which would have passed all bounds if the innkeeper had not come out
at this instant. Now this innkeeper was a man of exceeding fatness,
and therefore, as some think, of a very peaceable disposition; and
when he saw that strange figure, armed in such fantastic armour, he
was very nearly keeping the two women company in their merriment and
laughter. But being afraid of the owner of such a lance and target, he
resolved to behave civilly for fear of what might happen, and thus
addressed him: "Sir knight! if your worship do seek for lodging, we
have no bed at liberty, but you shall find all other things in
abundance."
To which Don Quixote, noting the humility of the constable of the
castle--for such he took him to be--replied: "Anything, sir constable,
may serve me, for my arms are my dress, and the battlefield is my
bed."
While he was speaking, the innkeeper laid hand on Don Quixote's
stirrup and helped him to alight. This he did with great difficulty
and pain, for he had not eaten a crumb all that day. He then bade the
innkeeper have special care of his horse, saying he was one of the
best animals that ever ate bread.
The innkeeper looked at Rozinante again and again, but he did not seem
to him half so good as Don Quixote valued him. However, he led him
civilly to the stable, and returned to find his guest in the hands of
the high-born damsels, who were helping him off with his armour. They
had taken off his back and breast plates, but they could in no way get
his head and neck out of the strange, ill-fashioned helmet which he
had fastened on with green ribands.
Now these knots were so impossible to untie that the women would have
cut them, but this Don Quixote would not agree to. Therefore he
remained all the night with his helmet on, and looked the drollest and
strangest figure you could imagine. And he was now so pleased with
the women, whom he still took to be ladies and dames of the castle,
that he said to them: "Never was knight so well attended on and served
by ladies as was Don Quixote. When he departed from his village,
damsels attended on him and princesses on his horse. O ladies!
Rozinante is the name of my steed, and I am called Don Quixote, and
the time shall come when your ladyships may command me and I obey, and
then the valour of mine arm shall discover the desire I have to do you
service."
The women could make nothing of his talk, but asked him if he would
eat, and Don Quixote replying that such was his desire, there was
straightway laid a table at the inn door. The host brought out a
portion of badly boiled haddocks, and a black, greasy loaf, which was
all the inn could supply. But the manner of Don Quixote's eating was
the best sport in the world, for with his helmet on he could put
nothing into his mouth himself if others did not help him to find his
way, and therefore one of the women served his turn at that, and
helped to feed him. But they could not give him drink after that
manner, and he would have remained dry for ever if the innkeeper had
not bored a cane, and putting one end in his mouth, poured the wine
down the other. And all this he suffered rather than cut the ribands
of his helmet.
And as he sat at supper the swineherd again sounded his horn, and Don
Quixote was still firm in the belief that he was in some famous
castle, where he was served with music, and that the stale haddock was
fresh trout, the bread of the finest flour, the two women high-born
damsels, and the innkeeper the constable of the castle. Thus he
thought his career of knight-errant was well begun, but he was still
greatly troubled by the thought that he was not yet dubbed knight, and
could not therefore rightly follow his adventures until he received
the honour of knighthood.
THE KNIGHTING OF DON QUIXOTE
Retold by Judge Parry
When he had finished his sorry supper, he took his host with him to
the stable, and shutting the door threw himself down upon his knees
before him, saying: "I will never rise from this place where I am. sir
constable, until your courtesy shall grant unto me a boon that I mean
to demand of you, something which will add to your renown and to the
profit of all the human race."
The innkeeper, seeing his guest at his feet, and hearing him speak
these words, stood confounded at the sight, not knowing what he would
say or do next, and tried to make him arise. But all was in vain until
he had promised him that he would grant him any gift that he sought at
his hands.
"Signor," said Don Quixote, rising from his knees, "I did never expect
less from your great magnificence, and now I will tell you that the
boon which I demanded of you, and which you have so generously
granted, is that to-morrow in the morning you will dub me knight. This
night I will watch mine armour in the chapel of your castle, and in
the morning, as I have said, the rest of my desires shall be
fulfilled, that I may set out in a proper manner throughout the four
parts of the world to seek adventures to the benefit of the poor and:
needy, as is the duty of knighthood and of knights-errant."
The innkeeper, who was a bit of a jester, and had before thought that
the wits of his guest were none of the best, was sure that his
suspicions were true when he heard him speak in this manner. And in
order to enjoy a joke at his expense, he resolved to fall in with his
humour, and told him that there was great reason in what he desired,
which was only natural and proper in a knight of such worth as he
seemed to be. He added further that there was no chapel in his castle
where he might watch his arms, for he had broken it down to build it
up anew. But, nevertheless, he knew well that in a case of necessity
they might be watched in any other place, and therefore he might watch
them that night in the lower court of the castle, where in the morning
he, the innkeeper, would perform all the proper ceremonies, so that he
should be made not only a dubbed knight, but such a one as should not
have an equal in the whole universe.
The innkeeper now gave orders that Don Quixote should watch his armour
in a great yard near one side of the inn, so he gathered together all
his arms, laid them on a cistern near a well, and buckling on his
target he laid hold of his lance and walked up and down before the
cistern very demurely, until night came down upon the scene.
In the meantime the roguish innkeeper told all the rest that lodged in
the inn of the folly of his guest, the watching of his arms, and the
knighthood which he expected to receive. They all wondered very much
at so strange a kind of folly, and going out to behold him from a
distance, they saw that sometimes he marched to and fro with a quiet
gesture, other times leaning upon his lance he looked upon his armour
for a good space of time without beholding any other thing save his
arms.
Although it was now night, yet was the moon so clear that everything
which the knight did was easily seen by all beholders. And now one of
the carriers that lodged in the inn resolved to give his mules some
water, and for that purpose it was necessary to move Don Quixote's
armour that lay on the cistern.
Seeing the carrier approach, Don Quixote called to him in a loud
voice: "O thou, whosoever thou art, bold knight, who dares to touch
the armour of the bravest adventurer that ever girded sword, look well
what thou doest, and touch them not if thou meanest not to leave thy
life in payment for thy meddling!"
The carrier took no notice of these words, though it were better for
him if he had, but laying hold of the armour threw it piece by piece
into the middle of the yard.
When Don Quixote saw this, he lifted up his eyes towards heaven, and
addressing his thoughts, as it seemed, to his Lady Dulcinea, he said:
"Assist me, dear lady, in this insult offered to thy vassal, and let
not thy favour and protection fail me in this my first adventure!"
Uttering these and other such words, he let slip his target or shield,
and lifting up his lance with both hands he gave the carrier so round
a knock on his head that it threw him to the ground, and if he had
caught him a second he would not have needed any surgeon to cure
him. This done, he gathered up his armour again, and laying the pieces
where they had been before, he began walking up and down near them
with as much quietness as he did at first.
Soon afterwards another carrier, without knowing what had happened
(for his companion still lay on the ground), came also to give his
mules water, and started to take away the armour to get at the
cistern, Don Quixote let slip again his target, and lifting his lance
brought it down on the carrier's head, which he broke in several
places.
All the people in the inn, and amongst them the innkeeper, came
running out when they heard the noise, and Don Quixote seeing them
seized his target, and, drawing his sword, cried aloud: "O lady of all
beauty, now, if ever, is the time for thee to turn the eyes of thy
greatness on thy captive knight who is on the eve of so marvellous
great an adventure."
Saying this seemed to fill him with so great a courage, that if he had
been assaulted by all the carriers in the universe he would not have
retreated one step.
The companions of the wounded men, seeing their fellows in so evil a
plight, began to rain stones on Don Quixote from a distance, who
defended himself as well as he might with his target, and durst not
leave the cistern lest he should appear to abandon his arms.
The innkeeper cried to them to let him alone, for he had already told
them that he was mad. But Don Quixote cried out louder than the
innkeeper, calling them all disloyal men and traitors, and that the
lord of the castle was a treacherous and bad knight to allow them to
use a knight-errant so basely; and if he had only received the order
of knighthood he would have punished him soundly for his treason. Then
calling to the carriers he said: "As for you, base and rascally
ruffians, you are beneath my notice. Throw at me, approach, draw near
and do me all the hurt you may, for you shall ere long receive the
reward of your insolence."
These words, which he spoke with great spirit and boldness, struck a
terrible fear into all those who assaulted him, and, partly moved by
his threats and partly persuaded by the innkeeper, they left off
throwing stones at him, and he allowed them to carry away the wounded
men, while he returned to his watch with great quietness and gravity.
The innkeeper did not very much like Don Quixote's pranks, and
therefore determined to shorten the ceremony and give him the order of
knighthood at once before any one else was injured. Approaching him,
therefore, he made apologies for the insolence of the base fellows who
had thrown stones at him, and explained that it was not with his
consent, and that he thought them well punished for their
impudence. He added that it was not necessary for Don Quixote to watch
his armour any more, because the chief point of being knighted was to
receive the stroke of the sword on the neck and shoulder, and that
ceremony he was ready to perform at once.
All this Don Quixote readily believed, and answered that he was most
eager to obey him, and requested him to finish everything as speedily
as possible. For, he said, as soon as he was knighted, if he was
assaulted again, he intended not to leave one person alive in all the
castle, except those which the constable should command, whom he would
spare for his sake.
The innkeeper, alarmed at what he said, and fearing lest he should
carry out his threat, set about the ceremony without delay. He brought
out his day-book, in which he wrote down the accounts of the hay and
straw which he sold to carriers who came to the inn, and attended by a
small boy holding the end of a candle and walking before him, and
followed by the two women who were staying at the inn, he approached
Don Quixote, He solemnly commanded him to kneel upon his knees, while
he mumbled something which he pretended to read out of the book that
he held in his hand. Then he gave him a good blow on the neck, and
after that another sound thwack over the shoulders with his own sword,
always as he did so continuing to mumble and murmur as though he were
reading something out of his book. This being done, he commanded one
of the damsels to gird on his sword, which she did with much grace and
cleverness. And it was with difficulty that they all kept from
laughing during this absurd ceremony, but what they had already seen
of Don Quixote's fury made them careful not to annoy him even by a
smile.
When she had girded on his sword, the damsel said: "May you be a
fortunate knight, and meet with good success in all your adventures."
Don Quixote asked her how she was called, that he might know to whom
he was obliged for the favours he had received. She answered with
great humility that she was named Tolosa, and was a butcher's daughter
of Toledo. Don Quixote replied requesting her to call herself from
henceforth the Lady Tolosa, which she promised to perform. The other
damsel buckled on his spurs, and when Don Quixote asked her name she
told him it was Molinera, and that she was daughter of an honest
miller of Antequera. Don Quixote entreated her also to call herself
Lady Molinera, and offered her new services and favours.
These strange and never-before-seen ceremonies being ended, Don
Quixote could not rest until he was mounted on horseback that he might
go to seek adventures. He therefore caused Rozinante to be instantly
saddled, leaped on his back, and embracing the innkeeper, thanked him
in a thousand wild and ridiculous ways for the great favour he had
done him in dubbing him knight. The innkeeper, who was only eager to
be rid of him without delay, answered him in the same fashion, and let
him march off without demanding from him a single farthing for his
food or lodging.
THE GREADFUL ADVENTURE OF THE WINDMILLS
Retold by Judge Parry
Don Quixote persuaded a certain labourer, his neighbour, an honest
man, but one of very shallow wit, to go away with him and serve him as
squire. In the end he gave him so many fair words and promises that
the poor fellow determined to go with him. Don Quixote, among other
things, told him that he ought to be very pleased to depart with him,
for at some time or other an adventure might befall which should in
the twinkling of an eye win him an island and leave him governor
thereof. On the faith of these and other like promises, Sancho Panza
(for so he was called) forsook his wife and children and took service
as squire to his neighbour.
Whilst they were journeying along, Sancho Panza said to his master: "I
pray you have good care, sir knight, that you forget not that
government of the island which you have promised me, for I shall be
able to govern it be it never so great."
And Don Quixote replied: "Thou must understand, friend Sancho, that it
was a custom very much used by the ancient knights-errant, to make
their squires governors of the islands and kingdoms they conquered,
and I am resolved that so good a custom shall be kept up by me. And if
thou livest and I live it may well be that I might conquer a kingdom
within six days, and crown thee king of it."
"By the same token," said Sancho Panza, "if I were a king, then should
Joan my wife become a queen and my children princes?"
"Who doubts of that?" said Don Quixote.
"That do I," replied Sancho Panza, "for I am fully persuaded that
though it rained kingdoms down upon the earth, none of them would sit
well on my wife Joan. She is not worth a farthing for a queen. She
might scrape through as a countess, but I have my doubts of that."
As they were talking, they caught sight of some thirty or forty
windmills on a plain. As soon as Don Quixote saw them he said to his
squire: "Fortune is guiding our affairs better than we could
desire. For behold, friend Sancho, how there appear thirty or forty
monstrous giants with whom I mean to do battle, and take all their
lives. With their spoils we will begin to be rich, for this is fair
war, and it is doing great service to clear away these evil fellows
from off the face of the earth."
"What giants?" said Sancho amazed.
"Those thou seest there," replied his master, "with the long arms."
"Take care, sir," cried Sancho, "for those we see yonder are not
giants but windmills, and those things which seem to be arms are their
sails, which being whirled round by the wind make the mill go."
"It is clear," answered Don Quixote, "that thou art not yet
experienced in the matter of adventures. They are giants, and if thou
art afraid, get thee away home, whilst I enter into cruel and unequal
battle with them."
So saying, he clapped spurs to Rozinante, without heeding the cries by
which Sancho Panza warned him that he was going to encounter not
giants but windmills. For he would neither listen to Sancho's
outcries, nor mark what he said, but shouted to the windmills in a
loud voice: "Fly not, cowards and vile creatures, for it is only one
knight that assaults you!"
A slight breeze having sprung up at this moment, the great sail-arms
began to move, on seeing which Don Quixote shouted out again:
"Although you should wield more arms than had the giant Briareus, I
shall make you pay for your insolence!"
Saying this, and commending himself most devoutly to his Lady
Dulcinea, whom he desired to aid him in this peril, covering himself
with his buckler, and setting his lance in rest, he charged at
Rozinante's best gallop, and attacked the first mill before
him. Thrusting his lance through the sail, the wind turned it with
such violence that it broke his weapon into shivers, carrying him and
his horse after it, and having whirled them round, finally tumbled the
knight a good way off, and rolled him over the plain, sorely damaged.
Sancho Panza hastened to help him as fast as his ass could go, and
when he came up he found the knight unable to stir, such a shock had
Rozinante given him in the fall.
"Bless me," said Sancho, "did I not tell you that you should look well
what you did, for they were windmills, nor could any think otherwise
unless he had windmills in his brains!"
"Peace, friend Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for the things of war are
constantly changing, and I think this must be the work of the same
sage Freston who robbed me of my library and books, and he hath
changed these giants into windmills to take from me the glory of the
victory. But in the end his evil arts shall avail but little against
the goodness of my sword."
"May it prove so," said Sancho, as he helped his master to rise and
remount Rozinante, who, poor steed, was himself much bruised by the
fall.
The next day they journeyed along towards the Pass of Lapice, a
romantic spot, at which they arrived about three o'clock in the
afternoon.
"Here," said Don Quixote to his squire, "we may hope to dip our hands
up to the elbows in what are called adventures. But take note of this,
that although thou seest me in the greatest dangers of the world, thou
art not to set hand to thy sword in my defence, unless those who
assault me be base or vulgar people. If they be knights thou mayest
not help me."
"I do assure you, sir," said Sancho, "that herein you shall be most
punctually obeyed, because I am by nature a quiet and peaceful man,
and have a strong dislike to thrusting myself into quarrels."
Whilst they spoke thus, two friars of the order of St. Benedict,
mounted on large mules--big enough to be dromedaries--appeared coming
along the road. They wore travelling masks to keep the dust out of
their eyes and carried large sun umbrellas. After them came a coach
with four or five a-horseback travelling with it, and two lackeys ran
hard by it. In the coach was a Biscayan lady who was going to
Seville. The friars were not of her company, though all were going the
same way.
Scarcely had Don Quixote espied them than he exclaimed to his squire:
"Either I much mistake, or this should be the most famous adventure
that hath ever been seen; for those dark forms that loom yonder are
doubtless enchanters who are carrying off in that coach some princess
they have stolen. Therefore I must with all my power undo this
wrong."
"This will be worse than the adventure of the windmills," said
Sancho. "Do you not see that they are Benedictine friars, and the
coach will belong to some people travelling?"
"I have told thee already, Sancho," answered Don Quixote, "that thou
art very ignorant in the matter of adventures. What I say is true, as
thou shalt see."
So saying he spurred on his horse, and posted himself in the middle of
the road along which the friars were coming, and when they were near
enough to hear him he exclaimed in a loud voice: "Monstrous and
horrible crew! Surrender this instant those exalted princesses, whom
you are carrying away in that coach, or prepare to receive instant
death as a just punishment of your wicked deeds."
The friars drew rein, and stood amazed at the figure and words of Don
Quixote, to whom they replied: "Sir knight, we are neither monstrous
nor wicked, but two religious men, Benedictines, travelling about our
business, and we know nothing about this coach or about any
princesses."
"No soft words for me," cried Don Quixote, "for I know you well,
treacherous knaves."
And without waiting for their reply he set spurs to Rozinante; and
laying his lance on his thigh, charged at the first friar with such
fury and rage, that if he had not leaped from his mule he would have
been slain, or at least, badly wounded.
The second friar, seeing the way his companion was treated, made no
words but fled across the country swifter than the wind itself.
Sancho Panza, on seeing the friar overthrown, dismounted very speedily
off his ass and ran over to him, and would have stripped him of his
clothes, But two of the friars' servants came up and asked him why he
was thus despoiling their master. Sancho replied that it was his due
by the law of arms, as lawful spoils gained in battle by his lord and
master, Don Quixote.
The lackeys, who knew nothing of battles or spoils, seeing that Don
Quixote was now out of the way, speaking with those that were in the
coach, set both at once upon Sancho and threw him down, plucked every
hair out of his beard and kicked and mauled him without mercy, leaving
him at last stretched on the ground senseless and breathless.
As for the friar, he mounted again, trembling and terror-stricken, all
the colour having fled from his face, and spurring his mule, he joined
his companion, who was waiting for him hard by.
While this was happening, Don Quixote was talking to the lady in the
coach, to whom he said: "Dear lady, you may now dispose of yourself as
you best please. For the pride of your robbers is laid in the dust by
this my invincible arm. And that you may not pine to learn the name of
your deliverer, know that I am called Don Quixote of the Mancha,
knight-errant, adventurer, and captive of the peerless and beauteous
Lady Dulcinea of Toboso. And in reward for the benefits you have
received at my hands, I demand nothing else but that you return to
Toboso, there to present yourself in my name before my lady, and tell
her what I have done to obtain your liberty."
All this was listened to by a Biscayan squire who accompanied the
coach. He hearing that the coach was not to pass on but was to return
to Toboso, went up to Don Quixote, and, laying hold of his lance, said
to him: "Get away with thee, sir knight, for if thou leave not the
coach I will kill thee as sure as I am a Biscayan."
"If," replied Don Quixote haughtily, "thou wert a gentleman, as thou
art not, I would ere this have punished thy folly and insolence,
caitiff creature."
"I no gentleman?" cried the enraged Biscayan. "Throw down thy lance
and draw thy sword, and thou shalt soon see that thou liest."
"That shall be seen presently," replied Don Quixote; and flinging his
lance to the ground he drew his sword, grasped his buckler tight, and
rushed at the Biscayan.
The Biscayan, seeing him come on In this manner, had nothing else to
do but to draw his sword. Luckily for him he was near the coach,
whence he snatched a cushion to serve him as a shield, and then they
fell on one another as if they had been mortal enemies.
Those that were present tried to stop them, but the Biscayan shouted
out that if he were hindered from ending the battle he would put his
lady and all who touched him to the sword.
The lady, amazed and terrified, made the coachman draw aside a little,
and sat watching the deadly combat from afar.