_An account of the pleasant method taken by Don Quixote to be dubbed a
knight._
Don Quixote's mind being disturbed with that thought, he abridged even
his short supper; and as soon as he had done, he called his host, then
shut him and himself up in the stable, and falling at his feet, "I
will never rise from this place," cried he, "most valorous knight,
till you have graciously vouchsafed to grant me a boon, which I will
now beg of you, and which will redound to your honour and the good of
mankind." The innkeeper, strangely at a loss to find his guest at his
feet, and talking at this rate, endeavoured to make him rise; but all
in vain, till he had promised to grant him what he asked. "I expected
no less from your great magnificence, noble sir," replied Don Quixote;
"and therefore I make bold to tell you, that the boon which I beg, and
you generously condescend to grant me, is, that to-morrow you will be
pleased to bestow the honour of knighthood upon me. This night I will
watch my armour in the chapel of your castle, and then in the morning
you shall gratify me, that I may be duly qualified to seek out
adventures in every corner of the universe, to relieve the distressed,
according to the laws of chivalry and the inclinations of
knights-errant like myself." The innkeeper, who, as I said, was a
sharp fellow, and had already a shrewd suspicion of his guest's
disorder, was fully convinced of it when he heard him talk in this
manner; and, to make sport he resolved to humour him, telling him he
was much to be commended for his choice of such an employment, which
was altogether worthy a knight of the first order, such as his gallant
deportment discovered him to be: that he himself had in his youth
followed that profession, ranging through many parts of the world in
search of adventures, till at length he retired to this castle, where
he lived on his own estate and those of others, entertaining all
knights-errant of what quality or condition soever, purely for the
great affection he bore them, and to partake of what they might share
with him in return. He added, that his castle at present had no chapel
where the knight might keep the vigil of his arms, it being pulled
down in order to be new built; but that he knew they might lawfully
be watched in any other place in a case of necessity, and therefore he
might do it that night in the court-yard of the castle; and in the
morning all the necessary ceremonies should be performed, so that he
might assure himself he should be dubbed a knight, nay as much a
knight as any one in the world could be. He then asked Don Quixote
whether he had any money? "Not a cross," replied the knight, "for I
never read in any history of chivalry that any knight-errant ever
carried money about him." "You are mistaken," cried the innkeeper;
"for admit the histories are silent in this matter, the authors
thinking it needless to mention things so evidently necessary as money
and clean shirts, yet there is no reason to believe the knights went
without either; and you may rest assured, that all the knights-errant,
of whom so many histories are full, had their purses well lined to
supply themselves with necessaries, and carried also with them some
shirts, and a small box of salves to heal their wounds; for they had
not the conveniency of surgeons to cure them every time they fought in
fields and deserts, unless they were so happy as to have some sage or
magician for their friend to give them present assistance, sending
them some damsel or dwarf through the air in a cloud, with a small
bottle of water of so great a virtue, that they no sooner tasted a
drop of it, but their wounds were as perfectly cured as if they had
never received any. But when they wanted such a friend in former ages,
the knights thought themselves obliged to take care that their squires
should be provided with money and other necessaries; and if those
knights ever happened to have no squires, which was but very seldom,
then they carried those things behind them in a little bag. I must
therefore advise you," continued he, "never from this time forwards to
ride without money, nor without the other necessaries of which I spoke
to you, which you will find very beneficial when you least expect it."
Don Quixote promised to perform all his injunctions; and so they
disposed every thing in order to his watching his arms in the great
yard. To which purpose the knight, having got them all together, laid
them in a horse-trough close by a well; then bracing his target, and
grasping his lance, just as it grew dark, he began to walk about by
the horse-trough with a graceful deportment. In the mean while, the
innkeeper acquainted all those that were in the house with the
extravagancies of his guest, his watching his arms, and his hopes of
being made a knight. They all marvelled very much at so strange a kind
of folly, and went on to observe him at a distance; where, they saw
him sometimes walk about with a great deal of gravity, and sometimes
lean on his lance, with his eyes all the while fixed upon his arms. It
was now undoubted night, but yet the moon did shine with such a
brightness, as might almost have vied with that of the luminary which
lent it her; so that the knight was wholly exposed to the spectators'
view. While he was thus employed, one of the carriers who lodged in
the inn came out to water his mules, which he could not do without
removing the arms out of the trough. With that, Don Quixote, who saw
him make towards them, cried out to him aloud, "O thou, whoever thou
art, rash knight, that prepares to lay thy hands on the arms of the
most valorous knight-errant that ever wore a sword, take heed; do not
audaciously attempt to profane them with a touch, lest instant death
be the too sure reward of thy temerity." But the carrier regarded not
these threats; and laying hold of the armour without any more ado,
threw it a good way from him; though it had been better for him to
have let it alone; for Don Quixote no sooner saw this, but lifting up
his eyes to heaven, and thus addressing his thoughts, as it seemed, to
his lady Dulcinea; "Assist me, lady," cried he, "in the first
opportunity that offers itself to your faithful slave; nor let your
favour and protection be denied me in this first trial of my valour!"
Repeating such-like ejaculations, he let slip his target, and lifting
up his lance with both his hands, he gave the carrier such a terrible
knock on his inconsiderate head with his lance, that he laid him at
his feet in a woful condition; and had he backed that blow with
another, the fellow would certainly have had no need of a surgeon.
This done, Don Quixote took up his armour, laid it again in the
horse-trough, and then walked on backwards and forwards with as great
unconcern as he did at first.
Soon after another carrier, not knowing what had happened, came also
to water his mules, while the first yet lay on the ground in a trance;
but as he offered to clear the trough of the armour, Don Quixote,
without speaking a word, or imploring any one's assistance, once more
dropped his target, lifted up his lance, and then let it fall so
heavily on the fellow's pate, that without damaging his lance, he
broke the carrier's head in three or four places. His outcry soon
alarmed and brought thither all the people in the inn, and the
landlord among the rest; which Don Quixote perceiving, "Thou Queen of
Beauty," cried he, bracing on his shield, and drawing his sword, "thou
courage and vigour of my weakened heart, now is the time when thou
must enliven thy adventurous slave with the beams of thy greatness,
while this moment he is engaging in so terrible an adventure!" With
this, in his opinion, he found himself supplied with such an addition
of courage, that had all the carriers in the world at once attacked
him, he would undoubtedly have faced them all. On the other side, the
carriers, enraged to see their comrades thus used, though they were
afraid to come near, gave the knight such a volley of stones, that he
was forced to shelter himself as well as he could under the covert of
his target, without daring to go far from the horse-trough, lest he
should seem to abandon his arms. The innkeeper called to the carriers
as loud as he could to let him alone; that he had told them already he
was mad, and consequently the law would acquit him, though he should
kill them. Don Quixote also made yet more noise, calling them false
and treacherous villains, and the lord of the castle base and
unhospitable, and a discourteous knight, for suffering a knight-errant
to be so abused. "I would make thee know," cried he, "what a
perfidious wretch thou art, had I but received the order of
knighthood; but for you, base, ignominious rabble, fling on, do your
worst; come on, draw nearer if you dare, and receive the reward of
your indiscretion and insolence." This he spoke with so much spirit
and undauntedness, that he struck a terror into all his assailants; so
that, partly through fear, and partly through the innkeeper's
persuasions, they gave over flinging stones at him; and he, on his
side, permitted the enemy to carry off their wounded, and then
returned to the guard of his arms as calm and composed as before.
The innkeeper, who began somewhat to disrelish these mad tricks of his
guest, resolved to despatch him forthwith, and bestow on him that
unlucky knighthood, to prevent farther mischief: so coming to him, he
excused himself for the insolence of those base scoundrels, as being
done without his privity or consent; but their audaciousness, he said,
was sufficiently punished. He added, that he had already told him
there was no chapel in his castle; and that indeed there was no need
of one to finish the rest of the ceremony of knighthood, which
consisted only in the application of the sword to the neck and
shoulders, as he had read in the register of the ceremonies of the
order; and that this might be performed as well in a field as anywhere
else: that he had already fulfilled the obligation of watching his
arms, which required no more than two hours watch, whereas he had been
four hours upon the guard. Don Quixote, who easily believed him, told
him he was ready to obey him, and desired him to make an end of the
business as soon as possible; for if he were but knighted, and should
see himself once attacked, he believed he should not leave a man alive
in the castle, except those whom he should desire him to spare for his
sake.
Upon this, the innkeeper, lest the knight should proceed to such
extremities, fetched the book in which he used to set down the
carriers' accounts for straw and barley; and having brought with him
the two kind females already mentioned, and a boy that held a piece of
lighted candle in his hand, he ordered Don Quixote to kneel: then
reading in his manual, as if he had been repeating some pious oration,
in the midst of his devotion he lifted up his hand, and gave him a
good blow on the neck, and then a gentle slap on the back with the
flat of his sword, still mumbling some words between his teeth in the
tone of a prayer. After this he ordered one of the ladies to gird the
sword about the knight's waist: which she did with much solemnity,
and, I may add, discretion, considering how hard a thing it was to
forbear laughing at every circumstance of the ceremony: it is true,
the thoughts of the knight's late prowess did not a little contribute
to the suppression of her mirth. As she girded on his sword, "Heaven,"
cried the kind lady, "make your worship a lucky knight, and prosper
you wherever you go." Don Quixote desired to know her name, that he
might understand to whom he was indebted for the favour she had
bestowed upon him, and also make her partaker of the honour he was to
acquire by the strength of his arm. To which the lady answered with
all humility, that her name was Tolosa, a cobbler's daughter, that
kept a stall among the little shops of Sanchobinaya at Toledo; and
that whenever he pleased to command her, she would be his humble
servant. Don Quixote begged of her to do him the favour to add
hereafter the title of lady to her name, and for his sake to be called
from that time the Lady Toloso; which she promised to do. Her
companion having buckled on his spurs, occasioned a like conference
between them; and when he had asked her name, she told him she went by
the name of Molivera, being the daughter of an honest miller of
Antequera. Our new knight entreated her also to style herself the Lady
Molivera, making her new offers of service. These extraordinary
ceremonies (the like never seen before) being thus hurried over in a
kind of post-haste, Don Quixote could not rest till he had taken the
field in quest of adventures; therefore having immediately saddled his
Rozinante, and being mounted, he embraced the innkeeper, and returned
him so many thanks at so extravagant a rate, for the obligation he had
laid upon him in dubbing him a knight, that it is impossible to give a
true relation of them all; to which the innkeeper, in haste to get rid
of him, returned as rhetorical though shorter answers; and without
stopping his horse for the reckoning, was glad with all his heart to
see him go.