_What happened to Don Quixote with the fair Huntress._
It happened that the next day about sunset, as they were coming out of
the wood, Don Quixote cast his eyes on a verdant meadow, and at the
farther end of it descried a company, whom, upon a nearer view, he
judged to be persons of quality taking the diversion of hawking.
Approaching nearer yet, he observed among them a fine lady, upon a
white steed in green trappings, and a saddle of cloth-of-silver. She
rode with a gosshawk on her left hand, by which Don Quixote judged her
to be of quality, and mistress of the train that attended; as, indeed,
she was. Calling to his squire, "Sancho," cried he, "run and tell that
lady on the palfrey that I, the Knight of the Lions, humbly salute her
highness; and that if she pleases to give me leave, I should be proud
to have the honour of waiting on her, and kissing her fair hands. But
take special care, Sancho, how thou deliverest thy message; and be
sure not to lard my compliments with any of thy proverbs."
Sancho moved on, forcing Dapple from his old pace to a gallop; and
approaching the fair huntress, he alighted, and, falling on his knees,
"Fair lady," quoth he, "that knight yonder, called the Knight of the
Lions, is my master; I am his squire, Sancho Panza by name. This same
Knight of the Lions, who but the other day was called the Knight of
the Sorrowful Figure, has sent me to tell you, that so please your
worship's grace to give him leave, with your good liking, to do as he
has a mind, which, as he says, and as I believe, is only to serve your
high-flown beauty, and be your eternal vassal, you may chance to do a
thing that would be for your own good, and he would take it for a huge
kindness at your hands."
"Indeed, honest squire," said the lady, "you have acquitted yourself
of your charge with all the grace which such an embassy requires.
Rise, I pray; for it is by no means fit that the squire to so great a
knight (to whose name and merit we are no strangers) should remain on
his knees. Rise, and desire your master by all means to honour us with
his company, that my lord duke and I may pay him our respects at a
mansion we have hard by."
Sancho, overjoyed with this gracious answer, returned to his master,
to whom he repeated all that the great lady had said to him; praising
to the skies, in his clownish phrase, her great beauty and courteous
nature.
Don Quixote, pleased with this good beginning, seated himself
handsomely in the saddle, fixed his toes in his stirrups, set the
beaver of his helmet as he thought best became his face, roused up
Rozinante's mettle, and with a graceful assurance moved forwards to
kiss the duchess's hand. As soon as Sancho went from her, she sent for
the duke, her husband, and gave him an account of Don Quixote's
embassy. Thereupon they both attended his coming with a pleasant
impatience; for, having read the first part of his history, they were
no less desirous to be acquainted with his person; and resolved, as
long as he stayed with them, to give him his own way, and humour him
in all things, treating him with all the forms essential to the
entertainment of a knight-errant; which they were the better able to
do, having been much conversant with books of that kind.
And now Don Quixote drew nigh with his vizor up; and Sancho, seeing
him offer to alight, made all the haste he could to be ready to hold
his stirrup. But as ill-luck would have it, as he was throwing his leg
over his pack-saddle to get off, he entangled his foot so strangely in
the rope that served him instead of a stirrup, that, not being able to
get it out, he hung by the heel with his nose to the ground. On the
other side, Don Quixote, who was used to have his stirrup held when he
dismounted, thinking Sancho had hold of it already, lifted up his
right leg over the saddle to alight; but as it happened to be ill
girt, down it came with him to the ground; while he, confounded with
shame, bestowed many a severe reproach on his poor squire, who was all
the while held fast with his foot in the stocks. The duke seeing them
in that condition, ordered some of his people to help them; and they
raised Don Quixote, who was in no very good case with his fall.
However, limping as well as he could, he went to pay his duty to the
lady, and would have fallen on his knees at her horse's feet; but the
duke alighting, would by no means permit it; and embracing Don
Quixote, "I am sorry," said he, "sir knight, that such a mischance
should happen to you at your first appearance in my territories; but
the negligence of squires is often the cause of worse accidents."
"Most generous prince," said Don Quixote, "I can think nothing bad
that could befall me here, since I have had the happiness of seeing
your grace; for though I had fallen ever so low, the glory of this
interview would raise me up again. My squire, indeed, is much more apt
to set loose his saucy tongue than to gird a saddle well; but
prostrate or erect, on horseback or on foot, in any posture, I shall
always be at your grace's command, and no less at her grace's, your
worthy consort. Worthy did I say? yes, she is worthy to be called the
Queen of Beauty, and Sovereign Lady of all Courtesy." "Pardon me
there," said the duke, "noble Don Quixote de la Mancha; where the
peerless Dulcinea is remembered, the praise of all other beauties
ought to be forgotten."
Sancho was now got clear of the noose, and standing near the duchess.
"An't please your worship's highness," quoth he, before his master
could answer, "it cannot be denied, nay, I dare vouch it in any ground
in Spain, that my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso is woundy handsome and
fair. But 'where we least think, there starts the hare;' and 'he that
makes one handsome pipkin may make two or three hundred;' and so, do
ye see, you may understand by this, that my Lady Duchess here does not
a jot come short of my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso." Don Quixote, upon
this, addressing himself to the duchess, "Your grace must know," said
he, "that no knight-errant ever had such an eternal babbler, such a
bundle of conceit for a squire, as I have; and if I have the honour to
continue for some time in your service, your grace will find it
true." "I am glad," answered the duchess, "that honest Sancho has his
conceits, which is a sign he is wise; for merry conceits, you know,
sir, are not the offspring of a dull brain; and therefore, if Sancho
be merry and jocose, I will warrant him also a man of sense. But, not
to lose our time here, come on, Sir Knight of the Sorrowful
Figure----" "Knight of the Lions, your highness should say," quoth
Sancho; "the Sorrowful Figure is out of date; and so pray let the
Lions come in play." "Well, then," said the duke, "I entreat the
Knight of the Lions to vouchsafe us his presence at a castle I have
hard by, where he shall find such entertainment as is justly due to so
eminent a personage, such honours as the duchess and myself are wont
to pay to knights-errant that travel this way."
Sancho having by this time got Rozinante ready, and girded the saddle
tight, Don Quixote mounted his steed, and the duke a stately horse of
his own, and the duchess riding between them both, they moved towards
the castle. She desired that Sancho might always attend near her; for
she was extremely taken with his notable sayings. Sancho was not hard
to be entreated, but crowded in between them, and made a fourth in
their conversation, to the great satisfaction both of the duke and
duchess, who esteemed themselves very fortunate in having an
opportunity to entertain at their castle such a knight-errant and such
an erring squire.