said to his master: " Well then, sir, I will now 
 dispose myself to give your worship satisfaction, since I 
 shall get something by it ; for, I confess, the love I have 
 for my wife and children makes me seem a little self- 
 interested. Tell me, sir, how much will your worship 
 give for each lash ?" "Were I to pay you, Sancho," 
 answered Don Quixote, "in proportion to the greatness 
 and quality of the cure, the treasure of Venice, and the 
 mines of Potosi, would be too small a recompense. But 
 see how much rfash you have of mine, and set your own. 
 price upon each, lash." " The lashes," answered Sancho, 
 " are three thousand, three hundred, and odd: of these 
 I have already given myself five ; the rest remain ; let the 
 five pass for the odd ones, and let us come to the three 
 thousand, three hundred ; which, at a quarter of a real 
 apiece, and I will not take less, though all the world should 
 command me to do it, amount to three thousand three 
 hundred quarter-reals ; which make one thousand six 
 hundred and fifty half-reals ; which make eight hundred 
 and twentj'-five reals. These I \vill deduct from what I 
 have of your Worship's in my hands, and shall return to 
 my house rich and contented, though well whipped : for, 
 they do not take trouts I say no more." " Oh blessed 
 Sancho ! Oh amiable Sancho !" replied Don Quixote ; 
 " how much shall Dulcinea and I be bound to serve you 
 all the days of life heaven shall be pleased to grant us? 
 If she recovers her lost state, as is it impossible but she 
 must, her mishap will prove her good fortune, and my 
 defeat a most happy triumph : and when, Sancho, do you 
 propose to begin the discipline? I will add an hundred 
 reals over and above, for dispatch." " When?" replied 
 Sancho; "even this very night without fail: take you 
 care, sir, that we may be in open field, and I will take 
 care to lay my flesh open." 
 
 At length came the night, expected by Don Quixote
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 with the greatest anxiety in the world, the wheels of Apol- 
 lo's chariot seeming to him to be broken, and the day to 
 be prolonged beyond its usual length : even as it happens 
 to lovers, who, in the account of their impatience, think 
 the hour of the accomplishment of their desires will never 
 come. 
 
 Finally, they got among some pleasant trees a little way 
 out of the high road, where, leaving the saddle and pan- 
 nel of Rozinante and Dapple vacant, they laid themselves 
 along on the green grass, and supped out of Sancho's cup- 
 board : who, making a ponderous and flexible whip of 
 Dapple's headstall and halter, withdrew about twenty 
 paces from his master among some beech-trees. Don 
 Quixote seeing him go with such resolution and spirit, 
 said to him : " Take care, friend, you do not lash your- 
 self to pieces ; take time ; let one stroke stay till another's 
 over ; hurry not yourself so as to lose your breath in the 
 midst of your career ; I mean, you must not lay it on so 
 unmercifully, as to lose your life before you attain to the 
 desired number. And, that you may not lose the game 
 by a card too much or too little, I will stand aloof, and 
 keep reckoning upon my beads the lashes you shall give 
 yourself; and heaven favour you as your worthy intention 
 deserves." " The good paymaster is in pain for no 
 pawn," answered Sancho : " I design to lay it on in such 
 a manner, that it may smart without killing me ; for in this 
 the substance of the miracle must needs consist." He 
 then stripped himself naked from the waist upward: and 
 then snatching and cracking the whip, he began to lay 
 himself on, and Don Quixote to count the strokes. Sancho 
 had given himself about six 'or eight, when he thought 
 the jest a little too heavy, and the price much too easy ; 
 and, stopping his hand a while, he said to his master, that 
 he appealed on being deceived, every lash of those being 
 richly worth half a real, instead of a quarter. " Proceed,
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 591 
 
 friend Sancho, and be not faint-hearted," cried Don 
 Quixote; "for I double the pay." "If so," quoth 
 Sancho, " away with it in God's name, and let it rain 
 lashes." But the sly knave, instead of laying them on his 
 back, laid them on the trees, fetching ever and anon such 
 groans, that one would have thought each would have 
 torn up his very soul by the roots. Don Quixote, natu- 
 rally tender-hearted, and fearing he would put an end to 
 his life, and so he should not attain his desire through 
 
 * o 
 
 Sancho's imprudence, said to him : " I conjure you, by 
 your life, friend, let the business rest here ; for this medi- 
 cine seems to me very harsh ; and it will not be amiss to 
 give time to time ; for Zamora was not taken in one hour. 
 You have already given yourself, if I reckon right, above 
 a thousand lashes, enough for the present ; for the ass (to 
 speak in homely phrase) will carry the load, but not a 
 double load." " No, no," answered Sancho, " it shall 
 never be said for me, the money paid, the work delayed : 
 pray, Sir, get a little farther off, and let me give myself 
 another thousand lashes at least ; for a couple more of 
 such bouts will finish the job, and stuff to spare." " Since 
 you find yourself in so good a disposition," replied Don 
 Quixote, " heaven assist you : and stick to it, for I am 
 gone." Sancho returned to his task with so much fervour, 
 and such was the rigour with which he gave the lashes, 
 that he had already disbarked many a tree : and once, 
 lifting up his voice, and giving an immeasurable stroke 
 to a beech, he cried: Down with thee, Sampson, and all 
 that are with thee." Don Quixote presently ran to the 
 sound of the piteous voice, and the stroke of the severe 
 whip, and, laying hold of the twisted halter, which served 
 Sancho instead of a bull's pizzle, he said : " heaven for- 
 bid, friend Sancho, that, for my pleasure, you should lose 
 that life, upon which depends the maintenance of your 
 wife and children: let Dulcinea wait a better opportunity:
 
 592 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 for I will contain myself within the bounds of the nearest 
 hope, and stay till you recover fresh strength, that this 
 business may be concluded to the satisfaction of all 
 parties." " Since your worship, dear sir, will have it 
 so," answered Sancho, " so be it, in God's name, and 
 pray, fling your cloak over my shoulders : for I am all 
 in a sweat, and am loath to catch cold, as new disciplinants 
 are apt to do." Don Quixote did so; and, leaving him- 
 self in his doublet, he covered up Sancho, who slept till 
 the sun waked him, and then they prosecuted their journey, 
 till they stopped at a place about three leagues off. 
 
 They alighted at an inn ; for Don Quixote took it for 
 such, and not for a castle, moated round, with its turrets, 
 portcullises, and draw-bridge : for, since his defeat, he 
 discoursed with more judgment on all occasions, as will 
 presently appear. He was lodged in a ground room, 
 hung with painted serge, instead of tapestry, as is the 
 fashion in country towns. In one of the pieces was paint- 
 ed, by a wretched hand, the rape of Helen, when the 
 daring guest carried her off from Menelaus. In another, 
 was the history of Dido and ^Eneas ; she upon a high 
 tower, as making signals with half a bed-sheet to her fu- 
 gitive guest, who was out at sea, flying away from her, 
 in a frigate or brigantine. He observed in the two history- 
 pieces, that Helen went away with no very ill will ; for 
 she was slily laughing to herself: but the beauteous Dido 
 seemed to let fall from her eyes tears as big as walnuts. 
 Don Quixote, seeing this, said : 5< These two ladies were 
 most unfortunate in not being born in this age, and I above 
 all men unhappy, that I was not born in theirs : for had 
 I encountered those gallants, neither had Troy been 
 burnt, nor Carthage destroyed ; since, by my killing Paris 
 only, all these mischiefs had been prevented." " I hold 
 a wager," quoth Sancho, " that, ere it be long, there 
 will not be either victualling-house, tavern, inn, or bar-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 beVs shop, in which the history of our exploits will not be 
 painted, but I could wish they may be done by the hand 
 of a better painter than he that did these." " You arc 
 in the right, Sancho," said Don Quixote ; " for this 
 painter is like Orbaneja of Ubeda, who, when he was 
 asked what he was drawing, answered ; as it shall happen ; 
 and if it chanced to be a cock, he wrote under it, This 
 is a cock y lest people should take it for a fox. Just such 
 a one, methinks, Sancho, the painter or writer (for it is 
 all one) must be, who wrote the history of this new Don 
 Quixote, lately published : he painted, or wrote, what- 
 ever came uppermost. Or, he is like a poet, some years 
 about the court, called Mauleon, who answered all ques- 
 tions extempore; and, a person asking him the meaning 
 of Deum de Deo, he answered, Dee donde dicre. But, 
 setting all this aside, tell me, Sancho, do you think of 
 giving yourself the other brush to-night ? And have you 
 u mind it should be under a roof, or in the open air }"+-*- 
 " Before God, sir," answered Sancho, " for what I in- 
 tend to give myself, it is all the same to me, whether it 
 be in a house or in a field : though I had rather it were 
 among trees ; for, methinks, they accompany me, as it 
 were, and help me to bear my toil marvellously well." 
 " However, it shall not be now, friend Sancho," answered 
 Don Quixote: "but, that you may recover strength, it 
 shall be reserved for our village ; and we shall get thither 
 by the day after to-morrow at farthest." Sancho replied, 
 he might order that as he pleased ; but, for his part, he 
 was desirous to make an end of the business out of hand, 
 and in hot blood, and while the mill was grinding: for 
 usually the danger lies in the delay ; and, " pray to God 
 devoutly, and hammer out stoutly;" and, "one take is 
 worth two rilgi-ve, I/tee's ;" and, " a bird in hand is better 
 than a vulture on the wing." "No more proverbs, 
 Sancho, for God's sake," cried Don Quixote ; " for, me- 
 VOL. ir. 4 e
 
 594 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 thinks, you are going back to sicut erat. Speak plainly, 
 and without flourishes, as I have often told you, and you 
 will find it a loaf per cent, in your way." " I know 
 not how I came to be so unlucky," answered Sancho, 
 " that I cannot give a reason without a proverb, nor a 
 proverb which does not v seem to me to be a reason : but 
 I will mend if I can :" and thus ended the conversation 
 for that time. 
 
 CHAP. LXXII. 
 
 How Don Quixote and Sancho arrived at their Village. 
 
 DON Quixote and Sancho staid all the day at the inn in 
 that village, waiting for night j the one to finish his task 
 of whipping in the fields, and the other to see the success 
 of it, in which consisted the accomplishment of his wishes. 
 At this juncture came a traveller on horseback to the inn, 
 with three or four servants, one of whom said to him, 
 who seemed to be the master of them: " Here, Signer 
 Don Alvaro Tarfe, your worship may pass the heat of 
 the day ; the lodging seems to be cool and cleanly." Don 
 Quixote hearing this, said to Sancho ; " I am mistaken, 
 Sancho, if, when I turned over the second part of my 
 history, I had not a glimpse of this Don Alvaro Tarfe." 
 " It may be so," answered Sancho : " let him first alight, 
 and then we will question him." The gentleman alighted, 
 and the landlady showed him into a ground room, opposite 
 to that of Don Quixote, hung likewise with painted serge. 
 This new-arrived cavalier undressed and equipped him- 
 self for coolness, and stepping out to the porch, which
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 595 
 
 m-as airy and spacious, where Don Quixote was walking 
 backwards and forwards, he asked him: "Pray, sir, 
 which way is your worship travelling ?" And Don Quix- 
 ote answered : " To a village not far off, where I was 
 born. And pray, sir, which way may you be travel- 
 ling?" " I, sir," answered the gentleman, " am going 
 to Granada, which is my native country." " And a good 
 country it is," replied Don Quxiote. " But, sir, oblige 
 me so far as to tell me your name; for I conceive it im- 
 ports me to know it, more than I can well express." 
 " My name is Don Alvaro Tarfe," answered the new 
 guest. To which Don Quixote replied : " Then, I pre- 
 sume, your worship is that Don Alvaro Tarfe mentioned 
 in the second part of the history of Don Quixote de la 
 Mancha, lately printed, and published by a certain mo- 
 dern author." " The very same," answered the gentle- 
 man, and that Don Quixote, the hero of the said history, 
 was a very great friend of mine ; and I was the person 
 who drew him from his native place:, at least I prevailed 
 upon him to be present at certain jousts and tournaments 
 held at Saragossa, whither I was going myself; and, in 
 truth, I did him a great many kindnesses, and saved his 
 back from being well stroked by the hangman for being 
 too bold." " Pray tell me, Signor Don Alvaro," said 
 Don Quixote, " am I any thing like that Don Quixote 
 you speak of?" " No, in truth," answered the guest, 
 i not in the least." " And this Don Quixote," said ours, 
 " had he a squire with him, called Sancho Panza?" 
 li Yes, he had," answered Don Alvaro ; " and though he had 
 the reputation of being very pleasant, I never heard him 
 say any one thing that had any pleasantry in it." *' I ve- 
 rily believe it," quoth Sancho straight; " for it is not 
 every body's talent to say pleasant things ; and this San- 
 cho your worship speaks of, Signor Gentleman, must be 
 some yery great rascal, idiot, and knave into the bargain : 
 
 4o2
 
 for the true Saneho Panza am I, who have more witty 
 conceit? than there are drops in a shower. Try but the 
 experiment, sir, and follow me but one year, and you will 
 find, that they drop from me at every step, and are so 
 many, and so pleasant, that for the most part, without 
 knowing what I say, I make every body laugh that hears 
 nje: and the true Don Quixote de la Mancha, the re- 
 npwned, the valiant, the discreet, the enamoured, the 
 Undoer of injuries, the defender of pupils and orphans, 
 the protector of widows, the murderer of damsels, he, 
 who has the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso for his sole 
 mistress, is this gentleman here present, my master : any 
 other Don Quixote whatever, and any other Sancho Panza, 
 is all mockery, and a mere dream." " Before God, I 
 believe it," answered Don Alvaro; " for you have said 
 more pleasant things, friend, in four words you have 
 spoken, than that other Sancho Panza in all I ever heard 
 him say, though that was a great deal : for he was more 
 gluttonous than well-spoken, and more stupid than plea- 
 sant: and I take it for granted, that the enchanters, who 
 persecute the good Don Quixote, have had a mind to per- 
 secute me too with the bad one : but I know not what to 
 say; for I durst have sworn I had left him under cure in 
 the Nuncio of Toledo's house, and now here starts up 
 another Don Quixote very different from mine." " I 
 know not," said Don Quixote, <( whether I am the good 
 one ; but I can say I am not the bad one ; and as a proof 
 of what I say, you must know, dear Signor Alvaro Tarfe, 
 ihat I never was in Sarragcssa in all the days of my life: 
 oat-he contrary, having been told that this imaginary Don 
 Q,uixote was at the tournaments of that city, I resolved 
 ot go thither, that I might make him a liar in the face 
 of all the world : and so I went, directly to Barcelona, that 
 register of courtesy, asylum of strangers, hospital of the 
 poor, native country ef the valiant, avenger of the in-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 597 
 
 jured, agreeable seat of firm friendship, and for situation 
 and beaut}' singular. And, though what befel me there 
 be not very much to my satisfaction, but, on the contrary, 
 much to my sorrow, the having seen that city enables me 
 the better to bear it. In a word, Signor Don Alvaro 
 Tarfe, I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, the same that 
 fame speaks of, and not that unhappy wretch, who would 
 usurp my name, and arrogate to himself the honour of 
 my exploits. And, therefore, I conjure you, sir, as you 
 are a gentleman, to make a declaration before the magis- 
 trate of this town, that you never saw me before in your 
 life, and that I am not the Don Quixote, printed in the 
 second part; nor this Sancho Panza, my squire, him you 
 knew." " That I will with all my heart," answered Don 
 Alvaro ; " though it suprises me to see two Don Quixotes, 
 and two Sanchos at the same time, as different in their 
 actions, as alike in their names. And, I say again, I am 
 now assured, that I have not seen what I have seen, nor 
 in respect to me, has that happened which has hap- 
 pened." " Without doubt," quoth Sancho, " your wor- 
 ship must be enchanted, like my Lady Dulcinca del To- 
 boso : and would to heaven your disenchantment depended 
 upon my giving myself another three thousand and odd 
 lashes, as I do for her; for I would lay them on without 
 interest or reward." " I understand not this business of 
 lashes," replied Don Alvaro. Sancho answered, it was 
 too long to tell at present, but he would give him an ac- 
 count, if they happened to travel the same road. 
 
 Dinner-time was now come : Don Quixote and Don 
 Alvaro dined together. By chance the magistrate of the 
 town came into the inn, with a notary ; and Don Quixote 
 desired of him, that Don Alvaro Tarfe, the gentleman 
 there present might depose before his worship, that he did 
 not know Don Quixote de la Mancha, there present also, 
 and that he was not the man handed about in a printed
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 history, intitled, " The Second Part of Don Quixote de 
 la Mancha, written by such a one de Avellaneda, a na- 
 tive of Tordesillas." In short, the magistrate proceeded 
 according to form : the deposition was worded as strong as 
 could be in such cases; at which Don Quixote and Sancho 
 were ovctjoyed, as if this attestation had been of the great- 
 est importance to them, and, as if the difference between 
 the two Den Quixotes, and the two Sanchos, were not 
 evident enough from their words and actions. Many com- 
 pliments and offers of service passed between Don Alvaro 
 and Don Quixote, in which the great Manchegan showed 
 his discretion in such manner, that he convinced Don Al- 
 varo Tarfo of the error he was in ; who was persuaded he 
 must needs be enchanted, since he had touched with his 
 hand two such contrary Don Quixotes. 
 
 The evening came: they departed from that place, an.l 
 at the distance of abopt half a league, the road parted 
 .into two : one led to Don Quixote's village, and the other 
 to where Don Alvaro was going. In this little way Don 
 Quixote related to him the misfortune of his defeat, and 
 the enchantment and cure of Dulcinea ; which was new 
 cause of ad miration to Don Alvaro, who embracing Don 
 Quixote and Sancho, went on his way, and Don Quixote 
 Lis, 
 
 That night he passed among* some other trees, to give 
 Sancho an opportunity of finishing his discipline, which 
 he did after the same manner as he had done the night 
 before, more at the expense of the bark of the beeches 
 than of his back, of which he was so careful, that thi- 
 lashes he gave it would not-, have brushed off a flv, tliut 
 had been upon it. The deceived Don Quixote was very 
 punctual in telling the strokes, and found that, including 
 those of the foregoing night, they amounted to three 
 thousand and twenty-nine. One would have thought the 
 sun himself had risen earlier than usual to behold the sa-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 crifice ; by whose light they resumed their journey, dis- 
 coursing together of Don Alvaro's mistake, and how pru- 
 dently they had contrived to procure his deposition before 
 a magistrate, and in so authentic a form. 
 
 That day, and that night, they travelled without any 
 occurrence worth relating, unless it be that Sancho finish- 
 ed his task that night; at which Don Quixote was above 
 measure pleased, and waited for the day, to see if he 
 could light on his lady, the disenchanted Dulcinea, in his 
 way: and continuing his journey, he looked narrowly at 
 every woman he met, to see if she were Dulcinea del To- 
 boso, holding it for infallible that Merlin's promises could 
 not lie. With these thoughts and desires, they ascended 
 a little hill, from whence they discovered their village ; 
 which as soon as Sancho beheld, he kneeled clown, and 
 said : " Open thine eyes, O desired country, and behold 
 thy son Sancho Panza, returning to thee again, if not very 
 rich, yet very well whipped : open thine arms, and re- 
 ceive likewise thy son Don Quixote, who if he comes con- 
 quered by another's hand, yet he comes a conqueror of 
 himself, which, as I have heard him say, is the greatest 
 victory that can be desired. IVloney I have ; for if I have 
 been well whipped, I am come off like a gentleman." 
 " Leave these fooleries, Sancho," answered Don Quixote, 
 " and let us go directly home to our village, where we will 
 give full scope to our imaginations, and settle the plan 
 we intend to govern ourselves by, in our pastoral life." 
 This said, they descended the hill, and went directly to 
 the village.
 
 600 DON QUIXOTE, 
 
 CHAP. LXXIII. 
 
 Of the Omens Don Suu-ote met with at the Entrance 
 his tillage, with other Occidents, which adorn and 
 illustrate this great History. 
 
 AT the entrance into the village, as Cid Harriet reports, 
 Don Quixote saw a couple of boys quarrelling in a thresh- 
 ing-floor, an-d one said to the other : " Trouhle not your- 
 self, Periquillo; for you shall never see it more while you 
 live.'* Don Quixote hearing him, said to Sancho : " Do 
 you not take notice, friend, what this boy has said, " You 
 shall never see it more, while you liver" " Well," an- 
 swered Sancho, " what signifies it, if the boy did say 
 so?" "What!" replied Don Quixote, "do you not 
 perceive, that applying these words to my purpose, the 
 meaning is, I shall never see Dulcinea more ?" Sancho 
 would have answered, but was prevented by seeing a hare 
 come running across the field, pursued by abundance of 
 dogs and sportsmen ; which frightened, came for shelter, 
 and squatted between Dapple's feet. Sancbo took her up 
 alive, and presented her to Don Quixote, who cried, 
 ** Malum signum, malum sigmon ! A hare flies ; dogs 
 pursue her ; Dulcinea appears not/' " Your worship is 
 a strange man," quoth Sancho: tc let us suppose now, 
 that this hare is Dulcinea del Toboso, and these dogs 
 that pursue her, those wicked enchanters who transform- 
 ed her into a country wench : she flies, I catch her, and 
 put her into your worship's hands, who have her in your 
 arms, and make much of her: what bad sign is this, or 
 what ill omen can you draw from hence ?" The two con- 
 tending boys came up to look at the hare, and Sancho
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 6ai 
 
 asked one of them, what they were quarrelling about ? 
 And answer was made by him who had said, " You shall 
 never see it more while you live ;" that he had taken a 
 a cage full of crickets from the other boy, which he never 
 intended to restore to him, while he lived. Sancho drew 
 four quarter-maravedis 98 out of his pocket, and gave it the 
 boy for his cage, which he put into Don Quixote's hands, 
 and said: "Behold, sir, all your omens broken, and 
 come to nothing; and they have no more to do with our 
 adventures, in my judgment, a dunce as I am, than last 
 year's clouds ; and, if I remember right, I have heard the 
 priest of our village say, that good Christians, and wise 
 people ought not to regard these fooleries : and your wor- 
 ship's own self told me as much a few days ago, giving me 
 to understand, that all sucb Christians as minded pre- 
 sages were fools : so there is no need of troubling our- 
 selves any farther about them, but let us go on, and get 
 home to our village." 
 
 The hunters came up, and demanded their hare, and 
 Don Quixote gave it them. They went on their way, 
 and at the entrance of the village', in a little meadow, they 
 found the priest, and the bachelor Sampson Carrasco, re- 
 peating their breviary. Now, you must know, that San- 
 cho Panza had thrown the buckram robe, painted with 
 flames of fire, which he had worn at the duke's castle the 
 niglit he brought Altisidora to life again, instead of a 
 sumpter-cloth over the bundle of armour upon his ass. 
 He had likewise clapped the mitre on Dapple's head ; 
 insomuch that never was ass so metamorphosed and 
 adorned. The priest and the bachelor presently knew 
 them both, and came running to them with open arms. 
 Don Quixote alighted, and embraced them closely ; and 
 the boys, who are sharp-sighted as lynxes, espying the 
 ass's mitre, Jflocked to view him, and said to one another : 
 " Come, boys, and you shall see Sancho Panza's ass finer 
 
 VOL. II. 4 H
 
 602 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 than Mingo," and Don Quixote's beast leaner than ever." 
 Finally, surrounded with boys, and accompanied by the 
 priest and the bachelor, they entered the village, and 
 took the way to Don Quixote's house, where they found 
 at the door the housekeeper and the niece, who had al- 
 ready heard the news of his arrival. It had likewise 
 reached the ears of Teresa Panza, Sancho's wife, who 
 half naked, with her hair about her ears, and dragging 
 Sanchica after her, ran to see her husband : and seeing 
 him not so well equipped as she imagined a governor 
 ought to be, she said: " What makes you come thus, 
 dear husband ? Methinks you come afoot, and founder- 
 ed, and look more like a misgoverned person, than a go- 
 vernor." " Peace, Teresa," answered Sancho ; " for there 
 is not always bacon where there are pins to hang it on ; 
 and let us go to our house, where you shall hear wonders. 
 Money I bring with me (which is the main business), got 
 by my own industry, and without damage to any body." 
 * c Bring but money, my good husband," cried Teresa, 
 " and let it be got this way or that way : for, get it IKMV 
 you will, you will have brought up no new custom in 
 the world." Sanchica embraced her father, and asked, 
 if he had brought her any thing ; for she had been 
 wishing for him, as people do for rain in May : and, she 
 taking hold of his belt on one side, and his wife taking 
 him by the hand on the other, Sanchica pulling Dapple 
 after her, they went home to their house, leaving Don 
 Quixote in his, in the power of his niece and the house- 
 keeper, and in the company of the priest and the ba- 
 chelor. 
 
 Don Quixote, without standing upon times or seasons, 
 in that very instant went apart with the bachelor and the 
 priest, and related to them in a few words,, how he was 
 vanquished, and the obligation he lay under, ( not to stir 
 from his village in a year ; which he intended punctually
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 603 
 
 to observe, without transgressing a tittle, as became a 
 true knight-errant, obliged by the strict precepts of chi- 
 valry. He also tokl them how he had resolved to turn 
 shepherd for that year, and to pass his time in the soli- 
 tude of the fields, where he might give the reins to his 
 amorous thoughts, exercising himself in that pastoral and 
 virtuous employment ; beseeching them, if they had lei- 
 sure, and were not engaged in business of greater conse- 
 quence, to bear him company ; telling them he would 
 purchase sheep and stock sufficient to give them the 
 name of shepherds ; acquainting them also, that the prin- 
 cipal part of the business was already done, he having 
 chosen for them names as fit as if they had been cast in a 
 mould. The priest desired him to repeat them. Don Quix- 
 ote answered, that he himself was to be called the shepherd 
 Quixotiz ; the bachelor, the shepherd Carrascon : the 
 priest, the shepherd Curiambro, and Sancho Panza, the 
 shepherd Fanzine. They were astonished at this new 
 madness of Don Quixote: but to prevent his rambling 
 once more from his village, and resuming chivalries, and 
 in hopes he might be cured in that year, they fell in with 
 his new project, and applauded his folly as an high piece 
 of discretion, offering to be his companions in that exer- 
 cise. "Besides," said Sampson Carrasco, "I, as every 
 body knows, am an excellent poet, and shall be compo- 
 sing at every turn, pastoral or courtly verses, or such as 
 shall be most for my purpose, to amuse and divert us as 
 we range the fields. But, gentlemen, the first and chief 
 thing necessary, is, that each of us choose the name of 
 the shepherdess he intends to celebrate in his verses, and 
 we will not leave a tree, be it never so hard, in whose bark 
 we will not inscribe and grave her name, as is the fashion 
 and custom of enamoured shepherds." " That is very 
 right," answered Don Quixote; "though I need not 
 trouble myself to look for a feigned name, having the 
 
 <\ H 2
 
 604 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, the glory of these banks, 
 the ornament of these meads, the support of beauty, the 
 cream of good humour, and, lastly, the worthy subject 
 of all praise, be it never so hyperbolical." " That is 
 true," said the priest ; but as for us, we must look out for 
 shepherdesses of an inferior stamp, who, if they do not 
 square, may corner with us." To which Sampson Car- 
 rasco added : " And when we are at a loss, we will give 
 them the names we find in print, of which the world is 
 full, as Phillises, Arnarillises, Dianas, Floridas, Galateas, 
 and Belisardas : for since they are soki in the market we 
 may lawfully buy, and make use of them as our own. If 
 my mistress, or to speak more properly, my shepherdess, 
 is called Anna, I will celebrate her under the name of 
 Anarda, and if Frances, I will call her Francesina, and if 
 Lucy, Lucinda; and so of the rest. And Sancho Panza, 
 if he is to be one of this brotherhood, may celebrate his 
 wife Teresa Panza by the name of Teresaina." Don 
 Quixote smiled at the application of the names, and the 
 priest highly applauded his virtuous and honourable reso- 
 lution, and again offered to bear him company all the 
 time he could spare from attending the duties of his func- 
 tion. With this they took their leave of him, desiring 
 and entreating him to take care of his health, and make 
 much of himself with good heartening things. 
 
 Now fortune would have it, that his niece and house- 
 keeper overheard their conversation ; and as soon as these 
 two were gone, they both came in to Don Quixote ; and 
 the niece said ; " What is the meaning of this, uncle ? 
 Now that we thought your worship was returned with a 
 resolution to stay at home, and live a quiet and decent 
 life, you have a mind to involve yourself in new laby- 
 rinths, by turning shepherd. In truth, the straw is too 
 hard to make p'pes of." To which the housekeeper add- 
 ed : " And can your worship bear in the fields the sum-
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 605 
 
 mer's sultry heat, the winter's pinching cold, and the 
 howling of the wolves ? No, certainly ; for this is the 
 business of robust fellows, tanned and bred to such em- 
 ployment, as it were, from their cradles and swaddling 
 clothes. And, of the two evils, it is better to be a knight- 
 errant than a shepherd. Look you, sir, take my advice, 
 which is not given by one full of bread and wine, but fast- 
 ing, and with fifty years over my head : stay at home, 
 look after your estate, go often to confession, and relieve 
 the poor ; and if any ill comes of it, let it lie at my door." 
 " Peace, daughters," answered Don Quixote; <{ for I 
 know perfectly what I have to do. Lead me to bed : for, 
 methinks, I am not very welt ; and assure yourselves, 
 that whether I am a knight-errant, or a wandering shep- 
 pherd, I will not fail to provide for you, as you shall find 
 by experience." The two good women (for doubtless 
 such they were), the housekeeper and niece, carried him 
 to bed, where they gave him to eat, and made as much of 
 him as possible. 
 
 CHAP. LXXIV. 
 
 How Don Quixote fell Sick, made his Will, and died. 
 
 As all human things, especially the lives of men, are 
 transitory, incessantly declining from their beginning, till 
 they arrive at their final period ; and as that of Don Quix- 
 ote had no peculiar privilege from heaven, to exempt it 
 from the common fate, his end and dissolution came, when
 
 606 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 he least thought of it. For, whether it proceeded from 
 the melancholy occasioned by Bnding himself vanquished, 
 or from the disposition of heaven so decreeing it, he was 
 seized with a fever, which confined him six days to his 
 bed, in which time he was frequently visited by the priest, 
 the bachelor, and the barber, his friends ; his trusty 
 squire Sancho Panza never stirring from his bed-side. 
 They, supposing that his grief at being vanquished, and 
 the disappointment of his wishes as to the restoration and 
 disenchantment of Dulcinea, had s reduced him to this 
 state, endeavoured by all imaginable ways to revive his 
 spirits. The bachelor bid him be of good courage, and 
 rise from bed, to enter upon his pastoral exercise ; he 
 having already composed an eclogue to that purpose, not 
 inferior to any written by Sannazarius; telling him be- 
 sides, that he had already bought with his own money of 
 a herdsman of Quintanar, two excellent dogs, to guard 
 the flock, the one called Barcino, and the other Butron. 
 But, for all this, Don Quixote's melancholy continued. 
 His friends sent for a physician, who felt his pulse, and 
 did not much like it, and said, come what would, it would 
 not be amiss for him to look to his soul's health, that of 
 his body being in danger. Don Quixote heard it with 
 composure of mind : but not so did his housekeeper, his 
 niece, and his squire, \vho all began to weep most bit- 
 terly, as if he were already dead, and laid 'out before 
 their faces. It was the doctor's opinion, that melancholy 
 and disappointment had brought him to his end. Den 
 Quixote desired they would leave him, for he was inclined 
 to sleep a little. 
 
 They did so, and he slept at a stretch, as the saying is, 
 above six hours, insomuch that the housekeeper and the 
 niece thought he would never awake more. But awake 
 he did at the end of that time, and, with a loud voice, 
 said : " Blessed be Almighty God, who has vouchsafed
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 60? 
 
 me so great a good : in short, his mercies have no bounds, 
 and the sins of men can neither lessen nor obstruct them." 
 The niece listened attentively to her uncle's words, and 
 she thought there was more sense in them than usual, at 
 least since his sickness, and she said to him : " What is 
 it you say, sir ? Has any thing extraordinary happened ? 
 What mercies, and what sins do you speak of?" 
 " Niece," answered Don Quixote, " the mercies I mean, 
 are those God has been pleased, notwithstanding my sins, 
 to vouchsafe me at this instant. My judgment is now un- 
 disturbed, and free from those dark clouds of ignorance, 
 with which my eager and continual reading of those de- 
 testable books of chivalry had obscured it. Now I per- 
 ceive the absurdity and delusion of them, and am only 
 sorry I am undeceived so late, that I have no time left to 
 make some amends, by reading others that might help to 
 enlighten my soul. I feel myself, niece, at the point of 
 death, and I would fain so order it, as not to leave the 
 imputation of madness upon my memory ; for, though I 
 must confess I have been a madman, I would not confirm 
 the truth of it at my death. Dear child, call hither my 
 good friends, the priest, the bachelor Sampson Carrasco, 
 and Master Nicholas the barber : for I would make my 
 confession and my will." But this trouble was saved the 
 niece by the cooling of all three. 
 
 Scarcely had Don Quixote set his eyes on them, when 
 he cried out : " Give me joy, good gentlemen, that I am 
 now no longer Don Quixote de la Mancha, but Alonzo 
 Quixano, for his virtues surnamed the Good. I am now 
 an utter enemy to Amadis de Gaul, and the innumerable 
 rabble of his descendants : now all the histories of knight- 
 errantry are to me odious and profane : I am now sensible 
 of my folly, and of the danger I was lead into by reading 
 them ; and now, through the mercy of God, and my owit 
 dear-bought experience, I detest and abhor them." When
 
 08 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 his three friends heard him speak thus, they believed for 
 certain, that some new frenzy had possessed him ; and 
 Sampson said to him: " What ! Signer Don Quixote, 
 now that we have news of the Lady Dulcinea's being dis-- 
 enchanted, do you talk at this rate ? and, now that we 
 are just upon the point of becoming shepherds, to lead 
 our lives singing, and like any princes, would you turn 
 hermit?" " Peace, I conjure you," replied Don Quix- 
 ote; "recollect yourself, and leave idle stories: those, 
 which have hitherto done me so much real hurt, my re- 
 pentance, by the assistance of heaven, shall convert to my 
 good. I feel, gentlemen, the quick approach of death : 
 let us be serious, and bring me a confessor, and a notary 
 to draw my will; for in such circumstances as these, a 
 man must not trifle with his soul : and therefore I beseech 
 you, while my friend the priest is taking my confession, 
 let the notary be fetched." They stared at one another, 
 wondering at Don Quixote's expressions, and, though 
 still in some doubt, they resolved to believe him : and 
 one of the signs, by which they conjectured he was dying, 
 was his passing by so easy and sudden a transition, from 
 mad to sober. To the words he had already spoken he 
 added others, so proper, so rational, and so Christian, 
 that their doubt was quite removed, and they verily be- 
 lieved him in his perfect senses. The priest made every 
 body leave the room, and staid with him alone, and con- 
 fessed him. The bachelor went for the notary, and pre- 
 sently returned with him, and with Sancho Panza, who 
 having learned from the Bachelor in what condition his 
 master was, besides finding the housekeeper and the niece 
 in tears, began to pucker up his face, and to fall a-blub- 
 bering. The confession ended, the priest came out of the 
 room, saying: " Good Alonzo Quixano is just expiring, 
 and certainly in his right mind: let us all go in, that he 
 may make his will." This news opened the sluices of the
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 609 
 
 swollen eyes of the housekeeper, the niece, and Sancho 
 Panza, his trusty squire, in such wise, that it forced a 
 torrent of tears from their eyes, and a thousand groans 
 from their breasts : for, in truth, as has been said before, 
 both while he was plain Alonzo Quixano, and while he 
 was Don Quixote de la Mancha, he was ever of an ami- 
 able disposition, and affable behaviour, and was there- 
 fore beloved, not only by those of his own family, but by 
 all that knew him. 
 
 The notary now entered the room with tbe others ; and 
 the preamble of the will being made, and Don Quixote 
 having disposed of his soul, with all the Christian circum- 
 stances required, coming to the legacies, ha said : " Item, 
 it is my will, that in respect to certain monies, which 
 Sancho Panza. whom, in my madness, I made my squire, 
 has in his hands, there being between him and me some 
 reckonings, receipts, and disbursements, he shall not be 
 charged with them, nor called to any account for them ; 
 but if, after he has paid himself, there be any overplus, 
 which will be but very little, it shall be his own, and much 
 good may it do him : and if, as during my madness, I 
 was the occasion of procuring for him the government of 
 an island, I could, now that I am in my senses, procure 
 him that of a kingdom, I would readily do it ; for the 
 sincerity of his heart, and the fidelity of his dealings, de- 
 serve it :" and turning to Sancho, he said : " Forgive me, 
 friend, for making you a madman, by persuading you to 
 believe, as I did myself, that there have been formerly, 
 and are now, knights-errant in the world."" Alas!" an- 
 swered Sancho sobbing, " dear sir, do not die; but take 
 my counsel, and live many years ; for the greatest mad- 
 ness a man can commit in this life, is to suffer himself to 
 die, without any body's killing him, or being brought to 
 his end by any other hand than that of melancholy. Be 
 not lazy, sir, but get out of bed, and let us be going to 
 VOL. II. 4 I
 
 610 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 the field, dressed like shepherds, as we agreed to do ; and 
 who knows, but behind some bush or other we may find 
 the Lady Dulcinea disenchanted as fine as heart could 
 wish ? If you die for grief of being vanquished, lay the 
 blame upon me, and say you were unhorsed by my not 
 having girted Rozinante's saddle as it ought to have been : 
 besides, your worship must have read in your books of 
 chivalries, that it is a common thing for one knight to 
 unhorse another, and him who is vanquished to-day, to 
 become conqueror to-morrow." " It is so," said Samp- 
 son, "and honest Sancho is very much in the right." 
 " Gentlemen," replied Don Quixote, " let us proceed 
 fair and softly. Look not for this year's birds in last 
 year's nests. I was mad ; I am now sober : I was Don 
 Quixote de la Mancha; I am now, as I have said, the 
 good Alonzo Quixano: and may my unfeigned repen- 
 tance, and my sincerity, restore me to the esteem you 
 once had for me : and let the notary proceed." 
 
 " Item, I bequeath to Antonia Quixano, my niece, 
 here present, all my estate real and personal, after the 
 payment of all my debts and legacies : and the first to be 
 discharged shall be the wages due to my housekeeper, for 
 the time she has been in my service, and twenty ducats 
 besides for mourning. I appoint for my executors Signer 
 the priest, and Signor Bachelor Sampson Carrasco, here 
 present. Item, it is my will, that if Antonia Quixano, 
 my niece, is inclined to marry, it shall be with a man, 
 who, upon the strictest inquiry, shall be found to know 
 nothing of books of chivalry ; and in case it shall appear 
 he is acquainted with them, and my niece notwithstanding 
 will and does marry him, she shall forfeit all I have be- 
 queathed her, which my executors may dispose of in 
 pious uses as they think proper. Item, I beseech the said 
 gentlemen, my executors, that, if good fortune should 
 bring them acquainted with the author, who is said to
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 611 
 
 have written a history handed about, and entitled, THE 
 
 SECOND PART OF THE EXPLOITS OF DON QUIXOTE DE LA 
 
 MANCHA, they will, in my name, most earnestly entreat 
 him to pardon the occasion I have unwittingly given him 
 of writing so many and so great absurdities as he there has 
 done: for I depart this life with a burden upon my con- 
 science for having furnished him with a motive for so do- 
 ing." With this the will was closed, and a fainting-fit 
 seizing him, he stretched himself out at full length in the 
 bed. They were all alarmed, and ran to his assistance, 
 and in three days that he survived the making his will, he 
 fainted away very often. The house was all in confusion : 
 however, the niece ate, the housekeeper drank, and San- 
 cho Panza made much of himself ; for this business of lega- 
 cies effaces, or moderates the grief, that is naturally due 
 to the deceased. 
 
 In short, after receiving all the sacraments, and expres- 
 sing his abhorrence in strong and pathetic terms, of all 
 the books of chivalry, Don Quixote's last hour came. 
 The notary was present, and protested he had never read 
 in any book of chivalry, that ever any knight-errant had 
 died in his bed in so composed and Christian a manner as 
 Don Quixote, who, amidst the plaints and tears of the 
 by-standers, resigned his breath, I mean, died. Which 
 the priest seeing, he desired the notary to draw up a cer- 
 tificate, that Alonzo Quixano, commonly called Don 
 Quixote de la Mancha, was departed this life, and died a 
 natural death : and he insisted upon this testimonial, lest 
 any other author, besides Cid Hamet Benengeli, should 
 raise him from the dead, and write endless stories of his 
 exploits. 
 
 This was the end of the ingenious gentleman of La 
 Mancha, the place of whose birth Cid Hamet would not 
 expressly name, that all the towns and villages of La Man- 
 cha might contend among themselves, and each adopt him 
 
 4 I 2
 
 612 DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 for their own, as the seven cities of Greece contended for 
 Homer. We omit the lamentations of Sancho, the niece, 
 and the housekeeper, with the new epitaphs upon his 
 tomb, excepting this by Sampson Carrasco. 
 
 Here lies the flow'r of chivalry, 
 
 The knight of courage ample ; 
 la soul and arms so great was he, 
 Death could not quell his bravery, 
 
 Nor on his laurels trample. 
 
 He iu short time extended wide 
 
 Through all the world his glory ; 
 
 In madness with Orlando Tied, 
 
 But like a sober Christian died 
 And so concludes his story. 
 
 And the sagacious Cid Hamet, addressing himself to 
 his pen, said: " Here, O my slender quill, whether well 
 or ill cut I know not, here suspended by this brass wire, 
 shalt thou hang upon this spit-rack, and live many long 
 ages, if presumptuous or wicked historians do not take 
 thee down, to profane thee. But before they offer to 
 touch thee, give them this warning in the best manner 
 thou canst : 
 
 Beware ye poet-thieves, beware, 
 / Nor steal a tingle line j 
 
 For fate has made this work its care, 
 And guaranteed it mine. 
 
 For me alone was Don Quixote born, and I for him : he 
 knew how to act, and I how to write : we were destined 
 for each other, maugre and " in despite of that scribbling 
 impostor of Tordesillas who has dared, or shall dare, with 
 his gross and ill-cut ostrich quill, to describe the exploits 
 of my valorous knight ; a burden too weighty for his 
 shoulders, and an undertaking above his cold and frozen
 
 DON QUIXOTE. 613 
 
 genius. And warn him, if perchance he falls in thy way, 
 to suffer the wearied and now mouldering bones of Don 
 Quixote to repose in the grave: nor endeavour in con- 
 tradiction to all the ancient usages and customs of death, 
 to carry him into Old Castile, making him rise out of the 
 vault, in which he really and truly lies at full length, to- 
 tally unable to attempt a third expedition, or a new sally: 
 for the two he has already made with such success, and so 
 much to the general satisfaction, as well of the people of 
 these kingdoms of Spain, as of foreign countries, are suf- 
 ficient to ridicule all that have been made by other 
 knights-errant. And thus shalt thou comply with the duty 
 of thy Christian profession, giving good advice to those 
 who wish thee ill ; and I shall rest satisfied, and proud to 
 have been the first who enjoyed entire the fruits of his 
 writings: for my only desire was to bring into public 
 abhorrence the fabulous and absurd histories of knight- 
 errantry, which, by means of that of my true and genuine 
 Don Quixote, begin already to totter, and will doubtless 
 fall, never to rise again. Farewell."
 
 616 NOTES. 
 
 SOTE- PAGE 
 
 venture upon it, but for the ' tica' 1 neither put "in, nor 
 take out, for I understand it not." The judicious 
 reader will immediately see the necessity of deviating 
 from the original. 
 
 8 26 " With hay or with straw." The Spanish proverb is, De 
 
 pajo o de heno el jergon lie-no, the bed or tick full of 
 hay or straw. So it be filled, no matter with what. 
 
 9 26 " Tostatus." The name of a very voluminous Spanish 
 
 writer of divinity. 
 
 10 28 " Sancho's Dapple." This is a remarkable instance of the 
 
 forgetfulness or inattention of Cervantes : for Gines 
 de Passamonte is expressly mentioned as the thief, 
 both when the ass was stolen, and when he was reco- 
 vered. 
 
 11 32 " Saint Jago, and charge Spain." Santiago, y cierra Es- 
 
 pana, is the cry of the Spaniards at the onset in battle. 
 
 12 34 " Three and a half." The first was Alonzo de Ercilla, 
 
 author of the " Araunica ;" the second was Juan Ruso 
 of Cordova, aqthor of the " Austriada ;" and the third 
 Christopher Verves of Valencia, who wrote the " Mont- 
 serrato." By the half, Cervantes modestly alludes to 
 himself. 
 
 13 38 " Wipe your neighbour's son's nose, and take him into 
 
 your house." This is the literal translation of the 
 Spanish proverb, meaning, I suppose, *' Match your 
 daughter with your neighbour's son." 
 
 14 40 *' Almohadas." This is a play upon the word " Alrao- 
 
 hada," which means a cushion, and is also the name of 
 a famous tribe of Arabs in Africa. 
 
 15 42 " A palm-branch." In Spain and Italy they carry in pro- 
 
 cession, on Palm-Sunday, a branch of the palm-tree, 
 the leaves of which are plaited with great art and 
 nicety. 
 
 16 * 45 * A sanbenito." A sort of coat, made &f black canvass, 
 
 and painted over with flames and devils. It is worn 
 by heretics, when going to be burnt by order of the 
 Inquisition. 
 
 IT 49 " Toothpicks." In Spain they make toothpicks of wood 
 split to the size of a straw, and of considerable length. 
 They are wound up like small way tapers.
 
 NOTES. 617 
 
 SOTK PAGE 
 
 18 50 " Adventures." There is here a play upon the word 
 
 " Ventura," which means good fortune as well as ad- 
 ventures. 
 
 19 51 " Bachelorizing." A word made on purpose. In Spanish 
 
 " bachillear." 
 
 20 63 " Legs and eyes." This alludes to the various relics with 
 
 which the churches in Spain are enriched ; especially 
 when any " poor bare-footed friars," as Cervantes 
 calls them, happen to be canonized. Diego de Alcala 
 was one, and in the richest and most frequented church 
 in Spain. So also was Salvador de Orta. They were 
 both made saints in the reign of Philip II. These are 
 the two Sancho mentions in a former part of the work. 
 
 21 65 " Bare-footed friars." See Note 20. 
 
 22 72 Estrado." This is a part of the floor at the upper end 
 
 of rooms of state, which is raised above the rest, 
 where the Spanish ladies sit on cushions to receive 
 visits. 
 
 23 80 " Sardines." The name of a small fish, which the Spani- 
 
 ards cure as we do herrings. 
 
 24 92 From a friend to a friend, the bug, &c." Cervantes 
 
 quotes the beginning or end of some old local song, or 
 proverb, which cannot now be found; so that the 
 sense is not apparent. 
 
 25 101 " Carobes." Algarroba is a sort of leguminous plant, 
 
 with flat seeds in it. When either green or ripe, it is 
 harsh ; but sweet and pleasant after being dried. They 
 feed pigeons also with its seed. 
 
 26 104 " Giralda." This is the name of a brass statue on a stee- 
 ple in Seville, or rather a sort of vane *or weather- 
 cock. 
 
 27 104 " Bulls of Guisando." There are two large statues of 
 
 bulls in that town, which are supposed to have been 
 placed there by order of Metellus in the time of the 
 Romans. 
 
 28 107 " Their godsons are fighting." In the tilts and tourna- 
 
 ments the seconds were a kind of godfathers; aad cer- 
 tain ceremonies were performed upon those occasions. 
 
 29 107 " White wax." Small offences in Spain are sometimes 
 
 punished by a fine of a pound or two of white wax 
 - for 'the tapers in churches, &c. 
 VOL. II. 4 K
 
 618 NOTES. 
 
 VOTE PAGE 
 
 30 129 Isles of Poulus." Ovid was banished there by the Em- 
 
 peror Augustus, on account, as some have supposed, 
 of an amour with Livia, the wife of Augustus. Ovid 
 himself however has left no traces of the cause, and it 
 must ever rest on conjecture. 
 
 31 145 M Fish Nicholas, orNicholao." This alludes to a fabu- 
 
 lous story in the theatre of the gods. 
 
 32 153 " Shoe-dancers and caperers. These are a sort of dancers, 
 
 who strike the sole* of their shoes with the palm of 
 their hands to mark the time ; they are called " Za- 
 pateadores." 
 
 33 156 " Sayogiies." The people about Zamora, the poorest 
 
 in Spain. 
 
 34 156 " Zocodover." Some of the suburbs of Toledo, answer- 
 
 able to Wapping or Billingsgate. 
 
 a6 165 " A bagpipe of Zamora." The inhabitants of this place 
 excel on that instrument. 
 
 37 165 " The Castle of Reserve." This is taken from a simitar 
 
 story in Amadis de Gaul, b. xiii. ch. 54. 
 
 38 171 " In Flanders." At that time Antwerp and other Flemish 
 
 towns were the great marts for the trade and exchange 
 of all Europe. 
 
 39 178 te A cid in arms." Rodrigo Dias de Bivar, a great Spa- 
 
 nish commander against the Moors, was called the 
 cid ; hence the application of that word to any great 
 warrior. 
 
 40 198 " A Fucar." The name of a rich German family at 
 
 Augsberg, who were ennobled by Charles V. was 
 " Fucar" or " Fugger." There have been many as- 
 tonishing accounts told of their immense riches. Most 
 part of the money expended in that prince's wars passed 
 through their hands. 
 
 .. 41 193 " Don Pedro of Portugal." This was the person who 
 first set on foot the discoveries of the Portuguese to- 
 wards India and the Cape of Good Hope, in which he 
 was personally engaged. He was the fourth sou of 
 John I. 
 
 42 199 " " Reply or dispute." Among other extravagant pas- 
 sages in old romances, which Cervantes intended to 
 ridicule in thw adventure of the cave of Montesinos, 
 was that in particular, related in Araadis de Gaul, 
 b. xiy. ch. 71.
 
 NOTES. 619 
 
 NOTB VACS 
 
 43 201 "I know a prince." Our author here alludes to his pa- 
 
 tron, the Count de Lemos. 
 
 44 205 Espilorcheria." A sort of dirty shabby trick of a mean 
 
 narrow mind. 
 
 45 210 " Town of Bray." In Spanish it is called " Pueblo del 
 
 Rebuzno." 
 
 46 211 " King or rook." This alludes to the game of chess. 
 
 47 219 " Aljaferia." The Inquisition now inhabit the place. 
 
 48 223 " King Rodrigo." He was the last king of the Goths in 
 
 Spain, and was dethroned by the Moors. 
 
 49 232 " The watch-making business." The literal translation 
 
 is, " the people of the town of Reloxa," an imaginary 
 town, from " relox," a dock or watch. This is hardly 
 intelligible in the translation. 
 
 50 234 " A tologue." In Spanish " tologo;" a blunder of San- 
 
 cho's for " teologo," a divine. 
 
 51 256 " Mine-finder of histories." In the original " Zahori," 
 
 a discoverer of mines, who has a share in the property. 
 There is an old woman's story, still current with the 
 vulgar in Spain and Portugal, which is of Moorish 
 origin ; that a child, born between Holy Thursday 
 noon, and Good Friday noon, can see seven yards into 
 the ground. 
 
 52 277 " Cava." This is a sort of nick-name of the daughter of 
 
 Count Julian. She was ravished by King Rodrigo, 
 which occasioned the introduction of the Moors into 
 Spain. Her real name was Florinda ; but as she was the 
 occasion of Spain's being betrayed to the Moors, the 
 name is left offamong women, and iveu only to dogs. 
 
 53 285 " Tus, tus." These words are used in Spain to coax a 
 
 dog to come to you, when you intend to beat him. 
 
 54 287 " Michael Verino." He was a young Florentine of great 
 
 ability, who died at seventeen rather than take his 
 physician's advice, namely, a wife ! Politian made the 
 following epitaph upon him, in allusion to the circum- 
 stance : 
 
 Sola Venus poterat lento succurrere morbo : 
 \c se polluerat, maluit ille mori. 
 
 His fables and distich?, in imitation of Cato's, 
 are preserved and highly esteemed. 
 4 K 2
 
 620 NOTES. 
 
 NCTB PAGE 
 
 55 293 " Greek commentator." We cannot discover whom 
 
 Cervantes alludes to. Shelton translates it, " though 
 they be more than Mallera's." 
 
 56 294 " Lelilies. J ' This Moorish cry seems to be nothing more 
 
 than a quick and frequent repetition of the word 
 " Alia," which signifies God. 
 
 57 298 " Penitent of the light." Disciplinante de luz. "A pe- 
 
 nitent of the light," says the Royal Dictionary, 
 ' they call iu Germany him, who is to be exposed in 
 a public manner, by being led through the streets, or 
 set in the pillory." Thus far the Royal Dictionan. 
 In England, a white sheet, and a candle or torch in 
 hand, was called doing penance; and, under the same 
 appearance of white and a torch, the " amende ho- 
 norable" is performed in France. 
 
 X. B. By mistake No. ;>8 was omitted. 
 
 59. 3.33 " Clavileno." A name derived from two Spanish words; 
 clave, a nail or pin, and lena, wood. 
 
 60 335 " Gaeta." This is the name of a church in Spain, dedi- 
 
 caled to the Holy Trinity. 
 
 61 JI3 " Seven little she-goats." The Pleiades are vulgarly called 
 
 thus in Spam. 
 
 62 344 " A he-goat. <; In Spanish, " cabron" means either a he- 
 
 goat or a cuckold. IJence the play upon the word by 
 Sancho. 
 
 f'4~ ' The Christus." The cross put at the beginning of the 
 A, B, C ; from thence called the Christ-cross-row. 
 
 64 3S3. " Over the hills and far away." In the original it means, 
 
 " By the rocks of Ubeda," which is the beginning of 
 an old popular spng. 
 
 65 356 " To the rack." The original is, " draughts of the rack." 
 
 It alludes to a particular kind of torture in Spain, 
 namely, a thin piece of gauze moistened and put to 
 the lips of a person dying with thirst, who swallows it 
 , down, by degrees^ and then it is pulled up again by the 
 
 end the executioner holds in his hand. 
 
 66 356 ' Pears in a pannier." In. the month of March they send 
 
 great quantities of pears from Doraca to Madrid ; and 
 they must, be carefuHy packed to prevent them from 
 bruising.
 
 NOTES. 621 
 
 HuTf. PAGE 
 
 67 356 " Called Sancho." The true proverb is, " to keep silence 
 well is called " santo," holy : but Sancho changes it 
 to his own name. 
 
 63 361 " A la Gineta." That is, with short stirrups. 
 
 69 368 " Enchanted Moor." This alludes to the story of Mari- 
 
 tornes and the carrier, in the former part of this work. 
 
 70 369 " Wine-cooling bottles." The Spanish word is, " Can- 
 
 tiraplora." A sort of bottle for keeping wine cool, 
 with a very long neck, and very broad and flat below, 
 that the ice may lie conveniently upon it in the pail, 
 and a broad cork fitted to the pail, with a hole in the 
 middle, to let the neck of the bottle through. 
 
 71 369 " So cheap a rate." In Spanish, " barato" means cheap. 
 
 72 377 " Shoulder-belt." Here his belt, according to the true 
 
 signification of Tahali, is one hung on his shoulders ; 
 at Diego de Miranda's it seemed to be a belt girded 
 about his loins, and was made of a skin proper for the 
 weakness he was supposed to have in them. 
 
 73 382 " Fruit before him." Both the Spaniards and Italians 
 
 used to begin their dinner with some kind of fruit, as 
 we end it. 
 
 -4. 34 " Olla-podrida." An olla-podrida is a dish, consisting of 
 a great number of ingredients, as flesh, fowl, &c. all 
 stewed together. " Podrida" is usually interpreted 
 rotten, as if the slewing them together was supposed to 
 have the same effect, as to making them tender, as 
 rottenness would have. But Covarruvias, in his ety- 
 mologies, derives it from " poderoso," powerful, be- 
 cause all the ingredients are substantial and nourish- 
 ing. And this is confirmed by Sancho's adding, " the 
 stronger they are the better," uhen he mentions them 
 in a former part of this work. 
 
 i-j 33? " Cssuna." This is entirely fictitious. " Regio de Aguero" 
 means pcsiti-e of the omen, and " Tirteafucra," take 
 you rself a way. 
 
 76 385 " Pedro Kezio de Aguero." In the original, Sancho calls 
 him " Rezio de mal Agucro," Doctor Positive of the ill 
 omen. This is lost in the translation. 
 
 1 1 387 " Grateful bread." In Spanish it is Pan agradecido." 
 When the country-people would define an honed; good-
 
 622 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE FACE 
 
 Matured man, they say, "He is as good as bread 
 itself." 
 
 7S 404 " The stronger the better." See note 73. 
 
 79 406 " The benevolence." " Barato" originally means cheap ; 
 but, among gamesters, " darbarato" is, when a game- 
 ster, by way of courtesy, or in return for deciding in 
 his favour, gives something to a stander-by. And this 
 in Spain is a common practice among all ranks of peo- 
 ple, and many get their living by it. 
 
 422 " Trunk-hose." These are something similar to our pan- 
 taloons. " Calzas atacadas" are breeches and stock- 
 ings all in one, clasped or tied to the girdle. 
 
 81 448 " Poor porridge." It is called " Gazpacho," and is made 
 
 of oil, vinegar, water, salt, and spice, with bread. 
 
 82 449 " Hempen sandals." These are a sort of flat sandal, or 
 
 shoe made of hemp, or of bulrushes, artfully platted, 
 and fitted to the foot, worn by the poor people in Spain 
 and Italy. 
 S3 452 " Guelte." This in Dulch means money. 
 
 84 4(53 " Galiana." A beautiful palace of a Moorish princess, 
 
 now in ruins near Toboso, is called by that name. 
 
 85 471 " Lacqueian." This word " lacayuna" is made for the 
 
 purpose. 
 
 86 484 " Hagarene squadrons." There is a tradition still be- 
 
 lieved in Spain, that the Moors are descended from 
 1 Hagar. 
 
 87 491 " Xarama." The bulls of Xarama are supposed to be the 
 
 fiercest in all Spain. 
 
 f8 521 " Escotillo." Cervantes means Michael Scotus, who, be- 
 ing more knowing in natural and experimental philo- 
 sophy, than was common in the dark ages of igno- 
 rance, passed for a magician : as friar Bacon and Al- 
 bert the Great did : of the first of whom (Friar Bacon) 
 a like story of a brazen head is told. 
 
 89 523 " The shoe-jig." This was a peculiar sort of dance, in 
 
 which the soles of tlie shoe were struck by the palm of 
 the hand, at certain intervals, keeping regular time. 
 
 90 532 " Every hog." About the feast of St. Martin was the 
 
 time for killing hogs for bacon. 
 
 91 557 Twenty-three stone." This is about eleven arrobas:
 
 NOTES. 623 
 
 HOTE PACE 
 
 the arroba is a quarter of a hundred, or twenty-five 
 pounds : eleven of them make two hundred and se- 
 venty-five pounds. 
 
 92 558 " To feed a cat." This is an allusion to the custom in 
 Spain of an old or disabled soldier's earn ing offals of 
 tripe, or liver, about the streets to feed the cats. 
 
 '3 560 " Why ought." Here is a double meaning and play upon 
 the word " deve," which means either must, the sign 
 of a mood, or relates to owing a debt. 
 
 94 564 " Nemoroso." This has the same meaning as if in En- 
 
 glish we should say, " Mr. Wood called himself Mr. 
 Grove." 
 
 95 565 " The points and collar of a poet." Formerly, in Spain, 
 
 the men of quality wore loose coats, sloped down be- 
 fore and unbuttoned, under which appeared the rich 
 waistcoat, and its collar terminating in two points. 
 y6 583 * Seem the longer." It was considered so strange and 
 impudent a sight in Spain, for women, or even men, 
 to shew their naked wrists, or arms, that Cervantes 
 makes the devils dress so. 
 
 97 585 " Poor Jack." There is a fish in Spain, called " bacal, 
 
 loo," or poor-jack. 
 
 98 601 " Quarter-maravedi." These are about a half-penny 
 
 each. 
 
 99 602 " Mingo." This is the name of a very tedious and ver- 
 
 bose poet, cotemporary with our author, and pro- 
 bably somewhat fantastical in his dress. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 'V. Lewis, Printer, 
 Paternoter-row.
 
 s. 
 
 1 1 
 
 I s 
 
 ^t-UBRARY 
 
 ^fll!(|VER% ^lOS/MlfJ, 
 
 OS 
 ac
 
 ^ i? 
 
 TL s- 
 
 S -3 
 
 S "=5 
 
 s I 
 
 L ^ 
 
 %)JIW:NO^ 
 
 
 A 000150792 o 
 
 JI1YD-: 
 
 ^OF-CALIFO 
 f 
 
 .-SJAE-DNIVEII 
 
 M 
 
 OT 
 
 ,\\\E-UNIVEI 
 
 I 
 
 ^(JNIVEi 
 <