‘This scheme being executed, we left one half of our number to guard

them, and with the rest, using the renegado still as our guide, went to

Agimorato’s garden door, which fortunately opened with as much ease as

if it had not been locked; so that, without being perceived, we

proceeded to the house with great silence and composure. The adorable

Zorayda, who stood waiting for us at a window, no sooner perceived

people at the door, than she asked with a low voice, if we were

Nazarini? which in their language signifies Christians. I replied in the

affirmative, desiring her to come down; when she knew my voice, she made

no delay, but without answering one syllable, came down in a moment,

opened the door, and appeared so beautiful and richly dressed, as to

surpass all description. Transported at the sight, I took her hand and

kissed it most devoutly; the renegado and my two companions did the

same; and the rest, though ignorant of the occasion, followed our

example, thinking we expressed our thanks and acknowledgments to her as

the instrument of our deliverance. The renegado asked, in the Morisco

tongue, if her father was in the house: and she assuring him, that he

was asleep in his own apartment; “Then it will be necessary,” said

Morrenago, “to wake and carry him off, together with every thing of

value, in this agreeable habitation.”—“Touch not my father,” said she,

“and take my word for it there is nothing valuable in this house but

what I have secured, which is enough to make you all rich and happy;

stay a little, and thou shalt see.”

‘So saying, she went back into the house, protesting she would

immediately return, and desiring us to make no noise. I then asked the

renegade what had passed between them, and when he told me, charged him

to do nothing that should be disagreeable to Zorayda, who soon returned

with a coffer so full of golden crowns, that she could scarce support

the weight. But our evil fortune ordained that her father should wake in

the interim, and hear a noise in the garden; upon which he started up,

and running to the window, no sooner perceived that we were all

Christians, than he began to bawl in Arabick with vast vociferation,

“Christians! Christians! thieves! thieves!” and his cries threw us all

into the utmost terror and confusion; however, the renegado seeing the

danger we were in, and how much it imported him to atchieve the

enterprize without being detected, ran up to Agimorato, with infinite

agility, being accompanied with some others of our company, as I could

not leave Zorayda, who by this time had fainted in my arms; in short,

those who entered the house managed him so well, that in a moment they

brought him down with his hands tied, and an handkerchief in his mouth,

to hinder him from crying, threatening all the while, that if he

presumed to speak, it would cost him his life. His daughter covered her

eyes, that she might not see her father in that condition; while he was

astonished at sight of her, little thinking how willingly she had put

herself in our power, and our feet being then more necessary than our

hands, we, with great industry and dispatch, returned to the vessel,

where we were expected with impatience by those we had left, who had

began to fear we had met with some mischance.

‘Before two hours of the night had elapsed, we were all safe on board,

where we untied the hands of Zorayda’s father, and took the handkerchief

out of his mouth; though the renegado commanded him again to be silent,

on pain of death. Seeing his daughter also in our power, he began to

sigh most bitterly, more especially as he perceived her lie quietly in

my arms, without resisting, complaining, or the least appearance of

constraint; but he was fain to hold his tongue, lest the renegado should

put his repeated threats in execution. Zorayda now seeing us embarked,

and on the point of manning the oars, while her father and the other

Moors remained fettered, as prisoners among us, bade the renegado

desire, in her name, that I would be so good as to dismiss the Moors,

and set her father at liberty; for she would rather throw herself into

the sea, than behold a parent, who loved her so much, dragged into

captivity on her account. Morrenago having made me acquainted with her

request, I consented to the proposal; but he said it was by no means

expedient, because, should we leave them there, they would instantly

alarm both town and country; so that some light frigates would be sent

out in pursuit of us, and then we should be so beset, both by sea and

land, that it would be impossible for us to escape; he proposed

therefore, to set them at liberty on the first Christian land he should

make. We were all of the same opinion, which was also embraced by

Zorayda, to whom he imparted the reasons which hindered us from

complying immediately with her desire; then each of our valiant rowers

laid hold of his oar with joy, silence, and alacrity, and recommending

ourselves to the protection of God, we took our departure, directing our

course towards the island of Majorca, which was the nearest Christian

land; but, the north wind beginning to blow, and the sea becoming rough,

it was impossible to steer our course, and we were obliged to row along

shore towards Oran, not without great apprehension of being discovered

from the town of Sargel, which lies upon that coast, about sixty miles

from Algiers; we were also afraid of meeting, in those parts, with some

of the gallies which frequently come thither from Tetuan to trade;

though each of us singly, and all of us together, presumed, that if we

could fall in with a merchant-vessel not fitted out, or manned for a

corsair, far from losing our liberty again, we should make ourselves

masters of a ship in which we might perform our voyage with more

security. While we thus coasted along, Zorayda lay with her head in my

bosom, that she might not see her father in distress; and I could hear

her imploring Lela Marien to assist us in our design.

‘When we had rowed about thirty miles, day-breaking discovered that we

were about three gun shots distant from the shore of a desart country,

where not a soul appeared to detect us; but, for all that, we plied hard

to get a little farther off to sea, which was now somewhat calmer; and

having made about two leagues, directed the men to row by turns, that we

might refresh ourselves with the provisions, of which we had plenty in

the bark; but the rowers said, it was then no time to be idle, and

desired the rest to bring them victuals, which they would eat while at

work, protesting that they would by no means quit their oars; this hint

was accordingly taken, and a fresh gale springing up, we were obliged to

lay aside our oars, and make sail directly for Oran; for it was

impossible to follow any other course. All this was done with great

expedition; we sailed at the rate of eight miles in an hour, without any

other dread than that of falling in with some corsair. We ordered some

victuals to be given to the Moors, who were consoled by the renegado’s

telling them, that they were not slaves, and should have their freedom

with the first opportunity; the same declaration he made to Zorayda’s

father, who answered, “I might expect any other favour from your

generosity and courteous behaviour, O Christians! but, you must not

think me so simple as to believe you will give me my freedom; for you

would never have run such risk in depriving me of it, with a view of

restoring it so liberally; especially when you know who I am, and the

advantage you may reap from my ransom, which, if you will now propose, I

here promise to pay your utmost demand, for myself and this unhappy

daughter, or for her alone, who is the better part of my soul!”

‘So saying, he wept with such bitterness, as moved us all to compassion,

and obliged Zorayda to lift up her eyes; when seeing the tears trickle

down from his aged cheeks, she was melted, and rising from the place

where I supported her, went to embrace her father; then joining her face

to his, the two uttered such a tender lamentation, as drew tears of

sympathy from the eyes of almost all those who heard it; but, when

Agimorato perceived her so gayly dressed, with all her jewels about her,

he said with some surprize, in their language, “What is the meaning of

this finery, my child? Last night, before this terrible misfortune

happened, I saw thee in thy ordinary and common dress; but now, though

thou hadst neither time, nor any happy tidings to solemnize with such

ornaments and finery, I see thee decked in all the richest apparel I

could contrive or bestow upon thee, while fortune was much more

favourable than at present! Answer me in this particular, at which I am

more concerned and surprized, than at the mishap which hath befallen

us?” The renegado interpreted to us all that the Moor said to his

daughter, who made no answer to his question; but when he saw on one

side of the bark the coffer in which she used to keep her jewels, which

he knew he had left at Algiers, when he moved to his country house; he

was still more confounded, and asked how that casket had fallen into our

hands, and what it contained. To this question the renegado replied,

without waiting for Zorayda’s answer; “You need not weary yourself,

Signior, in putting so many questions to your daughter; for I can

satisfy you in one word: know, then, that Zorayda is a Christian; that

she hath filed off our chains, and converted our captivity into freedom;

that she came hither of her own accord, and is now, I believe, as well

satisfied with her present condition as one delivered from darkness to

light, from death to life, and from affliction to triumph.”—“Daughter!”

cried the Moor, “is that which he affirms true?”—“Yes,” replied Zorayda.

“That thou art actually a Christian, and the very person who hath put

thy father into the hands of his enemies?” resumed the old man. “I am a

Christian, ’tis true,” said Zorayda, “but not the person who reduced you

to this situation; for my desire never extended so far as either to

leave or render you unhappy, my sole intention being to provide for my

own welfare.”—“And how hast thou provided for it, my child?” replied the

father. “Put that question to Lela Marien,” said she, “who will inform

you better than I can.”

‘Scarce had these words reached the ears of Agimorato, than, with

incredible agility, he darted himself headlong into the sea; where,

without all doubt, he must have perished, had not his large entangling

robes helped to keep him afloat. Zorayda shrieking, begged we would save

her father; upon which we all exerted ourselves, and laying hold of his

upper garment, pulled him on board, already half drowned, and deprived

of all sensation; when she was so much affected with his condition, that

she uttered a most tender and doleful lamentation over him, as if he had

been actually dead. Having turned him upon his face, a great quantity of

water ran out of his mouth, and he recovered the use of his senses, in

the space of two hours, during which, the wind shifting, we were driven

towards the shore, and by main dint of rowing kept from running aground;

but by good fortune, we arrived in a creek formed by a small creek or

promontory, known among the Moors by the name of Cava Rumia, which

signifies, the wicked Christian woman; there being a tradition among

them, that Cava[105], on whose account they lost their possessions in

Spain, is interred in that place; for Cava, in their language, implies a

wicked woman, and Rumia, signifies Christian: so that they look upon it

as a bad omen, when they are obliged, by necessity, to drop anchor here;

and, except in cases of emergency, they never attempt it: though to us,

it was by no means the shelter of a wicked woman, but a secure harbour

in stormy weather. Having placed centinels on shore, without quitting

our oars, we made another meal of what the renegado had provided; and

prayed heartily to God and the blessed Virgin, to favour and assist us,

in bringing such a fortunate beginning to a happy conclusion. We then

determined, at the intreaty of Zorayda, to set her father and the Moors,

whom we had fettered, on shore, because she had not resolution enough,

nor could her tender disposition endure to see her parent and countrymen

in the condition of captives; we accordingly promised to gratify her

desire, at our departure, since we ran no risk in setting them at

liberty in that uninhabited place.

‘Our prayers were not so vain as to be rejected by Heaven, that sent a

favourable wind and a smooth sea, inviting us to proceed with alacrity

in the voyage we had undertaken. This we no sooner perceived, than

unbinding the Moors, we put them all on shore, one by one, to their no

small astonishment: but, when we came to dismiss Zorayda’s father, who

by this time had recovered the entire use of his senses, “Christians,”

said he, “do you think that bad woman rejoices at my freedom through

filial piety? No surely! but merely to be rid of the check which she

would receive from my presence, in seeking to gratify her vicious

desires. Do not imagine that she hath been induced to change her

religion, because she believes that the Christian faith is preferable to

ours? No; she hath apostatized, because she understood that, in your

country she might indulge her loose inclinations more freely than in her

own.” Then turning to Zorayda, while I and another Christian held him

fast; that she might not commit some desperate action, he said, “O

infamous wretch, and ill-advised maiden! what blindness and distraction

hath prompted thee to put thyself in the power of these dogs, who are

all our natural foes? Cursed be the hour in which thou wast engendered!

and cursed be the gaiety and indulgence in which I brought thee up!”

‘Perceiving that there was no likelihood of his ending his exclamations

for some time, I presently set him on shore, where he proceeded with his

reproaches, imprecations, and complaints, imploring the mediation of

Mahomet with Ala, to confound, overwhelm, and destroy us: and when we

had sailed out of hearing, we could perceive him act his despair,

pulling his beard, and rolling himself upon the ground; nay, once he

raised his voice in such a manner, that we could distinctly hear him

pronounce, “Return, my beloved daughter! return to the shore; I forgive

all that is past: leave with these men the money which they already have

in their possession, and return to comfort thy disconsolate father, who,

if thou forsakest him, will lie down and breathe his last upon this

barren sand!” This pathetick address was heard by Zorayda, who lamented

his affliction with the utmost sensibility, though she could make no

other reply than this: “Ala grant, my dear father, that Lela Marien, who

was the cause of my conversion, may console you in your distress! Ala

knows, I could not do otherwise than I have acted, and that these

Christians owe nothing to any particular good-will I bore them; for if I

had not assisted and accompanied them in their escape, but remained at

home with you, it would have been impossible for me, in conference of

the earnest solicitations of my own soul, to execute that which, in my

opinion, is as righteous as it is infamous and wicked in yours.” But

these words never reached the ears of her father, whom by this time we

could not perceive: I therefore endeavoured to console my amiable

mistress; while the rest were intent upon our voyage, which was so much

favoured by a fair wind, that we laid our account with being next day on

the coast of Spain.

‘But, as good fortune seldom comes pure and single, unattended or

unpursued by some troublesome and unexpected circumstance, it was

ordained by Heaven, (perhaps, in consequence of the curses imprecated by

the Moor upon his daughter; for such curses are to be dreaded, let the

parent be what he will:) I say, Heaven ordained, that when we were a

good way off at sea, with a flowing sheet, three hours of the night

being already spent, the oars lashed up, because the fair wind made it

unnecessary to use them, and the moon shining with remarkable

brightness; we perceived a large round vessel with all her sails out,

steering a little upon the wind, right athwart our hause, and so near

that we were obliged to shorten sail, that she might not run foul of us,

while she clapped her helm a-weather that we might have time to pass:

those upon deck hailed us, asking who we were, whence we came, and

whither bound; but, as they spoke in French, the renegado said, “Let no

man answer; these are French privateers, who make prize of every thing

that falls in their way.”

‘Thus cautioned, we made no reply, but sailed on, leaving the ship a

little to windward; when all of a sudden, they discharged two pieces of

cannon, loaded, in all appearance, with chain-shot: for one of them cut

away our mast in the middle; which, with the sail, fell overboard into

the sea; and the other coming a moment after, took us amidships, and

laid the side of the bark entirely open, without doing any other

mischief. Seeing ourselves going to the bottom, we began to cry aloud

for assistance, beseeching the people in the ship to save us from

perishing: then they brought to, and hoisting out their boat or pinnace,

it was instantly manned by a dozen of Frenchmen, well armed with their

muskets, and lighted match, who rowing up to us, and seeing how few we

were, as also that our bark was on the point of foundering, took us in,

observing that this misfortune had happened, because we had been so

uncivil as to refuse an answer to their hail: while the renegado,

without being perceived, took up the coffer in which Zorayda’s treasure

was contained, and threw it into the sea. In short, we went onboard with

the French; who, when they had informed themselves of every thing we

could impart, for their purpose; as if they had been our enemies,

plundered us of all that we had, taking from Zorayda the very bracelets

she wore upon her ancles. But their behaviour to her gave me the more

anxiety, as I was afraid that, after having pilfered all her rich and

precious jewels, they would proceed to rob her of that which was of

greater value, and which she herself esteemed infinitely more than all

the rest: but the desires of those people extend no farther than to

money, and with that they can never satiate their avarice, which then

engrossed them so much, that they would even have robbed us of the

wretched garments we wore in our captivity, if they could have applied

them to any sort of use; nay, some among them proposed to wrap us all

together in a sail, and throw us into the sea; because they intended to

trade in the ports of Spain, under pretence of being Bretons, and if

they carried us thither alive, their depredation would be discovered,

and themselves chastised accordingly. But the captain, who had with his

own hands rifled my beloved Zorayda, said, he was satisfied with the

prize he had got, and resolved to touch at no port in Spain, but pass

the Straits of Gibraltar in the night, or take the best opportunity of

so doing that should occur, and return to Rochelle, from whence he had

sailed on the cruize; they, therefore, agreed to give us their boat,

with what necessaries we should want, to finish the little that remained

of our voyage: this promise they actually performed the next day, at a

small distance from the Spanish coast, at sight of which, all our

poverty and vexation vanished from our remembrance, as if we had never

endured them; such is the transport occasioned by liberty regained! It

might be about noon when we were put into the boat, with two casks of

water and some biscuit; and the captain, moved to compassion at the

distress of the lovely Zorayda, gave her to the amount of forty crowns

in gold, and would not suffer his soldiers to strip her of the cloaths

which she now wears: so that, at parting, instead of complaining of the

hard usage we met with, we thanked them kindly for the benefit we had

received at their hands. They steered right before the wind for the

Straits, while we, without minding any other compass than that of the

land that appeared a-head, plied our oars so vigorously, that at sun-set

we were near enough to conclude, that we could easily reach the shore

before the night should be far advanced; but that night being dark,

without any moonshine, and every body on board ignorant of the coast,

some of our company judged it unsafe to row ashore, while others

insisted upon our running that hazard, even if we should land among

rocks, or in some uninhabited part of the country, that we might be

secured from the just apprehension of meeting with some rovers from

Tetuan, who are frequently in the beginning of the night in Barbary, and

in the morning on the Spanish coast, where having taken a prize, they

return the same day, and sleep at home in their own houses. Of these

contrary opinions, we chose that of rowing gently towards the shore,

with intent, if the smoothness of the sea would permit, to land at the

first convenient place. In consequence of this resolution, a little

before midnight we arrived at the foot of a huge and lofty mountain,

though not so rocky towards the sea but that there was a little space

left for commodious landing. The boat being run ashore, and all of us

disembarked, we kissed the ground, and with tears of unutterable joy,

returned sincere thanks to our gracious Lord, for his unparalleled

protection vouchsafed to us in the voyage: then we took out the

provision, and dragging her on shore, ascended a vast way up the

mountain; not being as yet able to quiet our apprehensions, or persuade

ourselves, though it actually was so, that the soil we trod was

Christian ground. The day broke much later than we could have wished,

and about this time we gained the summit of the mountain; purposing to

look from thence for some village or shepherd-huts; but, although we

viewed the whole country around, we could neither discern village,

house, highway, path, nor the least trace of human footsteps.

Nevertheless, we determined to penetrate farther into the country, since

it could not be long before we should discover some person who would

give information; but what gave me the greatest concern was, to see

Zorayda travelling on foot among the flinty rocks: for though I

sometimes took her on my shoulders, she was much more fatigued with

seeing me weary, than refreshed by finding herself exempted from

walking, and therefore would not allow me to take any more trouble of

that kind, but proceeded with infinite chearfulness and patience, while

I led her by the hand all the way.

‘In this manner we had gone about a quarter of a league, when our ears

were saluted by the sound of a small sheep-bell, which was a sure sign

of a flock’s being somewhere not far off: looking therefore attentively

to discover it, we perceived a young shepherd, sitting with great

composure at the root of a cork-tree, smoothing a stick with his knife.

When we called to him he raised his head, and started nimbly up; and, as

we afterwards understood, the renegade and Zorayda, who were in Moorish

dress, being the first objects that presented themselves to his eyes, he

thought all the corsairs of Barbary were upon him, and running with

incredible swiftness into a wood that grew near the place where he was,

he began to cry as loud as he could bawl, “The Moors! The Moors are

landed! The Moors! The Moors! to arms, to arms!” These exclamations

threw us all into a perplexity; but reflecting that his cries would

alarm the country, and that the cavalry of the coast would immediately

come and see what was the matter; it was agreed, that the renegade

should pull off his Turkish robes, and put on a slave’s jacket, with

which one of our company accommodated him, though he himself remained in

his shirt. This being done, we recommended ourselves to God, and

followed the same road which we saw the shepherd take, expecting every

moment to see ourselves surrounded by the cavalry of the coast. Neither

were we deceived in our expectation; for in less than two hours, having

crossed those thickets, and entered a plain on the other side, we

descried about fifty horsemen riding briskly towards us, at a

hand-gallop; upon which we halted until they should come up: but when

they arrived, and instead of the Moors they came in quest of beheld so

many poor Christian captives, they were utterly confounded; and one of

them asked, if we were the people who had been the occasion of a

shepherd’s calling to arms. I answered in the affirmative, and being

desirous of telling him who we were, whence we came, and what had

happened to us, one of our company knew the horseman who accosted us,

and without giving me time to speak another word, said, “Thanks be to

God, gentlemen, for having conducted us to such an agreeable part of the

country; for, if I am not mistaken, the ground we now tread belongs to

Velez Malaga—and, if the years of my captivity have not impaired my

remembrance, you, Signior, who ask that question, are Pedro Bustamante,

my uncle.”

‘Scarce had the captive pronounced these words, when the cavalier threw

himself from his horse, and ran to embrace the young man; saying, “Dear

nephew of my life and soul! I now recollect thee; thy supposed death has

been mourned by myself, my sister, thy mother, and all thy relations,

who are still alive; for Heaven hath been pleased to spare their lives,

that they might enjoy the pleasure of seeing thee again. I knew thou

wast at Algiers, and from the information of thy habit, and that of all

your company, I guess you have made a miraculous escape.”—“Your

conjecture is true,” replied the young man, “and we shall have time to

recount the particulars.” As soon as the horsemen understood we were

Christian captives, they alighted, and each of them made a tender of his

horse to carry us to the city of Velez Malaga, which was about a league

and a half from the place where they found us. Some of them went to

bring the boat round to the city, after we had told them where she lay;

others took us up behind them; and Zorayda rode with the Christian’s

uncle. All the people came out to receive us, being apprized of our

arrival, by one of the troopers who had pushed on before; not that they

were surprized at the sight of the captives freed, or Moors in

captivity, for the inhabitants on that coast are accustomed to see great

numbers of both; but they were amazed at the beauty of Zorayda which was

at that instant in full perfection; the fatigue of her journey,

co-operating with the joy the felt in seeing herself in a Christian

country, without the fear of being lost, having produced such a bloom

upon her countenance, that, unless I was then prejudiced by my

affection, I will venture to say, the world never produced, at least I

had never seen, a more beautiful creature.

‘We went directly to church, to make our acknowledgments to God for his

mercies; and as soon as Zorayda entered, she said she perceived some

faces that resembled Lela Marien: we told her these were the images of

the blessed Virgin; and the renegado, as well as he could, informed her

of their signification, that she might adore them, as if each was

actually the person of Lela Marien, who had spoke to her; so that,

having naturally a good understanding, with a docile and discerning

disposition; she easily comprehended what he said upon the subject. From

thence they conducted us to our lodgings in different families of the

town; the renegado, Zorayda, and I, being invited by the Christian who

escaped with us, to the house of his father, who was moderately provided

with the good things of this life, and treated us with the same

affection he expressed for his own son. Six days we tarried at Velez,

during which the renegado having informed himself of what was necessary

for him to do, went to the city of Grenada, there, by means of the holy

inquisition, to be re-admitted into the bosom of our most sacred church:

the rest of our company departed, each for his own home; leaving Zorayda

and me by ourselves, destitute of every thing but the few crowns which

she received from the courtesy or the French corsair. With part of these

I bought the animal on which she arrived at this inn, and hitherto have

cherished her with the affection of a parent, and the service of a

squire, without using the prerogative of a husband; we are now upon the

road to the place of my nativity, to see if my father be still alive,

and if either of my brothers has been more fortunate than myself;

though, as heaven hath made Zorayda my companion for life, fortune could

not have possibly bestowed upon me any other favour which I should have

valued at so high a rate. The patience with which she bears the

inconveniences attending poverty, and the zeal she manifests to become a

Christian, is so great and extraordinary, as to raise my admiration, and

engage me to serve her all the days of my life; but the pleasure I take

in this office, and in the prospect of seeing her mine, is disturbed and

perverted, by reflecting that possibly in my own country I shall not

find a corner in which I can shelter the dear object of my love; and

that time or death may have made such alterations in the fortune and

lives of my father and his other children, that I shall scarce meet with

a soul that knows me.

‘This, gentlemen, is the substance of my story; whether or not it be

agreeable and uncommon, I leave to the decision of your better judgment;

assuring you, that I wish I could have related it more succinctly,

though the fear of tiring you hath made me suppress a good number of

circumstances.’

Footnote 104:

Zala, or Sala, is the Moorish salutation.

Footnote 105:

Cava, or Caba, daughter of Count Julian, Count of Ceuta, was violated

by Roderick king of Spain; and, in order to revenge this injury, the

father called the Saracens into that kingdom, in the year 712.

CHAP. XV.

OF WHAT FARTHER HAPPENED AT THE INN,

WITH MANY OTHER PARTICULARS WORTHY TO BE KNOWN.

Here the captive left off speaking; and Don Fernando said to him,

‘Really, Signior Captain, the novelty of your strange adventures is

equalled by your agreeable manner of relating them. Your whole story is

uncommon, surprizing, and full of incidents that keep the hearers in

admiration and suspence; and such is the pleasure we have received from

it, that though the narration should have continued till to-morrow

morning, we should rejoice at your beginning it anew.’

When this compliment was passed, Cardenio, and all the rest of the

company, offered to serve him to the utmost of their power, with such

affectionate and sincere expressions of friendship, that the captain was

extremely well satisfied of their good-will. Don Fernando, in

particular, promised, that if he would go home with him, his brother the

marquis should stand godfather to Zorayda; and that he, for his part,

would accommodate him in such a manner, that he should return to the

place of his nativity with that authority and ease to which he was

intitled by his birth and merit. The captive thanked him in the most

courteous manner, but declined accepting any of his generous offers.

It was now night, when a coach arrived at the inn, attended by some men

on horseback, who demanded lodging; and the landlady made answer, that

there was not in the whole house an handful of room unengaged. ‘Be that

as it will,’ said one of the horsemen, who had entered the gate, ‘there

must be some found for my lord judge.’ At mention of that name the

hostess was disturbed, saying, ‘Signior, the greatest difficulty is my

want of beds; but if his lordship hath brought one along with him, as I

suppose he hath, he is very welcome to come in: I and my husband will

quit our own apartment to accommodate his worship.’—‘Be it so,’ said the

attendant. By this time a person had alighted from the coach, who, by

his garb, immediately shewed the nature of his rank and office; for his

long robe, with high sleeves tucked up, plainly distinguished him to be

a judge, as the servant had affirmed. He led by the hand a young lady

seemingly sixteen years of age, dressed in a riding suit, and so

sprightly, beautiful, and genteel, as to raise the admiration of all who

beheld her: so that those who had not seen Dorothea, Lucinda, and

Zorayda then present, would have thought it a very difficult talk to

find another woman of equal beauty. Don Quixote seeing the judge and

young lady as they entered, pronounced with great solemnity, ‘Your

worship may securely enter and recreate yourself in this castle, which,

though narrow and inconvenient, there is no narrowness and inconvenience

in this world, but what will make room for arms and letters, especially

if they have for their guide and conductor such beauty as that which

accompanies the letters of your worship, in the person of that amiable

young lady, to whom not only castles ought to open and unfold their

gates, but also rocks divide, and mountains bow their heads at her

approach. Enter, I say, this paradise, where you will find stars and

suns to accompany that heaven which you have brought hither. Here you

will find arms in perfection, and beauty in excess!’

The judge marvelled greatly at this address of the knight, whom he

earnestly considered, no less surprized at his figure than his words,

without knowing what reply to make, so much was he confounded at both;

when he was relieved by the appearance of Lucinda, Dorothea, and

Zorayda; who, upon hearing the news of their arrival, and the landlady’s

description of the young beauty, had come out to welcome and receive

her: the beauteous ladies of the inn welcomed this beauteous damsel;

while Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the curate, paid their compliments to

the judge, in the most civil and polite terms. He was more and more

astonished at what he saw and heard, though he could easily perceive

that his fellow-lodgers were persons of rank and consequence: but the

mien, visage, and figure of Don Quixote, baffled all his conjectures.

Compliments having thus passed on all sides, and the conveniences of the

inn being duly considered, it was agreed, as before, that all the ladies

should sleep together in the fore-mentioned apartment, and the men sit

in another room to guard them. The judge was very well satisfied, that

his daughter (for such the young maiden was) should lodge with the other

ladies, she herself willingly consenting to the proposal; and what with

part of the inn-keeper’s narrow bed, and the half of that which the

judge brought along with him, they made shift to pass the night more

agreeably than they expected.

The captive, who, from the first moment he beheld the judge, felt his

heart throb with a sort of intimation that this was his own brother,

asked of one of the servants that attended him, his master’s name, with

the place of his nativity. The footman replied, that his name was the

licentiate Juan Perez de Viedma; and born, as he had been informed, in

the mountains of Leon. This information, together with what he himself

had before observed, confirmed him in the opinion, that he was his

brother, who by his father’s advice had followed his studies.

Transported with this discovery, he called aside Don Fernando, the

curate, and Cardenio, to whom he imparted the affair, and assured them

that the judge was his own brother by the servant’s report, so far on

his way to the West Indies, in quality of supreme judge of Mexico. He

understood also by the same canal, that the young lady was his daughter,

whose birth had cost the mother her life; and that he was very much

enriched by his wife’s fortune, which had been settled on the children

of the marriage. The captive therefore consulted them about the method

he should take to make himself known, or rather to be assured

before-hand whether upon the discovery his brother would be ashamed of

his poverty, or receive him with the bowels of affection. ‘Leave that

talk to my conduct, Signior Captain,’ said the curate; ‘though there is

all the reason in the world to believe that you will meet with a

brotherly reception: for the virtue and prudence that appear in his

courteous demeanor give no indications of his being proud and unnatural,

but rather declare that he knows how to consider the accidents of

fortune in the right point of view.’—‘Nevertheless,’ replied the

captain, ‘I would not willingly disclose myself of a sudden, but prepare

him by some round-about insinuation.’—‘I have already told you,’

answered the curate, ‘that I will manage the affair to your mutual

satisfaction.’ By this time, the cloth being laid[106], and every body

sat down to table, except the captive and the ladies, who supped in

their own apartment, the curate addressed himself to the judge,

saying—‘I had once a comrade of your lordship’s name at Constantinople,

where I was a slave for many years. He was one of the bravest soldiers

and best officers in the Spanish infantry, but his misfortunes were

equal to his valour and ability.’——‘Dear Sir,’ cried the judge, ‘what

was that officer’s name?’—‘He was called Ruy Perez de Viedma,’ replied

the priest, ‘and a native of some town in the mountains of Leon. He told

me a circumstance that happened between his father, two brothers, and

himself, which, had it not been affirmed by a person of his veracity, I

should have looked upon as one of those tales which old women tell by

the fire-side in winter; for he said his father divided his estate

equally among his three sons, whom he at the same time enriched with

advice more salutary than any that ever Cato gave. This I know, the

choice he made of going into the army succeeded so well, that in a few

years, by his gallant behaviour, and without any other assistance than

that of his extraordinary virtue, he rose to be captain of foot, and saw

himself in the straight road of becoming a field officer very soon: but

there, where he had reason to expect the smiles of fortune, she proved

most unkind; he having lost her, with his liberty, on that glorious day

of the battle at Lepanto, in which it was found by so many Christians. I

was taken in the goleta; and, after various vicissitudes, we happened to

be fellow-slaves at Constantinople, from whence he was transported to

Algiers, where he met with one of the strangest adventures that ever was

known.’

Then the curate briefly recapitulated the story of Zorayda, to which the

judge listened with more attention than ever he had yielded on the

bench[107]. But the priest brought it no farther than the period when

the French corsairs plundered the Christians who were in the bark,

describing the poverty and distress to which they had reduced his

comrade and the beautiful Moor; and observing that he did not know what

farther befel them, nor whether they had arrived in Spain, or been

carried into France.

The captain stood at some distance behind, listening to what the curate

said, and observing the emotions of his brother; who, seeing that the

curate had made an end of his story, uttered a profound sigh, saying,

while the tears gushed from his eyes, ‘O Signior! if you knew how nearly

I am concerned in what you have related, you would not wonder at these

tears, which, in spite of all my fortitude and discretion, trickle from

mine eyes. That valiant captain whom you have mentioned is my father’s

eldest son, who being more brave and noble-minded than my youngest[108]

brother and me, chose the honourable exercise of arms, which was one of

the three paths proposed by our father in his advice, as you seem to

have been informed by your companion in adversity. I followed that of

letters, in which God hath been pleased to reward my diligence with that

station which you see I now maintain: my younger brother is at present

in Peru, so rich, that his remittances to my father and me have made

large amends for the small sum he carried with him at first; and even

enabled the old gentleman fully to indulge his liberal disposition,

impowering me also to prosecute my studies with more honour and decency,

until I acquired the post I now enjoy. My father is still alive, though

daily pining with the desire of hearing from his eldest son, and putting

up petitions to Heaven incessantly, that his own eyes may not be closed

for ever until he shall have seen those of his first-born in life. What

gives me a great deal of surprize is, that a person of his discretion

should, in the midst of such trouble and affliction, or even in his

prosperity, omit writing to his father; for if he, or either of us, had

known his situation, he should have had no occasion to wait for the

miracle of the cane in obtaining his liberty; but at present the

uncertainty of his fate gives me the greatest concern, as it is doubtful

whether those French have set him at liberty, or taken away his life to

conceal their robbery. This apprehension will convert the joy and

satisfaction with which I undertook my journey into melancholy and

despondence.—O my dear brother! would to Heaven I knew where thou art,

that I might go and free thee from all trouble and affliction, though at

the expence of my own! Who shall carry the news of thy being alive to

our aged father, that although thou art shut up in the deepest dungeon

of Barbary, thou mayest be delivered by my brother’s riches and my

own!—O generous and lovely Zorayda! who shall requite thy benevolence to

my brother, be present at the regeneration of thy soul, and assist at

the nuptials which would afford such pleasure to us all!’

These and many other exclamations the judge pronounced with such

symptoms of sorrow at the news he had received of his brother, that all

the hearers sympathized with him in the expressions of his grief. The

curate, seeing every thing succeed to his own expectation, and the

captain’s desire, was unwilling to protract the judge’s anguish, and the

impatience of the whole company; so rising from the table, and going

into the other apartment, he led out Zorayda, who was followed by

Lucinda, Dorothea, and the young lady lately arrived; then, taking in

his other hand the captain, who stood waiting to see what he intended,

he went into the room, where the judge and the rest of the gentlemen

sat, and presenting them both, said, ‘Dry your tears, my lord judge, and

enjoy the completion of your wish; behold your worthy brother, and

virtuous sister-in-law: this is Captain Viedma, and that the beautiful

Moor who behaved so generously to him in his distress: the French

corsairs have reduced them to this extremity, that you may have an

opportunity of displaying the liberality of your noble breast.’

The captain ran to embrace his brother, who kept him off with both hands

fixed on his shoulders, that he might consider him the more attentively;

but no sooner did he recollect his features, than he flew into his arms,

and shed a flood of tears of joy, while the greatest part of those who

were present wept in concert at the affecting scene. The expressions of

both the brothers, and their mutual demonstrations of affection, are, I

believe, scarce to be conceived, much less described. They briefly

recounted their adventures to each other, and manifested the genuine

flame of fraternal affection. There the judge embraced Zorayda, making

her a tender of all his wealth; there he commanded his daughter to

receive her with open arms; there the mutual caresses of the beautiful

Christian and lovely Moor renewed the tears of the whole company; there

Don Quixote silently observed these surprising accidents, which he

wholly attributed to the chimeras of knight-errantry; there it was

concerted that the captain and Zorayda should return to Seville with his

brother, from whence they could advertise their father of the liberty

and arrival of his son; that the old gentleman being still able to

undertake such a journey, might come and be present at the baptism and

nuptials of his daughter-in-law; as it would be impossible for the judge

to go far out of his way, because he was informed, that in a month the

flota would set sail from Seville for New Spain; and it would be

extremely inconvenient for him to lose his passage. In short, the whole

company were exceedingly rejoiced at the captive’s good fortune; and

two-thirds of the night being already exhausted, they agreed to retire

and repose themselves during the remaining part of it; while Don Quixote

undertook to guard the castle from the assaults of any giant or wicked

adventurer that might possibly covet the vast treasure of beauty which

it contained. Those of his acquaintance thanked him for his courteous

offer, and afterwards gave an account of his strange disorder to the

judge, who was not a little diverted with the detail of his

extravagance. Sancho Panza alone was distracted at their sitting up so

late: though, in point of lodging, he was better accommodated than all

the rest; for he made his bed of the furniture of his ass, which cost

him so dear, as will hereafter be seen.

The ladies having retired to their apartment, and every other person

disposed of himself as tolerably as he could, Don Quixote went out to

keep guard at the castle gate, according to his promise; and a little

before morning, the ladies were serenaded by a voice so clear and well

tuned, as to attract the attention of them all, especially of Dorothea,

who was awake, and lay in the same bed with Donna Clara de Viedma, the

judge’s daughter. Nobody could imagine who the singer was, the voice

being single, and unaccompanied by any instrument, and seeming to come

sometimes from the stable, and sometimes from the court-yard. While they

listened with equal surprize and attention, Cardenio came to the door,

saying, ‘You that are not asleep, take notice, and you will hear the

voice of a mule-driver, who chaunts most enchantingly.’ When Dorothea

told him that they had heard it already, he went away; while she,

employing her whole attention, when he began to sing again, could

plainly distinguish the following words.

Footnote 106:

This is the second time they have sat down to supper in one night.

Vide p. 216.

Footnote 107:

A judge in Spanish is called _Oyder_, i. e. _Hearer_; and the

original, literally translated, is, ‘The hearer was never so much an

hearer before.’

Footnote 108:

Cervantes seems to have forgot that the judge was the youngest of the

three brothers, the second having gone to the Indies.

CHAP. XVI.

THE AGREEABLE STORY OF THE YOUNG MULETEER, WITH MANY OTHER STRANGE

INCIDENTS THAT HAPPENED IN THE INN.

I.

‘Toss’d in a sea of doubts and fears,

Love’s hapless mariner I sail,

Where no inviting port appears,

To screen me from the stormy gale.

II.

‘At distance view’d, a chearing star

Conducts me thro’ the swelling tide;

A brighter luminary, far,

Than Palinurus e’er descry’d.

III.

‘My soul, attracted by its blaze,

Still follows where it points the way,

And while attentively I gaze,

Considers not how far I stray.

IV.

‘But female pride, reserv’d and shy,

Like clouds that deepen on the day,

Oft shroud it from my longing eye,

When most I need the genial ray.

V.

‘O lovely star, so pure and bright!

Whole splendour feeds my vital fire;

The moment thou deny’st thy light,

Thy lost adorer will expire!’

Here the musician pausing, Dorothea thought it was pity Clara should not

hear such an excellent voice; therefore, by gently jogging, she waked

her, saying, ‘I ask pardon, my dear Clara, for disturbing you; but my

intention in so doing, was to regale you with one of the best voices

that ever you heard.’ Clara, being still half asleep, did not at first

understand what she said, which, at her desire, Dorothea repeated; and

the young lady listened accordingly; but scarce had she heard two lines

of the song, which was now resumed, when she began to tremble as

violently as if she had been seized with a severe fit of the ague,

saying, while she hugged Dorothea, ‘Ah! dear lady of my life and soul,

why did you wake me? The greatest favour that fortune could at present

bestow, would be to keep both my eyes and ears fast shut, that I might

neither see nor hear that unfortunate musician.’—‘What do you mean, my

dear child?’ answered Dorothea; ‘consider what you say; he that sings is

a young muleteer!’—‘Ah, no!’ replied Clara, ‘he is a young gentleman of

great fortune, and so much master of my heart, that unless he quits it

of his own accord, it shall remain eternally in his possession.’

Dorothea was surprized at this passionate declaration of such a young

creature, who seemed to have so much more sensibility than could be

expected from her tender years; and said to her, ‘Truly, Donna Clara,

you talk in such a manner that I do not understand you. Pray explain

yourself, and tell me the meaning of those expressions, about fortune

and heart, and that musician whose voice hath thrown you into such

disorder: but say no more at present; for I would not, by attending to

your transports, lose the pleasure of hearing the singer, who now seems

to be tuning his voice, and preparing to give us another song.’—‘With

all my heart,’ said Clara, stopping her ears with her fingers, to the

farther admiration of Dorothea, who listening attentively, heard the

musician proceed in these words:

I.

‘Aspiring Hope, thou, unconfin’d,

Pursu’st th’ imaginary path,

Thro’ woods, and rocks, and waves combin’d,

Defying danger, toil, and death.

II.

‘No laurel shall adorn his brow,

No happiness the sluggard crown;

Who tamely can to fortune bow,

And slumber on th’ inglorious down.

III.

‘The joys unmatch’d bestow’d by love,

Can never be too dearly priz’d;

For undeny’d examples prove,

What’s cheaply bought, is soon despis’d.

IV.

‘Success, by the consenting fair,

Is oft to perseverance given;

Then wherefore should my soul despair

Of mounting from this earth to Heaven!’

Here the voice ended, and Clara’s sighs beginning afresh, kindled

Dorothea’s curiosity to know the cause of such agreeable musick and

grievous lamentation; she therefore now desired to hear what her

bed-fellow had before proffered to impart. Then Clara, fearful of being

overheard by Lucinda, crept close to Dorothea, and applying her mouth to

her ear, so that she could securely speak without being perceived, ‘Dear

Madam,’ said she, ‘that singer is the son of an Arragonian gentleman,

who is lord of two towns, and when at court lives opposite to my

father’s house; and although our windows are covered with canvas in

winter, and lattices in summer, I know not how this young gentleman,

while he prosecuted his studies, got sight of me, either at church or

somewhere else; and, in short, being smitten, disclosed his passion from

the windows of his own apartment, by so many tears and significant

expressions, that I believed him sincere, and even loved him in my turn,

without knowing the nature of my own desires. Among other signs, he made

that of joining his hands, giving me to understand that he would take me

to wife; and though I should have been extremely glad to comply with

that proposal, as I was alone and motherless, I had nobody to consult,

and therefore let it rest, without granting him any other favour, except

(when his father and mine were abroad) that of lifting up the canvas or

lattice, that he might have a more perfect view of my person; and this

condescension always transported him so much, that I was afraid he would

have run stark mad with joy. In the midst of this commerce, the time of

my father’s departure drew near, of which being informed, though not by

me, for I never had an opportunity of telling him, he fell sick, as I

understand, of grief, so that when we set out I could not see him, as I

wished, to indulge one parting look; but, having travelled two days,

just as I entered the place at which we lodged last night, I perceived

him standing at the gate, disguised so naturally in the habit of a

muleteer, that it would have been impossible for me to know him, had not

his image been so deeply imprinted on my soul. The sight of him filled

me with joy and surprize; and he gazed upon me by stealth, unperceived

by my father, from whom he always conceals his face when he crosses the

road before me, or is obliged to appear at the inns where we lodge.

Knowing, therefore, who he is, and that he travels on foot, undergoing

so much hardship and fatigue for love of me, I am half dead with grief

and anxiety, and wheresoever he sets his feet, there I fix my pitying

eyes. I know not what he intends by thus following me, nor how he could

manage to escape from his father, who loves him tenderly, because he has

no heir but him; and the young gentleman deserves all his affection, as

you will perceive when you see him. I can moreover assure you, what he

sings is the product of his own head; for I have been told that he is a

great scholar, and an excellent poet; every time I behold him or hear

him sing, I start and tremble from head to foot, being afraid that he

will be known by my father, and thus our mutual love be discovered; for,

though I never spoke to him in my life, my passion is so violent, that

without him I shall not be able to live. This, dear Madam, is all I can

say concerning that musician, whose voice hath given you such pleasure,

and is alone sufficient to convince you that he is not a muleteer, but

the lord of towns and hearts, as I have described him.’

‘Enough, Donna Clara,’ said Dorothea, kissing her with great affection;

‘say no more, but wait with patience till the approach of a new day,

when I hope in God to manage matters so well as to bring such a virtuous

beginning to an happy end.’—‘Ah, Madam!’ replied the young lady, ‘what

happy end can be expected, seeing his father is a man of such rank and

fortune, that he would think me unworthy to be the servant, much less

the wife of his son! and as to marrying him without my own father’s

consent, I would not do it for the whole universe. All I desire is, that

the young gentleman would return; perhaps his absence, and the length of

the journey we have undertaken, will alleviate the uneasiness I at

present felt, though I must own I believe that remedy will have small

effect. I cannot conceive what the deuce is the matter with me; nor how

this same love got entrance into my heart, considering how young we both

are; for I really believe we are of the same age, and my father says,

that till Michaelmas next, I shall not be sixteen.’ Dorothea could not

help laughing at these innocent observations of Donna Clara; to whom she

said, ‘Let us sleep, my dear, during the little that I believe remains

of the night; God will grant us a new day, and if my skill fails me not,

every thing will succeed to our wish.’

They accordingly went to rest, and a general silence prevailed over the

whole house, in which there was not a soul awake, except the innkeeper’s

daughter and her maid Maritornes, who by this time being acquainted with

the extravagant humour of Don Quixote, and knowing that he was then

without the gate, keeping guard in arms and on horseback, determined to

play some trick upon him, or at least divert themselves in listening to

his folly.

The inn chancing to have no window nor opening towards the field, but a

hole through which they took in their straw; this pair of

demi-ladies[109] there took their station, and observed Don Quixote, who

sat on horseback, leaning upon his lance, and breathing from time to

time such profound and doleful sighs, as seemed to tear his very soul;

they likewise heard him pronounce, in a soft, complacent, and amorous

tone, ‘O my dear mistress, Dulcinea del Toboso! thou perfection of

beauty, scope and sum total of discretion, cabinet of good humour,

depository of virtue, and lastly, the idea of all that is useful,

chaste, and delectable in this life! in what art thou at present

employed? Art thou reflecting upon thy captive knight, who voluntarily

subjects himself to such dangers, with the sole view of serving thee?

Give me some information of my love, thou three-faced luminary! who now,

perhaps, with envious eyes, beholdest her walking through some gallery

of her sumptuous palace, or leaning over some balcony, revolving in her

mind, how, without impairing the delicacy of her honour, she may asswage

the torments that this heart endures on her account; how she may crown

my sufferings with glory; my care with comfort; in fine, my death with

new life, and my service with reward; and thou, sun, who by this time

must be busy in harnessing thy steeds to light the world, and enjoy the

sight of her who is the sovereign of my soul, I entreat thee to salute

her in my behalf; but, in thy salutation, beware of touching her amiable

countenance, else I shall be more jealous of thee than ever thou wast of

that nimble ingrate, who made thee sweat so much along the plains of

Thessaly, or banks of Peneus, for I do not remember through which thou

ran’st, so jealous and enamoured.’

So far had the knight proceeded in this piteous exclamation, when the

innkeepers daughter whispered softly, ‘Sir knight, will your worship be

pleased to come this way?’ Hearing this invitation, he lifted up his

eyes, and by the light of the moon, which was then in full splendour,

perceived them beckon to him from the straw-hole, which he mistook for a

window adorned with gilded bars, suitable to the grandeur of such a

magnificent castle as the inn appeared; then his crazy imagination

instantly suggested, as before, that the beauteous damsel, daughter of

the constable, being captivated by his person, intended again to solicit

his love. On this supposition, that he might not seem discourteous or

ungrateful, he turned Rozinante, and riding up to the hole, no sooner

perceived the two lasses, than he said, ‘I am extremely concerned, most

beautiful lady, that you have fixed your amorous inclinations where it

is impossible they should meet with that return which is due to your

rank and qualifications; but you ought not to impute your disappointment

to any fault in me, whom love hath rendered incapable of yielding my

heart to any other but to her, who at first sight took absolute

possession of my soul. Pardon my refusal, honoured Madam, and retire to

your apartment, without seeking to explain your sentiments more fully,

that I may not appear insensible or ungrateful; and if your love can

find in me the power of giving you any other sort of satisfaction, you

may freely command my service; for I swear by that absent and amiable

enemy of mine, to gratify your wish immediately; even if you should

desire to have a lock of Medusa’s hair, which was altogether composed of

snakes, or the rays of the sun confined in a phial.’

‘Sir knight,’ answered Maritornes, ‘my lady has no occasion for either

of these things.’—‘What then is your lady’s pleasure, discreet duenna?’

resumed the knight. ‘Only the favour of one of your beautiful hands,’

replied Maritornes, ‘with which she may, in some measure, indulge the

longing desire that brought her to the straw-hole, so much to the danger

of her reputation, that if she should be detected by her father, the

first slice of his indignation would cost her an ear at least.’—‘I would

fain see him take that liberty,’ said Don Quixote; ‘but he will take

care to refrain from any such acts of barbarity, unless he has a mind I

should bring him to the most calamitous exit that ever happened to a

father, for having laid violent hands upon the delicate members of his

enamoured daughter.’

Maritornes concluding that he would certainly grant the request, and

having already determined on what she was to do, ran down to the stable,

and laid hold of the halter belonging to Sancho’s ass, with which she

instantly returned, just when Don Quixote had made shift to set his feet

on the saddle that he might reach the gilded window, at which he

imagined the wounded damsel was standing: presenting therefore his hand,

‘Receive, Madam,’ said he, ‘that hand, or rather that chastiser of all

evil-doers; receive, I say, that hand, which was never touched by any

other woman, not even by her who is in possession of my whole body. I do

not present it to be kissed; but that you may contemplate the contexture

of its nerves, the knittings of the muscles, the large and swelling

veins, from whence you may conjecture what strength must reside in the

arm to which it belongs.’—‘That we shall see presently,’ said

Maritornes; who having made a running knot on the halter, fixed it upon

his wrist, and descending from the hole, made fast the other end to the

bolt of the hay-loft door. The knight feeling the roughness of this

bracelet, said, ‘Your ladyship seems to rasp rather than to clasp thy

hand; do not treat it so cruelly; for it is not to blame for what you

suffer, from my inclination; nor is it just that such a small part

should bear the whole brunt of your indignation; consider, that one who

is such a friend to love, ought not to be so attached to revenge.’

All these expostulations of Don Quixote were uttered in vain; for as

soon as Maritornes had tied him up, she and her companion, ready to

expire with laughing, left him fastened in such a manner, that it was

impossible for him to get loose: thus, while he stood on Rozinante’s

back, with his whole arm thrust up into the straw-hole, and fast tied to

the bolt of the door, he was in the utmost apprehension and dread, that

if his horse should make the least motion to either side, he must lose

his support, and the weight of his whole body hang by one arm, so that

he durst not venture to stir; though he might have expected, from the

patience and peaceful disposition of Rozinante, that he would stand

motionless for a whole century. In short, finding himself thus tucked

up, and the ladies vanished, he imagined that the whole had been

effected by the power of inchantment, which he had experienced once

before, in that same castle, when he was belaboured by the inchanted

Moor of a carrier; and cursed, within himself, his want of conduct and

discretion, in entering a second time that fortress in which he had

fared so ill at first; it being a maxim among knights-errant, that when

they prove an adventure, without success, they conclude it is reserved

for another, and therefore think it unnecessary to make a second trial.

Nevertheless, he pulled with intention to disengage his arm, but he was

so well secured, that all his efforts were ineffectual; true it is, he

pulled with caution, that Rozinante might not be disturbed; and though

he had a longing desire of sitting down upon the saddle again, he found

that he must either continue in his present upright posture, or part

with his hand; then he began to wish for the sword of Amadis, against

which no inchantment could prevail; then cursed his fortune; then

exaggerated the loss which the world would sustain, while he remained

inchanted, as he firmly believed himself to be; then he reflected anew

upon his beloved Dulcinea del Toboso; then he called to his trusty

squire Sancho Panza, who, stretched upon the pannel of his ass, and

buried in sleep, at that instant, retained no remembrance of the mother

that bore him; then he implored the assistance of the two sages,

Lirgando and Alquife; then he invoked his good friend Urganda, for

succour in his distress; and, in fine, the morning found him in that

situation, so distracted and perplexed, that he roared aloud like a

bull, without expecting that the day would put an end to this disaster,

which he thought would be eternal, believing himself actually inchanted:

and this opinion was confirmed, by his seeing that Rozinante scarce

offered to stir; for he was persuaded, that in this manner, without

eating, drinking, or sleeping, he and his horse would continue until the

evil influence of the stars should pass over, or some other sage of

superior skill disengage them from their inchantment.

But for once he was mistaken in his calculation; for day had scarce

began to dawn, when four men on horseback arrived at the inn, well

mounted, and accoutred with carbines hanging at their saddle-bows; the

knight perceiving from the place, where in spite of his misfortune, he

still kept guard, that they thundered for entrance at the gate, which

was still shut, called in an arrogant and haughty tone, ‘Knights or

squires, or whosoever you are, you have no business to make such a noise

at the gate of this castle; for it is very plain, that either the people

within are asleep, or unaccustomed, at these hours, to open the

fortress, which you cannot enter before the sun rise. Retire, therefore,

and wait until the day be farther advanced, and then we shall see

whether or not you have any title to be admitted.’

‘What the devil of a fortress or castle is this, that we must observe

such ceremony!’ said one of the company: ‘if you are the innkeeper,

order somebody to open the door; we are all travellers, and only want to

bait, that we may forthwith proceed on our journey, for we are in

haste.’—‘Gentlemen,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘do you think I resemble an

innkeeper?’—‘I don’t know what you resemble,’ answered the other, ‘but

this I know, that you talk nonsense in calling this inn a castle.’—‘A

castle it is,’ cried the knight, ‘and one of the best in this province;

nay, at this very instant, it contains those who have wore crowns on

their heads, and wielded sceptres in their hands.’—‘Or rather the

reverse,’ said the traveller; ‘that is, the sceptre on the head, and

crown in the hand[110]: but perhaps there may be within some company of

strollers, who frequently wear these crowns and sceptres you mention;

for otherwise, in such a sorry inn, without any sort of noise or stir, I

cannot believe that any persons of such note would lodge.’—‘You know

little of the world,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘since you are so ignorant of

the events that happen in knight-errantry.’

The other horsemen being tired with this dialogue that passed between

the knight and their companion, began again to knock and bawl with such

vociferation, that the landlord and all the persons in the inn waking,

rose to see who called so furiously: about this time one of the horses

belonging to the travellers drew near and smelled at Rozinante, who, sad

and melancholy, with his ears hanging down, stood supporting his

outstretched master without stirring; but at length, being made of

flesh, though he seemed to have been carved out of a block, he was

sensible of the civility, and turned about to repay the compliment to

the courteous stranger; and scarce had he moved one step, when both his

master’s feet slipping from the saddle, he would have tumbled to the

ground had he not hung by his arm, which endured such torture in the

shock, that he verily believed it was cut off by the wrist, or torn away

by the shoulder. He was suspended so low, that the tops of his toes

almost touched the ground; a circumstance that increased his calamity:

for feeling how little he wanted of being firmly sustained, he stretched

and fatigued himself with endeavouring to set his feet upon the ground;

like those wretches, who, in undergoing the strappado, being hoisted up

a very little space, increase their own torment by their eager efforts

to lengthen their bodies, misled by the vain hope of reaching the

ground.

Footnote 109:

In the original demi-donzellas, equivalent to the modern term

demi-reps.

Footnote 110:

Alluding to the delinquents, who were branded and marked with these

figures.

CHAP. XVII.

A CONTINUATION OF THE SURPRIZING EVENTS THAT HAPPENED IN THE INN.

Don Quixote actually made such a hideous outcry, that the innkeeper

opened the door, and ran out to see what was the matter; while the

strangers that remained without were no less astonished at his

bellowing. Maritornes being also waked by the same noise, conjectured

what might be the case, and going straight to the hay-loft without being

perceived, untied the halter that sustained him, so that the knight came

to the ground in sight of the landlord and strangers, who running up,

asked what was the matter with him, and wherefore he cried so violently?

Without answering one word, he loosed the tether from his wrist, and

rising up, mounted Rozinante, braced his target, couched his lance, and

making a pretty large circuit in the field, returned at a half gallop,

pronouncing with great emphasis, ‘If any person whatever sayeth that I

have justly suffered inchantment, I here with the permission of my Lady

Princess Micomicona give him the lye, challenge, and defy him to single

combat.’

The travellers were amazed at his words; but their astonishment abated

when the innkeeper told them who Don Quixote was, observing that they

ought not to mind what he did, because he was disordered in his brain:

they then asked if he had seen a youth about fifteen years of age,

dressed like a young muleteer, with such and such marks, giving an exact

description of Donna Clara’s lover. The landlord answered, there were so

many people in his house, that he could not possibly distinguish the

person for whom they enquired; but one of them perceiving the judge’s

coach, ‘He must certainly be here,’ said he; ‘for this is the coach

which they say he followed: let one of us stay at the door, and the rest

go in to search for him; it will also be proper that one go round the

whole house, to prevent his escaping over the yard wall.’ This plan

being agreed upon, two of them entered the inn, another remained at the

door, and the fourth rode round the house to reconnoitre; while the

landlord observing every thing that passed, could not conceive the

meaning of all this care and diligence, although he believed they were

in search of the youth whom they had described. By this time it was

clear day-light, and upon that account, as well as in consequence of Don

Quixote’s roaring, all the company were awake, and got up, especially

Donna Clara and Dorothea, who had slept very little that night; the

first being disturbed and alarmed by reflecting that her lover was so

near, and the other kept awake by the desire of seeing this pretended

muleteer.

Don Quixote seeing that none of the travellers took the least notice of

him, or made any answer to his defiance, was transported with rage and

vexation; and if he could have recollected any law of chivalry,

authorizing a knight-errant to undertake another enterprize while he was

under promise and oath to abstain from any adventure until that in which

he was engaged was already atchieved, he would have assaulted them all

together, and forced them to reply, contrary to their inclination: but

thinking it was neither expedient nor just to begin a new enterprize

until he had re-established the Princess Micomicona on her throne, he

chose to be silent, waiting to see the effects of that diligence

practised by the new comers, one of whom found the youth they came in

quest of sleeping by the side of a muleteer, and little dreaming that

any body was in search of him, much less that he was in any danger of

being discovered. The man, however, shook him by the arm, saying,

‘Truly, Signior Don Lewis, this is a very suitable dress for one of your

quality, and the bed in which you now lie extremely well-adapted to the

tenderness and delicacy in which your mother brought you up.’

The youth rubbed his sleepy eyes, and looking stedfastly at the person

who held him by the arm, no sooner perceived that he was one of his

father’s servants, than he was so much surprized and confounded, that

for a good while he could not speak one word; while the domestick

proceeded, saying, ‘At present, Don Lewis, there is nothing else to be

done but to exert your patience and return home, if you are not resolved

that your father and my lady shall visit the other world; for nothing

else can be expected from their anxiety at your absence.’—‘How did my

father get notice that I travelled this road, and in this habit?’ said

Don Lewis. ‘A student,’ replied the servant, ‘to whom you imparted your

intention, was so much moved by the sorrow that took possession of your

parents the moment you were missed, that he disclosed your scheme to

your father, who instantly dispatched four of his domesticks in search

of you; and we are all here, at your service, infinitely rejoiced that

we have now an opportunity of returning speedily, and carrying you back

to the longing eyes of those by whom you are so much beloved.’—‘That may

depend upon my own will, and the appointment of Heaven,’ said the young

nobleman. ‘What should you will, or Heaven ordain, but your immediate

return, which indeed you cannot possibly avoid?’

All this conversation was overheard by the muleteer with whom Don Lewis

lay, who got up immediately, and going to Don Fernando, Cardenio, and

the ladies, who were already dressed, told them how the man called his

fellow-servant, Don, and communicated every thing that passed between

them concerning the domestick’s proposal of conducting him home again,

and the youth’s refusal to comply with his desire. This information,

together with the knowledge of that sweet voice with which Heaven had

endowed him, excited in all the company a desire of knowing more

particularly who he was, and even of assisting him, should they offer

any violence to his inclination: for this purpose, therefore, they

repaired to the place where he still stood talking and disputing with

his father’s servant. At the same time Dorothea coming out of her

apartment, followed by Donna Clara, in the utmost confusion called

Cardenio aside, and briefly related to him the story of the musician and

the judge’s daughter; and he in his turn informed her of what passed on

the arrival of his father’s servants. This he spoke not so softly but

that he was overheard by Clara, who was so much affected at the news,

that if Dorothea had not supported her, she would have fallen to the

ground; but Cardenio desired them to retire into their apartment,

saying, he would endeavour to set every thing to rights, and they

accordingly followed his advice. Meanwhile, the four who had come in

quest of Don Lewis stood round him in the inn, persuading him to return

without loss of time, and console his melancholy father; but he assured

them he could by no means comply with their request until he had

finished an affair upon which his honour, life, and soul, depended. Then

the domesticks began to be more urgent, protesting they would in no

shape return without him; and declaring that if he would not go

willingly, they would be obliged to carry him off by force. ‘That you

shall never do,’ replied Don Lewis, ‘unless you carry me off dead: and

indeed you may as well kill me, as force me away in any shape.’

Most of the people in the house were now gathered together to hear the

dispute, particularly Cardenio, Don Fernando, his companions, the judge,

curate, barber, and Don Quixote, who thought it was no longer necessary

to guard the castle. Cardenio being already acquainted with the young

man’s story, asked what reason the domesticks had to carry off the youth

contrary to his own inclination. ‘Our motive,’ replied one of the four,

‘is to retrieve his father’s life, which is in danger of being lost on

account of this young gentleman’s absence.’ To this declaration Don

Lewis answered, ‘There is no reason why I should here give an account of

my affairs; I am free, and will return if I please, otherwise none of

you shall compel me into your measures.’—‘Your honour will, I hope, hear

reason,’ said the servant; ‘or if you should not, it will be enough for

us to execute our errand, as we are in duty bound.’

Here the judge desiring to know the whole affair from the bottom, the

man having lived in the same neighbourhood, knew him, and replied, ‘My

Lord Judge, don’t you know that young gentleman is your neighbour’s son,

who hath absented himself from his father’s house, in a dress altogether

unbecoming his quality, as your lordship may perceive?’ Then the judge

looking at him more attentively, recollected his features, and embracing

him said, ‘What a frolick is this, Don Lewis? or what powerful cause

hath induced you to come hither in a garb so ill-suited to your rank and

fortune?’ The tears gushing into the young man’s eyes, he could not

answer one word to the judge, who desired the four domesticks to make

themselves easy, for all would be well; then taking Don Lewis by the

hand, he led him aside, and asked again the cause of his coming in that

manner.

While he was employed in this and other questions, they heard a great

noise at the inn door, occasioned by two men who had lodged all night in

the house, and who seeing every body intent upon knowing the business of

the four last comers, resolved to march off without paying their

reckoning; but the innkeeper, who minded his own affairs more than those

of any other person, stopped them on the threshold, demanded his money,

and upbraided them for their evil intention, with such abusive language,

as provoked them to answer by dint of fists, which they began to employ

so dextrously, that the poor landlord found himself under the necessity

of calling aloud for assistance. His wife and daughter seeing nobody so

idle, consequently so proper for the purpose as Don Quixote, the damsel

addressed him in these words: ‘Sir knight, I beseech your worship, by

the valour which God hath given you, to go to the assistance of my poor

father, whom two wicked men are now beating to a jelly.’ To this request

the knight replied, with great leisure, and infinite phlegm, ‘Beautiful

young lady, I cannot at present grant your petition, being restricted

from intermeddling in any other adventure, until I shall have

accomplished one in which my honour is already engaged; all that I can

do for your service is this, run and desire your father to maintain the

combat as well as he can, and by no means allow himself to be overcome,

until I go and ask permission of the Princess Micomicona, to succour him

in his distress; and if I obtain it, be assured that I will rescue him

from all danger.’—‘Sinner that I am!’ cried Maritornes, who was then

present, ‘before your worship can obtain that permission, my master will

be in the other world.’—‘Allow me, Madam,’ answered Don Quixote, ‘to go

and solicit the licence I mention, which if I obtain, I shall not make

much account of his being in the other world, from whence I will

retrieve him, though all its inhabitants should combine to oppose me; at

least I shall take such vengeance on those who have sent him thither, as

will give you full and ample satisfaction.’

So saying, he went and kneeled before Dorothea, begging in the stile and

manner of knight-errantry, that her highness would be pleased to give

him permission to run and assist the constable of the castle, who was at

that time involved in a very grievous disaster. The princess having very

graciously granted his request, he braced on his target, unsheathed his

sword, and ran to the gate, where the two guests still continued

pummelling the landlord; but as soon as he beheld them, he stopped

short, as if suddenly surprized, and when Maritornes and her mistress

asked what hindered him from giving assistance to their master and

husband, ‘I am hindered,’ answered the knight, ‘by a law, which will not

permit me to use my sword against plebeians; but call hither my squire

Sancho, for to him it belongs, and is peculiar, to engage in such

vengeance and defence.’

This transaction happened on the very field of battle, while kicks and

cuffs were dealt with infinite dexterity, to the no small prejudice of

the innkeeper’s carcase, and the rage of his wife, daughter, and

Maritornes, who were half-distracted at seeing the cowardice of Don

Quixote, and the distress of their lord and master. But let us here

leave him awhile, for he shall not want one to assist him; or else, let

him suffer with patience, and hold his tongue as becomes those who

rashly undertake adventures which they have not strength to atchieve;

and let us retreat backwards, about fifty yards, to see what answer Don

Lewis made to the judge, whom we left enquiring the cause of his

travelling on foot in such a mean habit. The youth, squeezing both his

hands with great eagerness, in token of the excessive grief that wrung

his heart, and shedding a flood of tears, replied to this question,

‘Dear Sir, I can give you no other reason, but that from the first

moment that fortune made us neighbours, and Heaven ordained that I

should see Donna Clara, your daughter and my delight, I, that instant,

made her mistress of my heart; and if your inclination, my real lord and

father, does not oppose my happiness, this very day she shall be my

lawful wife; for her I forsook my father’s house, and disguised myself

in this manner, with a resolution to follow whithersoever she should go,

directing my views towards her, like the arrow to its mark, and the

needle to the pole; though she knows no more of my passion than what she

may have understood from the tears which, at a distance, she hath often

seen me shed. You yourself, my lord, know the rank and fortune of my

father, whose sole heir I am. If you think that a motive sufficient for

venturing to make me perfectly happy, receive me immediately as your

son; and though my father, prompted perhaps by other views, should be

disobliged at the blessing which I have chosen for myself, it is in the

power of time to work greater changes and alterations than human

prudence can foresee.’

Here the enamoured youth left off speaking, and the judge remained in

the utmost suspense; not only admiring the discretion with which Don

Lewis had disclosed his passion, but also finding himself perplexed

about the resolution he was to take, in such a sudden and unexpected

affair. He therefore made no other reply for the present, but to desire

he would make himself easy, and detain his servants a day longer, that

he might have time to consider what steps it would be most proper to

take, for the satisfaction of all concerned. Don Lewis kissed his hands

by force, and even bathed them with his tears; a circumstance sufficient

to melt a heart of marble, much more that of the judge, who, being a man

of prudence, had already conceived all the advantages of such a match

for his daughter; though he wished it could be effected, if possible,

with the consent of the young man’s father, who, he knew, had some

pretensions to a title for his son.

By this time peace was re-established between the innkeeper and his two

lodgers, who being persuaded by the arguments and exhortations of Don

Quixote, more than by his threats, had paid their reckoning to the last

farthing; and the servants of Don Lewis waited the result of the judge’s

advice, together with their master’s resolution; when the devil, who is

ever watchful, so ordered matters, that the barber should just then

enter the inn; that very barber from whom Don Quixote had retrieved

Mambrino’s helmet, and Sancho Panza taken the furniture of his ass,

which he had exchanged for his own. This individual shaver, as he led

his beast to the stable, perceived Sancho employed in mending something

that belonged to the pannel, and knowing him at first sight, assaulted

the squire in a trice, crying, ‘Ha! Don thief, I have caught you at

last. Restore my bason and pannel, with all the furniture you stole from

me.’

Sancho seeing himself so suddenly attacked, and hearing the reproachful

language of his antagonist, with one hand laid fast hold on the pannel,

and with the other bestowed upon the barber such a slap in the face, as

bathed his whole jaws in blood. But for all that, he would not quit the

pannel which he had also seized; on the contrary, he raised his voice so

high as to alarm the whole company, and bring them to the scene of

contention, crying, ‘Justice! help in the king’s name! this robber wants

to murder me, because I endeavour to recover my own property.’—‘You

lye,’ answered the squire; ‘I am no robber; my Lord Don Quixote won

these spoils fairly in battle.’ The knight coming up among the rest,

beheld with infinite satisfaction, his squire so alert in offending and

defending, and looking upon him from thenceforward as a man of valour,

resolved in his heart, to have him dubbed with the first opportunity,

confident that on him the order of knighthood would be very well

bestowed. Among other things alledged by the barber in the course of the

fray, ‘Gentlemen,’ said he, ‘that pannel belongs as much to me as my

soul belongs to God; for I know it as well as if it had been produced by

my own body, and though I had all the mind in the world, my ass, which

is now in the stable, would not suffer me to tell a falshood; since you

will not take my word, pray go and try it upon his back, and if it does

not fit him to a hair, I shall give you leave to call me the greatest

lyar upon earth. Besides, the very same day on which they took my

pannel, they also robbed me of a new brass bason, never hanselled, that

cost me a good crown[111].’

Don Quixote hearing this, could contain himself no longer, but

interposed between the combatants, whom he parted, and depositing the

pannel on the ground, to be publickly viewed until the truth should

appear, addressed himself thus to the spectators: ‘Gentlemen, you may

now clearly and manifestly perceive how this honest squire errs in his

judgment, by calling that a bason, which was, is, and shall be,

Mambrino’s helmet; a piece of armour I won in fair and open battle, and

now possess by the just laws of conquest. With regard to the pannel, I

will not intermeddle; all that I can say of the matter is, that my

squire Sancho having asked permission to take the trappings of that

coward’s horse, and adorn his own with them, I gave him leave, and he

took them accordingly; though I can give no other reason for their being

now converted into a pannel, but that such transformations frequently

happen in the events of chivalry: yet, as a confirmation of what I say,

run, friend Sancho, and bring hither the helmet, which this honest man

calls a bason.’

‘’Fore God!’ answered Sancho, ‘if your worship has no better proof of

our honourable doings than what you mention, Mambrino’s helmet will

turn out a bason, as certainly as this honest man’s trappings are

transmographied into a pannel.’—‘Do what I order,’ replied the knight;

‘sure I am every thing in this castle cannot be conducted by

inchantment.’ Sancho went accordingly, and fetched this bason or

helmet of Mambrino, as his master called it, which Don Quixote taking

in his hand, said, ‘Behold, gentlemen, with what face this plebeian

can affirm that this is a bason, and not the helmet I have mentioned:

now, I swear by the order of knighthood I profess, that this is the

individual helmet which I took from him, without the least addition or

diminution.’—‘Without all manner of doubt,’ said Sancho; ‘for since my

master won it, to this good hour, he hath used it but in one battle,

when he delivered those mischievous galley-slaves; and if it had not

been for that same bason-helmet, he could not have come off so well:

for there was a deadly shower of stones rained upon his pate in that

storm.’

Footnote 111:

Literally, ‘Lady of a crown.’

CHAP. XVIII.

THE DECISION OF THE DOUBTS CONCERNING MAMBRINO’S HELMET AND THE

PANNEL—WITH A FULL AND TRUE ACCOUNT OF MANY OTHER ADVENTURES.

‘Gentlemen,’ said the barber, ‘pray favour me with your opinion

concerning what is affirmed by these gentlefolks, who so obstinately

maintain that this is not a bason, but a helmet!’—‘And if any one

affirms to the contrary,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘I will make him sensible

that he lyes, if he be a knight; and if a plebeian, that he lyes a

thousand times.’ His own townsman, who was present all the while, being

well acquainted with the knight’s humour, resolved to encourage him in

his extravagance, and carry on the joke for the diversion of the

company; with this view he addressed himself to the other shaver,

saying, ‘Mr. Barber, or whosoever you are, you must know that I am of

the same profession; I have had a certificate of my examination these

twenty years; and know very well all the instruments of the art, without

excepting one. I was, moreover, a soldier in my youth, consequently can

distinguish an helmet, a morrion, and a casque with its beaver, together

with every thing relating to military affairs; I mean the different

kinds of armour wore by soldiers in the field: I say, under correction,

and still with submission to better judgment, that the object now in

dispute, which that worthy gentleman holds in his hand, is not only no

barbers bason, but also, as far from being one as black is from white,

or falshood from truth. I likewise aver, that though it is an helmet, it

is not entire.’—‘You are certainly in the right,’ said Don Quixote, ‘for

it wants one half, which is the beaver.’

The curate, who by this time understood the intention of his friend,

seconded his asseveration, which was also confirmed by Cardenio, Don

Fernando, and his companions; and the judge himself would have bore a

part in the jest, had he not been engrossed by the affair of Don Lewis;

but that earnest business kept him in such perplexity of thought, that

he could give little or no attention to the joke that was going forward.

[Illustration: Don Quixote Displays the Bason.]

‘Good God!’ cried the barber, with amazement, ‘is it possible that so

many honourable persons should pronounce this bason to be a helmet! an

assertion sufficient to astonish a whole university, let it be never so

learned. Well, if that bason be an helmet, I suppose the pannel must be

a horses trappings too, as this gentleman says.’—‘To me it seems a

pannel,’ replied the knight; ‘but, as I have already observed, I will

not pretend to decide whether it be the pannel of an ass, or the

furniture of a steed.’—‘Don Quixote has no more to do but speak his

opinion,’ said the curate; ‘for in affairs of chivalry, all these

gentlemen, myself, and even the ladies, yield to his superior

understanding.’—‘By Heaven! gentlemen,’ cried the knight, ‘so many

strange accidents have happened to me, twice that I have lodged in this

castle, that I will not venture positively to affirm the truth of any

thing that may be asked relating to it; for I imagine that every thing

in this place is conducted by the power of inchantment. The first time I

passed the night in this place, I was harrassed extremely by an

inchanted Moor that resides in the castle, while Sancho was almost as

roughly handled by some of his attendants; and this very night I was

suspended by one arm for the space of two hours, without knowing how or

wherefore I incurred that misfortune. For me, therefore, to give my

opinion in a case of such perplexity, would be a rash decision: with

regard to the helmet, which they say is a bason, I have already

expressed my sentiments; but dare not give a definitive sentence by

declaring whether that be a pannel or a horse’s furniture. That I leave

to the judgment of the good company, who not being knights, as I am,

perhaps are not subjected to the inchantments of this place; but,

enjoying their faculties clear and undisturbed, can judge of these

things as they really and truly are, not as they appear to my

imagination.’—‘Doubtless,’ replied Don Fernando, ‘Signior Don Quixote

manifests his own prudence, in observing that to us belongs the

determination of this affair, which, that it may be the better founded,

I will in private take the opinions of this good company one by one, and

then openly declare the full result of my enquiry.’

To those who are acquainted with the knight’s humour, this proposal

afforded matter of infinite diversion; but the rest being ignorant of

the joke, looked upon it as a piece of downright madness: this was

particularly the opinion of the domesticks belonging to Don Lewis, which

was even espoused by himself and three travellers just arrived, who

seemed to be troopers of the holy brotherhood, as indeed they were; but

he that almost ran distracted was the barber, whose bason was, even in

his own sight, transformed into Mambrino’s helmet, while he expected

every moment that his pannel would be certainly declared the rich

trappings and furniture of a horse. Every body laughed to see Don

Fernando going about with great gravity collecting opinions in whispers,

that each might privately declare whether that jewel, about which there

had been such obstinate disputes, was the pannel of an ass, or the

furniture of a steed. Having received the answers of all those who knew

Don Quixote, he pronounced aloud, ‘Truly, honest friend, I am quite

tired with asking so many opinions: for every one to whom I put the

question, affirms it is downright distraction to call this a pannel,

which is certainly the furniture of a horse, and that too of an

excellent breed. Therefore, you must e’en have patience: for in spite of

you, and the testimony of your ass to boot, an horse’s furniture it must

remain, as you have failed so egregiously in the proof of what you

alledge.’—‘May I never taste the joys of heaven!’ cried the transported

barber, ‘if you are not all deceived; and so may my soul appear before

God, as this appears to me, a mere pannel, and not the furniture of an

horse! but thus might overcomes[112]——I say no more, neither am I drunk,

being fresh and fasting from every thing but sin.’

The company laughed as heartily at the simplicity of the barber as the

extravagance of the knight, who upon this decision, said, ‘Nothing now

remains, but that every one should take his own again; and may St. Peter

bless what God bestows[113].’ One of the four servants belonging to Don

Lewis now interposed, saying, ‘If this be not a premeditated joke, I

cannot persuade myself that people of sound understanding, such as all

this company are or seem to be, should venture to say and affirm that

this is no bason, nor that a pannel; yet seeing this is both said and

affirmed, I conceive there must be some mystery in thus insisting upon a

thing so contrary to truth and experience; for, by God!’ (an oath he

swore with great emphasis) ‘all the people on earth shall never make me

believe that this is not a barber’s bason, or that not the pannel of an

he-ass.’—‘Why not of a she-ass?’ said the curate. ‘That distinction

makes no difference,’ said the servant; ‘nor has it any concern with the

dispute, which is occasioned by your saying that it is not a pannel at

all.’

At the same time, one of the troopers who had entered and been witness

to the quarrel and question, could no longer contain his choler and

displeasure at what he heard; and therefore said, in a furious tone, ‘If

that is not a pannel, my father never begat me; and he that says, or

shall say the contrary, must be drunk.’—‘You lye, like an infamous

scoundrel!’ replied Don Quixote; who lifting up his lance, which he

still kept in his hand, aimed such a stroke at the troopers skull, that

if he had not been very expeditious in shifting it, he would have been

stretched at full length upon the ground, on which the weapon was

shivered to pieces: the rest of the troop, seeing their companion so

roughly handled, raised their voices, crying for help to the holy

brotherhood; the innkeeper being of that fraternity, ran in for his

tipstaff and sword, and espoused the cause of his brethren; the

domesticks surrounded Don Lewis, that he might not escape in the

scuffle; the barber seeing the house turned topsy-turvey, laid hold

again of the pannel, which was at the same time seized by Sancho; Don

Quixote attacked the troopers sword-in-hand; Don Lewis called to his

servants to leave him, and go to the assistance of Cardenio and Don

Fernando, who had ranged themselves on the side of Don Quixote; the

curate exhorted, the landlady screamed, the daughter wept, Maritornes

blubbered, Dorothea was confounded, Lucinda perplexed, and Donna Clara

fainted away. The barber pummelled Sancho, who returned the compliment;

one of the servants presuming to seize Don Lewis by the arm, that he

might not run away, the young gentleman gave him such a slap in the face

as bathed all his teeth in blood; the judge exerted himself in his

defence. Don Fernando having brought one of the troopers to the ground,

kicked his whole carcase to his heart’s content; the landlord raised his

voice again, roaring for help to the holy brotherhood; so that the whole

inn was a scene of lamentation, cries, shrieks, confusion, dread,

dismay, disaster, back-strokes, cudgelling, kicks, cuffs, and effusion

of blood. In the midst of this labyrinth, chaos, and composition of

mischief, Don Quixote’s imagination suggested that he was all of a

sudden involved in the confusion of Agramonte’s camp, and therefore

pronounced with a voice that made the whole inn resound, ‘Let every man

forbear, put up his sword, be quiet and listen, unless he be weary of

his life.’

On hearing this exclamation, all the combatants paused, while he

proceeded thus: ‘Did not I tell you, gentlemen, that this castle was

inchanted, and doubtless inhabited by a whole legion of devils? as a

proof of which, you may now perceive with your own eyes how the discord

and mutiny in Agramonte’s camp is translated hither: behold, in one

place, we fight for a sword; in another, for a horse; in a third, for an

eagle; and in a fourth, for a helmet; in short, we are all by the ears

together, for we know not what.—Advance, therefore, my lord judge, and

Mr. Curate, and in the persons of Agramonte and King Sobrino,

re-establish peace among us; for, by Almighty God! it were wicked and

absurd, that persons of our importance should be slain in such a

frivolous cause.’

The troopers, who did not understand the knight’s stile, and found

themselves very severely treated by Don Fernando, Cardenio, and their

companions, would not be pacified; but it was otherwise with the barber,

who, in the scuffle, had lost both his pannel and beard: Sancho, who,

like a faithful servant, minded the least hint of his master, willingly

obeyed, and the servants of Don Lewis were fain to be quiet, seeing how

little they had got by concerning themselves in the fray; the innkeeper

alone insisted upon their chastising the insolence of that madman, who

was every moment throwing the whole house into confusion; at length the

disturbance was appeased, the pannel remained as an horse’s furniture

till the day of judgment, the bason as an helmet, and the inn as a

castle, in Don Quixote’s imagination.

Every thing being thus amicably composed by the persuasion of the judge

and priest, the servants of Don Lewis began again to press him with

great obstinacy to set out with them for his father’s house immediately;

and while he expostulated with them, the judge consulted with Don

Fernando, Cardenio, and the curate, about what he should do on this

occasion; imparting to them the declaration Don Lewis had made; at last

it was agreed that Don Fernando should tell the servants who he was, and

express a desire that Don Lewis should accompany him to Andalousia,

where his brother the marquis should entertain him according to his rank

and merit; for he well knew the young gentleman was fixed in the

determination of being cut to pieces rather than return to his father at

that time. The domesticks being informed of Don Fernando’s quality, and

understanding the resolution of Don Lewis, determined amongst themselves

that three of them should return and give the father an account of what

had happened, while the fourth should attend the young gentleman, until

they should either come back for him, or know his father’s pleasure.

In this manner was that accumulation of quarrels appeased by the

authority of Agramonte and prudence of King Sobrino; but the enemy of

concord and rival of peace being thus foiled and disappointed, and

seeing how little fruit he had reaped from the labyrinth of confusion in

which he had involved them, determined to try his hand once more, and

revive discord and disturbance anew; and these were the means he

practised for this purpose: the troopers, apprized of the quality of

those with whom they had been engaged, were fain to be quiet and retreat

from the fray, concluding that whatever might happen they would have the

worst of the battle; but one of them who had been pummelled and kicked

by Don Fernando, recollected that among other warrants for apprehending

delinquents, he had one against Don Quixote, issued by the holy

brotherhood, on account of his having set the galley-slaves at liberty,

as Sancho had very justly feared: this coming into his head, he was

resolved to assure himself whether or not the knight’s person agreed

with the description, and pulling out of his bosom a bundle of

parchment, he soon found what he sought, and beginning to spell with

great deliberation (for he was by no means an expert reader) between

every word he fixed his eyes upon the knight, whose physiognomy he

compared with the marks specified in the warrant, and discovered beyond

all doubt that he was the very person described; no sooner was he thus

convinced, than putting up the parchment, and holding the warrant in his

left-hand, he with his right seized Don Quixote so fast by the collar

that he could scarce fetch his breath, roaring aloud, ‘Help, in the name

of the holy brotherhood; and that you may see my demand is just, read

that warrant for apprehending this highwayman.’

The curate, upon perusing the warrant, found what the trooper said was

true, and that the description exactly agreed with the person of Don

Quixote, who seeing himself so unworthily treated by such a ragamuffin,

was incensed to the highest degree, so that every bone in his body

trembled with rage; and he made shift to fasten on the trooper’s throat

with both hands so violently, that if his companions had not come to his

assistance, he would have quitted his life before the knight had quitted

his hold. The innkeeper being obliged to succour his brethren, ran

immediately to their assistance; his wife seeing her husband re-engaged

in the quarrel, exalted her voice anew; Maritornes and the daughter

squalled in concert, imploring heaven and the bye-standers for help:

Sancho perceiving what passed, ‘By the Lord!’ cried he, ‘what my master

says about the inchantments of this castle is certainly true; for it is

impossible to live an hour in quiet within its walls.’

Don Fernando parted the knight and trooper, to their mutual

satisfaction; unlocking their hands, which were fast clinched in the

doublet-collar of the one, and the wind-pipe of the other, but for all

that they did not cease demanding their prisoner, and the assistance of

the company, in binding and delivering him to their charge, agreeable to

the service of the king, and the order of the holy brotherhood, in whose

behalf they repeated their demand of favour and assistance, to secure

that felon, robber, and thief. Don Quixote smiled at hearing these

epithets, and with much composure replied, ‘Come hither, ye vile and

base-born race! do you call it the province of an highwayman to loose

the chains of the captive, and set the prisoner free! to succour the

miserable, raise the fallen, and relieve the distressed? Ah! infamous

crew! whose low and grovelling understanding renders you unworthy that

Heaven should reveal to you the worth that is contained in

knight-errantry, or make you sensible of your sin and ignorance, in

neglecting to revere the very shadow, much more the substance of any

knight. Come hither, ye rogues in a troop, and not troopers; ye robbers

licensed by the holy brotherhood; and tell me what ignorant wretch he

was, who signed a warrant of caption against such a knight as me? Who

did not know that we are exempted from all judicial authority, and that

a knight’s own sword is his law, he being privileged by his valour, and

restricted only by his will and pleasure? Who was the blockhead, I say,

who does not know, that no gentleman’s charter contains so many rights

and indulgences as adhere to a knight-errant, the very day on which he

is dubbed, and devotes himself to the painful exercise of arms? What

knight-errant ever paid tax, toll, custom, duty, or excise? What taylor

ever brought in a bill for making his cloaths? What governor ever made

him pay for lodging in his castle? What king did ever neglect to seat

him at his own table? What damsel ever resisted his charms, or refused

to submit herself entirely to his pleasure and will? And, in fine, what

knight-errant ever was, is, or will be, whose single valour is not

sufficient to annihilate four hundred troopers, should they presume to

oppose him?’

Footnote 112:

The original would be more literally translated, by saying, ‘The law’s

measure is the king’s pleasure.’

Footnote 113:

A bridal benediction.

CHAP. XIX.

IN WHICH IS CONCLUDED THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE TROOPERS—WITH AN

ACCOUNT OF THE SURPRIZING FEROCITY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT DON QUIXOTE.

While Don Quixote harangued in this manner, the curate was employed in

persuading the troopers, that he was a man disordered in his judgment,

as they might perceive both by his words and actions, and therefore they

ought not to proceed any farther in the affair; for even if they should

apprehend him, he would soon be dismissed as a person _non compos_. To

this observation the man who had the warrant replied, that it was not

his business to judge of Don Quixote’s madness, but to obey the orders

of his superiors; and that if he was apprehended once, they might

discharge him three hundred times over, if they would. ‘For all that,’

said the priest, ‘you must not carry him off at present, nor do I

believe he will suffer himself to be so treated.’

In short, the curate talked so effectually, and the knight himself acted

such extravagancies, that the troopers must have been more mad than he,

if they had not plainly perceived his defect; therefore they thought

proper to be satisfied, and even performed the office of mediators

betwixt the barber and Sancho Panza, who still maintained the fray with

great animosity; for the troopers, as limbs of justice, brought the

cause to an arbitration, and decided it in such a manner as left both

parties if not fully satisfied, at least in some sort content with the

determination, which was, that the pannels should be exchanged, but the

girths and halters remain as they were. With regard to Mambrino’s

helmet, the curate, unperceived by Don Quixote, took the barber aside,

and paid him eight rials for the bason, taking a receipt in full, that

cleared the knight from any suspicion of fraud from thence forward, for

ever, Amen.

These two quarrels, which were of the greatest importance of any that

happened, being luckily composed, it remained that three of the servants

belonging to Don Lewis should return, and the fourth accompany his

master to the place whither Don Fernando intended to conduct him; and as

good luck and favourable fortune had already began to quell the spirit

of discord, and smooth all difficulties, in behalf of the lovers and

heroes of the inn, they were resolved to proceed in such a laudable

work, and bring every thing to a happy conclusion; for the domesticks

were satisfied with what Don Lewis proposed; a circumstance that gave

such pleasure to Donna Clara, that every body who beheld her face might

have discerned the joy of her soul. Zorayda, though she did not well

understand the incidents she had seen, was sorrowful and gay, by turns,

according as she perceived the company affected, particularly her

Spaniard, upon whom her eyes and heart were always fixed. The innkeeper,

who took particular notice of the full satisfaction which the barber had

received from the curate, demanded payment of Don Quixote, of the

reckoning, as well as for the damage he had done to the bags, and the

loss of his wine; swearing that neither Rozinante nor Sancho’s ass

should stir from the stable, until he should be satisfied to the last

farthing[114]. The curate pacified the landlord, and Don Fernando paid

the bill, although the judge very frankly offered to take that upon

himself. In this manner universal concord was restored; so that the inn

no longer represented the disorder in Agramonte’s camp, but rather the

peace and quiet that reigned in the time of Octavius Cæsar; and this

blessing was generally ascribed to the laudable intention and great

eloquence of the priest, together with the incomparable generosity of

Don Fernando.

Don Quixote now finding himself freed and disentangled from so many

broils in which both he and his squire had been involved, thought it

high time to proceed on his journey, in order to finish that great

adventure to which he had been summoned and chosen: he therefore, with

determined purpose, went and fell upon his knees before Dorothea, who

refusing to hear him in that posture, he rose in obedience to her will,

and expressed himself in this manner: ‘It is a common proverb, beauteous

princess, that diligence is the mother of success; and in many important

causes, experience hath shewn that the assiduity of the solicitor hath

brought a very doubtful suit to a very fortunate issue. But the truth of

this maxim is no where more evinced than in war, where activity and

dispatch anticipate the designs of the enemy, and obtain the victory

before he has time to put himself in a posture of defence. This I

observe, most high and excellent princess, because, in my opinion, our

stay in this castle is unprofitable and prejudicial, as we may one day

perceive, when it is too late; for who knows but by means of secret and

artful spies, your enemy, the giant, may get notice that I am coming to

destroy him; and taking the opportunity of our delay, fortify himself in

some impregnable castle, against which all my diligence, and the

strength of my indefatigable arm, will not avail. Wherefore, most noble

princess, let us, as I have already observed, prevent his designs by our

activity, and set out immediately, in the name of good fortune, which

your highness shall not long sigh for, after I shall have come within

sight of your adversary.’

Here the knight left off speaking, and with great composure expected the

answer of the beautiful infanta; who, with a most princely air, and in a

stile perfectly well-suited to his address, replied in this manner: ‘I

thank you, Sir Knight, for the desire you express to assist me in my

necessity, like a true knight, whose duty and province it is, to succour

the fatherless and distressed; and Heaven grant that your desire and my

expectation may be fulfilled, that you may see there are grateful women

upon earth. With regard to my departure, let it be as speedy as you

please: my will is altogether included in yours; dispose of me,

therefore, according to your own pleasure; for she who hath once

invested you with the charge and defence of her person, and solely

depends upon your valour, for being re-established on her throne, would

act preposterously, in seeking to contradict what your prudence shall

ordain.’—‘In the name of God, then,’ cried Don Quixote, ‘since a

princess humbles herself thus before me, I will not let slip the

opportunity of raising her up, and placing her upon the throne of her

ancestors. Let us depart immediately; for the desire of seeing you

restored, the length of the journey, and the common reflection, that

“delays are dangerous,” act as spurs upon my resolution; and since

Heaven hath not created, nor hell ever seen an object that could strike

me with terror and consternation—go, Sancho, saddle Rozinante, prepare

the queen’s palfrey, and get ready your own ass, while we take leave of

the constable and these noble personages, and set forward on our

journey, without loss of time.’

Here Sancho, who was present all the time, shook his head, saying, ‘Ah,

master, master! there are more tricks in town than you dream of; with

submission to the honourable lappets be it spoken.’—‘What tricks can

there be either in town or city, that can redound to my discredit,

rascal?’ cried the knight. ‘Nay, if your worship be in a passion,’

replied the squire, ‘I will keep my tongue within my teeth, and not

mention a syllable of what, as a trusty squire and faithful servant, I

am bound to reveal to my master.’—‘Say what thou wouldst,’ answered Don

Quixote, ‘so thy words have no tendency to make me afraid; for in being

susceptible of fear, thou shewest the baseness of thy own character, as

I, in being proof against all sorts of terror, preserve the dignity of

mine.’—‘As I am a sinner to God,’ cried Sancho, ‘that is not the case;

but this I know for truth and positive certainty, that this lady, who

calls herself queen of the great kingdom of Micomicon, is no more a

queen than my mother; for if she were what she pretends to be, she would

not be nuzzling into a corner with one of this company, at every snatch

of an opportunity.’

Dorothea’s face was overspread with a blush, at these words of Sancho;

for, sooth to say, her husband Don Fernando had several times, as he

thought unperceived, made free with her lips, as earnest of that reward

his affection deserved; and in so doing, she was observed by Sancho, who

thought that such condescension in her looked more like the behaviour of

a courtezan than that of such a mighty princess; so that she neither

could nor would answer one word to this charge, but suffered him to

proceed in these words: ‘This, dear master, I make bold to mention;

because, if after we have travelled the Lord knows how far, and passed

many weary days and bitter nights, he that is taking his recreation in

this inn should gather the fruit of all our labour; we need not be in

such a perilous hurry to saddle Rozinante, prepare the palfrey, and get

ready the ass; but had better remain in peace where we are; and, as the

saying is, “While we enjoy our meal, let every harlot mind her

spinning-wheel.”’

Gracious Heaven! what a torrent of indignation entered the breast of Don

Quixote, when he heard these indecent expressions of his squire: such, I

say, was the rage that took possession of his faculties, that with a

faltering voice and stammering tongue, while his eyes flashed lightning,

he exclaimed, ‘O villainous, inconsiderate, indecent and ignorant

peasant! thou foul-mouthed, unmannerly, insolent, and malicious

slanderer! darest thou utter such language against these honourable

ladies in my presence? darest thou entertain such disgraceful and

audacious ideas in thy confused imagination? Get out of my sight,

monster of nature, depository of lyes, cupboard of deceit, granary of

knavery, inventor of mischief, publisher of folly, and foe to that

respect which is due to royalty; go, nor presume to see my face again,

on pain of my highest displeasure!’ so saying, he pulled up his

eye-brows, distended his cheeks, looked round him, and with his

right-foot stamped violently upon the floor, in consequence of the wrath

that preyed upon his intrails.

Sancho was so shrunk and terrified at these words and furious gestures,

that he would have been glad, if the earth had opened that instant under

his feet and swallowed him up; and not knowing what else to do, he

sneaked off from the presence of his incensed master: but the discreet

Dorothea, who was so well acquainted with Don Quixote’s humour, in order

to appease his indignation, accosted him thus; ‘Sir Knight of the Rueful

Countenance, let not your wrath be kindled by the nonsense which your

good squire hath uttered, for, perhaps, he might have had some sort of

reason for what he said; and as from his good understanding and

Christian conscience, he cannot be suspected of a design to bear false

witness against any person whatever, it is to be supposed, and indeed I

firmly believe, that every thing in this castle, as you, Sir Knight,

have observed, being conducted by means of inchantment, Sancho, through

that diabolical medium, must have seen what he affirms, so much to the

prejudice of my honour and reputation.’—‘I swear by Almighty God!’ cried

Don Quixote, ‘that your highness hath hit upon the true cause! and the

eyes of that poor sinner, Sancho, have been fascinated by some delusive

vision, of what could not possibly be real; for, unless he had been

misled by inchantment, such is the innocence and simplicity of that

miserable wretch, that I know he neither could nor would invent a

slander against any living soul.’—‘That certainly is, and shall be the

case,’ said Don Fernando; ‘for which reason, Signior Don Quixote ought

to pardon and restore him to the bosom of his favour, _Sicut erat in

principio_, before those illusions impaired his understanding.’

The knight promised to forgive him accordingly; upon which the curate

went in quest of Sancho, who came in with great humility, and falling on

his knees, begged leave to kiss his master’s hand; this favour was

granted by Don Quixote, who also gave him his benediction, saying, ‘Thou

wilt now, son Sancho, be convinced of the truth of what I have so often

told thee, that all things in this castle are performed by the power of

inchantment.’—‘I believe so too,’ replied the squire, ‘except in the

affair of the blanketting, which really happened in the ordinary course

of things.’—‘Thou must not imagine any such thing,’ answered the knight;

‘for had that been the case, I should have revenged thy cause at the

time, and even now would do thee justice; but neither at that time nor

now, could I, or can I find any persons to chastise as the cause of thy

disaster.’

The company being desirous of knowing the affair of the blanket, the

landlord gave a very minute detail of Sancho’s capering, to the no small

diversion of all present, except the squire himself, who would have been

very much out of countenance, had not the knight assured him anew, that

the whole was effected by inchantment; though the folly of Sancho never

rose to such a pitch, but that he firmly believed, without the least

mixture of doubt or delusion, that his blanketting had been performed by

persons of flesh and blood, and not by phantoms or imaginary beings,

according to the opinion and affirmation of his master.

Two days had this illustrious company already passed at the inn, from

whence thinking it now high time to depart, they concerted matters in

such a manner, as that, without putting Dorothea and Don Fernando to the

trouble of returning with Don Quixote to the place of his habitation, in

order to carry on the scheme concerning the restoration of Queen

Micomicona, the curate and barber were enabled to execute their design

of carrying him to his own house, where endeavours might be used for the

cure of his disorder. In consequence of this plan, they agreed with the

master of an ox waggon, who chanced to pass that way, for transporting

the knight in the following manner; having made a sort of wooden cage,

capacious enough to hold Don Quixote at his ease, Don Fernando, with his

companions, the servants of Don Lewis, together with the troopers and

innkeeper, by order and direction of the curate, covered their faces and

disguised themselves, some in one shape, some in another, so as to

appear, in Don Quixote’s eyes, quite different from the people he had

seen in the castle. Thus equipped, they entered, with all imaginable

silence, into the chamber where he lay asleep and fatigued with the toil

he had undergone in the skirmishes already described; and laying fast

hold on him, while he securely enjoyed his ease, without dreaming of

such an accident, tied both his hands and feet so effectually, that when

he waked, in surprize, he could neither move, nor do any other thing but

testify his wonder and perplexity at the sight of such strange faces. He

then had recourse to what his distempered imagination continually

suggested, and concluded that all these figures were phantoms of that

inchanted castle; and that he himself was, without all question, under

the power of incantation, seeing he could not even stir in his own

defence; and this conceit was exactly foreseen by the curate, who was

author of the whole contrivance. The only person of the whole company

who remained unaltered, both in figure and intellect, was Sancho; who,

though his lack of understanding fell very little short of his master’s

infirmity, was not so mad but that he knew every one of the apparitions,

though he durst not open his mouth, until he should see the meaning of

this assault and capture of the knight, who likewise expected, in

silence, the issue of his own misfortune.

Having brought the cage into his apartment, they inclosed him in it, and

fixed the bars so fast, that it was impossible to pull them asunder;

then taking it on their shoulders, in carrying it out, they were saluted

by as dreadful a voice as could be assumed by the barber (I do not mean

the owner of the pannel) who pronounced these words; ‘O Knight of the

Rueful Countenance! afflict not thyself on account of thy present

confinement, which is necessary towards the more speedy accomplishment

of that great adventure in which thy valour hath engaged thee; and which

will be atchieved when the furious Manchegan lion is coupled with the

white Tobosian dove, their lofty necks being humbled to the soft

matrimonial yoke: from which unheard-of conjunction, the world shall be

blessed with courageous whelps, who will imitate the tearing talons of

their valiant sire; and this will happen, ere the pursuer of the

fugitive nymph shall have twice performed his visit through the

resplendent constellations, in his natural and rapid course.—And O! thou

the most noble and obedient squire that ever wore sword in belt, beard

on chin, or smell in nostril, be not dismayed nor discontented at seeing

the flower of knight-errantry thus carried off before thine eyes; for,

if it please the Creator of this world, soon shalt thou be so exalted

and sublimed, as that thou wilt not even know thyself; neither shalt

thou be defrauded of the fruit of those promises which thy worthy lord

has made in thy behalf; and I assure thee, in the name of the sage

Fibberiana[115], that thy salary shall be faithfully paid, as in effect

thou wilt see; follow, therefore, the footsteps of the valiant and

inchanted knight; for it is necessary that you should proceed together

to the end of your career; and as I am not permitted to declare myself

more explicitly, I bid you heartily farewel, and will return I well know

whither.’ Towards the end of this prophecy, he raised his voice to the

highest pitch, and then sunk it gradually to such a faint and distant

tone, that even those who were privy to the joke, were tempted to

believe what they had heard.