_How adventures crowded so thick on Don Quixote that they trod upon
one another's heels._
Don Quixote thought it now time to leave the idle life he had led in
the castle, believing it a mighty fault thus to shut himself up, and
indulge his appetite among the tempting varieties of dainties and
delights which the lord and lady of the place provided for his
entertainment as a knight-errant. Accordingly, one day he acquainted
the duke and duchess with his sentiments, and begged their leave to
depart. They both seemed very unwilling to part with him; but yet at
last yielded to his entreaties. The duchess gave Sancho his wife's
letters, which he could not hear read without weeping. "Who would have
thought," cried he, "that all the mighty hopes with which my wife
swelled herself up at the news of my preferment, should come to this
at last; and how I should be reduced again to trot after my master Don
Quixote de la Mancha, in search of hunger and broken bones! However, I
am glad to see my Teresa was like herself, in sending the duchess the
acorns, which if she had not done, she had shewed herself ungrateful,
and I should never have forgiven her. My comfort is, that no man can
say the present was a bribe; for I had my government before she sent
it; and it is fit those who have a kindness done them should shew
themselves grateful, though it be with a small matter."
Don Quixote, having taken his solemn leave of the duke and duchess
overnight, left his apartment the next morning, and appeared in his
armour in the court-yard--the galleries all round about being filled
at the same time with the people of the house; the duke and duchess
being also there to see him. Sancho was upon his Dapple, with his
cloak-bag, his wallet, and his provision, very brisk and cheerful; for
the steward that acted the part of Trifaldi had given him a purse,
with two hundred crowns in gold, to defray expenses.
Don Quixote no sooner breathed the air in the open field, than he
fancied himself in his own element; he felt the spirit of
knight-errantry reviving in his breast; and turning to Sancho,
"Liberty," said he, "friend Sancho, is one of the most valuable
blessings that Heaven has bestowed upon mankind. Not all the treasures
concealed in the bowels of the earth, nor those in the bosom of the
sea, can be compared with it. For liberty a man may, nay ought, to
hazard even his life, as well as for honour, accounting captivity the
greatest misery he can endure. I tell thee this, my Sancho, because
thou wert a witness of the good cheer and plenty which we met with in
the castle. Yet, in the midst of those delicious feasts, among those
tempting dishes, and those liquors cooled with snow, methought I
suffered the extremity of hunger, because I did not enjoy them with
that freedom as if they had been my own; for the obligations that lie
upon us to make suitable returns for kindnesses received, are ties
that will not let a generous mind be free. Happy the man whom Heaven
has blest with bread, for which he is obliged to thank kind Heaven
alone!" "For all these fine words," quoth Sancho, "it is not proper
for us to be unthankful for two good hundred crowns in gold, which the
duke's steward gave me in a little purse, which I have here, and
cherish in my bosom as a relic against necessity, and a comforting
cordial, next my heart, against all accidents; for we are not like
always to meet with castles where we shall be made much of."
As the knight and squire went on discoursing of this and other
matters, they had not ridden much more than a league ere they espied
about a dozen men, who looked like country fellows, sitting at their
victuals, with their cloaks under them, on the green grass in the
middle of a meadow. Near them they saw several white cloths or sheets,
spread out and laid close to one another, that seemed to cover
something. Don Quixote rode up to the people, and after he had civilly
saluted them, asked what they had got under that linen. "Sir,"
answered one of the company, "they are some carved images, that are to
be set up at an altar we are erecting in our town. We cover them lest
they should be sullied, and carry them on our shoulders for fear they
should be broken." "If you please," said Don Quixote, "I should be
glad to see them; for, considering the care you take of them, they
should be pieces of value." "Ay, marry are they," quoth another, "or
else we are mistaken; for there is never an image among them that does
not stand us more than fifty ducats; and that you may know I am no
liar, do but stay, and you shall see with your own eyes." With that,
he took off the cover from one of the figures, that happened to be St.
George on horseback, and under his feet a serpent coiled up, his
throat transfixed with a lance, with the fierceness that is commonly
represented in the piece; and all, as they use to say, spick and span
new, and shining like beaten gold. Don Quixote having seen the image,
"This," said he, "was one of the best knights-errant the
church-militant ever had; his name was Don St. George, and he was an
extraordinary protector of damsels. What is the next?" The fellow
having uncovered it, it proved to be St. Martin on horseback. "This
knight too," said Don Quixote at the first sight, "was one of the
Christian adventurers; and I am apt to think he was more liberal than
valiant; and thou mayst perceive it, Sancho, by his dividing his cloak
with a poor man: he gave him half, and doubtless it was winter-time,
or else he would have given it him whole, he was so charitable." "Not
so, neither, I fancy," quoth Sancho; "but I guess he stuck to the
proverb, To give and keep what is fit, requires a share of wit." Don
Quixote smiled, and desired the men to shew him the next image, which
appeared to be that of the patron of Spain on horseback, with his
sword bloody, trampling down Moors, and treading over heads. "Ay, this
is a knight indeed," cried Don Quixote, when he saw it; "he is called
Don St. Jago Mata Moros, or Don St. James the Moor-killer; and may be
reckoned one of the most valorous saints and professors of chivalry
that the earth then enjoyed, and Heaven now possesses." Then they
uncovered another piece, which shewed St. Paul falling from his horse,
with all the circumstances usually expressed in the story of his
conversion; and represented so to the life, that he looked as if he
had been answering the voice that spoke to him from heaven. "This,"
said Don Quixote, "was the greatest enemy the church-militant had
once, and proved afterwards the greatest defender it will ever
have;--in his life a true knight-errant, and in death a stedfast
saint; an indefatigable labourer in the vineyard of the Lord, a
teacher of the Gentiles, who had Heaven for his school, and Christ
himself for his master and instructor." Then Don Quixote, perceiving
there were no more images, desired the men to cover those he had seen;
"And now, my good friends," said he to them, "I cannot but esteem the
sight that I have had of these images as a happy omen; for these
saints and knights were of the same profession that I follow, which is
that of arms: the difference only lies in this point, that they were
saints, and fought according to the rules of holy discipline; and I am
a sinner, and fight after the manner of men."
All this while the men wondered at Don Quixote's figure, as well as
his discourse, but could not understand one half of what he meant. So
that, after they had made an end of their dinner, they got up their
images, took their leave of Don Quixote, and continued their journey.
Sancho remained full of admiration, as if he had never known his
master: he wondered how he should come to know all these things, and
fancied there was not that history or adventure in the world but he
had it at his fingers' ends. "Truly, master of mine," quoth he, "if
what has happened to us to-day may be called an adventure, it is one
of the sweetest and most pleasant we ever met with in all our rambles;
for we are come off without a basting, or the least bodily fear. We
have not so much as laid our hands upon our weapons; but here we be
safe and sound, neither dry nor hungry. Heaven be praised that I have
seen all this with my own eyes!" "Thou sayest well, Sancho," said Don
Quixote; "but I must tell thee that seasons and times are not always
the same, but often take a different course; and what the vulgar call
forebodings and omens, for which there are no rational grounds in
nature, ought only to be esteemed happy encounters by the wise. One of
these superstitious fools, going out of his house betimes in the
morning, meets a friar of the blessed order of St. Francis, and starts
as if he had met a griffin, turns back, and runs home again. Another
wiseacre happens to throw down the salt on the tablecloth, and
thereupon is sadly cast down himself; as if nature were obliged to
give tokens of ensuing disasters by such slight and inconsiderable
accidents as these. A wise and truly religious man ought never to pry
into the secrets of Heaven. Scipio, landing in Africa, stumbled and
fell down as he leaped ashore. Presently his soldiers took this for an
ill omen; but he, embracing the earth, cried, 'I have thee fast,
Africa; thou shalt not escape me.'"
Thus discoursing, they got into a wood quite out of the road; and on a
sudden Don Quixote, before he knew where he was, found himself
entangled in some nets of green thread, that were spread across among
the trees. Not being able to imagine what it was, "Certainly, Sancho,"
cried he, "this adventure of the nets must be one of the most
unaccountable that can be imagined. Let me die, now, if this be not a
stratagem of the evil-minded necromancers that haunt me, to stop my
way." With that the knight put briskly forwards, resolving to break
through; but in the very moment there sprung from behind the trees two
most beautiful shepherdesses, at least they appeared to be so by their
habits, only with this difference, that they were richly dressed in
gold brocade. Their flowing hair hung down about their shoulders in
curls as charming as the sun's golden rays, and circled on their brows
with garlands of green baize and red-flower-gentle interwoven. As for
their age, it seemed not less than fifteen, nor more than eighteen
years. This unexpected vision dazzled and amazed Sancho, and surprised
Don Quixote; till at last one of the shepherdesses opening her coral
lips, "Hold, sir," she cried; "pray do not tear those nets which we
have spread here, not to offend you, but to divert ourselves; and
because it is likely you will inquire why they are spread here, and
who we are, I shall tell you in few words.
"About two leagues from this place lies a village, where there are
many people of quality and good estates; among these several have made
up a company to come and take their diversion in this place, which is
one of the most delightful in these parts. To this purpose we design
to set up a new Arcadia. The young men have put on the habit of
shepherds, and ladies the dress of shepherdesses. We have got two
eclogues by heart; one out of the famous Garcilasso, and the other out
of Camoens, the most excellent Portuguese poet; though we have not yet
repeated them, for yesterday was but the first day of our coming
hither. We have pitched some tents among the trees, near the banks of
a large brook that waters all these meadows. And last night we spread
these nets, to catch such simple birds as our calls should allure into
the snare. Now, sir, if you please to afford us your company, you
shall be made very welcome, and handsomely entertained; for we are all
disposed to pass the time agreeably." "Truly, fair lady," answered Don
Quixote, "I applaud the design of your entertainment, and return you
thanks for your obliging offers; assuring you, that if it lies in my
power to serve you, you may depend on my obedience to your commands;
for my profession is the very reverse of ingratitude, and aims at
doing good to all persons, especially those of your merit and
condition; so that were these nets spread over the surface of the
whole earth, I would seek out a passage throughout new worlds, rather
than I would break the smallest thread that conduces to your pastime:
and that you may give some credit to this seeming exaggeration, know,
that he who makes this promise is no less than Don Quixote de la
Mancha, if ever such a name has reached your ears." "Oh, my dear,"
cried the other shepherdess, "what good fortune is this! You see this
gentleman before us: I must tell you he is the most valiant, the most
loving, and the most complaisant person in the world, if the history
of his exploits, already in print, does not deceive us. I have read
it, and I hold a wager, that honest fellow there by him is one Sancho
Panza, his squire, the most comical creature that ever was." "You have
hit it," quoth Sancho, "I am that very squire you wot of; and there is
my lord and master, the aforesaid Don Quixote de la Mancha." "Oh pray,
my dear," said the other, "let us entreat him to stay; our father and
our brothers will be mighty glad of it. I have heard of his valour and
his merit, as much as you now tell me; and what is more, they say he
is the most constant and faithful lover in the world, and that his
mistress, whom they call Dulcinea del Toboso, bears the prize from all
the beauties in Spain." "It is not without justice," said Don Quixote,
"if your peerless charms do not dispute with her that glory. But,
ladies, I beseech you do not endeavour to detain me; for the
indispensable duties of my profession will not suffer me to rest in
one place."
At the same time came the brother of one of the shepherdesses, clad
like a shepherd, but in a dress as splendid and gay as those of the
young ladies. They told him that the gentleman whom he saw with them
was the valorous Don Quixote de la Mancha, and that other Sancho
Panza, his squire, of whom he had read the history. The gallant
shepherd having saluted him, begged of him so earnestly to grant them
his company to their tents, that Don Quixote was forced to comply, and
go with them.
About the same time the nets were drawn and filled with divers little
birds, who being deceived by the colour of the snare, fell into the
danger they would have avoided. Above thirty persons, all gaily
dressed like shepherds and shepherdesses, got together there; and
being informed who Don Quixote and his squire were, they were not a
little pleased, for they were already no strangers to his history. In
short they carried them to their tents, where they found a sumptuous
entertainment ready. They obliged the knight to take the place of
honour; and while they sat at table, there was not one that did not
gaze on him, and wonder at so strange a figure.
At last, the cloth being removed, Don Quixote with a great deal of
gravity, lifting up his voice, "Of all the sins that men commit," said
he, "none, in my opinion is so great as ingratitude, though some think
pride a greater; and I ground my assertion on this, that hell is said
to be full of the ungrateful. Ever since I had the use of reason, I
have employed my utmost endeavours to avoid this crime; and if I am
not able to repay the benefits I receive in their kind, at least I am
not wanting in real intentions of making suitable returns; and if that
be not sufficient, I make my acknowledgments as public as I can: for
he that proclaims the kindnesses he has received, shews his
disposition to repay them if he could; and those that receive are
generally inferior to those that give. The Supreme Being, that is
infinitely above all things, bestows his blessings on us so much
beyond the capacity of all other benefactors, that all the
acknowledgments we can make can never hold proportion with his
goodness. However, a thankful mind in some measure supplies its want
of power, with hearty desires and unfeigned expressions of a sense of
gratitude and respect. I am in this condition, as to the civilities I
have been treated with here; for I am unable to make an acknowledgment
equal to the kindnesses I have received. I shall, therefore, only
offer you what is within the narrow limits of my own abilities, which
is to maintain, for two whole days together, in the middle of the road
that leads to Saragosa, that these ladies here, disguised in the
habits of shepherdesses, are the fairest and most courteous damsels in
the world, excepting only the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, sole
mistress of my thoughts; without offence to all that hear me, be it
spoken."
Here Sancho, who had all the while given ear to his master's
compliment, thought fit to put in a word or two. "Now, in the name of
wonder," quoth he, "can there be any body in the world so impudent as
to say that this master of mine is a madman? Pray, tell me, ye
gentlemen shepherds, did you ever know any of your country parsons,
though never so wise, or so good scholars, that could deliver
themselves so finely? Or is there any of your knights-errant, though
never so famed for prowess, that can make such an offer as he has here
done?"
Don Quixote turned towards Sancho, and, beholding him with eyes full
of fiery indignation, "Can there be any body in the world," cried he,
"that can say thou art not an incorrigible blockhead, Sancho; a
compound of folly and knavery, wherein malice also is no small
ingredient? Who bids thee meddle with my concerns, or busy thyself
with my folly or discretion? Make no reply; but go and saddle
Rozinante, if he is unsaddled, that I may immediately perform what I
have offered; for in so noble and so just a cause, thou mayest reckon
all those who shall presume to oppose me subdued and overthrown." This
said, up he started, with marks of anger in his looks, to the
amazement of all the company, who were at a loss whether they should
esteem him a madman or a man of sense. They endeavoured to prevail
with him, however, to lay aside his challenge, telling him, they were
sufficiently assured of his grateful nature, without exposing him to
the danger of such demonstrations; and as for his valour, they were so
well informed by the history of his numerous achievements, that there
was no need of any new instance to convince them of it. But all these
representations could not dissuade him from his purpose; and
therefore, having mounted Rozinante, braced his shield and grasped his
lance, he went and posted himself in the middle of the highway, not
far from the verdant meadow, followed by Sancho on his Dapple, and all
the pastoral society, who were desirous to see the event of that
unaccountable defiance.
And now the champion, having taken his ground, made the neighbouring
air ring with the following challenge: "O ye, whoever you are,
knights, squires, on foot or on horseback, that now pass, or shall
pass this road within these two days, know, that Don Quixote de la
Mancha, knight-errant, stays here, to assert and maintain, that the
nymphs who inhabit these groves and meadows, surpass, in beauty and
courteous disposition, all those in the universe, setting aside the
sovereign of my soul, the lady Dulcinea del Toboso. And he that dares
uphold the contrary let him appear."
Twice he repeated these words, and twice they were repeated in vain.
But fortune, that had a strange hand at managing his concerns, now
shewed him a merry sight; for by and by he discovered on the road a
great number of people on horseback, many of them with lances in their
hands, all trooping together very fast. The company that watched Don
Quixote's motions no sooner spied such a squadron, driving the dust
before them, than they got out of harm's way, not judging it safe to
be so near danger; and as for Sancho, he sheltered himself behind
Rozinante's crupper; only Don Quixote stood fixed with an undaunted
courage. When the horsemen came near, one of the foremost, bawling to
the champion, "Ho, ho!" cried he, "get out of the way, or these bulls
will tread thee to pieces." "Go to, you scoundrels!" answered Don
Quixote, "none of your bulls are any thing to me, though the fiercest
that ever were fed on the banks of Xarama. Acknowledge, all in a body,
what I have proclaimed here to be truth, or else stand combat with
me." But the herdsmen had not time to answer, neither had Don Quixote
any to get out of the way, if he had been inclined to it; for the herd
of wild bulls were presently upon him, and a huge company of drivers
and people, that were going to a town where they were to be baited the
next day. So, bearing all down before them, knight and squire, horse
and man, they trampled them under foot at an unmerciful rate. There
lay Sancho mauled, Don Quixote stunned, Dapple bruised, and Rozinante
in very indifferent circumstances. But for all this, after the whole
route of men and beasts were gone by, up started Don Quixote, ere he
was thoroughly come to himself, and staggering and stumbling, falling
and getting up again, as fast as he could, he began to run after them.
"Stop, scoundrels, stop!" cried he aloud; "stay; it is a single knight
defies you all, one who scorns the humour of making a golden bridge
for a flying enemy." But the hasty travellers did not stop, nor
slacken their speed, for all his loud defiance; and minded it no more
than the last year's snow.
At last, weariness stopped Don Quixote; so that, with all his anger,
and no prospect of revenge, he was forced to sit down on the road till
Sancho came up to him with Rozinante and Dapple. Then the master and
man made a shift to remount; and, with more shame than satisfaction,
hastened their journey, without taking leave of their friends of the
new Arcadia.