custom, and they began to wonder who he was, and where he came from.
"This must be surely some prodigal, who has sold his father's land,
and is squandering away his money," they said to each other. They went
up to Robin to get acquainted with him. "Come, brother, we are all of
one trade," said one of them; "will you go dine with us?"
"By all means," answered Robin, "I will go with you as fast as I can,
my brave comrades." So off they hastened to the sheriff's house, where
dinner was served at once, and Robin was chosen to sit at the head of
the table and say grace.
"Come, fill us more wine; let us be merry while we are here," he
cried. "I'll pay the reckoning for the wine and good cheer however
dear it may be. Come, brothers, be merry. I'll pay the score, I vow,
before I go, if it costs me five pounds or more."
"This is a mad blade," said the butchers, but they laughed and made
haste to eat and drink well at Robin's expense.
Now the sheriff, who was of a very shrewd and grasping nature, had not
failed to remark this handsome young butcher lad who was so very
lavish of his money, and who sold his meat in the market so much
cheaper than any one else. If there were good bargains to be made he
determined to make his own profit out of them. "He is some prodigal,"
he said to himself, "who has sold land, and now means to spend all the
money he has got for it." If Robin were able to sell his meat so cheap
it occurred to the sheriff that probably he possessed a great deal of
cattle, and would most likely be ready to part with them for a very
low price. "Hark'ee, good fellow, have you any horned beasts you can
sell me?" he asked in a lordly way.
"Yes, that I have, good master sheriff, two or three hundred,"
answered Robin. "And I have a hundred acres of good free land, if it
would please you to see it. I'll hand it over to you as securely as
ever my father did to me."
The sheriff, quite pleased to think of the fine bargain he was likely
to make, saddled his palfrey, and taking three hundred pounds in gold
in his portmanteau, went off with Robin Hood to see his horned beasts.
Away they rode till they came to the forest of Sherwood, and then the
sheriff began to look about him in some alarm.
"God preserve us this day from a man they call Robin Hood," he said
earnestly.
When they had gone a little further Robin Hood chanced to spy a
hundred head of good fat deer, who came tripping quite close.
"How like you my horned beasts, good master sheriff? They are fat and
fair to see, are they not?"
"I tell you, good fellow, I would I were gone, for I like not your
company," said the sheriff, now very ill at ease.
Robin set his horn to his mouth, and blew three blasts, and
immediately Little John and all his company came flocking up.
"What is your will, master?" asked Little John.
"I have brought hither the Sheriff of Nottingham to dine with thee
to-day."
"He is welcome," said Little John; "I hope he will pay honestly. I
know he has gold enough, if it is properly reckoned, to serve us with
wine for a whole day."
Robin took off his mantle and laid it on the ground and from the
sheriff's portmanteau he counted out three hundred pounds in gold.
Then he led him through the forest, set him on his dapple-grey
palfrey, and sent him back to his own home.
THE JOLLY TANNER
Retold by Mary Macleod
About this time there was living in Nottingham a jolly tanner whose
name was Arthur-a-Bland. Never a squire in Nottingham could beat
Arthur, or bid him stand if he chose to go on. With a long pike-staff
on his shoulder he could clear his way so well he made every one fly
before him.
One summer's morning Arthur-a-Bland went forth into Sherwood Forest to
see the deer, and there he met Robin Hood. As soon as Robin saw him he
thought he would have some sport, so he called to him to stand.
"Why, who art thou, fellow, who rangest here so boldly?" he said. "In
sooth, to be brief, thou lookst like a thief who comes to steal the
king's venison. I am a keeper in the forest; the king puts me in trust
to look after the deer. Therefore I must bid thee stand."
"If you be a keeper in this forest, and have so great authority,"
answered the tanner, "yet you must have plenty of helpers in store
before you can make me stop."
"I have no helpers in store, nor do I need any. But I have good
weapons which I know will do the deed."
"I don't care a straw for your sword or your bow, nor all your arrows
to boot," said Arthur-a-Bland. "If you get a knock on your pate, your
weapons will be no good."
"Speak civilly, good fellow," said Robin, "or else I will correct thee
for thy rudeness, and make thee more mannerly."
"Marry, see how you'll look with a knock on your head!" quoth the
tanner. "Are you such a goodly man? I care not a rush for your looking
so big. Look out for yourself, if you can."
Then Robin Hood unbuckled his belt, and laid down his bow, and took up
a staff of oak, very stiff and strong.
"I yield to your weapons, since you will not yield to mine," said
Robin. "I, too, have a staff, not half a foot longer than yours. But
let me measure before we begin, for I would not have mine to be longer
than yours, for that would be counted foul play."
"The length of your staff is nothing to me," said the tanner. "Mine is
of good stout oak; it is eight feet and a half long, and it will knock
down a calf--and I hope it will knock down you."
At these rude and mocking words, Robin could not longer forbear, but
gave the tanner such a crack on the head that the blood began to flow.
Arthur quickly recovered, and gave Robin in return such a knock that
in a few minutes blood ran trickling down the side of his face. As
soon as he felt himself so badly hurt, Robin raged like a wild boar,
while Arthur-a-Bland laid on so fast it was almost as if he were
cleaving wood. Round about they went, like wild boars at bay, striving
to maim each other in leg or arm or any place. Knock for knock they
dealt lustily, so that the wood rang at every blow, and this they kept
up for two hours or more.
But at last Robin was forced to own that he had met his match, and he
called to the sturdy stranger to stay.
"Hold thy hand, hold thy hand, and let our quarrel drop!" he cried.
"For we may thrash our bones all to smash here, and get no good out of
it. Hold thy hand, and hereafter thou shalt be free in the merry
forest of Sherwood."
"Thank you for nothing!" retorted Arthur. "I have bought my own
freedom. I may thank my good staff for this, and not you."
"What tradesman are you, good fellow, and where do you dwell?"
"I am a tanner, and in Nottingham I have worked for many years. If you
will come there, I vow and protest I will tan your hide for nothing."
"Heaven have mercy, good fellow, since you are so kind and obliging,"
said Robin. "If you will tan my hide for nothing, I'll do as much for
you. But come, if you will forsake your tanner's trade, to live here
with me in the greenwood, my name is Robin Hood, and I swear
faithfully to give you good gold and wages."
"If you are Robin Hood, as I think very well you are, then here's my
hand," said the tanner. "My name is Arthur-a-Bland. We two will never
part. But tell me, where is Little John? I would fain hear of him,
for we are allied, through our mother's family, and he is my dear
kinsman."
Then Robin blew a loud, shrill blast on his bugle, and instantly
Little John came quickly tripping over the hill.
"Oh, what is the matter? Master, I pray you tell me!" cried Little
John. "Why do you stand there with your staff in your hand? I fear all
is not well."
"Yes, man, I do stand here, and this tanner beside me has made me
stand," said Robin. "He is a fine fellow, and master of his trade, for
he has soundly tanned my hide."
"He is to be commended if he can do such a feat," said Little
John. "If he is so sturdy, we will have a bout together, and he shall
tan my hide too."
"Hold your hand," said Robin; "for, as I understand he is a good
yeoman of your own blood; his name is Arthur-a-Bland."
Then Little John flung away his staff as far as he could, and running
up to Arthur-a-Bland, threw his arms around his neck. Both were ready
and eager to be friends, and made no attempt to hide their delight at
the meeting, but wept for joy. Then Robin Hood took a hand of each,
and they danced all round the oak-tree, singing:
"For three merry men, and three merry men,
And three merry men we be!
"And ever hereafter, as long as we live,
We three will be as one;
The wood it shall ring, and the old wife sing,
Of Robin Hood, Arthur, and John."
HOW ROBIN HOOD DREW HIS BOW FOR THE LAST TIME
Retold by Mary Macleod
But there came a day at last when Robin Hood had to bid farewell to
the greenwood where he and his merry men had spent so many happy
years. Word was sent to the king that the outlaws waxed more and more
insolent to his nobles and all those in authority, and that unless
their pride was quelled the land would be overrun.
A council of state was therefore called, to consider what was best to
be done. Having consulted a whole summer's day, at length it was
agreed that some one should be sent to seize Robin Hood and bring him
before the king.
A trusty and most worthy knight, called Sir William, was chosen for
this task.
"Go you hence to that insolent outlaw, Robin Hood," said the king,
"and bid him surrender himself without more ado, or he and all his
crew shall suffer. Take a hundred valiant bowmen, all chosen men of
might, skilled in their art, and clad in glittering armour."
"My sovereign liege, it shall be done," said the knight. "I'll venture
my blood against Robin Hood, and bring him alive or dead."
A hundred men were straightway chosen, as proper men as were ever
seen, and on midsummer day they marched forth to conquer the bold
outlaw.
With long yew-bows and shining spears they marched in pomp and pride,
and they never halted nor delayed till they came to the forest.
"Tarry here, and make ready your bows, that in case of need you may
follow me," said the knight to his archers. "And look you observe my
call. I will go first, in person, with the letters of our good king,
duly signed and sealed, and if Robin Hood will surrender we need not
draw a string."
The knight wandered about the forest, till at length he came to the
tent of Robin Hood. He greeted the outlaw, and showed him the king's
letter, whereupon Robin sprang to his feet and stood on guard.
"They would have me surrender, then, and lie at their mercy?" quoth
Robin. "Tell them from me that shall never be while I have seven score
of good men."
Sir William, who was a bold and hardy knight, made an attempt to seize
Robin then and there, but Robin was too quick to be caught, and bade
him forbear such tricks. Then he set his horn to his mouth, and blew a
blast or two; the knight did the same.
Instantly from all sides archers came running, some for Robin Hood,
some for the knight.
Sir William drew up his men with care, and placed them in battle
array. Robin Hood was no whit behind with his yeomen. The fray was
stern and bloody. The archers on both sides bent their bows, and
arrows flew in clouds. In the very first flight the gallant knight,
Sir William, was slain; but nevertheless the fight went on with fury,
and lasted from morning until almost noon. They fought till both
parties were spent, and only ceased when neither side had strength to
go on. Those of the king's archers that still remained went back to
London with right good will, and Robin Hood's men retreated to the
depths of the greenwood.
But Robin Hood's last fight was fought, and of all the arrows that
ever he shot, there was but one yet to fly. As he left the field of
battle he was taken ill, and he felt his strength fail, and the fever
rise in his veins.
His life was ebbing fast away, and now he was too weak to go on.
Then he remembered his little bugle-horn, which still hung at his
side, and setting it to his mouth, he blew once, twice, and again--a
low, weak blast.
Away in the greenwood, as he sat under a tree, Little John heard the
well-known call, but so faint and feeble was the sound it struck like
ice to his heart.
"I fear my master is near dead, he blows so wearily!"
Never after hart or hind ran Little John as he ran that day to answer
his master's dying call. He raced like the wind till he came to where
Robin was, and fell on his knee before him.
"Give me my bent bow in my hand," said Robin Hood, "and I will let fly
a broad arrow, and where this arrow is taken up, there shall you dig
my grave.
"Lay me a green sod under my head,
And another at my feet;
And lay my bent bow at my side,
Which was my music sweet;
And make my grave of gravel and green,
Which is most right and meet."
So Robin Hood drew his bow for the last time, and there where the
arrow fell, under a clump of the greenwood trees, they dug the grave
as he had said, and buried him.
DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA
This masterpiece of humor was first published in 1605, and is, of
course, a work of fiction. It is unsurpassed as a picture of Spanish
life.
Millions have laughed over the adventures of that upright,
unconquered, unafraid Don Quixote, the wisest of madmen.
Cervantes set out to make fun of the romances of chivalry, which had
become ridiculous because of their extravagance, but while writing the
book he fell in love with Don Quixote for wanting to be a chivalrous
knight, and with Sancho Panza for wanting to be a loyal squire, and it
is this love for them that he makes us see on every page.
The condensed version of the stories, by Judge Parry, well preserves
the flavor of the best translation, Thomas Shelton's.
AN INTRODUCTION TO THAT SPANISH GENTLEMAN
Retold by Judge Parry
Once upon a time there lived in a certain village in a province of
Spain called the Mancha, a gentleman named Quixada or Queseda, whose
house was full of old lances, halberds, and other weapons. He was,
besides, the owner of an ancient target or shield, a raw-boned steed,
and a swift greyhound. His food consisted daily of common meats, some
lentils on Fridays, and perhaps a roast pigeon for Sunday's
dinner. His dress was a black suit with velvet breeches, and slippers
of the same colour, which he kept for holidays, and a suit of homespun
which he wore on week-days.
On the purchase of these few things he spent the small rents that came
to him every year. He had in his house a woman-servant about forty
years old, a niece not yet twenty, and a lad that served him both in
field and at home, and could saddle his horse or manage a
pruning-hook.
The master himself was about fifty years old, a strong, hard-featured
man with a withered face. He was an early riser, and had once been
very fond of hunting. But now for a great portion of the year he
applied himself wholly to reading the old books of knighthood, and
this with such keen delight that he forgot all about the pleasures of
the chase, and neglected all household matters. His mania and folly
grew to such a pitch that he sold many acres of his lands to buy books
of the exploits and adventures of the knights of old. These he took
for true and correct histories, and when his friends the curate of the
village, or Mr. Nicholas the worthy barber of the town, came to see
him, he would dispute with them as to which of the knights of romance
had done the greatest deeds.
So eagerly did he plunge into the reading of these books that he many
times spent whole days and nights poring over them; and in the end,
through little sleep and much reading, his brain became tired, and he
fairly lost his wits. His fancy was filled with those things that he
read, of enchantments, quarrels, battles, challenges, wounds, wooings,
loves, tempests, and other impossible follies, and those romantic
tales so firmly took hold of him that he believed no history to be so
truthful and sincere as they were.
Finally he was seized with one of the strangest whims that ever madman
stumbled on in this world, for it seemed to him right and necessary
that he himself should become a knight-errant, and ride through the
world to seek adventures and practise in person all that he had read
about the knights of old. Therefore he resolved that he would make a
name for himself by revenging the injuries of others, and courting all
manner of dangers and difficulties, until in the end he should be
rewarded for his valour in arms by the crown of some mighty
empire. And first of all he caused certain old rusty arms that
belonged to his great-grandfather, and had lain for many years
neglected and forgotten in a corner of his house, to be brought out
and well scoured. He fixed them up as well as he could, and then saw
that they had something wanting, for instead of a proper helmet they
had only a morion or headpiece, like a steel bonnet without any
visor. This his industry supplied, for he made a visor for his helmet
by patching and pasting certain papers together, and this pasteboard
fitted to the morion gave it all the appearance of a real helmet.
Then, to make sure that it was strong enough, he out with his sword
and gave it a blow or two, and with the very first blow he spoiled
that which had cost him a week to make. To make things better he
placed certain iron bars within it, and feeling sure it was now sound
and strong, he did not put it to a second trial.
He next examined his horse, who though he had nothing on him but skin
and bone, yet he seemed to him a better steed than Bucephalus, the
noble animal that carried Alexander the Great when he went to
battle. He spent four days inventing a name for his horse, saying to
himself that it was not fit that so famous a knight's horse, and so
good a beast, should want a known name. Therefore he tried to find a
name that should both give people some notion of what he had been
before he was the steed of a knight-errant, and also what he now was;
for, seeing that his lord and master was going to change his calling,
it was only right that his horse should have a new name, famous and
high-sounding, and worthy of his new position in life. And after
having chosen, made up, put aside, and thrown over any number of names
as not coming up to his idea, he finally hit upon Rozinante, a name in
his opinion sublime and well-sounding, expressing in a word what he
had been when he was a simple carriage horse, arid what was expected
of him in his new dignity.
The name being thus given to his horse, he made up his mind to give
himself a name also, and in that thought laboured another eight
days. Finally he determined to call himself Don Quixote, and
remembering that the great knights of olden time were not satisfied
with a mere dry name, but added to it the name of their kingdom or
country, so he like a good knight added to his own that of his
province, and called himself Don Quixote of the Mancha, whereby he
declared his birthplace and did honour to his country by taking it for
his surname.
His armour being scoured, his morion transformed into a helmet, his
horse named, and himself furnished with a new name, he considered that
now he wanted nothing but a lady on whom he might bestow his service
and affection. "For," he said to himself, remembering what he had read
in the books of knightly adventures, "if I should by good hap
encounter with some giant, as knights-errant ordinarily do, and if I
should overthrow him with one blow to the ground, or cut him with a
stroke in two halves, or finally overcome and make him yield to me, it
would be only right and proper that I should have some lady to whom I
might present him. Then would he, entering my sweet lady's presence,
say unto her with a humble and submissive voice: 'Madam, I am the
Giant Caraculiambro, lord of the island called Malindrania, whom the
never-too-much-praised knight Don Quixote of the Mancha hath overcome
in single combat. He hath commanded me to present myself to your
greatness, that it may please your highness to dispose of me according
to your liking."
You may believe that the heart of the knight danced for joy when he
made that grand speech, and he was even more pleased when he had found
out one whom he might call his lady. For, they say, there lived in the
next village to his own a hale, buxom country girl with whom he was
sometime in love, though for the matter of that she had never known of
it or taken any notice of him whatever. She was called Aldonca
Lorenso, and her he thought fittest to honour as the Lady of his
Fancy. Then he began to search about in his mind for a name that
should not vary too much from her own, but should at the same time
show people that she was a princess or lady of quality. Thus it was
that he called her Dulcinea of Toboso, a name sufficiently strange,
romantic, and musical for the lady of so brave a knight. And now,
having taken to himself both armour, horse, and lady fair, he was
ready to go forth and seek adventures.
HE SETS FORTH ON HIS ADVENTURES
Retold by Judge Parry
All his preparations being made, he could no longer resist the desire
of carrying out his plans, his head being full of the wrongs he
intended to put right, and the evil deeds he felt called upon to
punish. Without telling any living creature, and unseen of anybody,
somewhat before daybreak--it being one of the warmest days in July--he
armed himself from head to foot, mounted on Rozinante, laced on his
strange helmet, gathered up his target, seized his lance, and through
the back door of his yard sallied forth into the fields, marvellously
cheerful and content to see how easily he had started on his new
career. But scarcely was he clear of the village when he was struck by
a terrible thought, and one which did well-nigh overthrow all his
plans. For he recollected that he had never been knighted, and
therefore, according to the laws of knighthood, neither could he nor
ought he to combat with any knight. And even if he were a knight, he
remembered to have read that as a new knight he ought to wear white
armour without any device upon his shield until he should win it by
force of arms.
He journeyed all that day, and at night both he and his horse were
tired and hungry, and looking about him on every side to see whether
he could discover any castle to which he might retire for the night,
he saw an inn near the highway, which was as welcome a sight to him as
if he had seen a guiding star. Spurring his horse he rode towards it
and arrived there about nightfall.
There stood by chance at the inn door two jolly peasant women who were
travelling towards Seville with some carriers, who happened to take up
their lodging in that inn the same evening. And as our knight-errant
believed all that he saw or heard to take place in the same manner as
he had read in his books, he no sooner saw the inn than he fancied it
to be a castle with four turrets and pinnacles of shining silver, with
a drawbridge, a deep moat, and all such things as belong to grand
castles. Drawing slowly towards it, he checked Rozinante with the
bridle when he was close to the inn, and rested awhile to see if any
dwarf would mount on the battlements to give warning with the sound of
a trumpet how some knight did approach the castle; but seeing they
stayed so long, and Rozinante was eager to get to his stable, he went
to the inn door, and there beheld the two women, whom he supposed to
be two beautiful damsels or lovely ladies. At that moment it happened
that a certain swineherd, as he gathered together his hogs, blew the
horn which was used to call them together, and at once Don Quixote
imagined it was some dwarf who gave notice of his arrival; and he rode
up to the inn door with marvellous delight. The ladies, when they
beheld one armed in that manner with lance and target, made haste to
run into the inn; but Don Quixote, seeing their fear by their flight,
lifted up his pasteboard visor, showed his withered and dusky face,
and spoke to them thus: "Let not your ladyships fly nor fear any harm,
for it does not belong to the order of knighthood which I profess to
wrong anybody, much less such high-born damsels as your appearance
shows you to be."
The women looked at him very earnestly, and sought with their eyes for
his face, which the ill-fashioned helmet concealed; but when they
heard themselves called high-born damsels, they could not contain
their laughter, which was so loud that Don Quixote was quite ashamed
of them and rebuked them, saying: "Modesty is a comedy ornament of the
beautiful, and too much laughter springing from trifles is great
folly; but I do not tell you this to make you the more ashamed, for my
desire is none other than to do you all the honour and service I may."