_Of occurrences at the inn; and of many other things worthy to be
known._
Night was now advanced, and a coach arrived at the inn with some
horsemen. The travellers wanted lodging for the night, but the
hostess told them that there was not an inch of room disengaged in the
whole inn. "Notwithstanding that," said one of the men on horseback,
"there must be room made for my lord judge here in the coach." On
hearing this the hostess was disturbed and said, "Sir, the truth is, I
have no bed; but if his worship, my lord judge, brings one with him,
let him enter in God's name; for I and my husband will quit our own
chamber to accommodate his honour."
"Be it so," quoth the squire; and by this time a person had alighted
from the coach whose garb immediately shewed the nature and dignity of
his station; for his long gown and tucked-up sleeves denoted him to be
a judge, as his servant had said. He led by the hand a young lady
apparently about sixteen years of age, in a riding-dress, so lovely
and elegant in her person that all were struck with so much admiration
that, had they not seen Dorothea and Lucinda, they would never have
believed that there was such another beautiful damsel in existence.
Don Quixote was present at their entrance, and he thus addressed them:
"Your worship may securely enter and range this castle; for, however
confined and inconvenient it may be, place will always be found for
arms and letters; especially when, like your worship, they appear
under the patronage of beauty; for to this fair maiden not only
castles should throw open wide their gates, but rocks divide and
separate, and mountains bow their lofty heads in salutation. Enter,
sir, into this paradise; for here you will find suns and stars worthy
of that lovely heaven you bring with you. Here you will find arms in
their zenith, and beauty in perfection!" The judge marvelled greatly
at this speech, and he earnestly surveyed the knight, no less
astonished by his appearance than his discourse; and was considering
what to say in reply, when the other ladies made their appearance,
attracted by the account the hostess had given of the beauty of the
young lady. Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the priest, paid their
compliments in a more intelligible manner than Don Quixote, and all
the ladies of the castle welcomed the fair stranger. In short, the
judge easily perceived that he was in the company of persons of
distinction; but the mien, visage, and behaviour of Don Quixote
confounded him. After mutual courtesies and inquiries as to what
accommodation the inn afforded, the arrangements previously made were
adopted; namely, that all the women should lodge in the large chamber,
and the men remain without, as their guard. The judge was content that
the young lady, who was his daughter, should accompany the other
ladies; and she herself readily consented: thus, with the innkeeper's
narrow bed, together with that which the judge had brought with him,
they passed the night better than they had expected.
The night being now far advanced, they proposed retiring to repose
during the remainder, Don Quixote offering his service to guard the
castle, lest some giant or other miscreant errant, tempted by the
treasure of beauty there enclosed, should presume to make an attack
upon it. His friends thanked him, and took occasion to amuse the judge
with an account of his strange frenzy. Sancho Panza alone was out of
all patience at sitting up so late. However, he was better
accommodated than any of them, upon the accoutrements of his ass, for
which he dearly paid, as shall be hereafter related. The ladies having
retired to their chamber, and the rest accommodated as well as they
could be, Don Quixote, according to his promise, sallied out of the
inn to take his post at the castle-gate.
A short time before daybreak, a voice reached the ears of the ladies,
so sweet and melodious that it forcibly arrested their attention,
especially that of Dorothea, by whose side slept Donna Clara de
Viedma, the daughter of the judge. The voice was unaccompanied by any
instrument, and they were surprised at the skill of the singer.
Sometimes they fancied that the sound proceeded from the yard, and at
other times from the stable. While they were in this uncertainty,
Cardenio came to the chamber-door and said, "If you are not asleep,
pray listen, and you will hear one of the muleteers singing
enchantingly." Dorothea told him that they had heard him, upon which
Cardenio retired. Then listening with much attention, Dorothea plainly
distinguished the following words.