_Which treats of the grand adventure of Mambrino's helmet, with other
things which befel our invincible Knight._
About this time it began to rain, and Sancho proposed entering the
fulling-mill; but Don Quixote had conceived such an abhorrence for the
late jest that he would by no means go in. Soon after he discovered a
man on horseback, who had on his head something which glittered, as if
it had been of gold; and turning to Sancho, he said, "I am of opinion,
Sancho, there is no proverb but what is true, because they are all
sentences drawn from experience; especially that which says, 'Where
one door is shut, another is opened.' I say this because, if fortune
last night shut the door against us with the fulling-mills, it now
opens another, for a better and more certain adventure, in which, if I
am deceived, the fault will be mine, without imputing it to my
ignorance of fulling-mills, or to the darkness of night. This I say
because, if I mistake not, there comes one towards us who carries on
his head Mambrino's helmet." "Take care, sir, what you say, and more
what you do," said Sancho; "for I would not wish for other
fulling-mills to finish the milling and mashing our senses." "What has
a helmet to do with fulling-mills?" replied Don Quixote. "I know not,"
answered Sancho; "but if I might talk as much as I used to do, perhaps
I could give such reasons that your worship would see you are mistaken
in what you say." "How can I be mistaken?" said Don Quixote. "Seest
thou not yon knight coming towards us on a dapple-grey steed, with a
helmet of gold on his head?" "What I see and perceive," answered
Sancho, "is only a man on a grey ass like mine, with something on his
head that glitters." "Why, that is Mambrino's helmet," said Don
Quixote; "retire, and leave me alone to deal with him, and thou shalt
see how, in order to save time, I shall conclude this adventure
without speaking a word, and the helmet I have so much desired remain
my own." "I shall take care to get out of the way," replied Sancho;
"but grant, I say again, it may not prove another fulling-mill
adventure." "I have already told thee, Sancho, not to mention those
fulling-mills, nor even think of them," said Don Quixote.
Now, the truth of the matter, concerning the helmet, the steed, and
the knight which Don Quixote saw, was this. There were two villages in
that neighbourhood, one of them so small that it had neither shop nor
barber, but the other adjoining to it had both; therefore the barber
of the larger served also the less, wherein one customer now wanted to
be let blood, and another to be shaved; to perform which the barber
was now on his way, carrying with him his brass basin; and it so
happened that, while upon the road, it began to rain, and to save his
hat, which was a new one, he clapped the basin on his head, which
being lately scoured, was seen glittering at the distance of half a
league; and he rode on a grey ass, as Sancho had affirmed. Thus Don
Quixote took the barber for a knight, his ass for a dapple-grey steed,
and his basin for a golden helmet; and when the knight drew near, he
advanced at Rozinante's best speed, and couched his lance, intending
to run him through and through; but when close upon him, without
checking the fury of his career, he cried out, "Defend thyself,
caitiff, or instantly surrender what is justly my due!" The barber had
no other way to avoid the thrust of the lance than to slip down from
the ass: and leaping up nimbler than a roebuck, he scampered over the
plain with such speed that the wind could not overtake him. The basin
he left on the ground, with which Don Quixote was satisfied. He
ordered Sancho to take up the helmet, who, holding it in his hand,
said, "The basin is a special one, and is well worth a piece of eight,
if it is worth a farthing." He then gave it to his master, who
immediately placed it upon his head, turning it round in search of the
vizor; and, not finding it, he said, "Doubtless the pagan for whom
this famous helmet was originally forged must have had a prodigious
head--the worst of it is, that one half is wanting." When Sancho heard
the basin called a helmet, he could not forbear laughing; which,
however, he instantly checked on recollecting his master's late
choler. "What dost thou laugh at, Sancho?" said Don Quixote. "I am
laughing," answered he, "to think what a huge head the pagan had who
owned that helmet, which is for all the world just like a barber's
basin." "Knowest thou, Sancho, what I conceive to be the case? This
famous piece, this enchanted helmet, by some strange accident must
have fallen into the possession of one who, ignorant of its true value
as a helmet, and seeing it to be of the purest gold, hath
inconsiderately melted down the one half for lucre's sake, and of the
other half made this, which, as thou sayest, doth indeed look like a
barber's basin; but to me, who know what it really is, its
transformation is of no importance, for I will have it so repaired, in
the first town where there is a smith, that it shall not be surpassed,
nor even equalled. In the mean time I will wear it as I can; for
something is better than nothing; and it will be sufficient to defend
me from stones." "It will so," said Sancho, "if they do not throw them
with slings, as they did in the battle of the two armies, when they
crossed your worship's chops. As to being tossed again in a blanket, I
say nothing; for it is difficult to prevent such mishaps, and if they
do come, there is nothing to be done but to wink, hold one's breath,
and submit to go whither fortune and the blanket shall please." "Thou
art no good Christian, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "since thou dost not
forget an injury once done thee; but know it is inherent in generous
and noble minds to disregard trifles. What leg of thine is lamed, or
what rib or head broken, that thou canst not forget that jest? for,
properly considered, it was a mere jest and pastime; otherwise I
should long ago have returned thither, and done more mischief in
revenging thy quarrel than the Greeks did for the rape of Helen; who,
had she lived in these times, or my Dulcinea in those, would never
have been so famous for beauty as she is!" and here he heaved a sigh
towards heaven. "Let it pass, then, for a jest," said Sancho, "since
it is not likely to be revenged in earnest: but I know of what kind
the jests and the earnests were; and I know also they will no more
slip out of my memory than off my shoulders. But, setting this aside,
tell me, sir, what shall we do with this dapple-grey steed which looks
so like a grey ass, and which that caitiff whom your worship overthrew
has left behind here, to shift for itself; for, by his scouring off so
hastily, he does not think of ever returning for him; and, by my
beard, the beast is a special one." "It is not my custom," said Don
Quixote, "to plunder those whom I overcome, nor is it the usage of
chivalry to take from the vanquished their horses, and leave them on
foot, unless the victor hath lost his own in the conflict; in such a
case it is lawful to take that of the enemy, as fairly won in battle.
Therefore, Sancho, leave this horse, or ass, or whatever thou wilt
have it to be; for, when we are gone, his owner will return for him."
They now breakfasted on the remains of the plunder from the
sumpter-mule, and drank of the water belonging to the fulling-mills,
but without turning their faces towards them--such was the abhorrence
in which they were held. Being thus refreshed and comforted, both in
body and mind, they mounted, and, without determining upon what road
to follow, according to the custom of knights-errant, they went on as
Rozinante's will directed, which was a guide to his master and also to
Dapple, who always followed, in love and good fellowship, wherever he
led the way. They soon, however, turned into the great road, which
they followed at a venture, without forming any plan.
As they were thus sauntering on, Sancho said to his master: "Sir, will
your worship be pleased to indulge me the liberty of a word or two;
for, since you imposed on me that harsh command of silence, sundry
things have been rotting in my breast, and I have one just now at my
tongue's end that I would not for any thing should miscarry." "Speak,
then," said Don Quixote, "and be brief in thy discourse; for what is
prolix cannot be pleasing." "I say, then, sir," answered Sancho, "that
for some days past I have been considering how little is gained by
wandering about in quest of those adventures your worship is seeking
through these deserts and cross ways, where, though you should
overcome and achieve the most perilous, there is nobody to see or know
anything of them; so that they must remain in perpetual oblivion, to
the prejudice of your worship's intention and their deserts. And
therefore I think it would be more advisable for us, with submission
to your better judgment, to serve some emperor or other great prince
engaged in war, in whose service your worship may display your valour,
great strength, and superior understanding: which being perceived by
the lord we serve, he must of course reward each of us according to
his merit. This is what I would be at," quoth Sancho; "this I stick
to: for every tittle of this must happen." "Doubt not that this will
happen, Sancho," replied Don Quixote; "for by those very means and
those very steps which we are pursuing, knights-errant do rise, and
have risen, to be kings and emperors. All that remains to be done is
to look out and find what king of the Christians or of the Pagans is
at war, and has a beautiful daughter--but there is time enough to
think of this; for you know we must procure renown elsewhere before we
repair to court. Besides, there is yet another difficulty; for, if a
king were found who is at war and has a handsome daughter, and I had
acquired incredible fame throughout the whole universe, I do not see
how it can be made appear that I am of the lineage of kings, or even
second cousin to an emperor; for the king will not give me his
daughter to wife until he is first very well assured that I am such,
however my renowned actions might deserve it. For thou must know,
Sancho, that there are two kinds of lineages in the world. Some there
are who derive their pedigree from princes and monarchs, whom time has
gradually reduced until they have ended in a point, like a pyramid;
others have had a low origin, and have risen by degrees, until they
have become great lords. So that the difference is, that some have
been what now they are not, and others are now what they were not
before; and who knows but I may be one of the former, and that, upon
examination, my origin may be found to have been great and glorious,
with which the king, my future father-in-law, ought to be satisfied?
and if he should not be satisfied, the infanta is to be so in love
with me that, in spite of her father, she is to receive me for her
lord and husband, even though she knew me to be the son of a
water-carrier; and in case she should not, then is the time to take
her away by force, and convey her whither I please; there to remain
until time or death put a period to the displeasure of her parents."
"Here," said Sancho, "comes in properly what some naughty people say,
'Never stand begging for that which you have the power to take;'
though this other is nearer to the purpose: 'A leap from a hedge is
better than a hundred petitions.' I say this, because if my lord the
king, your worship's father-in-law, should not vouchsafe to yield unto
you my lady the infanta, there is no more to be done, as your worship
says, but to steal and carry her off. But the mischief is, that while
peace is making, and before you can enjoy the kingdom quietly, the
poor squire may go whistle for his reward." "Say what they will,"
rejoined Don Quixote, "in good faith, they must style thee 'your
lordship,' however unwillingly." "Do you think," quoth Sancho, "I
should not know how to give authority to the indignity?" "Dignity, you
should say, and not indignity," said his master. "So let be," answered
Sancho Panza. "I say, I should do well enough with it; for I assure
you I was once beadle of a company, and the beadle's gown became me so
well that every body said I had a presence fit to be warden of the
same company: what then will it be when I am arrayed in a duke's robe,
all shining with gold and pearls, like a foreign count? I am of
opinion folks will come a hundred leagues to see me." "Thou wilt make
a goodly appearance indeed," said Don Quixote; "but it will be
necessary to trim thy beard a little oftener, for it is so rough and
matted that, if thou shavest not every day at least, what thou art
will be seen at the distance of a bow-shot." "Why," said Sancho, "it
is but taking a barber into the house, and giving him a salary; and,
if there be occasion, I will make him follow me like a gentleman of
the horse to a grandee." "How camest thou to know," demanded Don
Quixote, "that grandees have their gentlemen of the horse to follow
them?" "I will tell you," said Sancho; "some years ago I was near the
court for a month, and I often saw a very little gentleman riding
about, who, they said, was a very great lord; and behind him I noticed
a man on horseback, turning about as he turned, so that one would have
thought he had been his tail. I asked why that man did not ride by the
side of the other, but kept always behind him? They answered me that
it was his gentleman of the horse, and that it was the custom for
noblemen to be followed by them; and from that day to this I have
never forgotten it." "Thou art in the right," said Don Quixote, "and
in the same manner thou mayest carry about thy barber; for all customs
do not arise together, nor were they invented at once; and thou mayest
be the first earl who carried about his barber after him: and, indeed,
it is a higher trust to dress the beard than to saddle a horse."
"Leave the business of the barber to me," said Sancho; "and let it be
your worship's care to become a king and to make me an earl."
Presently our knight raised his eyes, and saw approaching, in the same
road, about a dozen men on foot, strung like beads, by the necks, in a
great iron chain, and all handcuffed. There came also with them two
men on horseback, and two on foot; those on horseback were armed with
firelocks, and those on foot with pikes and swords. As soon as Sancho
Panza saw them, he said: "This is a chain of galley-slaves, persons
forced by the king to serve in the galleys." "How! forced do you say?"
quoth Don Quixote, "is it possible the king should force any body?" "I
mean not so," answered Sancho, "but that they are persons who, for
their crimes, are condemned by law to the galleys, where they are
forced to serve the king." "In truth, then," replied Don Quixote,
"these people are conveyed by force, and not voluntarily?" "So it is,"
said Sancho. "Then," said his master, "here the execution of my office
takes place, which is to defeat violence, and to succour and relieve
the wretched." "Consider, sir," quoth Sancho, "that justice--which is
the king himself--does no violence to such persons, he only punishes
them for their crimes." But his master gave no heed to him.
By this time the chain of galley-slaves had reached them, and Don
Quixote desired the guard to inform him of the cause or causes for
which they conducted those persons in that manner. One of the guards
answered that they were slaves, and on their way to the galleys; which
was all he had to say, nor was there anything more to know.
"Nevertheless," replied Don Quixote, "I should be glad to be informed,
by each individually, of the cause of his misfortune." To these he
added such other courteous expressions, entreating the information he
desired, that the other horseman said, "Though we have here the
certificate of the sentence of each of these wretches, this is no time
to produce them; make your inquiry of themselves; they may inform you,
if they please, and no doubt they will: for they are such as take a
pleasure in acting and relating rogueries." With this Don Quixote went
up to them, and demanded of the first for what offence he marched in
such evil plight? He answered, that it was for being in love. "For
that alone?" replied the Don; "if people are sent to the galleys for
being in love, I might long since have been rowing in them myself."
"It was not such love as your worship imagines," said the
galley-slave; "mine was a strong affection for a basket of fine linen.
The process was short; they gave me a hundred lashes, and sent me to
the galleys."
Don Quixote put the same question to the second, who returned no
answer, he was so melancholy and dejected; but the first answered for
him, and said, "This gentleman goes for being a canary-bird,--I mean,
for being a musician and a singer." "How so?" replied Don Quixote;
"are men sent to the galleys for being musicians and singers?" "Yes,
sir," replied the slave; "for there is nothing worse than to sing in
an agony." "Nay," said Don Quixote, "I have heard say, 'Who sings in
grief, procures relief.'" "This is the very reverse," said the slave;
"for here he who sings once weeps all his life after." "I do not
understand that," said Don Quixote. One of the guards said to him,
"Signor Cavalier, to sing in an agony means, in the cant of these
rogues, to confess upon the rack. This offender was put to the
torture, and confessed his crime, which was that of a stealer of
cattle; and, because he confessed, he is sentenced for six years,
besides two hundred lashes on the shoulders. He is pensive and sad,
because all the other rogues abuse, vilify, flout, and despise him for
confessing, and not having the courage to say No: for, say they, No
does not contain more letters than Ay; and think it lucky, when it so
happens that a man's life or death depends upon his own tongue, and
not upon proofs and witnesses; and, for my part, I think they are in
the right." "And so I think," answered Don Quixote; who, passing on to
the third, interrogated him as he had done the others. He answered
very readily, and with much indifference, "I am also going for five
years, merely for want of ten ducats." "I will give twenty, with all
my heart," said Don Quixote, "to redeem you from this misery." "That,"
said the convict, "is like having money at sea, where, though dying
for hunger, nothing can be bought with it. I say this because, if I
had been possessed in time of those twenty ducats you now offer me, I
would have so greased the clerk's pen and sharpened my advocate's wit
that I should have been this day upon the market-place of Toledo, and
not upon this road, coupled and dragged like a hound: but God is
great; patience and--that is enough."
Behind all these came a man about thirty years of age, of a goodly
aspect, only that his eyes looked at each other. Don Quixote asked why
this man was fettered so much more than the rest. The guard answered,
because he alone had committed more crimes than all the rest together;
and that he was so bold and desperate a villain that, although
shackled in that manner, they were not secure of him, but were still
afraid he would make his escape. "What kind of villanies has he
committed?" said Don Quixote. "He goes for ten years," said the guard,
"which is a kind of civil death. You need only be told that this
honest gentleman is the famous Gines de Passamonte, alias Ginesillo de
Parapilla." "Fair and softly, signor commissary," interrupted the
slave. "Let us not now be spinning out names and surnames. Gines is my
name, and not Ginesillo; and Passamonte is the name of my family, and
not Parapilla, as you say?" "Are you not so called, lying rascal?"
said the guard. "Yes," answered Gines; "but I will make them cease
calling me so, or I will flay them where I care not at present to say.
Signor Cavalier," continued he, "if you have anything to give us, let
us have it now, and God be with you; for you tire us with inquiring so
much after other men's lives. If you would know mine, I am Gines de
Passamonte, whose life is written by these very fingers." "He says
true," said the commissary; "for he himself has written his own
history as well as heart could wish, and has left the book in prison
pawned for two hundred reals." "Ay, and I intend to redeem it," said
Gines, "if it lay for two hundred ducats." "What, is it so good?" said
Don Quixote. "So good," answered Gines, "that woe be to Lazarillo de
Tormes, and to all that have written or shall write in that way. What
I can affirm is, that it relates truths, and truths so ingenious and
entertaining that no fiction can equal them." "What is the title of
your book?" demanded Don Quixote. "The Life of Gines de Passamonte,"
replied Gines himself. "And is it finished?" quoth Don Quixote. "How
can it be finished?" answered he, "since my life is not yet finished?"
"You seem to be an ingenious fellow," said Don Quixote. "And an
unfortunate one," answered Gines; "but misfortunes always persecute
genius."
The commissary lifted up his staff to strike Passamonte, in return for
his threats; but Don Quixote interposed, and desired he would not
illtreat him, since it was but fair that he who had his hands so tied
up should have his tongue a little at liberty. After questioning
several more in a similar fashion, the Don thus addressed the company:
"From all you have told me, dearest brethren, I clearly gather that,
although it be only the punishment of your crimes, you do not much
relish what you are to suffer, and that you go to it with ill-will,
and much against your inclination. Now this being the case, my mind
prompts me to manifest in you the purpose for which heaven cast me
into the world, and ordained me to profess the order of chivalry,
which I do profess, and the vow I thereby made to succour the needy
and those oppressed by the powerful; for it seems to me a hard case to
make slaves of those whom God and nature made free." "This is pleasant
fooling," answered the commissary. "An admirable conceit he has hit
upon at last! Go on your way, signor, and give us no more of your
meddling impertinence." "Insulting scoundrel!" answered Don Quixote;
and thereupon, with a word and a blow, he attacked him so suddenly
that, before he could stand upon his defence, he threw him to the
ground, much wounded with a thrust of the lance. The rest of the
guards were astonished and confounded at the unexpected encounter; and
the galley-slaves seized the opportunity now offered to them of
recovering their liberty, by breaking the chain with which they were
linked together. The confusion was such that the guards could do
nothing to any purpose. Sancho, for his part, assisted in releasing
Gines de Passamonte; who, attacking the commissary, took away his
sword and his gun, by levelling which first at one, then at another,
he cleared the field of all the guard.
"It is well," said Don Quixote; "but I know what is first expedient to
be done." Then, having called all the slaves before him, they gathered
round to know his pleasure; when he thus addressed them: "To be
grateful for benefits received is natural to persons well born. This I
say, gentlemen, because you already know, by manifest experience, the
benefit you have received at my hands; in return for which it is my
desire that you immediately go to the city of Toboso, and there
present yourselves before the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, and tell her
that her Knight of the Sorrowful Figure sends you to present his
service to her; and recount to her every circumstance of this
memorable adventure, to the point of restoring you to your wished-for
liberty: this done, you may go wherever good fortune may lead you."
Gines de Passamonte answered for them all, and said, "What your
worship commands us, noble sir and our deliverer, is of all
impossibilities the most impossible to be complied with; for we dare
not be seen together on the road, but must go separate, each man by
himself, and endeavour to hide ourselves in the very bowels of the
earth from the holy brotherhood, who doubtless will be out in quest of
us. To think that we will now return to our chains, and put ourselves
on our way to Toboso, is to imagine it already night, whereas it is
not yet ten o'clock in the morning; and to expect this from us is to
expect pears from an elm-tree." "I vow, then," quoth Don Quixote in a
rage, "that you Don Ginesillo de Parapilla, or whatever you call
yourself, shall go there alone and the whole chain upon your back."
Passamonte, who was not over passive, seeing himself thus treated,
gave a signal to his comrades, upon which they all began to rain such
a shower of stones upon the knight that he could not contrive to cover
himself with his buckler; and poor Rozinante cared no more for the
spur than if he had been made of brass. Sancho got behind his ass, and
thereby sheltered himself from the hailstorm that poured upon them
both. Don Quixote could not screen himself sufficiently to avoid the
stones, which came against him with such force that they brought him
to the ground. They stripped him of a jacket he wore over his armour,
and would have taken his trousers too, if the greaves had not hindered
them. They took Sancho's cloak, leaving him stripped; and after
dividing the spoils of the battle, they made the best of their way
off, each taking a different course; more solicitous to escape the
holy brotherhood than to drag their chain to Toboso and present
themselves before the Lady Dulcinea.