The story of Don Quixote and his squire Sancho Panza

Preface

HOPE I have not spoiled the dear, delightful old Don, by cutting out some of the tediousness of his biographer. The rambling episodes of those days are wearisome in these ; whilst some other little matters also required accommodating to modern notions, and to young readers, for whom what I have done is more specially designed. The central figure of the crack-brained, but high-minded, and, save for his madness, right-thinking Spanish gentleman, I have tried to bring out with an appreciative hand. Nor has honest Sancho been touched less reverentially. They are a brace of worthies whose intrinsic goodness can only be equalled by their exquisite follies. And so I leave the twain, to be laughed at and admired by all who can enjoy fun, and discern nobility of character, however disguised by oddity or eccentricity.

Jarvis's translation is the one that has been used for my purpose. And I have only to add that I have scrupulously retained the original, homely, vigorous diction of that best presentation to English readers, of the marvellous creation of Cervantes. M. J.

Don Quixote and Sancho reach their own village — The knight

falls ill — Recovers his senses, and dies. . . . 369

AND ll

HIS SOUIRE SANCHO PANZA.

Chapter I

Don Quixote — Prepares for his adventures — Sets out — Is dubbed knight.

N a village of La Mancha, in Spain, there once lived one of those gentlemen who usually keep a lance upon a rack, an old target, a lean horse, and a grey hound for coursing. A dish of boiled meat, consisting of somewhat more beef than mutton, the fragments served up cold on most nights, lentils on Fridays, bread and pull-it on Saturdays, with a small pigeon by way of addition on Sundays, consumed three fourths of his income. The rest was laid out in a surtout of fine black cloth, a pair of velvet breeches for holidays, with slippers of the same ; and on week-days he prided himself on the very best of his own homespun cloth. His family consisted of a housekeeper, somewhat above forty, a niece not quite twenty, and a lad for the field and the market, who both saddled the horse and handled the pruning-hook. The age of our gentleman bordered upon fifty years. He was of a robust constitution, spare-bodied, of a meagre visage ; a very . early riser, and a keen sportsman.

IO THE STORY OF DON QUIXOTE

Now this gentleman, whose name was Alonza Ouixana, had so muddled his brains by reading books of chivalry, stuffed full of stories of knights, and enchanters, and the like, that at last he imagined he was bound to turn knight-errant himself, and wander about the world in search of adventures. So, to prepare for this, the first thing he did was to scour up a suit of armour, which had been his great-great-grandfather's, and being mouMy and rust-eaten, had lain by, many long years, forgotten in ? corner. This he cleaned and furbished up the best he could : but he perceived it had one grand defect, which was, that instead of a helmet, there was only a simple morrion or steel-cap ! a want which he dexterously supplied by contriving a sort of visor of pasteboard, which, being fixed to the headpiece, gave it the appearance of a complete helmet. It is true, indeed, that, to try its strength, and whether it was proof against a cut, he drew his sword, and, giving it two strokes, undid in an instant what he had been a week in doing. But not altogether approving of his having broken it to pieces with so much ease, to secure himself from the like danger for the future he made it over again, fencing it with small bars of iron within, in such a manner, that he rested satisfied of its strength ; and without caring to make a fresh experiment on it, he approved and looked upon it as a most excellent helmet.

He had a wretched horse, all skin and bone, but to his craziness it seemed the most admirable steed in the world ; and after puzzling himself for four days to find a name for it, he fixed upon that of Rozinante, as being both expressive and stately. Eight days' more puzzling supplied him with a name for himself, that of Don Quixote de la Mancha — La Mancha being the name of his province.

His armour being now complete, and his steed, with himself, new named, nothing was wanting but some beautiful damsel, of noble birth, for the love of whom he might perform such wondrous deeds as knights-errant of old were wont ; and a good-looking country girl, who lived hard by, was chosen for this, under the high-sounding title of Dulcinea del Toboso — Toboso being the village where she was born. V

AND HIS SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA. II

All being ready, he got up before daybreak one hot July morning, and, without saying a word to any one, armed himself from head to foot, managed to stick his helmet on his head, mounted Rozinante, braced on his shield, and, grasping his lance, let himself out of his back-yard into the open plain. But he had not gone far, when it suddenly occurred to him that before seeking out any adventures he ought to have been dubbed a knight, and also to wear plain, white armour, without device on the shield, until his own valour had gained him one. It was a terrible difficuty ; got over, however, by making up his mind to be dubbed, according to the usage of chivalry, by the first knight whom he met, and to scour his armour on the earliest, opportunity, until it was as white as snow. Then giving his horse the rein, he jogged along leisurely until night-fall, when, seeing two young women standing at the door of an inn, which his crazed imagination took for a castle, all turrets and battlements, with drawbridge, moat, and everything else that belongs to a stronghold, he drew near, fancying them the ladies of the place. Thegirls were so frightened at seeing a man armed in that manner, with lance and buckler, that they ran off into the house. Upon this, Don Quixote, lifting up the pasteboard visor from his dusty, meagre face, courteously entreated them not to fly, as it was impossible for a knight to injure any one, much less ladies of their exalted rank. The girls laughed so at this, and the knight got so angry at their rudeness, that the landlord, hearing the fuss, came out ; and, with much ado to keep his countenance at the ridiculous figure before him, civilly said, " If your worship is in quest of a lodging, bating a bed (for in this inn there is none to be had), everything else will be found here in great abundance."

Don Quixote, perceiving the humility of the governor of the fortress (for such to him appeared the inn-keeper and the inn), answered, " Anything will serve me, Signor Castellano, for arms are my ornaments, and fighting my repose." The host thought he called him Castellano because he took him for an honest Castilian, and therefore replied, " If it be so, your worship's beds are hard rocks, and your sleep the being always awake ; and since it is so, you may venture to alight, being sure of finding in this poor hut sufficient cause for not sleeping a whole twelvemonth, much more one single night." So saying, he went and held Don Quixote's stirrup, who alighted with much difficulty and pains, for he had not broken his fast all that day. He presently requested of the host to take especial care of his steed, for he was the best piece of horse-flesh that ever ate bread in the world. The inn-keeper did not think him half so good as Don Quixote represented him to be, but, putting him up in the stable, returned to see what his guest would be pleased to order, whom the damsels were unarming (for they were already reconciled to him) ; and though they had taken off the back and breast pieces, they could not find out how to unlace his gorget, or take off the counterfeit beaver, which he had fastened in such a manner with green ribbons, that/ there being no possibility of untying them, they mUst of necessity be cut, which he would by no means consent to. So he remained all that night with his helmet on ; the strangest and most ridiculous figure imaginable.

Whilst the girls were taking off his armour, imagining them to be persons of the first quality, and ladies of that castle, he said to them, with great gaiety, " Never sure was knight so nobly served by ladies as was Don Quixote, after his departure from his village : damsels waited on his person, and princesses on his steed. O Rozinante ! for that, dear ladies, is my horse's name, and Don Quixote de la Mancha is my own ; for though I was not willing to discover myself, until the exploits done for your service and benefit should discover me, the time will come when your ladyships may command, and I obey ; and the valour of my arm shall manifest the desire I have to serve you." The girls, who were not accustomed to such flourishes, answered not a word, but only asked whether he would be pleased to eat anything. " With all my heart," answered Don Quixote ; " anything eatable would, I apprehend, come very seasonably." That day happened to be Friday, and there was nothing to be had in the inn excepting some miserable little dried trouts, which they offered him, saying they had nothing better. " So there be many troutlings," answered Don Quixote, " they may serve me instead of one trout. But, be that as it will, let it come quickly ; for the toil and weight of arms cannot be supported without abundant food." They laid the cloth at the door of the inn, for the sake of the fresh breeze ; and the landlord brought him some of the ill-dried and worse-cooked fish, with a loaf of bread as black and mouldy as his armour : but it was matter of great laughter to see him eat ; for, having his helmet on, and the beaver up, he could not put anything into his mouth with his own hands, but somebody must do it for him : and so one of the aforesaid ladies performed this office. To give him drink, however, would have been utterly impossible, if the host had not bored a reed, and, putting one end into his mouth, poured in the wine leisurely at the other ; all which he suffered patiently, rather than cut the lacings of his helmet.

In the meantime there came to the inn a cow-doctor, who, as soon as he arrived, sounded his whistle of reeds four or five times ; which entirely confirmed Don Quixote in the thought that he was in some famous castle, that they served him with music, and that the poor jack was trouts, the coarse loaf the finest white bread, the girls ladies, and the host governor of the castle ; and so he concluded his resolution to be well taken, and his sally attended with success. But what gave him the most disturbance was, that he was not yet dubbed a knight ; thinking he could not lawfully undertake any adventure, until he had first received the order of knighthood. So, finishing his supper in haste, he called the landlord, and, shutting himself up with him in the stable, fell upon his knees before him and said, " I will never rise from this place, valorous knight, until your courtesy vouchsafes me a boon I mean to beg of you ; which will redound to your own honour, and to the benefit of human kind." The host stared at him, and not knowing what to do or say, strove to raise him from the ground, but in vain, until he had promised to grant him the boon he requested. " I expected no less, sir, from your great magnificence," answered Don Quixote ; " and therefore know, the boon I would request, and has been vouchsafed me by your liberality, is, that you shall to-morrow morning dub me a knight. This night in the chapel of your castle I will watch my armour : and to-morrow, as I have said, what I so earnestly desire shall be accomplished; that I may be duly qualified to wander through the four quarters of the world, in quest of adventures, for the relief of the distressed, as is the duty of chivalry, and of knights-errant."

The host, who was an arch fellow, and had already entertained some suspicions of the madness of his guest, was now thoroughly convinced of it ; and, to make sport for the night, resolved to keep up the joke. So he told him a long rhodomontade about himself having been a knight-errant in his young days, adding, that there was no chapel in his castle, in which to watch his armour (for it had been pulled down in order to be rebuilt) ; but, in cases of necessity, it might be watched wherever he pleased, and that he might do it that night in a court of the castle : the next day he should be dubbed a knight so effectually, that no one in the world could be more so. He asked him also whether he had any money about him ? Don Quixote replied, he had not a farthing, having never read, in the histories of knights-errant, that they carried any. To this the host replied, that he was under a mistake, and advised him never to travel without money, clean shirts, and some other useful matters. This was taken in good part ; and order being presently given for performing the watch of the armour, in a large yard adjoining the inn, Don Quixote, gathering all the pieces of it together, laid them upcn a cistern that stood close to a well ; then bracing on his buckler, and grasping his lance, with a solemn pace he began to walk backward and forward before the cistern, beginning his parade just as the day shut in.

The host told all that were in the inn of the fun that was going on. So they came out to have a look at our knight, and saw that, with a composed air, he sometimes continued his walk ; at other times, leaning upon his lance, he looked wistfully at his armour, in the bright moonlight, without taking off his eyes for a long time together.

While he was thus employed, one of the carriers, who put up there, had a mind to water his mules, and it was necessary first to remove Don Quixote's armour from off the cistern : who,

AND HIS SQUIRE SANCHO PAN£A. 15

seeing him approach, called to him with a loud voice, " Ho ! there, whoever thou art, rash knight, that approachest to touch the arms of the most valorous adventurer that ever girded sword, take heed what thou doest, and touch them not ; unless thou wouldst leave thy life a forfeit for thy temerity." The carrier troubled not his head with these speeches (it had been better for him if he had), but, taking hold of the straps, tossed the armour a good distance from him ; which Don Quixote perceiving, lifted up his eyes to heaven, and fixing his thoughts (as it seemed) on his mistress Dulcinea, said, " Assist me, dear lady, in this first affront offered to the breast enthralled to thee ; let not thy favour and protection fail me in this first moment of danger.'"' Uttering these and the like ejaculations, he let slip his target, and lifting up his lance with both hands, gave the carrier such a blow on the head, as laid him flat on the ground, in such piteous plight, that, had he seconded the blow, there would have been no need of a surgeon. This done, he gathered up his armour, and walked backward and forward with the same gravity as at first.

Soon after, another carrier, not knowing what had happened (for still the first lay stunned), came out with the same intention of watering his mules ; and as he was going to clear the cistern, by removing the armour, Don Quixote, without speaking a word, or imploring anybody's protection, again let slip his target, and lifting up his lance, broke the second carrier's head in three or four places. All the people of the inn ran out together at the noise, the inn-keeper among the rest, and the comrades of those that were wounded began to let fly a shower of stones at Don Quixote ; who sheltered himself the best he could under his shield, and durst not stir from the cistern, lest he should seem to abandon his armour. The host cried out to them to let him alone, for he had already told them he was mad, and that he would be acquitted as a madman though he should kill them all. Don Quixote also cried out louder, calling them cowards and traitors, and the lord of the castle a poltroon and a base-born knight, for suffering knights-errant to be treated in that manner ; and that, if he had received the order of knighthood, he would make him smart for his treachery : " But for you, rascally and base scoundrels," said he, " I do not value you a straw : draw near, come on, and do your worst ; you shall quickly see the reward you are like to receive of your folly and insolence." This he uttered with so much vehemence and resolution, that he struck a terrible dread into the hearts of the assailants ; and for this reason, together with the landlord's persuasions, they forebore throwing any more stones ; so he permitted the wounded to be carried off, returning to the watch of his armour with the same tranquillity and sedateness as before.

The host now thought it high time to dub him knight before worse came of it ; so telling him he had already sufficiently watched his armour, and that knighthood might (in case of need) be as well conferred in the middle of a field, as in the chapel of a castle, he brought out the book in which he entered the accounts of the straw and barley he furnished to the carriers, and, with the two girls, a boy carrying an end of candle before them, he came where Don Quixote was, whom he commanded to kneel. Then, reading as if out of his book, in the midst of it he lifted up his hand, and gave him a good blow on the nape of the neck, and after that, with his own sword, a handsome thwack on the shoulder, still muttering in a low tone. This done, he ordered one of the ladies to gird on his sword, which she did with the most obliging freedom, and discretion too, of which not a little was needful to keep them from bursting with laughter ; but indeed, the exploits they had already seen our new knight perform kept their mirth within bounds. At girding on the sword, the lady said, " May you be a fortunate knight, and victorious in battle." Don Quixote asked her name, that he might know to whom he was indebted for the favour received ; for he intended her a share of the honour he should acquire by the valour of his arm. She replied that she was called La Tolosa, and was a cobbler's daughter of Toledo. Don Quixote then desired her, for his sake, thenceforward to add to her name the Donna, and to call herself Donna Tolosa ; which she promised to do. The other buckled on his spurs, and was also entreated to make a lady of herself, by adding the Donna to her surname of Molenaria.

This done, the knight immediately mounted Rozinante, and, with a thousand thanks to the host for the favour he had conferred upon him, set forth in search of adventures.

Chapter II

In search of adventures — His first redress of wrongs — Adventure with the merchants of Toledo — Brought ho?ne, battered and bruised — His friends burn his books of chivalry.

|T was about break of day, when Don Quixote issued forth from the inn, so delighted to see himself knighted, that the joy thereof almost burst his horse's girths. But recollecting the advice of his host concerning the necessary provisions for his undertaking, especially the articles of money and clean shirts, he resolved to return home, and furnish himself accordingly, and also provide himself with a squire : purposing to take into his service a certain country-fellow of the neighbourhood, who was poor, and had children, yet was very fit for the squirely office of chivalry. With this thought, he turned Rozinante towards his village ; but had not gone far, when, on his right hand, from a thicket hard by, he fancied he heard a weak voice, as of a person complaining. Scarcely had he heard it, when he said, "I thank heaven for the favour it does me, in laying before me so early an opportunity of complying with the duty of my profession, and of reaping the fruit of my honourable desires. These are, doubtless, the cries of some distressed person, who stands in need of my protection and assistance." And turning the reins, he put Rozinante forward towards the place from whence he thought the voice came. He had entered but a few paces into the wood, when he saw a mare tied to an oak, and a lad to another, stripped from the waist upwards, who was the person that cried out ; and not without cause, for a stout country-fellow was laying on him very severely with a belt, and accompanying every lash with a reprimand and a word of advice ; for, said he, " The tongue slow and the eyes quick." The boy answered, " I will do so no more, dear sir ; indeed, I will never do so again ; and I promise for the future to take more care of the flock."

Now Don Quixote, seeing what passed, said in an angry tone, " Discourteous knight, it ill becomes thee to meddle with one who is not able to defend himself; get upon thy horse, and take thy lance " (for he had also a lance leaning against the oak, to which the mare was fastened), " for I '11 make thee know that it is cowardly to do what thou art doing." The countryman, seeing such a figure coming towards him, armed from head to foot, and brandishing his lance at his face, gave himself up for a dead man, and, with good words, answered, " Signor Cavalier, this lad, whom I am chastising, is a servant of mine ; I employ him to tend a flock of sheep which I have hereabouts, and he is so careless, that I lose one every day ; and because I correct him for his negligence or roguery, he says I do it out of covetousness, and for an excuse not to pay him his wages ; but, upon my word, he lies." — " Lies, in my presence ! pitiful rascal," said Don Quixote ; " by the sun that shines upon us, I have a good mind to run thee through and through with this lance : pay him immediately, without further reply \ if not, I vow I will despatch and annihilate thee in a moment ! Untie him instantly !" The countryman hung down his head, and without replying a word, untied the boy. Don Quixote asked the lad how much his master owed him, who answered, nine months' wages, at seven sixpences a month. Don Quixote reckoned it, and found that it amounted to sixty-three sixpences ; so he bade the countryman instantly disburse them, otherwise he must expect to die for it. The fellow in a fright cried out, that it was not so much ; for he must deduct the price of three pair of shoes he had given the lad upon account, and sixpence for physic when he was not well. " All this is very right," said Don Quixote; " but set the shoes and the physic against the stripes you have given him undeservedly ; so that upon these accounts he owes you nothing." — " The mischief is, Signor Cavalier," said the countryman, " that I have no money about me ; but let Andres go home with me, and I will pay him to the last penny." — " I go with him ! " said the lad ; " not I ; for, when he has me alone, he will lace my jacket with a vengeance." — " He will not do so," replied Don Quixote ; " it is sufficient that I lay my commands upon him ; and upon condition he swears to me, by the order of knighthood which he has received, I will let him go free, and will be bound for the payment." And so saying, he clapped spurs to Rozinante, and was soon a good way off.

The countryman followed him with all the eyes he had ; and when Don Quixote was out of sight, he turned to his man Andres, and said, " Come hither, child, I am resolved to pay thee what I owe thee, as that redresser of wrongs commanded me." — " So you shall," said Andres ; " and you will do well to perform what that hOnest gentleman has commanded, who, if you do not pay me, will certainly come back and execute what he has threatened." — " And so say I too," said the countryman ; " but to show thee how much I love thee, I am resolved to augment the debt to increase the payment ! " And taking him by the arm, he tied him again to the tree, where he laid upon him smartly, with many threats of worse in store for him. Andres went away in a passion, vowing he would find out the valorous Don Quixote de la Mancha, tell him all that had passed, and his master should pay for it sevenfold.

The valorous Don Quixote was extremely well pleased with himself for this ; and coming presently to the centre of four roads, he stood still a while, after the manner of knights-errant, to consider which he should take. At last, he let go the reins, submitting to be guided by his horse, who took the direct road toward his stable. Having gone about two miles, Don Quixote discovered a company of people, who, as it afterwards appeared, were certain merchants of Toledo, going to buy silks in Murcia. There were six of them, and they came with their umbrellas, four servants on horseback, and three muleteers on foot. Scarce had Don Quixote espied them, when, imagining it some new adventure, he determined to imitate, as near as possibly he could, w r hat he had read in his books. So he settled himself firmly in his stirrups, grasped his lance, covered his breast with his target, and, posting himself in the midst of the highway, stood waiting the coming up of those knights-errant, for such he judged them to be. When they were come so near as to be seen and heard, raising his voice, he, with an arrogant air, cried out, " Let the whole world stand, if the whole world does not confess, that there is not in the whole world a damsel more beautiful than the empress of La Mancha, the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso." The merchants stopped at these words, and by them, together with the strange figure of the knight, soon perceived the madness of the speaker ; whereupon one of them, who was somewhat of a wag, said to him, " Signor Cavalier, we do not know who this lady you mention may be ; let us but see her and, if she is of so great beauty as you intimate, we will, with all our hearts, confess that truth you demand from us." — " Should I show her to you," replied Don Quixote, " where would be the merit in confessing a truth so evident? the business is, that, without seeing her, you believe, confess, affirm, swear, and maintain it ; and if not, I challenge you all to battle, proud and monstrous as you are : and, whether you come on one by one (as the laws of chivalry require), or all together, as is the custom and wicked practice of those of your stamp, here I wait for you, confiding in the justice of my cause." — " Signor Cavalier," replied the merchant, " I beseech your worship, in the name of all the princes here present, in order that we may not lay a burden upon our consciences, by confessing a thing we never saw nor heard, that your worship would be pleased to show us some picture of this lady, though no bigger than a barleycorn ; and herewith we shall rest satisfied, and your worship remain contented, for indeed we are already so inclined to side with your worship, that I verily believe, if her picture showed her as ugly as sin, we should, just to oblige you, protest she was as beautiful as an angel." — " Base scoundrels," answered the knight, in a rage, "the lady Dulcinea is perfection itself, and you shall pay dear for your monstrous ignorance of her