What happened to Sancho by the way; with other matters which you will have no more to do than to see.
Sanchopursued his way until the night overtook him within half a league of the duke's castle. However, as it was summer-time, he was not much uneasy, and chose to go out of the road, with a design to stay there till the morning. But, while he sought some place where he might rest himself, he and Dapple tumbled of a sudden into a very deep hole, among the ruins of an old building. As he was falling, he fancied himself sinking down into some bottomless abyss; but he was in no such danger, for by the time he had descended somewhat lower than eighteen feet, Dapple made a full stop at the bottom, and his rider found himself still on his back, without the least hurt in the world. Presently Sancho began to consider the condition of his bones, held his breath, and felt all about him; and finding himself sound and in a whole skin, he thought he could never give Heaven sufficient thanks for his wondrous preservation; for at first he gave himself over for lost and broken into a thousand pieces. He groped with both hands about the walls of the pit to try if it were possible to get out without help; but he found them all so steep, that there was not the least hold or footing to get up. This grieved him to the soul; and to increase his sorrow, Dapple began to raise his voice in a very piteous and doleful manner, which pierced his master's very heart: nor did the poor beast make such moan without reason, for to say the truth, he was but in a woful condition. "Woe's me," cried Sancho, "what sudden and unthought of mischances every foot befall us poor wretches in this miserable world! Who would have thought that he who but yesterday saw himself seated on the throne of an island-governor, and had servants and vassals at his beck, should to-day find himself buried in a pit, without the least soul to help him or come to his relief? Here we are likely to perish with hunger, I and my ass, if we do not die before, he of his bruises, and I of grief and anguish. At least, I shall not be so lucky as was my master Don Quixote, when he went down into the cave of the enchanter Montesinos. He found better fare there than he could have at his own house; the cloth was laid, and his bed made, and he saw nothing but pleasant visions; but I am like to see nothing here but toads and snakes. Unhappy creature that I am! What have my foolish designs and whimsies brought me to?"
At length, after a whole night's lamenting and complaining at a miserable rate, the day came on; and its light having confirmed Sancho in his doubts of the possibility of getting out of that place without help, he again made a vigorous outcry, to try whether any body might not hear him. But alas, all his calling was in vain; for all around there was nobody within hearing; and at first he gave himself over for dead and buried. He cast his eyes on Dapple, and seeing him extended on the ground, and sadly dejected, he went to him, and tried to get him on his legs, which, with much ado, by means of his assistance, the poor beast did at last, being hardly able to stand. Then he took a luncheon of bread out of his wallet, that had run the same fortune with them, and giving it to the ass, who took it not at all amiss, and made no bones of it, "Here," said Sancho, as if the beast had understood him, "a fat sorrow is better than a lean." At length, he perceived on one side of the pit a great hole, wide enough for a man to creep through stooping. He drew to it, and having crawled through on all fours, found that it led into a vault, that enlarged itself the further it extended, which he could easily perceive, the sun shining in towards the top of the concavity. Having made this discovery, he went back to his ass, and like one that knew what belonged to digging, with a stone he began to remove the earth that was about the hole, and laboured so effectually, that he soon made a passage for his companion. Then taking him by the halter, he led him along through the cave, to try if he could not find a way to get out on the other side. "Alas!" said he to himself, "what a heart of a chicken have I! This, which to me is a sad disaster, to my master Don Quixote would be a rare adventure. He would look upon these caves and dungeons as lovely gardens and glorious palaces, and hope to be led out of these dark narrow cells into some fine meadow; while I, luckless, heartless wretch that I am, every step I take, expect to sink into some deeper pit than this, and go down I do not know whither." Thus he went on, lamenting and despairing, and thought he had gone somewhat more than half a league, when at last he perceived a kind of confused light, like that of day, break in at some open place, but which, to poor Sancho, seemed a prospect of a passage into another world.
But here we leave him a while; and return to Don Quixote, who entertained and pleased himself with the hopes of a speedy combat between him and Donna Rodriguez's enemy, whose wrongs he designed to see redressed.
Which treats of matters that relate to this history, and no other.
Theduke and duchess resolved that Don Quixote's challenge against their vassal should not be ineffectual; and the young man being fled into Flanders, to avoid having Donna Rodriguez to his mother-in-law, they made choice of a Gascoin lackey, named Tosilos, to supply his place, and gave him instructions how to act his part. Two days after, the duke acquainted Don Quixote, that within four days his antagonist would meet him in the lists, armed at all points like a knight, to maintain that the damsel lied through the throat in saying that he had ever promised her marriage. Don Quixote was mightily pleased with this news, promising himself to do wonders on this occasion; and esteeming it an extraordinary happiness to have such an opportunity to shew, before such noble spectators, how great were his valour and his strength. Cheered and elevated with these hopes, he waited for the end of these four days, which his eager impatience made him think so many ages.
DON QUIXOTE.
It happened one morning, as he was riding out to prepare and exercise against the time of battle, that Rozinante pitched his feet near the brink of a deep cave; insomuch that, if Don Quixote had not used the best of his skill, he must infallibly have tumbled into it. Having escaped that danger, he was tempted to look into the cave without alighting; and wheeling about, rode up to it. While he was satisfying his curiosity and seriously musing, he thought he heard a noise within; and thereupon listening, he could distinguish these words, which in a doleful tone arose out of the cavern: "Ho, above there! is there no good Christian that hears me; no charitable knight or gentleman, that will take pity of a sinner buried alive, a poor governor without a government?" Don Quixote fancied he heard Sancho's voice, which did not a little surprise him; and for his better satisfaction, raising his voice as much as he could, "Who is that below?" cried he; "who is that complains?" "Who should it be, to his sorrow," cried Sancho, "but the most wretched Sancho Panza, governor, for his sins and for his unlucky errantry, of the island of Barataria, formerly squire to the famous knight Don Quixote de la Mancha?" These words redoubled Don Quixote's surprise, and increased his amazement: "I conjure thee," said he, "as I am a Catholic Christian, to tell me who thou art? And, if thou art a soul in pain, let me know what thou wouldst have me to do for thee? For since my profession is to assist and succour all that are afflicted in this world, it shall also be so to relieve and help those who stand in need of it in the other, and who cannot help themselves." "Surely, sir," answered he from below, "you thatspeak to me should be my master Don Quixote. By the tone of your voice it can be no man else." "My name is Don Quixote," replied the knight, "and I think it my duty to assist not only the living but the dead in their necessities. Tell me then who thou art, for thou fillest me with astonishment?" "Why then," replied the voice, "I make oath that I am Sancho Panza your squire, and that I never was dead yet in my life. But only having left my government, for reasons and causes which I have not leisure yet to tell you, last night unluckily I fell into this cave, where I am still, and Dapple with me, that will not let me tell a lie; for, as a farther proof of what I say, he is here." Now what is strange, immediately, as if the ass had understood what his master said, to back his evidence, he fell a-braying so obstreperously, that he made the whole cave ring again. "A worthy witness," cried Don Quixote; "I know his bray, and I know thy voice too, my Sancho. I find thou art my real squire; stay, therefore, till I go to the castle, which is hard by, and fetch more company to help thee out of the pit into which thy sins doubtless have thrown thee." "Make haste, I beseech you, sir," quoth Sancho, "and come again as fast as you can; for I can no longer endure to be here buried alive."
Don Quixote went with all speed to the castle, and gave the duke and duchess an account of Sancho's accident, whilst they did not a little wonder at it; though they conceived he might easily enough fall in at the mouth of the cave, which had been there time out of mind. But they were mightily surprised to hear he had abdicated his government, before they had an account of his coming away.
In short, they sent ropes and other conveniences by their servants to draw him out; and at last, with much trouble and labour, both he and his Dapple were restored to the light of the sun. They then proceeded to the castle, where the duke and duchess waited for them in the gallery. As for Sancho, he would not go up to see the duke, till he had seen his ass in the stable, and provided for him; for he said the poor beast had but sorry entertainment in his last night's lodging. This done, away he went to wait on his lord and lady; and throwing himself on his knees, "My lord and lady," said he, "I went to govern your island of Barataria, such being your will and pleasure, though it was your goodness more than my desert. Naked I entered into it, and naked I came away. I neither won nor lost. Whether I governed well or ill, there are those not far off can tell; and let them tell, if they please, that can tell better than I. I have resolved doubtful cases, determined law-suits, and all the while ready to die for hunger; such was the pleasure of Doctor Pedro Rezio, of Tirteafuera, that physician in ordinary to island-governors. Enemies set upon us in the night; and after they had put us in great danger, the people of the island say they were delivered, and hadthe victory; and may Heaven prosper them as they speak truth! In short, in that time I experienced all the cares and burdens this trade of governing brings along with it, and I found them too heavy for my shoulders. I was never cut out for a ruler, and I am too clumsy to meddle with edge-tools; and so, before the government left me, I even resolved to leave the government; and accordingly, yesterday morning I quitted the island as I found it, with the same streets, the same houses, and the same roofs to them, as when I came to it. I have asked for nothing by way of loan, and have made no hoard against a rainy day. I designed, indeed, to have issued out several wholesome orders, but did not, for fear they should not be kept; in which case, it signifies no more to make them than if one made them not. So, as I said before, I came away from the island without any company but my Dapple. I fell into a cave, and went a good way through it, till this morning, by the light of the sun, I spied my way out; yet not so easy but, had not Heaven sent my master, Don Quixote, to help me, there I might have stayed till doomsday. And now, my lord duke and my lady duchess, here is your governor Sancho Panza again; who, by a ten days' government, has only picked up so much experience as to know he would not give a straw to be a governor, not only of an island, but of the whole world. This being allowed, kissing your honours' hands, and doing like the boys when they play at trusse or saille, who cry, 'Leap you, and then let me leap,' so I leap from the government to my old master's service again."
Thus Sancho concluded his speech; and Don Quixote, who all the while dreaded he would have said a thousand impertinencies, was glad in his heart, finding him end with so few. The duke embraced Sancho, and told him he was very sorry he had quitted his government so soon; but that he would give him some other employment that should be less troublesome, and more profitable. The duchess was no less kind, giving order he should want for nothing; for he seemed sadly bruised and out of order.
Of the extraordinary and unaccountable combat between Don Quixote de la Mancha and the lackey Tosilos, in vindication of the matron Donna Rodriguez's daughter.
Theday appointed for the combat was now come; nor had the duke forgotten to give his lackey, Tosilos, all requisite instructions how to vanquish Don Quixote, and yet neither kill nor wound him; to which purpose he gave orders that the spears, or steel heads of their lances, should be taken off; making DonQuixote sensible that Christianity, for which he had so great a veneration, did not admit that such conflicts should so much endanger the lives of the combatants; and that it was enough he granted him free lists in his territories, though it was against the decree of the holy council, which forbids such challenges; for which reason he desired them not to push the thing to the utmost rigour. Don Quixote replied, that his grace had the sole disposal of all things, and it was only his duty to obey.
And now, the dreadful day being come, the duke caused a spacious scaffold to be erected for the judges of the field of battle, and for the matron and her daughter, the plaintiffs.
An infinite number of people flocked from all the neighbouring towns and villages, to behold the wonderful combat, the like of which had never been seen, or so much as heard of, in these parts. The first that made his entrance at the barriers was the marshal of the field, who came to survey the ground, and rode all over it, that there might be no foul play, nor private holes, nor contrivance to make one stumble or fall. After that entered the matron and her daughter, who seated themselves in their places, all in deep mourning, with no small demonstration of sorrow. Presently, at one end of the field, appeared the peerless champion, Don Quixote de la Mancha; a while after, at the other, entered the grand lackey, Tosilos, attended with a great number of trumpets, and mounted on a mighty steed, that shook the very earth. The valorous combatant came on, well tutored by the duke his master how to behave himself towards Don Quixote, being warned to spare his life by all means; and therefore, to avoid a shock in his first career, that might otherwise prove fatal, should he encounter him directly, Tosilos fetched a compass about the barrier, and at last made a stop right against the two women, casting a curious eye upon her that had demanded him in marriage. Then the marshal of the field called to Don Quixote, and, in presence of Tosilos, asked the mother and the daughter whether they consented that Don Quixote de la Mancha should vindicate their right, and whether they would stand or fall by the fortune of their champion. They said they did, and allowed of whatever he should do in their behalf as good and valid. The duke and duchess were now seated in a gallery that was over the barriers, which were surrounded by a vast throng of spectators, all waiting to see the terrible and unprecedented conflict. The conditions of the combat were these: That if Don Quixote were the conqueror, his opponent should marry Donna Rodriguez's daughter; but if the knight were overcome, then the victor should be discharged from his promise. Then the marshal of the field placed each of them on the spot whence he should start, dividing equally between them the advantage of the ground, that neither of them might have the sun in his eyes. And now the drums beat, and the clangour of the trumpets resounded through the air; the earthshook under them, and the hearts of the numerous spectators were in suspense,—some fearing, others expecting, the good or bad issue of the battle. Don Quixote, recommending himself to Heaven and his Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, stood expecting when the precise signal for the onset should be given. But our lackey's mind was otherwise employed, and all his thoughts were upon what I am going to tell you.
It seems, as he stood looking on his female enemy, she appeared to him the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his whole life; which being perceived by the little blind archer to whom the world gives the name of Love, he took his advantage; and, fond of improving his triumphs, though it were but over a lackey, he came up to him softly, and, without being perceived by any one, he shot an arrow two yards long into the poor footman's side, so smartly that his heart was pierced through and through—a thing which the mischievous boy could easily do; for love is invisible, and has free ingress or egress where he pleases, at a most unaccountable rate. You must know, then, that when the signal for the onset was given, our lackey was in an ecstasy—transported with the thoughts of the beauty of his lovely enemy, insomuch that he took no manner of notice of the trumpet's sound; quite contrary to Don Quixote, who no sooner heard it than, clapping spurs to his horse, he began to make towards the enemy with Rozinante's best speed. Tosilos saw Don Quixote come towards him; yet, instead of taking his career to encounter him—without leaving the place—he called as loud as he could to the marshal of the field: "Sir," said Tosilos, "is not this duel to be fought that I may marry yonder young lady or let it alone?" "Yes," answered the marshal. "Why, then," said the lackey, "I feel a burden upon my conscience, and am sensible I should have a great deal to answer for, should I proceed any farther in this combat; and therefore I yield myself vanquished, and desire I may marry the lady this moment." The marshal of the field was surprised; and as he was privy to the duke's contrivance of that business, the lackey's unexpected submission put him to such a nonplus, that he knew not what to answer. On the other side, Don Quixote stopped in the middle of his career, seeing his adversary did not put himself in a posture of defence. The duke could not imagine why the business of the field was at a stand; but the marshal having informed him, he was amazed, and in a great passion. In the meantime Tosilos, approaching Donna Rodriguez, "Madam," cried he, "I am willing to marry your daughter; there is no need of law-suits nor of combats in the matter; I had rather make an end of it peaceably, and without the hazard of body and soul." "Why, then," said the valorous Don Quixote, hearing this, "since it is so, I am discharged of my promise; let them even marry in God's name, and Heaven bless them, and give them joy!" At the same time the duke,coming down within the lists, and applying himself to Tosilos, "Tell me, knight," said he, "is it true that you yield without fighting; and that, at the instigation of your timorous conscience, you are resolved to marry this damsel?" "Yes, if it please your grace," answered Tosilos. "Marry, and I think it the wisest course," quoth Sancho; "for what says the proverb? What the mouse would get, give the cat, and keep thyself out of trouble." In the meanwhile Tosilos began to unlace his helmet, and called out that somebody might help him off with it quickly, as being so choked with his armour that he was scarce able to breathe. With that they took off his helmet with all speed, and then the lackey's face was plainly discovered. Donna Rodriguez and her daughter perceiving it presently, "A cheat—a cheat!" cried they; "they have got Tosilos, my lord duke's lackey, to counterfeit my lawful husband: justice of Heaven and the king—this is a piece of malice and treachery not to be endured!" "Ladies," said Don Quixote, "do not vex yourselves; there is neither malice nor treachery in the case; or, if there be, the duke is not in fault. No; these evil-minded necromancers that persecute me are the traitors; who, envying the glory I should have got by this combat, have transformed the face of my adversary into this, which you see is the duke's lackey. But take my advice, madam," added he to the daughter, "and, in spite of the baseness of my enemies, marry him; for I dare engage it is the very man you claim as your husband." The duke, hearing this, angry as he was, could hardly forbear losing his indignation in laughter. "Truly," said he, "so many extraordinary accidents every day befall the great Don Quixote, that I am inclined to believe this is not my lackey, though he appears to be so. But, for our better satisfaction, let us defer the marriage but a fortnight, and in the meanwhile keep in close custody this person that has put us into this confusion; perhaps by that time he may resume his former looks; for, doubtless, the malice of those mischievous magicians against the noble Don Quixote cannot last so long, especially when they find all these tricks and transformations of so little avail." "Alack-a-day, sir!" quoth Sancho, "those plaguy imps are not so soon tired as you think; for where my master is concerned, they use to form and deform, and chop and change this into that, and that into the other. It is but a little while ago that they transmogrified the Knight of the Mirrors, whom he had overcome, into a special acquaintance of ours, the bachelor Sampson Carrasco, of our village; and as for the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, our mistress, they have bewitched and bedevilled her into the shape of a mere country blouze; and so I verily think this saucy fellow here is likely to live a footman all the days of his life." "Well," cried the daughter, "let him be what he will, if he will have me, I will have him. I ought to thank him; for I had rather be a lackey's wife than his that deluded me, whohas proved himself no gentleman." To be short, the sum of the matter was, that Tosilos should be confined, to see what his transformation would come to. Don Quixote was proclaimed victor, by general consent; and the people went away, most of them very much out of humour, because the combatants had not cut one another to pieces to make them sport, according to the custom of the young rabble, who are sorry when, after they have stayed in hopes to see a man hanged, he happens to be pardoned, either by the party he has wronged or the magistrate. The crowd being dispersed, the duke and duchess returned with Don Quixote into the castle; Tosilos was secured, and kept close. As for Donna Rodriguez and her daughter, they were very well pleased to see, one way or another, that the business would end in marriage; and Tosilos flattered himself with the like expectation.
How adventures crowded so thick on Don Quixote that they trod upon one another's heels.
Don Quixotethought it now time to leave the idle life he had led in the castle, believing it a mighty fault thus to shut himself up, and indulge his appetite among the tempting varieties of dainties and delights which the lord and lady of the place provided for his entertainment as a knight-errant. Accordingly, one day he acquainted the duke and duchess with his sentiments, and begged their leave to depart. They both seemed very unwilling to part with him; but yet at last yielded to his entreaties. The duchess gave Sancho his wife's letters, which he could not hear read without weeping. "Who would have thought," cried he, "that all the mighty hopes with which my wife swelled herself up at the news of my preferment, should come to this at last; and how I should be reduced again to trot after my master Don Quixote de la Mancha, in search of hunger and broken bones! However, I am glad to see my Teresa was like herself, in sending the duchess the acorns, which if she had not done, she had shewed herself ungrateful, and I should never have forgiven her. My comfort is, that no man can say the present was a bribe; for I had my government before she sent it; and it is fit those who have a kindness done them should shew themselves grateful, though it be with a small matter."
Don Quixote, having taken his solemn leave of the duke and duchess overnight, left his apartment the next morning, and appeared in his armour in the court-yard—the galleries all round about being filled at the same time with the people of the house;the duke and duchess being also there to see him. Sancho was upon his Dapple, with his cloak-bag, his wallet, and his provision, very brisk and cheerful; for the steward that acted the part of Trifaldi had given him a purse, with two hundred crowns in gold, to defray expenses.
Don Quixote no sooner breathed the air in the open field, than he fancied himself in his own element; he felt the spirit of knight-errantry reviving in his breast; and turning to Sancho, "Liberty," said he, "friend Sancho, is one of the most valuable blessings that Heaven has bestowed upon mankind. Not all the treasures concealed in the bowels of the earth, nor those in the bosom of the sea, can be compared with it. For liberty a man may, nay ought, to hazard even his life, as well as for honour, accounting captivity the greatest misery he can endure. I tell thee this, my Sancho, because thou wert a witness of the good cheer and plenty which we met with in the castle. Yet, in the midst of those delicious feasts, among those tempting dishes, and those liquors cooled with snow, methought I suffered the extremity of hunger, because I did not enjoy them with that freedom as if they had been my own; for the obligations that lie upon us to make suitable returns for kindnesses received, are ties that will not let a generous mind be free. Happy the man whom Heaven has blest with bread, for which he is obliged to thank kind Heaven alone!" "For all these fine words," quoth Sancho, "it is not proper for us to be unthankful for two good hundred crowns in gold, which the duke's steward gave me in a little purse, which I have here, and cherish in my bosom as a relic against necessity, and a comforting cordial, next my heart, against all accidents; for we are not like always to meet with castles where we shall be made much of."
As the knight and squire went on discoursing of this and other matters, they had not ridden much more than a league ere they espied about a dozen men, who looked like country fellows, sitting at their victuals, with their cloaks under them, on the green grass in the middle of a meadow. Near them they saw several white cloths or sheets, spread out and laid close to one another, that seemed to cover something. Don Quixote rode up to the people, and after he had civilly saluted them, asked what they had got under that linen. "Sir," answered one of the company, "they are some carved images, that are to be set up at an altar we are erecting in our town. We cover them lest they should be sullied, and carry them on our shoulders for fear they should be broken." "If you please," said Don Quixote, "I should be glad to see them; for, considering the care you take of them, they should be pieces of value." "Ay, marry are they," quoth another, "or else we are mistaken; for there is never an image among them that does not stand us more than fifty ducats; and that you may know I am no liar, do but stay, and you shall see with your owneyes." With that, he took off the cover from one of the figures, that happened to be St. George on horseback, and under his feet a serpent coiled up, his throat transfixed with a lance, with the fierceness that is commonly represented in the piece; and all, as they use to say, spick and span new, and shining like beaten gold. Don Quixote having seen the image, "This," said he, "was one of the best knights-errant the church-militant ever had; his name was Don St. George, and he was an extraordinary protector of damsels. What is the next?" The fellow having uncovered it, it proved to be St. Martin on horseback. "This knight too," said Don Quixote at the first sight, "was one of the Christian adventurers; and I am apt to think he was more liberal than valiant; and thou mayst perceive it, Sancho, by his dividing his cloak with a poor man: he gave him half, and doubtless it was winter-time, or else he would have given it him whole, he was so charitable." "Not so, neither, I fancy," quoth Sancho; "but I guess he stuck to the proverb, To give and keep what is fit, requires a share of wit." Don Quixote smiled, and desired the men to shew him the next image, which appeared to be that of the patron of Spain on horseback, with his sword bloody, trampling down Moors, and treading over heads. "Ay, this is a knight indeed," cried Don Quixote, when he saw it; "he is called Don St. Jago Mata Moros, or Don St. James the Moor-killer; and may be reckoned one of the most valorous saints and professors of chivalry that the earth then enjoyed, and Heaven now possesses." Then they uncovered another piece, which shewed St. Paul falling from his horse, with all the circumstances usually expressed in the story of his conversion; and represented so to the life, that he looked as if he had been answering the voice that spoke to him from heaven. "This," said Don Quixote, "was the greatest enemy the church-militant had once, and proved afterwards the greatest defender it will ever have;—in his life a true knight-errant, and in death a stedfast saint; an indefatigable labourer in the vineyard of the Lord, a teacher of the Gentiles, who had Heaven for his school, and Christ himself for his master and instructor." Then Don Quixote, perceiving there were no more images, desired the men to cover those he had seen; "And now, my good friends," said he to them, "I cannot but esteem the sight that I have had of these images as a happy omen; for these saints and knights were of the same profession that I follow, which is that of arms: the difference only lies in this point, that they were saints, and fought according to the rules of holy discipline; and I am a sinner, and fight after the manner of men."
All this while the men wondered at Don Quixote's figure, as well as his discourse, but could not understand one half of what he meant. So that, after they had made an end of their dinner, they got up their images, took their leave of Don Quixote, and continued their journey.
Sancho remained full of admiration, as if he had never known his master: he wondered how he should come to know all these things, and fancied there was not that history or adventure in the world but he had it at his fingers' ends. "Truly, master of mine," quoth he, "if what has happened to us to-day may be called an adventure, it is one of the sweetest and most pleasant we ever met with in all our rambles; for we are come off without a basting, or the least bodily fear. We have not so much as laid our hands upon our weapons; but here we be safe and sound, neither dry nor hungry. Heaven be praised that I have seen all this with my own eyes!" "Thou sayest well, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "but I must tell thee that seasons and times are not always the same, but often take a different course; and what the vulgar call forebodings and omens, for which there are no rational grounds in nature, ought only to be esteemed happy encounters by the wise. One of these superstitious fools, going out of his house betimes in the morning, meets a friar of the blessed order of St. Francis, and starts as if he had met a griffin, turns back, and runs home again. Another wiseacre happens to throw down the salt on the tablecloth, and thereupon is sadly cast down himself; as if nature were obliged to give tokens of ensuing disasters by such slight and inconsiderable accidents as these. A wise and truly religious man ought never to pry into the secrets of Heaven. Scipio, landing in Africa, stumbled and fell down as he leaped ashore. Presently his soldiers took this for an ill omen; but he, embracing the earth, cried, 'I have thee fast, Africa; thou shalt not escape me.'"
Thus discoursing, they got into a wood quite out of the road; and on a sudden Don Quixote, before he knew where he was, found himself entangled in some nets of green thread, that were spread across among the trees. Not being able to imagine what it was, "Certainly, Sancho," cried he, "this adventure of the nets must be one of the most unaccountable that can be imagined. Let me die, now, if this be not a stratagem of the evil-minded necromancers that haunt me, to stop my way." With that the knight put briskly forwards, resolving to break through; but in the very moment there sprung from behind the trees two most beautiful shepherdesses, at least they appeared to be so by their habits, only with this difference, that they were richly dressed in gold brocade. Their flowing hair hung down about their shoulders in curls as charming as the sun's golden rays, and circled on their brows with garlands of green baize and red-flower-gentle interwoven. As for their age, it seemed not less than fifteen, nor more than eighteen years. This unexpected vision dazzled and amazed Sancho, and surprised Don Quixote; till at last one of the shepherdesses opening her coral lips, "Hold, sir," she cried; "pray do not tear those nets which we have spread here, not to offend you, but to divert ourselves; and because it is likely youwill inquire why they are spread here, and who we are, I shall tell you in few words.
"About two leagues from this place lies a village, where there are many people of quality and good estates; among these several have made up a company to come and take their diversion in this place, which is one of the most delightful in these parts. To this purpose we design to set up a new Arcadia. The young men have put on the habit of shepherds, and ladies the dress of shepherdesses. We have got two eclogues by heart; one out of the famous Garcilasso, and the other out of Camoens, the most excellent Portuguese poet; though we have not yet repeated them, for yesterday was but the first day of our coming hither. We have pitched some tents among the trees, near the banks of a large brook that waters all these meadows. And last night we spread these nets, to catch such simple birds as our calls should allure into the snare. Now, sir, if you please to afford us your company, you shall be made very welcome, and handsomely entertained; for we are all disposed to pass the time agreeably." "Truly, fair lady," answered Don Quixote, "I applaud the design of your entertainment, and return you thanks for your obliging offers; assuring you, that if it lies in my power to serve you, you may depend on my obedience to your commands; for my profession is the very reverse of ingratitude, and aims at doing good to all persons, especially those of your merit and condition; so that were these nets spread over the surface of the whole earth, I would seek out a passage throughout new worlds, rather than I would break the smallest thread that conduces to your pastime: and that you may give some credit to this seeming exaggeration, know, that he who makes this promise is no less than Don Quixote de la Mancha, if ever such a name has reached your ears." "Oh, my dear," cried the other shepherdess, "what good fortune is this! You see this gentleman before us: I must tell you he is the most valiant, the most loving, and the most complaisant person in the world, if the history of his exploits, already in print, does not deceive us. I have read it, and I hold a wager, that honest fellow there by him is one Sancho Panza, his squire, the most comical creature that ever was." "You have hit it," quoth Sancho, "I am that very squire you wot of; and there is my lord and master, the aforesaid Don Quixote de la Mancha." "Oh pray, my dear," said the other, "let us entreat him to stay; our father and our brothers will be mighty glad of it. I have heard of his valour and his merit, as much as you now tell me; and what is more, they say he is the most constant and faithful lover in the world, and that his mistress, whom they call Dulcinea del Toboso, bears the prize from all the beauties in Spain." "It is not without justice," said Don Quixote, "if your peerless charms do not dispute with her that glory. But, ladies, I beseech you do not endeavour to detain me; for theindispensable duties of my profession will not suffer me to rest in one place."
At the same time came the brother of one of the shepherdesses, clad like a shepherd, but in a dress as splendid and gay as those of the young ladies. They told him that the gentleman whom he saw with them was the valorous Don Quixote de la Mancha, and that other Sancho Panza, his squire, of whom he had read the history. The gallant shepherd having saluted him, begged of him so earnestly to grant them his company to their tents, that Don Quixote was forced to comply, and go with them.
About the same time the nets were drawn and filled with divers little birds, who being deceived by the colour of the snare, fell into the danger they would have avoided. Above thirty persons, all gaily dressed like shepherds and shepherdesses, got together there; and being informed who Don Quixote and his squire were, they were not a little pleased, for they were already no strangers to his history. In short they carried them to their tents, where they found a sumptuous entertainment ready. They obliged the knight to take the place of honour; and while they sat at table, there was not one that did not gaze on him, and wonder at so strange a figure.
At last, the cloth being removed, Don Quixote with a great deal of gravity, lifting up his voice, "Of all the sins that men commit," said he, "none, in my opinion is so great as ingratitude, though some think pride a greater; and I ground my assertion on this, that hell is said to be full of the ungrateful. Ever since I had the use of reason, I have employed my utmost endeavours to avoid this crime; and if I am not able to repay the benefits I receive in their kind, at least I am not wanting in real intentions of making suitable returns; and if that be not sufficient, I make my acknowledgments as public as I can: for he that proclaims the kindnesses he has received, shews his disposition to repay them if he could; and those that receive are generally inferior to those that give. The Supreme Being, that is infinitely above all things, bestows his blessings on us so much beyond the capacity of all other benefactors, that all the acknowledgments we can make can never hold proportion with his goodness. However, a thankful mind in some measure supplies its want of power, with hearty desires and unfeigned expressions of a sense of gratitude and respect. I am in this condition, as to the civilities I have been treated with here; for I am unable to make an acknowledgment equal to the kindnesses I have received. I shall, therefore, only offer you what is within the narrow limits of my own abilities, which is to maintain, for two whole days together, in the middle of the road that leads to Saragosa, that these ladies here, disguised in the habits of shepherdesses, are the fairest and most courteous damsels in the world, excepting only the peerless Dulcineadel Toboso, sole mistress of my thoughts; without offence to all that hear me, be it spoken."
Here Sancho, who had all the while given ear to his master's compliment, thought fit to put in a word or two. "Now, in the name of wonder," quoth he, "can there be any body in the world so impudent as to say that this master of mine is a madman? Pray, tell me, ye gentlemen shepherds, did you ever know any of your country parsons, though never so wise, or so good scholars, that could deliver themselves so finely? Or is there any of your knights-errant, though never so famed for prowess, that can make such an offer as he has here done?"
Don Quixote turned towards Sancho, and, beholding him with eyes full of fiery indignation, "Can there be any body in the world," cried he, "that can say thou art not an incorrigible blockhead, Sancho; a compound of folly and knavery, wherein malice also is no small ingredient? Who bids thee meddle with my concerns, or busy thyself with my folly or discretion? Make no reply; but go and saddle Rozinante, if he is unsaddled, that I may immediately perform what I have offered; for in so noble and so just a cause, thou mayest reckon all those who shall presume to oppose me subdued and overthrown." This said, up he started, with marks of anger in his looks, to the amazement of all the company, who were at a loss whether they should esteem him a madman or a man of sense. They endeavoured to prevail with him, however, to lay aside his challenge, telling him, they were sufficiently assured of his grateful nature, without exposing him to the danger of such demonstrations; and as for his valour, they were so well informed by the history of his numerous achievements, that there was no need of any new instance to convince them of it. But all these representations could not dissuade him from his purpose; and therefore, having mounted Rozinante, braced his shield and grasped his lance, he went and posted himself in the middle of the highway, not far from the verdant meadow, followed by Sancho on his Dapple, and all the pastoral society, who were desirous to see the event of that unaccountable defiance.
And now the champion, having taken his ground, made the neighbouring air ring with the following challenge: "O ye, whoever you are, knights, squires, on foot or on horseback, that now pass, or shall pass this road within these two days, know, that Don Quixote de la Mancha, knight-errant, stays here, to assert and maintain, that the nymphs who inhabit these groves and meadows, surpass, in beauty and courteous disposition, all those in the universe, setting aside the sovereign of my soul, the lady Dulcinea del Toboso. And he that dares uphold the contrary let him appear."
Twice he repeated these words, and twice they were repeated in vain. But fortune, that had a strange hand at managing hisconcerns, now shewed him a merry sight; for by and by he discovered on the road a great number of people on horseback, many of them with lances in their hands, all trooping together very fast. The company that watched Don Quixote's motions no sooner spied such a squadron, driving the dust before them, than they got out of harm's way, not judging it safe to be so near danger; and as for Sancho, he sheltered himself behind Rozinante's crupper; only Don Quixote stood fixed with an undaunted courage. When the horsemen came near, one of the foremost, bawling to the champion, "Ho, ho!" cried he, "get out of the way, or these bulls will tread thee to pieces." "Go to, you scoundrels!" answered Don Quixote, "none of your bulls are any thing to me, though the fiercest that ever were fed on the banks of Xarama. Acknowledge, all in a body, what I have proclaimed here to be truth, or else stand combat with me." But the herdsmen had not time to answer, neither had Don Quixote any to get out of the way, if he had been inclined to it; for the herd of wild bulls were presently upon him, and a huge company of drivers and people, that were going to a town where they were to be baited the next day. So, bearing all down before them, knight and squire, horse and man, they trampled them under foot at an unmerciful rate. There lay Sancho mauled, Don Quixote stunned, Dapple bruised, and Rozinante in very indifferent circumstances. But for all this, after the whole route of men and beasts were gone by, up started Don Quixote, ere he was thoroughly come to himself, and staggering and stumbling, falling and getting up again, as fast as he could, he began to run after them. "Stop, scoundrels, stop!" cried he aloud; "stay; it is a single knight defies you all, one who scorns the humour of making a golden bridge for a flying enemy." But the hasty travellers did not stop, nor slacken their speed, for all his loud defiance; and minded it no more than the last year's snow.
At last, weariness stopped Don Quixote; so that, with all his anger, and no prospect of revenge, he was forced to sit down on the road till Sancho came up to him with Rozinante and Dapple. Then the master and man made a shift to remount; and, with more shame than satisfaction, hastened their journey, without taking leave of their friends of the new Arcadia.
Of an extraordinary accident that happened to Don Quixote, which may well pass for an adventure.
A clearfountain, which Don Quixote and Sancho found among some verdant trees, served to refresh them, besmeared with dust,and tired as they were, after the rude encounter of the bulls. There, by the brink, leaving Rozinante and Dapple, unbridled and unhaltered, to their own liberty, the two forlorn adventurers sat down. The squire then went to the wallet, and having taken out of it what he used to call his stomach-sauce, laid it before the knight. But Don Quixote would eat nothing for pure vexation, and Sancho durst not begin for good manners, expecting that he would first shew him the way. However, finding him so wrapped in his imaginations as to have no thoughts of lifting his hand to his mouth, the squire, without letting one word come out of his, laid aside all kind of good breeding, and made a fierce attack upon the bread and cheese before him. "Eat, friend Sancho," cried Don Quixote, "repair the decays of nature, and sustain life, which thou hast more reason to cherish than I; leave me to die, abandoned to my sorrows, and the violence of my misfortunes. I was born, Sancho, to live dying, and thou to die eating."
"For my part," quoth Sancho, "I am not so simple yet as to kill myself. No, I am like the cobbler that stretches his leather with his teeth: I am for lengthening my life by eating; truly, master, there is no greater folly in the world than for a man to despair, and throw the helve after the hatchet. Therefore take my advice, and eat as I do; and when you have done, lie down and take a nap; the fresh grass here will do as well as a feather-bed. I daresay by the time you awake you will find yourself better in body and mind."
Don Quixote followed Sancho's counsel, for he was convinced the squire spoke good philosophy at that time. However, in the meanwhile, a thought coming into his mind, "Ah! Sancho," said he, "if thou wouldst but do something that I am now going to desire thee, my cares would sit more easy on me, and my comfort would be more certain. It is only this: while, according to thy advice, I try to compose my thoughts with sleep, do but step aside a little, and take the reins of Rozinante's bridle, and give thyself some three or four hundred smart lashes, in part of the three thousand and odd thou art to receive to disenchant Dulcinea; for, in truth, it is a shame and very great pity that poor lady should remain enchanted all this while, through thy carelessness and neglect." "There is a great deal to be said as to that," quoth Sancho, "but it may well keep; first let us go to sleep, and then come what will come. Let my Lady Dulcinea have a little patience. There is nothing lost that comes at last; while there is life there is hope; which is as good as to say, I live with an intent to make good my promise." Don Quixote gave him thanks, ate a little, and Sancho a great deal; and then both betook themselves to their rest; leaving those constant friends and companions, Rozinante and Dapple, to their own discretion, to repose or feed at random on the pasture that abounded in that meadow.
The day was now far gone, when the knight and the squire awoke. They mounted, and held on their journey, making the best of their way to an inn, that seemed to be about a league distant. I call it an inn because Don Quixote himself called it so, contrary to his custom, it being a common thing with him to take inns for castles.
Being got thither, they asked the innkeeper whether he had got any lodgings? "Yes," answered he; "and as good accommodation as you will find anywhere." They alighted, and, after Sancho had seen Rozinante and Dapple well provided for in the stable, he went to wait on his master, whom he found sitting on a seat made in the wall—the squire blessing himself more than once that the knight had not taken the inn for a castle. Supper-time approaching, Don Quixote retired to his apartment, and Sancho, staying with his host, asked him what he had to give them for supper? "What you will," answered he; "you may pick and choose—fish or flesh, butchers' meat or poultry, wild-fowl, and what not; whatever land, sea, and air afford for food, it is but ask and have: everything is to be had in this inn." "There is no need of all this," quoth Sancho, "a couple of roasted chickens will do our business; for my master has a nice stomach, and eats but little; and, as for me, I am none of your unreasonable trenchermen." "As for chickens," replied the innkeeper, "truly we have none; for the kites have devoured them." "Why, then," quoth Sancho, "roast us a good handsome pullet, with eggs, so it be young and tender." "A pullet, master!" answered the host, "I sent above fifty yesterday to the city to sell; but, setting aside pullets, you may have any thing else." "Why, then," quoth Sancho, "even give us a good joint of veal or kid." "Cry you mercy!" replied the innkeeper, "now I remember me, we have none left in the house; the last company that went cleared me quite; but by next week we shall have enough, and to spare." "We are in a fine case, indeed," quoth Sancho; "now will I hold a good wager that all these defects must be made up with a dish of eggs and bacon." "Hey day!" cried the host, "my guest has a rare knack at guessing; I told him I had no hens nor pullets in the house, and yet he would have me to have eggs! Think on something else, I beseech you, and let us talk no more of that." "Come, come," cried Sancho, "let us have something; tell me what thou hast, Mr. Landlord, and do not put me to trouble my brains any longer." "Why, then, do you see," quoth the host, "to deal plainly with you, I have a delicate pair of cow-heels, that look like calves' feet, or a pair of calves' feet that look like cow-heels, dressed with onions, peas, and bacon—a dish for a prince; they are just ready to be taken off, and by this time they cry 'Come eat me, come eat me.'" "Cow-heels!" cried Sancho, "I set my mark on them; let nobody touch them: I will givemore for them than any other shall. There is nothing I love better." "Nobody else shall have them," answered the host, "you need not fear, for all the guests I have in the house, besides yourselves, are persons of quality, that carry their steward, their cook, and their provisions along with them." "As for quality," quoth Sancho, "my master is a person of as good quality as the proudest of them all, if you go to that, but his profession allows of no larders nor butteries." This was the discourse that passed betwixt Sancho and the innkeeper; for, as to the host's interrogatories concerning his master's profession, Sancho was not then at leisure to make him any answer.
In short, supper-time came, Don Quixote went to his room, the host brought the dish of cow-heels, such as it was, and set him down fairly to supper. But at the same time, in the next room, which was divided from that where they were by a slender partition, the knight overheard somebody talking. "Dear Don Jeronimo," said the unseen person, "I beseech you, till supper is brought in, let us read another chapter of the Second Part of Don Quixote." The champion no sooner heard himself named, than up he started, and listened, with attentive ears, to what was said of him; and then he heard that Don Jeronimo answer, "Why would you have us read nonsense, Sigñor Don John? Methinks any one that has read the First Part of Don Quixote should take but little delight in reading the second." "That may be," replied Don John; "however, it may not be amiss to read it; for there is no book so bad as not to have something that is good in it. What displeases me most in this part is, that it represents Don Quixote as no longer in love with Dulcinea del Toboso." Upon these words, Don Quixote, burning with anger and indignation, cried out, "Whoever says that Don Quixote de la Mancha has forgotten, or can forget, Dulcinea del Toboso, I will make him know, with equal arms, that he departs wholly from the truth; for the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso cannot be forgotten, nor can Don Quixote be guilty of forgetfulness.Constancyis his motto; and, to preserve his fidelity voluntarily, and without the least restraint, is his profession." "Who is he that answers us?" cries one of those in the next room. "Who should it be?" quoth Sancho, "but Don Quixote de la Mancha his own self, the same that will make good all he has said, and all he has to say, take my word for it; for a good paymaster never grudges to give security."
Sancho had no sooner made that answer than in came the two gentlemen (for they appeared to be no less), and one of them, throwing his arms about Don Quixote's neck, "Your presence, sir knight," said he, "does not belie your reputation, nor can your reputation fail to raise a respect for your presence. You are certainly the true Don Quixote de la Mancha, the polar-star and luminary of chivalry-errant, in despite of him that has attemptedto usurp your name as the author of this book,[14]which I here deliver into your hands, has presumed to do." With that he took the book from his friend and gave it to Don Quixote. The knight took it, and, without saying a word, began to turn over the leaves; then, returning it a while after, "In the little I have seen," said he, "I have found three things in this author deserving reprehension. First, I find fault with some words in his preface; in the second place, his language is Arragonian, for sometimes he writes without articles; and the third thing I have observed, which betrays most his ignorance, is, he is out of the way in one of the principal parts of the history; for there he says that the wife of my squire, Sancho Panza, is called Mary Gutierrez, which is not true, for her name is Teresa Panza; and he that errs in so considerable a passage, may well be suspected to have committed many gross errors through the whole history." "A pretty impudent fellow is this same history-writer!" cried Sancho; "sure he knows much what belongs to our concerns, to call my wife Teresa Panza, Mary Gutierrez! Pray take the book again, if it like your worship, and see whether he says anything of me, and whether he has not changed my name too." "Sure, by what you have said, honest man," said Don Jeronimo, "you should be Sancho Panza, squire to Sigñor Don Quixote?" "So I am," quoth Sancho, "and I am proud of the office." "Well," said the gentleman, "to tell you the truth, the last author does not treat you so civilly as you seem to deserve. He represents you as a glutton and a fool, without the least grain of wit or humour, and very different from the Sancho we have in the first part of your master's history." "Heaven forgive him," quoth Sancho; "he might have left me where I was, without offering to meddle with me. Every man's nose will not make a shoeing horn. Let us leave the world as it is. St. Peter is very well at Rome." Presently the two gentlemen invited Don Quixote to sup with them in their chamber, for they knew there was nothing to be got in the inn fit for his entertainment. Don Quixote, who was always very complaisant, could not deny their request, and went with them. Sancho staid behind with the flesh-pot; he placed himself at the upper end of the table, with the innkeeper for his messmate; for he was no less a lover of cow-heels than the squire.