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YOUNG FOLKS' TREASURY
In 12 Volumes
HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE, Editor
EDWARD EVERETT HALE, Associate Editor
VOLUME III: CLASSIC TALES AND OLD-FASHIONED STORIES
HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE, Editor
DANIEL EDWIN WHEELER, Assistant Editor
New York
The University Society Inc.
Publishers
1909
PARTIAL LIST OF EDITORS AND CONTRIBUTORS
HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE
Editor
EDWARD EVERETT HALE
Associate Editor
DANIEL EDWIN WHEELER
Managing Editor
Partial List of Contributors, Assistant Editors and Advisers:
NICHOLAS MURRAY BUTLER, President Columbia University.
WILLIAM R. HARPER, Late President Chicago University.
Hon. THEODORE ROOSEVELT, Ex-President of the United States.
Hon. GROVER CLEVELAND, Late President of the United States.
JAMES CARDINAL GIBBONS, American Roman Catholic prelate.
LAWRENCE J. BURPEE, Librarian Ottawa Public Library; author of
"Canadian Life in Town and Country," etc.
BLISS CARMAN, poet, essayist, and editor.
THOMAS B. FLINT, Clerk House of Commons, Canada; editor "Parliamentary
Practice and Procedure."
AGNES C. LAUT, author "Lords of the North," "Hudson's Bay Company,"
etc.
BECKLES WILLSON, author of "The Romance of Canada," "Life and Letters
of James Wolfe," etc.
EDWARD W. BOK, editor "Ladies' Home Journal."
HENRY VAN DYKE, author, poet, and Professor of English Literature,
Princeton University.
LYMAN ABBOTT, author, editor of "The Outlook."
JACOB A. RIIS, author and journalist.
EDWARD EVERETT HALE, JR., Professor at Union College.
CHARLES G.D. ROBERTS, writer of animal stories.
JANET H. KELMAN, author "Stories from the Crusades," "A Book of
Butterflies," etc.
VAUTIER GOLDING, author "Life of Henry M. Stanley," etc.
LENA DALKEITH, author "A Book of Beasts," "Stories from French
History," etc.
H.E. MARSHALL, author "A Child's History of England." "History of
English Literature," etc.
JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, creator of "Uncle Remus."
GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON, novelist and journalist.
WILLIAM BLAIKIE, author of "How to Get Strong and How to Stay So."
JOSEPH JACOBS, folklore writer and editor of the "Jewish
Encyclopedia."
Mrs. VIRGINIA TERHUNE ("Marlon Harland"), author of "Common Sense in
the Household," etc.
A.D. INNES, author "England Under the Tudors," "England's Industrial
Development," etc.
EDMUND F. SELLAR, author "Life of Nelson," etc.
MARY MACGREGOR, author "King Arthur's Knights," etc.
JEANIE LANG, author "Life of General Gordon," etc.
Rev. THEODORE WOOD, F.E.S., writer on natural history.
MARGARET E. SANGSTER, author of "The Art of Home-Making," etc.
HERBERT T. WADE, editor and writer on physics.
JOHN H. CLIFFORD, editor and writer.
ERNEST INGERSOLL, naturalist and author.
IDA PRENTICE WHITCOMB, author of "Young People's Story of Music,"
"Heroes of History," etc.
MARK HAMBOURG, pianist and composer.
Mme. BLANCHE MARCHESI, opera singer and teacher.
ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS, author "Historic Boys," etc.
PAULINE C. BOUVÉ, author "Stories of American Heroes for Boys and
Girls," etc.
CONTENTS
Introduction
CLASSIC TALES
Don Quixote
By Miguel Cervantes. Adapted by John Lang
I. HOW DON QUIXOTE WAS KNIGHTED
II. HOW DON QUIXOTE RESCUED ANDRES; AND HOW HE RETURNED HOME
III. HOW DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA STARTED ON THEIR SEARCH FOR
ADVENTURES; AND HOW DON QUIXOTE FOUGHT WITH THE WINDMILLS
IV. HOW DON QUIXOTE WON A HELMET; HOW HE FOUGHT WITH TWO ARMIES; AND
HOW SANCHO'S ASS WAS STOLEN
V. HOW DON QUIXOTE SAW DULCINEA
VI. HOW DON QUIXOTE FOUGHT WITH A LION; AND HOW HE DEFEATED THE MOORS
VII. THE BATTLE WITH THE BULLS; THE FIGHT WITH THE KNIGHT OF THE WHITE
MOON; AND HOW DON QUIXOTE DIED
Gulliver's Travels: Voyage to Lilliput
By Jonathan Swift. Adapted by John Lang
I. GULLIVER'S BIRTH AND EARLY VOYAGES
II. GULLIVER IS WRECKED ON THE COAST OF LILLIPUT
III. GULLIVER IS TAKEN AS A PRISONER TO THE CAPITAL OF LILLIPUT
IV. GULLIVER IS FREED, AND CAPTURES THE BLEFUSCAN FLEET
V. GULLIVER'S ESCAPE FROM LILLIPUT AND RETURN TO ENGLAND
The Arabian Nights
Adapted by Amy Steedman
I. ALADDIN AND THE WONDERFUL LAMP
II. THE ENCHANTED HORSE
III. SINDBAD THE SAILOR
The Iliad of Homer
Adapted by Jeanie Lang
I. THE STORY Of WHAT LED TO THE SIEGE OF TROY
II. THE COUNCIL
III. THE FIGHT BETWEEN PARIS AND MENELAUS
IV. HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE
V. HOW PATROCLUS FOUGHT AND DIED
VI. THE ROUSING OF ACHILLES
The Odyssey of Homer
Adapted by Jeanie Lang
I. WHAT HAPPENED IN ITHACA WHILE ODYSSEUS WAS AWAY
II. HOW ODYSSEUS CAME HOME
Robinson Crusoe
By Daniel Defoe. Adapted by John Lang
I. HOW ROBINSON FIRST WENT TO SEA; AND HOW HE WAS SHIPWRECKED
II. ROBINSON WORKS HARD AT MAKING HIMSELF A HOME
III. THE EARTHQUAKE AND HURRICANE; AND HOW ROBINSON BUILT A BOAT
IV. ROBINSON BUILDS A SECOND BOAT, IN WHICH HE IS SWEPT OUT TO SEA
V. ROBINSON SEES A FOOTPRINT ON THE SAND, FINDS A CAVE, AND RESCUES
FRIDAY
VI. ROBINSON TRAINS FRIDAY AND THEY BUILD A LARGE BOAT; THEY RESCUE
TWO PRISONERS FROM THE CANNIBALS
VII. ARRIVAL OF AN ENGLISH SHIP: ROBINSON SAILS FOR HOME
Canterbury Tales
By Geoffrey Chaucer. Adapted by Janet Harvey Kelman
I. DORIGEN
II. EMELIA
III. GRISELDA
The Pilgrim's Progress
By John Bunyan. Adapted by Mary Macgregor
Tales from Shakespeare
By Charles and Mary Lamb
I. THE TEMPEST
II. A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM
OLD-FASHIONED STORIES
Simple Susan
By Maria Edgeworth. Adapted by Louey Chisholm
I. QUEEN OF THE MAY
II. BAD NEWS
III. SUSAN'S GUINEA-FOWL
IV. SUSAN VISITS THE ABBEY
V. SUSAN'S PET LAMB
VI. THE BLIND HARPER
VII. GOOD NEWS
VIII. BARBARA VISITS THE ABBEY
IX. A SURPRISE FOR SUSAN
X. BARBARA'S ACCIDENT
XI. THE PRIZE-GIVING
XII. ATTORNEY CASE IN TROUBLE
XIII. SUSAN'S BIRTHDAY
Limby Lumpy
The Sore Tongue
By Jane Taylor
Eyes and No Eyes, or The Art of Seeing
By John Aikin and Mrs. Barbauld
Prince Life
By G.P.R. James
The Fruits of Disobedience, or The Kidnapped Child
Dicky Random, or Good Nature Is Nothing Without Good Conduct
Embellishment
By Jacob Abbott
The Oyster Patties
Two Little Boys
By Thomas Day
I. THE GOOD-NATURED LITTLE BOY
II. THE ILL-NATURED LITTLE BOY
The Purple Jar
By Maria Edgeworth
The Three Cakes
By Armand Berquin
Amendment
Trial
By John Aikin and Mrs. Barbauld
A Plot of Gunpowder: An Old Lady Seized for a Guy
Ascribed to William Martin ("Peter Parley")
Uncle David's Nonsensical Story About Giants and Fairies
By Katherine Sinclair
The Inquisitive Girl
Busy Idleness
By Jane Taylor
The Renowned History of Little Goody Two-Shoes
Ascribed to Oliver Goldsmith
INTRODUCTION
I. HOW AND ABOUT LITTLE MARGERY AND HER BROTHER
II. HOW AND ABOUT MR. SMITH
III. HOW LITTLE MARGERY OBTAINED THE NAME OF GOODY TWO-SHOES, AND
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE PARISH
IV. HOW LITTLE MARGERY LEARNED TO READ, AND BY DEGREES TAUGHT OTHERS
V. HOW LITTLE TWO-SHOES BECAME A TROTTING TUTORESS, AND HOW SHE
TAUGHT HER YOUNG PUPILS
VI. HOW THE WHOLE PARISH WAS FRIGHTENED
VII. CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF ALL THE SPIRITS OR THINGS SHE SAW IN THE
CHURCH
VIII. OF SOMETHING WHICH HAPPENED TO LITTLE MARGERY TWO-SHOES IN A
BARN, MORE DREADFUL THAN THE GHOST IN THE CHURCH; AND HOW SHE
RETURNED GOOD FOR EVIL TO HER ENEMY, SIR TIMOTHY
IX. HOW LITTLE MARGERY WAS MADE PRINCIPAL OF A COUNTRY COLLEGE
(Part Two.) The Renowned History of Mrs. Margery Two-Shoes
I. OF HER SCHOOL, HER USHERS, OR ASSISTANTS, AND HER MANNER OF
TEACHING
II. A SCENE OF DISTRESS IN A SCHOOL
III. OF THE AMAZING SAGACITY AND INSTINCT OF A LITTLE DOG
IV. WHAT HAPPENED AT FARMER GROVE'S, AND HOW SHE GRATIFIED HIM FOR
THE USE OF HIS ROOM
V. THE CASE OF MRS. MARGERY
VI. THE TRUE USE OF RICHES
ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME III
THE HORSE FLEW THROUGH THE AIR
"PAY AT ONCE, YOU SCOUNDREL"
HORSE AND MAN WERE SENT ROLLING ON THE GROUND
THE BULLS HAD RUN RIGHT OVER HIM AND ROZINANTE
HE FOUND THAT HIS ARMS AND LEGS WERE TIGHTLY FASTENED TO THE GROUND
GULLIVER IN LILLIPUT
ON THIS OCCASION, GULLIVER ATE MORE THAN USUAL
ALADDIN AND THE MAGICIAN
HINDBAD WAS CARRYING A VERY HEAVY LOAD
FROM FAR AND WIDE DID THE GREEK HOSTS GATHER
ANDROMACHE IN CAPTIVITY
TELEMACHUS KNELT WHERE THE GRAY WATER BROKE ON THE SAND
THE ESCAPE FROM THE SHIPWRECK
HE SAW THE MARK OF A NAKED FOOT ON THE SAND
ROBINSON RAN TO THE WHITE PRISONER AND CUT HIS BONDS
ALAS! OF ALL THE SHIPS I SEE, IS THERE NEVER ONE THAT WILL BRING MY
LORD HOME?
THE CURTAIN AT THE DOORWAY WAS DRAWN ASIDE
THEN DID CHRISTIAN DRAW HIS SWORD
MIRANDA WATCHING THE STORM
THE FAIRIES SING TITANIA TO SLEEP
BENDING DOWN A BRANCH OF THE LABURNUM-TREE
"IT WON'T DO," SAID BARBARA, TURNING HER BACK
"AND HERE'S HER CROWN!" CRIED ROSE
SHE SPOKE OF WHAT SHE DID NOT UNDERSTAND
HE WAS WANTED TO HOLD THE JUG OF MILK
HE TOOK THE CURRANT TART, AND ... THREW IT AT HIS NURSE
ROSAMOND RAN UP TO IT WITH AN EXCLAMATION OF JOY
WIDOW DOROTHY CAREFUL MADE A CURTSEY
THE GOAT DASHED IN AMONG THEM AND THE CHAIR WAS UPSET
EACH OF MY VISITORS IS QUITE AN EXCLUSIVE
IF LOUISA RECEIVED A NOTE, SHE CAREFULLY LOCKED IT UP
(Many of the illustrations in this volume are reproduced by special
permission of E.P. Dutton & Company, owners of American rights.)
INTRODUCTION
I
CLASSIC TALES
After our boys and girls have read the first half of this volume,
containing selected and simplified stories from some of the greatest
books of all time, their authors will cease to be merely names. Homer,
Shakespeare, Chaucer, Cervantes and Bunyan will be found here as
familiar and easy in style as "Cinderella" or "The Three Bears." True
enough, the first word in "Classic Tales" may look somewhat alarming
to the eyes of youthful seekers after romance and adventure, but we
challenge them to turn to any one of these selections from immortal
masterpieces and not become spellbound and, moreover, impatient for
more. And, believing now that they have grown very much interested in
these famous books, of course we also believe they want to learn
something about them.
Following the order of our stories we must begin with "Don Quixote."
Its author wrote it under great difficulties and distress; but one
would never think so, as it is full of laughable doings. When you read
our selections you must not think that Don Quixote was merely a silly
old man, for indeed he was a very noble gentleman and tried with all
his might to do what he believed to be his duty, and in no act of his
life was there ever a stain of dishonor or of meanness. As for his
queer fancies, you will find in your own experience that many things
are not as they seem.
Next comes one of Gulliver's voyages. Under all this account of a tiny
race of people there is fun poked at government and its ministers.
But we do not concern ourselves with such matters--all we think about
is the wonderful deeds of Gulliver in the land of the Lilliputians. Do
not think such people are impossible, for did not Stanley, the
explorer, find in Africa a race of dwarfs so little that he called
them pygmies? And perhaps when some of our young readers grow up,
they, too, may discover small folks in the world.
In regard to the "Arabian Nights," from which we give you three choice
stories, you ought to know the way they came to be told. Once upon a
time, a Sultan of Arabia thought that all women were of not much use,
so every day he married a new wife, and before twenty-four hours were
over he ordered that she have her head cut off. One brave woman
thought of a clever plan by which she could end this cruelty. She went
to the palace and offered to marry the Sultan, and that night she
began to tell him such fascinating stories that when morning came he
still wished to hear more. He commanded that she should not be
beheaded until all her stories were told. Then for a thousand and one
nights, night after night, she gave him fresh stories, and by the end
of that time the Sultan had fallen very much in love with her.
Naturally, they lived happily forever after. Perhaps these three
stories which we have selected will compel you to seek out all the
rest, and if you do, we are quite sure you will not wonder that the
brave lady won the heart of the wicked Sultan and made him good.
From the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey" of Homer, we have given you some
soul-stirring happenings. Several thousand years ago these stories
were sung by a blind minstrel named Homer. Some day you may read
Homer's sublime poetry in the original Greek, and the selections which
we give you will help you to remember the stories when you are
struggling with that difficult language.
Parts of the old favorite "Robinson Crusoe" follow the Grecian tales,
and we trust its simple language will make the little ones love it
more than ever. You will remember that Defoe wrote this nearly two
hundred years ago. Everybody liked long stories in those days, but we
have all heard children of to-day ask when a somewhat lengthy book
would end, no matter how interesting, and many grown-ups are guilty
of reading the close of a story before they have gone very far in it.
So with that in mind we have put down in brief form most of Robinson
Crusoe's important adventures during his twenty-eight years on the
desert island.
Here we also give three splendid stories from Chaucer's "Canterbury
Tales," which were supposedly told to one another by a party of
pilgrims on their way to Canterbury. According to our gentle author,
who was one of them, they stopped over night at a house in England
called the Tabard Inn, and here they passed the hours repeating fine
stories. Afterward Chaucer wrote these down in a book in quaint old
English. One might look at these words all day long and not know in
the least what what some of them meant, though they do hold such
beautiful tales.
Now about "Pilgrim's Progress." More than two hundred years ago a
tinker named John Bunyan was in jail, but one night this poor man left
his prison and wandered into the land of dreams. There he saw
wonderful sights and heard marvelous things, and as there was no one
to listen to his dream, John Bunyan wrote it down, and had it made
into a book. And this he called "The Pilgrim's Progress." It was about
the journey and adventures of a pilgrim and his companions. In our
version we have given most of the dream, but when the boys and girls
grow older they will want to read it all in Bunyan's own language, and
we hope this account will lead them to do so.
Shakespeare is a magic name to grown-ups, but to children it does not
mean much. All they know is, that sometimes this name is spelled on
the back of one fat volume, sometimes on three, sometimes on a dozen
or more, but of the inside they know almost nothing, and when they
hear persons say that Shakespeare is the greatest writer that ever
lived, they wonder about it. If they take down a volume containing one
of his plays, they think it very dull, but here in simple language we
present the stories of two of the most fairy-like and beautiful plays,
as retold for children by Charles and Mary Lamb.
DANIEL EDWIN WHEELER.
II
OLD-FASHIONED STORIES
There is much truth in the saying that "old things are best, old books
are best, old friends are best." We like to connect in thought our
best-loved books and our best-loved friends. A good friend must have
some of the wisdom of a good book, though good books often talk to us
with wisdom and also with humor and courtesy greater than any living
friend may show. "Sometimes we think books are the best friends; they
never interrupt or contradict or criticise us."
Every year in our own country about ten thousand books are published.
Most of them die in early life. Three hundred years from now every one
of this year's ten thousand books will be dead and forgotten, except
possibly thirty or forty. The very best books do not die young. The
books written about three hundred years ago that are read to-day--like
Shakespeare's plays--are as a rule the books that deserve to live
forever. And, "Gentle Reader," if you are wise you will see _why_ the
old books are best: they are the wheat, and the winds of time have
blown only the chaff away.
Is it not strange that in the olden times so few poems or books or
stories were written for children? The "Iliad," the stories of King
Arthur, the "Canterbury Tales," and "Gulliver's Travels" and "Robinson
Crusoe," were written for men and women.
But happily this is the children's age, and now nearly half of all the
books written are written for children. You must remember, however,
that all boys and girls are children--in the eyes of the law--till
they are twenty-one years old.
We know a little boy who read last week a very modern story. The book
was bound in red cloth. It had a gilt top and very modern pictures
drawn by a great artist and printed in three or four colors. How
different from the books of one hundred years ago, with their black
covers and queer pictures!
This story read by the little New York boy last week has been read by
many little boys in Iowa, and by many little girls in Georgia. It
tells about an orphan boy who was "bound out" to a farmer who treated
him cruelly. He ran away to the Rocky Mountain region, where he had
many adventures with robbers and Indians and blizzards. He was strong
and heroic; he could shoot straight and ride the swiftest horses, and
nothing ever hurt him very much.
This, as I have said, is a modern story. It does not tell the reader
to be truthful and good. It just tells him a story of thrilling
adventures and daring escapes from danger. But the old-fashioned story
is different; and now we are getting close to our subject.
I will tell you all about the old-fashioned stories in a moment; but I
must remind you that these old stories were written about a hundred
years ago. They were usually written to teach a moral lesson. Dear old
John Aikin, or his sister Anna Letitia Barbauld, or Maria Edgeworth,
or Jane Taylor would say some morning--at any rate, so it seems to
me--"I will write a story to-day to teach boys and girls to be
industrious." And so "Busy Idleness" was written. Or one of these old
authors would decide to write a story the main object of which was to
teach little girls not to be too curious, and so "The Inquisitive
Girl" was written. Both of these stories, and many others equally
good, are found in this volume.
I could really tell you many interesting things about these
old-fashioned stories but I will do something better--urge you to read
them yourself. They are quaint, delightful, and entertaining stories,
besides teaching a moral. You boys and girls should read every one of
them, and then read them again, out loud, to your mothers or to
anybody else who will listen.
Among all the old-fashioned stories in this volume I find only one
that seems to me "really funny," and that is "Uncle David's
Nonsensical Story about the Giants and Fairies." Think of a giant so
tall that "he was obliged to climb up a ladder to comb his own hair."
But this bit of humor is not so good as a very modern nonsense-story
entitled "The Giant's Shoes," which I read the other day, and from
which the Managing Editor permits me to quote this little passage:
"The Giant slept for three weeks at a time, and two days after he
woke his breakfast was brought to him, consisting of bright brown
horses sprinkled on his bread and butter. Besides his boots, the Giant
had a pair of shoes, and in one of them his wife lived when she was at
home; on other occasions she lived in the other shoe. She was a
sensible, practical kind of woman, with two wooden legs and a
clothes-horse, but in other respects not rich. The wooden legs were
kept pointed at both ends, in order that if the Giant were
dissatisfied with his breakfast, he might pick up any stray people
that were within reach, using his wife as a fork; this annoyed the
inhabitants of the district, so that they built their church in a
southwesterly direction from the castle, behind the Giant's back, that
he might not be able to pick them up as they went in. But those who
stayed outside to play pitch-and-toss were exposed to great danger and
sufferings."
G.J.B.
CLASSIC TALES
DON QUIXOTE
By MIGUEL CERVANTES
ADAPTED BY JOHN LANG
I
HOW DON QUIXOTE WAS KNIGHTED
Some three or four hundred years ago, there lived in sunny Spain an
old gentleman named Quixada, who owned a house and a small property
near a village in La Mancha.
With him lived his niece, a housekeeper, and a man who looked after
Quixada's farm and his one old white horse, which, though its master
imagined it to be an animal of great strength and beauty, was really
as lean as Quixada himself and as broken down as any old cab horse.
Quixada had nothing in the world to do in the shape of work, and so,
his whole time was taken up in reading old books about knights and
giants, and ladies shut up in enchanted castles by wicked ogres. In
time, so fond did he become of such tales that he passed his days, and
even the best part of his nights, in reading them. His mind was so
wholly taken up in this way that at last he came to believe that he
himself lived in a land of giants and of ogres, and that it was his
duty to ride forth on his noble steed, to the rescue of unhappy
Princesses.
In the lumber-room of Quixada's house there had lain, ever since he
was born, a rusty old suit of armor, which had belonged to his
great-grandfather. This was now got out, and Quixada spent many days
in polishing and putting it in order.
Unfortunately, there was no more than half of the helmet to be found,
and a knight cannot ride forth without a helmet.
So Quixada made the other half of strong pasteboard; and to prove that
it was strong enough, when finished, he drew his sword and gave the
helmet a great slash. Alas! a whole week's work was ruined by that one
stroke; the pasteboard flew into pieces. This troubled Quixada sadly,
but he set to work at once and made another helmet of pasteboard,
lining it with thin sheets of iron, and it looked so well that, this
time, he put it to no test with his sword.
Now that his armor was complete, it occurred to him that he must give
his horse a name--every knight's horse should have a good name--and
after four days thought he decided that "Rozinante" would best suit
the animal.
Then, for himself, after eight days of puzzling, he resolved that he
should be called Don Quixote de la Mancha.
There was but one thing more. Every knight of olden time had a lady,
whom he called the Mistress of his Heart, whose glove he wore in his
helmet; and if anybody dared to deny that this lady was the most
beautiful woman in the whole world, then the knight made him prove his
words by fighting.
So it was necessary that Don Quixote should select some lady as the
Mistress of his Heart.
Near La Mancha there lived a stout country lass, for whom some years
before Don Quixote had had a kind of liking. Who, therefore, could
better take the place of Mistress of his Heart? To whom could he
better send the defeated knights and ogres whom he was going out to
fight? It was true that her name. Aldonza Lorenzo, did not sound like
that of a Princess or lady of high birth; so he determined in future
to call her Dulcinea del Toboso. No Princess could have a sweeter
name!
All being now ready, one morning Don Quixote got up before daylight,
and without saying a word to anybody, put on his armor, took his
sword, and spear, and shield, saddled "Rozinante," and started on his
search for adventures.
But before he had gone very far, a dreadful thought struck him. He had
not been knighted! Moreover, he had read in his books that until a
knight had done some great deed, he must wear white armor, and be
without any device or coat of arms on his shield. What was to be done?
He was so staggered by this thought that he almost felt that he must
turn back. But then he remembered that he had read how adventurers
were sometimes knighted by persons whom they happened to meet on the
road. And as to his armor, why, he thought he might scour and polish
that till nothing could be whiter. So he rode on, letting "Rozinante"
take which road he pleased, that being, he supposed, as good a way as
any of looking for adventures.
All day he rode, to his sorrow without finding anything worth calling
an adventure.
At last as evening began to fall, and when he and his horse were both
very weary, they came in sight of an inn. Don Quixote no sooner saw
the inn than he fancied it to be a great castle, and he halted at some
distance from it, expecting that, as in days of old, a dwarf would
certainly appear on the battlements, and, by sounding a trumpet, give
notice of the arrival of a knight. But no dwarf appeared, and as
"Rozinante" showed great haste to reach the stable, Don Quixote began
to move towards the inn.
At this moment it happened that a swineherd in a field near at hand
sounded his horn to bring his herd of pigs home to be fed. Don
Quixote, imagining that this must be the dwarf at last giving notice
of his coming, rode quickly up to the inn door, beside which it
chanced that there stood two very impudent young women, whom the
Knight imagined to be two beautiful ladies taking the air at the
castle gate.
Astonished at the sight of so strange a figure, and a little
frightened, the girls turned to run away. But Don Quixote stopped
them.
"I beseech ye, ladies, do not fly," he said. "I will harm no one,
least of all maidens of rank so high as yours."
And much more he said, whereat the young women laughed so loud and so
long that Don Quixote became very angry, and there is no saying what
he might not have done had not the innkeeper at that moment come out.
This innkeeper was very fat and good-natured, and anxious not to
offend anybody, but even he could hardly help laughing when he saw Don
Quixote. However, he very civilly asked the Knight to dismount and
offered him everything that the inn could provide.
Don Quixote being by this time both tired and hungry, with some
difficulty got off his horse and handed it to the innkeeper (to whom
he spoke as governor of the castle), asking him to take the greatest
care of "Rozinante," for in the whole world there was no better steed.
When the landlord returned from the stable, he found Don Quixote in a
room, where, with the help of the two young women, he was trying to
get rid of his armor. His back and breastplates had been taken off,
but by no means could his helmet be removed without cutting the green
ribbons with which he had tied it on, and this the Knight would not
allow.
There was nothing for it, therefore, but to keep his helmet on all
night, and to eat and drink in it, which was more than he could do
without help. However, one of the young women fed him, and the
innkeeper having made a kind of funnel, through it poured the wine
into his mouth, and Don Quixote ate his supper in great peace of mind.
There was but one thing that still vexed him. He had not yet been
knighted.
On this subject he thought long and deeply, and at last he asked the
innkeeper to come with him to the stable. Having shut the door, Don
Quixote threw himself at the landlord's feet, saying, "I will never
rise from this place, most valorous Knight, until you grant me a
boon."
The innkeeper was amazed, but as he could not by any means make Don
Quixote rise, he promised to do whatever was asked.
"Then, noble sir," said Don Quixote, "the boon which I crave is that
to-morrow you will be pleased to grant me the honor of knighthood."
The landlord, when he heard such talk, thought that the wisest thing
he could do was to humor his guest, and he readily promised. Thereupon
Don Quixote very happily rose to his feet, and after some further talk
he said to the innkeeper that this night he would "watch his armor" in
the chapel of the castle, it being the duty of any one on whom the
honor of knighthood was to be conferred, to stand on his feet in the
chapel, praying, until the morning. The innkeeper, thinking that
great sport might come of this, encouraged Don Quixote, but as his own
chapel had lately--so he said--been pulled down in order that a better
might be built, he advised Don Quixote to watch that night in the
courtyard. This was "lawful in a case where a chapel was not at hand.
And in the morning," he said, "I will knight you."
"Have you any money?" then asked the innkeeper.
"Not a penny," said Don Quixote, "for I never yet read of any knight
who carried money with him."
"You are greatly mistaken," answered the innkeeper. "Most knights had
squires, who carried their money and clean shirts and other things.
But when a knight had no squire, he always carried his money and his
shirts, and salve for his wounds, in a little bag behind his saddle. I
must therefore advise you never in future to go anywhere without
money."
Don Quixote promised to remember this. Then taking his armor, he went
into the inn yard and laid it in a horse-trough.
Backwards and forwards, spear in hand, he marched in the moonlight,
very solemnly keeping his eyes on his armor, while the innkeeper's
other guests, laughing, looked on from a distance.
Now it happened that a carrier who lodged at the inn came into the
yard to water his mules, and this he could not do while the armor lay
in the horse-trough. As Don Quixote saw the man come up, "Take heed,
rash Knight," he cried. "Defile not by a touch the armor of the most
brave knight-errant that ever wore a sword."
But the mule-driver took no notice of Don Quixote. He picked up the
armor and threw it away.
Don Quixote no sooner saw this than, raising his eyes to heaven, and
calling on his Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he lifted up his spear with
both hands and gave the mule-driver such a whack over the head that
the man fell down senseless. Then, picking up his armor and putting it
back in the horse-trough, he went on with his march, taking no further
notice of the poor mule-driver.
Soon up came another carrier who also wanted to water his mules.
Not a word did Don Quixote say this time, but he lifted up his spear
and smote so heavily that he broke the man's head in three or four
places. The poor wretch made such an outcry that all the people in the
inn came running, and the friends of the two carriers began to pelt
Don Quixote with stones. But drawing his sword, and holding his shield
in front of him, he defied them all, crying, "Come on, base knaves!
Draw nearer if you dare!"
The landlord now came hurrying up and stopped the stone-throwing;
then, having calmed Don Quixote, he said that there was no need for
him to watch his armor any longer; to finish the ceremony it would now
be enough if he were touched on the neck and shoulders with a sword.
Don Quixote was quite satisfied, and prayed the innkeeper to get the
business over as quickly as possible, "for," said he, "if I were but
knighted, and should see myself attacked, I believe that I should not
leave a man alive in this castle."
The innkeeper, a good deal alarmed at this, and anxious to get rid of
him, hurried off and got the book in which he kept his accounts, which
he pretended was a kind of book of prayer. Having also brought the two
young women, and a boy to hold a candle, he ordered Don Quixote to
kneel. Then muttering from his book, as if he were reading, he
finished by giving Don Quixote a good blow on the neck, and a slap on
the back, with the flat of a sword. After this, one of the young women
belted the sword round the newly made knight's waist, while the other
buckled on his spurs, and having at once saddled "Rozinante." Don
Quixote was ready to set out.
The innkeeper was only too glad to see him go, even without paying for
his supper.
II
HOW DON QUIXOTE RESCUED ANDRES; AND HOW HE RETURNED HOME
As he rode along in the early morning light, Don Quixote began to
think that it would be well that he should return home for a little,
there to lay in a stock of money and of clean shirts, and he turned
his willing horse's head in the direction of his village.
But ere he had gone far on his way, coming from a thicket he fancied
that he heard cries of distress.
"Certainly these are the moans of some poor creature in want of help,"
thought Don Quixote. "I thank Heaven for so soon giving me the chance
to perform my duty as a knight."
And he rode quickly towards the sounds. No sooner had he reached the
wood than he saw a horse tied to a tree, and bound to another was a
lad of fifteen, all naked above the waist. By his side stood a
countryman beating him with a strap, and with every blow calling out,
"I'll teach you to keep your eyes open, you young scamp. I'll teach
you to keep your mouth shut."
The boy howled with pain. Quickly Don Quixote rode up to the man.
"Sir Knight," said he angrily, "I would have thee to know that it is
an unworthy act to strike one who cannot defend himself. Mount thy
steed, therefore, take thy spear, and I will teach thee that thou art
a coward."
The countryman gave himself up for lost, and he gasped out very humbly
that the boy was his servant, through whose carelessness many of the
sheep that he should have watched had been lost, and that therefore he
was giving him a sound beating. "And," said he, "because I beat him
for his carelessness, he says I do it to cheat him out of his wages."
"What!" shouted Don Quixote, "do you dare to lie to me? By the sun
above us, I have a mind to run you through with my spear. Pay the boy
this instant, and let him go free. What does he owe you, boy?"
The boy said that the man owed him nine months' wages.
"Pay at once, you scoundrel, unless you want to be killed," roared Don
Quixote.
The poor man, trembling with fear, said that there was a mistake; he
did not owe nearly so much, and besides, he had no money with him. But
if Andres would go home with him he would pay every penny.
"Go home with him!" cried the boy. "I know a trick worth two of that.
No sooner will he have me home than he'll take the skin off me. No,
no, not I!"
"He will not dare to touch you," said the Knight. "I command him, and
that is enough. If he swears by his order of knighthood to do this
thing, I will let him go, and he will pay you your wages."
"Of course I will," said the man. "Come along with me. Andres, and I
swear I'll give you all I owe."
"Remember, then, what you have promised, for I am Don Quixote de la
Mancha, the righter of wrongs, and it is at your peril to disobey me."
So saying, Don Quixote clapped spurs to his horse, and galloped off
through the trees.
The countryman watched till the Knight was out of sight. Then,
turning, he said "Come, my lad, and I'll pay thee what I owe, and
more."
"Ay," answered the boy, "see that you do, for if you do not, that
brave man will come back and make you."
"I dare swear that," said the man. "And just to show how much I love
you, I am going to increase the debt, so that I may pay you more. Come
here!"
And with that he caught the boy by the arm, tied him again to the
tree, and belted him till his arm was tired.
"Now go," he said, "and tell your righter of wrongs. I wish I had
flayed you alive, you young whelp."
And so ended Don Quixote's first attempt to right wrongs.
As the Knight cantered along, very well pleased with himself, about
two miles from where he had freed the boy he saw riding towards him
six men, each shading himself under a large umbrella. With them were
four mounted servants, and three on foot.
No sooner did Don Quixote see this party than it struck him that here
was the chance for which, above all others, he had been longing.
Posting himself in the middle of the road, he waited till the men were
at no great distance. Then, "Halt!" shouted he. "Let all know that no
man shall pass further till he owns that in the whole world there is
no damsel more beautiful than the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso."
"But," said the men (who were merchants of Toledo, on their way to buy
silks), "we do not know the lady. We have never seen her. How then can
we say that she is beautiful?"
"What!" roared Don Quixote in a terrible rage, "not know the beauteous
Lady Dulcinea del Toboso! That only makes matters worse. Do you dare
to argue?"
And with that he couched his spear, drove his spurs into "Rozinante,"
and rode furiously at the nearest merchant.
What he would have done it is not possible to say. But as he galloped,
it chanced that "Rozinante" stumbled and fell heavily, rolling Don
Quixote over and over. There the Knight lay helpless, the weight of
his armor preventing him from rising to his feet. But as he lay, he
continued to cry out at the top of his voice, "Stop, you rascals! Do
not fly. It is my horse's fault that I lie here, you cowards!"
One of the grooms, hearing his master called a rascal and a coward,
thereupon ran up and snatched away Don Quixote's spear, which he broke
in pieces. Then with each piece he belabored the poor Knight till the
broken lance flew into splinters. The merchants then rode away,
leaving Don Quixote lying where he fell, still shouting threats, but
quite unable to rise.
There he was found by a man who knew him well, and who with great
difficulty mounted him on his donkey and took him home. When at last
they reached Don Quixote's house, the poor Knight was put to bed,
where he lay for many days, raving, and very ill.
During this time the Curate of the village and the Barber came and
burned nearly all the books which Don Quixote had so loved.
"For," said they, "it is by reading these books that the poor
gentleman has lost his mind, and if he reads them again he will never
get better."
So a bonfire was made of the books, and the door of Don Quixote's
study was bricked up.
When the Knight was again able to go about, he made at once for his
study and his beloved books. Up and down the house he searched without
saying a word, and often he would stand where the door of the study
used to be, feeling with his hands and gazing about. At last he asked
his housekeeper to show him the study.
"Study!" cried the woman, "what study? There is no study in this house
now, nor any books."
"No," said his niece. "When you were away, a famous enchanter came
along, mounted on a dragon, and he went into your study. What he did
there we know not. But after a time he flew out of the roof, leaving
the house full of smoke, and ever since then we have not been able to
find either books or study."
"Ha!" said Don Quixote. "That must have been Freston. He is a famous
enchanter, and my bitter enemy. But when I am again well I shall get
the better of him."
III
HOW DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA STARTED ON THEIR SEARCH FOR
ADVENTURES; AND HOW DON QUIXOTE FOUGHT WITH THE WINDMILLS
For some weeks the poor Knight stayed very quietly at home. But he had
not forgotten the things for which he had come back to his village.
There was a farm laborer who lived near by, a fat, good-natured,
simple man. To him Don Quixote talked long and often, and made many
promises; among others that if he would but come with him as squire,
he should be made governor of any island which the Knight might happen
to conquer during his search after adventures.
This seemed so grand a thing to the man (whose name was Sancho Panza),
that he willingly promised to come.
Having got together some money, and having made other preparations,
Don Quixote and Sancho Panza one dark night stole out of the village
without a word to any one, and began their adventures.
Don Quixote rode "Rozinante;" Sancho Panza was mounted on an ass. That
his squire should ride an ass at first troubled the Knight not a
little, for in none of his books could he remember to have read of
any squire being so mounted. However, he gave Sancho leave to bring
the ass, thinking that in no great time a better mount would surely be
found for him.
As they rode along in the cool of the morning, Sancho Panza spoke to
his master about their journey, and asked him to be sure not to forget
his promise about the governorship of the island.
"It may even happen," answered Don Quixote, "that I may by some
strange chance conquer a kingdom. And then presently, I may be able to
crown thee King."
"Why," said Sancho, "if by some such miracle as your worship speaks
of, I am made a King, then would my wife be Queen?"
"Certainly," answered Don Quixote, "who can doubt it?"
"I doubt it," replied Sancho, "for I think if it should rain kingdoms
upon the face of the earth, not one of them would sit well on my
wife's head. For I must tell you, sir, she's not worth two brass jacks
to make a Queen of. No, no! countess will be quite good enough; that's
as much as she could well manage."
"Nay," said Don Quixote, "leave the matter in the hands of Providence,
and be not tempted by anything less than the title of Viceroy."
Thus talking, they came over the brow of a hill, and looking down on
the plain below, Don Quixote saw there thirty or forty windmills.
"Ha!" cried he. "Fortune directs our affairs better than we ourselves
could do. Look yonder, friend Sancho, there are at at least thirty
outrageous giants whom I must now fight."
"Giants!" gasped Sancho Panza, "what giants?"
"Those whom you see over there with their long arms," answered Don
Quixote. "Some of that horrible race, I have heard, have arms near two
leagues in length."
"But, sir," said Sancho, "these are no giants. They are only
windmills, and the things you think are arms are but their sails,
whereby the wind drives them."
"That is but a sign," answered Don Quixote, "whereby one may see how
little you know of adventures. I tell you they are giants: and I shall
fight against them all. If you are afraid, go aside and say your
prayers."
So saying, and without paying any heed to the bawlings of Sancho
Panza, he put spurs to his horse and galloped furiously at the
windmills, shouting aloud, "Stand, cowards! stand your ground, and fly
not from a single Knight."
Just at this moment the wind happened to rise, causing the arms of the
windmills to move.
"Base scoundrels!" roared the Knight, "though you wave as many arms as
the giant Briareus, you shall pay for your pride."
And with couched lance, and covering himself with his shield, he
rushed "Rozinante" at top speed on the nearest windmill. Round whirled
the sails, and as Don Quixote's lance pierced one of them, horse and
man were sent rolling on the ground. There Sancho Panza came to help
his sorely bruised master.
"Mercy o' me!" cried Sancho, "did not I tell you they were windmills?"
"Peace, friend Sancho," answered Don Quixote. "It is the fortune of
war. I know very well it is that accursed wizard Freston, the enemy
who took from me my study and my books, who has changed these giants
into windmills to take from me the honor of the victory. But in the
end I shall yet surely get the better of him."
"Amen! say I" quoth Sancho: and heaving the poor Knight on to his
legs, once more he got him seated on "Rozinante."
As they now rode along, it was a great sorrow to Don Quixote that his
spear had been broken to pieces in this battle with the windmill.
"I have read," said he to Sancho, "that a certain Spanish knight,
having broken his sword in a fight, pulled up by the roots a huge
oak-tree, or at least tore down a great branch, and with it did such
wonderful deeds that he was ever after called 'The Bruiser.' I tell
you this because I intend to tear up the next oak-tree we meet, and
you may think yourself fortunate that you will see the deeds I shall
perform with it."
"Heaven grant you may!" said Sancho. "But, an' it please you, sit a
little more upright in your saddle; you are all to one side. But that,
mayhap, comes from your hurts?"
"It does so," answered Don Quixote, "and if I do not complain of the
pain, it is because a knight-errant must never complain of his wounds,
though they be killing him."
"I have no more to say," replied Sancho. "Yet Heaven knows I should be
glad to hear your honor complain a bit, now and then, when something
ails you. For my part, I always cry out when I'm hurt, and I am glad
the rule about not complaining doesn't extend to squires."
That night they spent under the trees, from one of which Don Quixote
tore down a branch, to which he fixed the point of his spear, and in
some sort that served him for a lance. Don Quixote neither ate nor
slept all the night, but passed his time, as he had learned from his
books that a knight should do, in thoughts of the Lady Dulcinea. As
for Sancho Panza, he had brought with him a big bottle of wine, and
some food in his wallet, and he stuffed himself as full as he could
hold, and slept like a top.
As they rode along next day, they came to the Pass of Lapice.
"Here, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "is the spot where adventures should
begin. Now may we hope to thrust our hands, as it were, up to the very
elbows in adventures. But remember this! However sore pressed and in
danger I may be when fighting with another knight, you must not offer
to draw your sword to help me. It is against the laws of chivalry for
a squire to attack a knight."
"Never fear me, master," said Sancho. "I'll be sure to obey you; I
have ever loved peace. But if a knight offers to set upon me first,
there is no rule forbidding me to hit him back, is there?"
"None," answered Don Quixote, "only do not help me."
"I will not," said Sancho. "Never trust me if I don't keep that
commandment as well as I do the Sabbath."
IV
HOW DON QUIXOTE WON A HELMET; HOW HE FOUGHT WITH TWO ARMIES; AND HOW
SANCHO'S ASS WAS STOLEN
Many were the adventures that now befell Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.
In the very first, wherein he fought with a man from Biscay, whom he
left lying in a pool of blood, Don Quixote lost part of his helmet,
and had the half of one of his ears sliced off by the Biscayan's
sword. The accident to the helmet was a great grief to him, and he
swore an oath that until he had taken from some other knight as good a
helmet as that which was now made useless to him, he would never again
eat his food on a table-cloth.
One day as they rode along a highway between two villages Don Quixote
halted and looked eagerly at something.
"Sancho," said he, "dost thou not see yonder knight that comes riding
this way on a dapple-gray steed, with a helmet of gold on his head?"
"Not a thing can I see," answered Sancho, "but a fellow on just such
another ass as mine, with something that glitters on top of his head."
"Can you not see," asked Don Quixote, "that it is a helmet? Do you
stand back, and let me deal with him. Soon now shall I possess myself
of the helmet that I need."
Now, in those far-away days, when doctors were few, if anybody needed
to be bled for a fever or any other illness (for it was then thought
that "letting blood" was the cure for most illnesses), it was the
custom for the barber to bleed the sick person. For the purpose of
catching the blood that ran from a vein when it had been cut, a brass
dish was carried, a dish with part of it cut away from one side, so
that it might the more easily be held close to the patient's arm or
body. A small dish like this you may sometimes still see hanging as a
sign at the end of a pole outside barbers' shops. Barbers in those
days of old were called barber-surgeons, for the reason that they bled
people, as well as shaved them or cut their hair.
And the truth of the matter was this, that the man whom Don Quixote
now believed to be a knight, wearing a golden helmet, was a barber
riding on his ass to bleed a sick man. And because it was raining, he
had put his brass dish on his head, in order to keep his new hat from
being spoiled.
Don Quixote did not wait to speak to the man, but, couching his lance,
galloped at him as hard as "Rozinante" could go, shouting as he rode,
"Defend thyself, base wretch!"
The barber no sooner saw this terrible figure charging down on him,
than, to save himself from being run through, he flung himself on to
the ground, and then jumping to his feet, ran for his life, leaving
his ass and the brass basin behind him. Then Don Quixote ordered
Sancho to pick up the helmet.
"O' my word," said Sancho, as he gave it to his master, "it is a fine
basin."
Don Quixote at once put it on his head, saying, "It is a famous
helmet, but the head for which it was made must have been of great
size. The worst of it is that at least one-half of it is gone. What is
the fool grinning at now?" he cried, as Sancho laughed.
"Why, master," answered Sancho, "it is a barber's basin."
"It has indeed some likeness to a basin," said Don Quixote, "but I
tell you it is an enchanted helmet of pure gold, and for the sake of a
little wretched money some one has melted down the half of it. When we
come to a town where there is an armorer, I will have it altered to
fit my head. Meantime I shall wear it as it is."
As they rode along one day talking of many things, Don Quixote beheld
a cloud of dust rising right before them.
"Seest thou that cloud of dust, Sancho?" he asked. "It is raised by a
great army marching this way."
"Why, master," said Sancho, "there must be two armies there, for
yonder is just such another cloud of dust."
The knight looked, and was overjoyed, believing that two armies were
about to meet and fight in the plain.