CHAP. IX. Of that which befell the famous Don-Quixote in Siera Mo nare, which was one of the most rare Adventures that in this or any other so authenticall a History is recounted. D on-Quixote seeing himself in so ill plight, said to his Squire Sancho, I have heard say oft-times, that to doe good to men unthankfull, is to cast water into the Sea. If I had believed what thou said'st to me, I might well have prevented all this grief: but now that is past, patience, and be wiser another time. You will take warning as much by this, quoth Sancho, as I am a Turk. But since you say, that if you had believed me, you had avoided this grief, believe me now and you shall eschue a greater: for you must wit, that no Knighthood nor Chival • y is of any authority with the Holy Brotherhood; for it cares not two farthings for all the Knights Errant in the world; and know, that me thinks I hear their arrows buz about mine ears already. Sancho, thou art a naturall coward, quoth Don-Quixote; but be cause thou may'st not say that I am obstinate, and that I never follow thine advice, I will take thy counsell this time, and convey my self from that furie which now thou fearest so much: but it shall bee on a condition, that thou never tell alive nor dying to any mortall Creature, that I retired or withdrew my self out of this danger for fear; but only to satisfie thy requests: For if thou sayest any other thing, thou shalt belie me most falsly: and even from this very time till that, and from thence untill now I give thee the lie herein; and I say thou lyest, and shalt lie as oft times as thou sayest or doest think the contrary; and doe not reply to me: For in onely thinking that I withdraw my self out of, any perill, but principally this, which seems to carry with it some shadow of fear: I am about to remain and expect here alone, not only for the Holy Brotherhood, which thou namest and fearest; but also for the Bretheren of the twelve Tribes, for the seven Macchabees, for Castor and Pollux, and for all the other Brothers and Brotherhoods in the world. Sir, answered Sancho, to retire is not to flie; and to expect is wisdome, when the danger exceepeth all hope: and it is the part of a wise men to keep himself safe to day for to morrow; and not to adventure himself wholy in one day. And know, that although I be but a rude Clown, yet doe I for all that understand somewhat of that which men call good government: and therefore doe not repent your self for following mine advice, but mount on Rozinante if you be able; if not, I will help you, and come after me; for my minde gives me that wee shall now have more use of leggs then hands. Don-Quixote leaped on his horse, without replying a word, and Sancho guiding him on his Asse, they both entred into that part of Sierra Morena [A great and large Moun tain of Spain] that was neer unto them: Sancho had a secret designe to cross over it all, and issue at Viso or Amadovar of Campo, and in the mean time to hide themselves for some dayes among those craggie and intricate Rocks, to the end they might not bee found by the Holy Bortherhood, if it did make after them. And hee was the more incouraged to doe this, because hee saw their Provision which hee carried on his Asse had escaped safely out of the skirmish of the Gally-slaves; a thing which hee accounted to bee a miracle, considering the diligence that the Slaves had used to search and carrie away all things with them. They arrived that night into the very mid'st and bowels of the Mountain, and there Sancho thought it fittest to spend that night, yea and some other few dayes also, at least as long as their Victuales indured, and with this resolution they took up their lodging among a number of Cork-Trees that grew between two Rocks. But fatall chance, which according to the opinion of those that have not the light of faith, guideth, directeth, and compounde • h all as it liketh, ordained, that that famous Cousener and Thief Gines de Passamonte, who was before delivered out of chains by Don-Quixotes force and folly, perswaded through fear he conceived of the Holy Brotherhood (whom hee had just cause to fear) resolved to hide himself likewise in that Mountain, and his fortune and fears led him just to the place where it had first addrest Don-Quixote and his Squire, just at such time as hee might perceive them, and they both at that instant fallen asleep: And as evill-men are evermore ingratefull, and that necessity forceth a man to attempt that which it urgeth, and likewise that the pre sent redresse prevents the expectation of a future, Gines, who was neither gratefull nor gratious, resolved to steal away Sancho his Asse, making no account of Rozinante, as a thing neither saleable nor pawnable: Sancho slept soundly, and so hee stole his beast, and was before morning so farre off from thence, as hee feared not to bee found. Aurora sallied forth at last to refresh the earth, and affright Sancho with a most sorrowfull accident, for he presently missed his Asse; and so seeing himself deprived of him, hee began the most sad and do • efull lamentation of the world; in such sort as hee awaked Don-Quixote with his out-cries, who heard that he said thus. O child of my howels; borne in mine own house; the sport of my children; the comfort of my wife; and the envie of my neighbours; the ease of my burdens; and finally, the susteiner of half of my person: for with six and twenty Marvidiis, that I gained dayly by thee, I did defray half of mine expences! Don-Quixote who heard the plaint, and knew also the cause, did comfort Sancho with the best words hee could devise, and desired him to have patience, promising to give a letter of exchange, to the end that they of his house might deliver him three Asses of five, which hee had left at home. Sancho comforted himself again with this promise, and dryed up his tears, moderated his sighs, and gave his Lord thanks for so great a favour: And as they entred in farther among those Mountains wee cannot recount the joy of our Knight, to whom those places seemed most accommodate to atchieve the Adventures hee searched for. They reduced to his memory the marvellous accidents that had befaln Knights Errant in like Solitudes and Desarts: And hee rode so over-whelmed and transported by these thoughts, as hee remembred nothing else; nor Sancho had any other care (after hee was out of fear to bee taken) but how to fill his belly with some of the r • licks which yet remained of the Clericall spoyles; and so hee followed his Lord, taking now and then out of a basket (which Rozinante carried for want of the Asse) some meat, lining there-withall his paunch: and whilest hee went thus imployed, hee would not have given a 〈◊〉 to encounter any other Adventure, how honourable soever. But whilst he was thus busied, he espyed his Master labouring to take up with the point of his Javeline, some bulk or other that lay on the ground, and went towards him to see whether hee needed his help just at the season that he lifted up a saddle Cushion and a Portmantue fast to it, which were half 〈◊〉 or rather wholly roited by the weather, yet they weighed so much that Sanchoes assistance was requisite to take them up: and straight his Lord commanded him to see what was in the Wallet. Sancho obeyed with expedition. And although it was shut with a chaine and hanging lock, yet by the parts which were torn he saw what was within, to wit four fine Holland shirts, and other 〈◊〉 both curious and clean: and moreover a handkercher, wherein was a good quantity of Gold: which he perceiving said, Blessed bee Heaven which hath once presented to us a beneficiall Adventure: And searching for more, he found a Tablet very costly bound. This Don-Quixote took of him, com manding him to keep the gold with himself; for which rich favour Sancho did presently kisse his handes: and after taking all the linnen, hee clapt it up in the bag of their Virtuals. Don-Quixote having stored all these things, said; Me thinks Sancho (and it cannot bee possible any other) that some trav •• ler having left his way, past through this Mountain, and being encountred by thieves, they slew him, and buried him in this secret place. It cannot bee so, answered Sancho; for if they were Theeves, they would not have left this money behind them. Thou sayest true, quoth Don-Quixote, and therefore I cannot conjecture what it might be: but stay a while, we will see whether there be any thing written in these Tablets, by which we may vent and finde out that which I desire. Then he opened it, and the first thing that he found written in it, as it were a first draught, but done with a very faire Character, was a Sonnet which he read aloud, that Sancho might also hear it, and was this which ensues. OR love of understanding quite is voyde: Or he abounds in cruelty, or my paine Th'occasion equals not; for which I bide The torments dir • , he maketh me sustaine. But if love be a God, I dare maintaine He nought ignores: and reason aye decides Gods should not cruell be: then who ordaines This paine I worship, which my heart devides? Filis! I err, if thou I say it is: For so great ill and good cannot consist. Nor doth this wrack from Heav'n befall, but yet, That shortly I must die can no way misse: For th'evill whose cause is hardly well exprest By miracle alone, true cure may get. Nothing can bee learned by that Verse, quoth Sancho, if by that Hilo or thread [An allusion to the Spanish word Hilo, signifying a thread.] which is said there, you gather not where lies the rest of the clue. What Hilo is here, quoth Don-Quixote? Me thought, quoth Sancho, that you read Hilo there. I did not, but Fili, said Don-Quixote, which is without doubt the name of the Lady, on whom the Authour of this Sonnet complains, who in good truth seems to bee a reasonable good Poet, or else I know but little of that Art. Why then, quoth Sancho, belike you doe also understand Poetry. That I doe, and more then thou thinkest, quoth Don-Quixote, as thou shalt see when thou shalt carry a Letter from me to my Lady Dulcinea de • Toboso, written in verse from the one end to the other: For I would thou shouldest know, Sancho, that all or the greater num ber of Knights Errant, in times past, were great Versifiers and Musitians: For these two qualities, or graces as I may better terme them, are annext to amorous Knights Adventures. True it is, that the Verses of the ancient Knights are not so adorned with words as they are rich in conceits. I pray you read more, quoth Sancho; for perhaps you may finde somewhat that may satisfie. Then Don-Quixote turned the leaf, and said, This is prose and seems to bee a Letter. What Sir, a missive Letter, quoth Sancho? No, but rather of Love, ac cording to the beginning, quoth Don-Quixote. I pray you therefore, quoth Sancho, read it loud enough; for I take great delight in these things of Love. I am content, quoth Don-Quixote: And reading it loudly, as Sancho had requested, it said as ensueth. Thy false promise and my certain misfortune, doe carry me to such a place, as from thence thou shalt sooner receive news of my death, then reasons of my just complaints. Thou hast disdained me (O ingrate) for one that hath more, but not for one that is worth more then I am: But if virtue were a treasure of estimation, I would not Emu late other mens fortunes, nor weep thus for mine own misfortunes. That which thy beauty erected thy works have overthrown: by it I deemed thee to bee an Angell, and by these I certainly know thee to bee but a woman. Rest in peace (O causer of my War) and let Heaven work so, that thy Spouses deceits remain still concealed, to the end thou maiest not repent what thou did'st, and I bee constrained to take revenge of that I de sire not. Having read the Letter, Don-Quixote said, Wee can collect lesse by this then by the Verses, what the Authour is, other then that hee is some disdained Lover. And so passing over all the book, hee found other Verses and Letters, of which he could read some, others not at all. But the summe of them all were, Accusations, Plaints, and Mistrusts, Pleasures, Griefs, Favours, and Disdains, some Solemnized, others De plored. And whilest Don-Quixote past over the Book, Sancho past over the Malet, without leaving a corner of it or the Cushion unsearched, or a seam unript, nor a lock of wooll uncarded, to the end that nothing might remain behinde for want of dilli gence or carelessenesse. The found gold which past a hundred crowns, had stir'd in him such a greedinesse to have more. And though hee got no more then that which hee found at the first, yet did hee account his flights in the Coverlet, his vomitting of the Drench, the benedictions of the Pack-staves, the blows of the Carrier, the losse of his Wallet, the robbing of his Cas • ock, and all the hunger thirst and wearinesse that hee had past in the service of his good Lord and Master, for well imployed; account ing himself to be more then well payed by the gifts received of the money they found. The Knight of the Ill-favoured face was the while possessed with a marvellous desire to know who was the owner of the malet, conjecturing by the Sonnet and Letter, the gold and Linnen, that the enamoured was some man of worth, whom the disdain and rigour of his Lady had conducted to some desperate termes. But by reason that no body appeared, through that inhabitable and Desart place, by whom hee might bee informed, hee thought on it no more, but only rode on, without choosing any other way then that which pleased Rozinante to travail, who took the plainest and easiest to passe thorow having still an imagination that there could not want some strange Ad venture amid'st that Forrest. And as he rode on with this conceit, hee saw a man on the top of a little Mountain that stood just before his face, leap from Rock to Rock, and Tuff to Tuff, with won de • full dexterity. And as hee thought was naked, had a black and thick beard; the hairs many and confusedly mingled; his feet and leggs bare; his thighs were covered with a pair of hose, which seemed to bee of murry Velvet, but were so torn, that they discovered his flesh in many places: His head was likewise bare; and although hee past by with the haste wee have recounted, yet did The Knight of the ill-favoured face note all these particulars; and although hee endeavoured, yet could not hee follow him; for it was not in Rozinantes power, in that weake state wherein hee was, to travail so swiftly among those Rocks chiefly being naturally very slow and fleg matick. Don-Quixote after espying him, did instantly imagine him to bee the owner of the Cushion and Malet; and therefore resolved to goe on in his search, although hee should spend a whole yeer therein among those Mountains; and commanded Sancho to goe about the one side of the Mountain, and hee would goe the other, and, quoth hee, it may befall, that by using this dilligence, wee may incounter with that man which vanished so suddainly out of our sight. I cannot doe so, quoth Sancho; for that in parting one step from you, fear presently so assalts me with a thousand visions and affrightments. And let this serve you here after for a warning to the end you may not henceforth part me the black of a nail from your presence. It shall be so, answered The Knight of the ill-favoured face: and I am very glad that thou doest thus build upon my valour, the which shall never fail thee, al though thou didest want thy very • oul; and therefore follow me by little and little or as thou mayest, and make of thine eyes two Lant-hornes; for wee will give a turne about this little Rock, and perhaps wee may meet with this man whom we saw even now, who doublesly can bee none other then the owner of our booty. To which Sancho, replyed, It were much better not to finde him: for if wee should meet him, and were by chance the owner of this money, it is most evident that I must restore it to him; and therefore it is better without using this unprofitable dilligence, to let me possesse it bona fide, untill the true Lord shall appear by some way lesse cu rious and dilligent: which perhaps may fall at such a time as it shall bee all spent; and in that case I am free from all Processes by priviledge of the King. Thou deceivest thy self, Sancho, therein, quoth Don-Quixote: for seeing wee are fallen already into suspition of the owner, wee are bound to search and restore it to him: and when wee would not seek him out, yet the vehement presumption that wee have of it, hath made us possessors mala-fide, and renders us as culpable as if hee whom we surmise were verily the true Lord. So that, friend Sancho, be not grieved to seek him, in respect of the grief whereof thou shalt free me if he be found. And saying so spur'd Rozinante, and Sancho followed after a foot, animated by the hope of the young Asses his Master had promised unto him: And having compassed a part of the Moun tain, they found a little stream, wherein lay dead, and half devoured by Doggs and Crows, a Mule saddled and bridled, all which confirmed more in them the suspition, that hee which fled away was owner of the Mule and Cushion. And as they looked on it, they heard a whistle, much like unto that which Sheepheards use as they keep their Flocks, and presently appeared at their left hand a great number of Goats, after whom the Goatheard that kept them, who was an aged man followed on the top of the Mountain; and Don-Quixote cried to him, requesting him to come down to them: who answered them again as loudly; demanding of them, who had brought them to those Desarts rarely trodden by any other then Goats, Wolves, or other Savage Beasts which frequented those Mountains? Sancho answered him, That if hee would descend where they were, they would give him account thereof. With that the Sheepheard came down, and arriving to the place where Don-Quixote was, hee said; I dare wager that you look on the hyred Mule which lies dead there in that bottome; well, in good faith, he hath lien in that very place these six moneths. Say, I pray you, have not you met in the way with the Master thereof? Wee have encountred no body but a Cushion and a little Malet, which we found not very far off from hence. I did likewise finde the same, replyed the Goat-heard, but I would never take it up nor approach to it, fearfull of some misdemeanor, or that I should be hereafter demanded for it as for a stealth. For the Divell is crafty, and now and then something ariseth, even from under a mans feet, whereat he stumbles and falls, without knowing how or how not. That is the very same, I say, quoth Sancho: for I likewise found it, but would not approach it the cast of a stone: There I have left it; and there it remains as it was; for I would not have a Dog with a Bell. Tell me good fellow, quoth Don-Quixote, dost thou know who is the owner of all these things? That which I can say, answered the Goat-heard, is, that about some six moneths past, little more or lesse, there arrived at a certain Sheep fold some three leagues off, a young Gentleman of comely personage, and presence, mounted on that very Mule which lies dead there, and with the same Cushion and Malet which you say you met, but touched not. Hee demanded of us, which was the most hidden and inaccessable part of the Mountain? And we told him that this wherein we are now: And it is true; for if you did enter but half a league farther, perhaps you would not finde the way out again so readily: and I doe greatly marvell how you could finde the way hither it self; for there is neither high way nor path that may addresse any to this place. I say then, that the young man, as soon as he heard our answer, he turned the bridle, and travelled towards the place we shewed to him, leaving us all with very great liking of his comelinesse, and marvelled at his demand and speed, wherewith he departed and made towards the Mountain: and after that time, we did not see him a good many of dayes, untill by chance one of our Sheepheards came by with our provision of victuals, to whom hee drew nee • , without speaking a word, and spurned and bea • him welfavour'dly, and after went to the Asse which carried our victuals, and taking away all the Bread and Cheese that was there, hee fled into the Mountain with wonderfull speed. When we heard of this, some of us Goat-heards, we went to search for him, and spent therein almost two dayes in the most solitary places of this Mountain, and in the end found him lurking in the hollow part of a very tall and great Corke-tree; who as soon as he perceived us, came forth to meet us with great staidnesse; His apparrell was all torn; his visage disfigured, and toasted with the Sunne in such manner, as we could scarce know him, if it were not that his attire, although rent, by the notice we had of it, did give us to understand that he was the man for whom we sought. He saluted us courteously, and in brief and very good reasons he said, that we ought not to mar vell, seeing him goe in that manner; for that it behoved to doe so, that he might ac complish a certain penance injoyned to him, for the many sinns hee had committed. We prayed him to tell us what he was; but we could never perswade him to it. Wee requested him likewise, that whensoever hee had any need of meat (without which hee could not live) hee should tell us where we might finde him, and wee would bring it to him with great love and dilligence; and that if he also did not like of this motion, that he would at least wise come and ask it, and not take it violently, as he had done before from our Sheepheards. He thanked us very much for our offer, and intreated pardon of the assults passed, and promised to ask it from thence forward for Gods sake, without giving annoyance to any one. And touching his dwelling or place of abode, he said, That he had none other then that where the night overtook him, and ended his Discourse with so feelling laments, that we might well be accounted stones which heard him, if therein we had not kept him company, considering the state wherein wee had seen him first; and that wherein now he was. For as I said, he was a very comely and gracious young man, and shewed by his courteous and orderly speech, that he was well borne, and a Court-like person: For though wee were all Clowns, such as did hear him, his Gentility was such as could make it self known, even to rudenesse it self: And being in the best of his Discourse, he stopt and grew silent, fixing his eyes on the ground a good while, wherein we likewise stood still suspended, expecting in what that distraction would end, with no little compassion to behold it; for we easily perceived that some accident of madness had surprized him, by his staring & beholding the earth so fixedly, without once moving the eye-lid; And other times by the shutting of them, the byting of his lips, and bending of his brows. But very spee dily after, he made us certain thereof himself: for rising from the ground (wheron he had thrown himself a little before) with great furie, he set upon him that sate next unto him, with such courage and rage, that if wee had not taken him away, he would have slain him with blows and bites; and hee did all this, saying, O treacherous Fer nando, here, here thou shalt pay me the injurie that thou did'st me; these hands shall rent out the heart, in which doe harbour and are heaped all evills together, but princi pally fraud and deceit: And to these hee added other words, all addrest to the dis praise of that Fernando, and to attach him of treason and untruth. Wee tooke from him at last, not without difficulty, our fellow, and hee without saying a word departed from us, embushing himselfe presently among the bushes and brambles, leaving us wholly disabled to follow him in those rough and unhaunted pla ces. By this wee gathered that his madnesse comes to him at times, and that some one called Fernando, had done some ill worke of such weight, as the termes shew, to which it hath brought him. All which hath after beene yet confirmed as often (which were many times) as hee came out to the fields, sometimes to demand meat of the Sheep heards, and other times to take it of them perforce; for when hee is taken with this fit of madnesse, although the Sheepheards doe offer him meat willingly, yet will not hee receive, unlesse hee take it with buffets: and when hee is in his right sense, hee asks it for Gods sake, with courtesie and humanitie, and renders many thanks, and that not without teares. And in very truth, Sir, I say unto you, quoth the Goat-heard, that I and foure others, whereof two are my men, other two my friends, resolved yester day to search untill wee found him, and being found, either by force or faire meanes, wee will carry him to the towne of Almodaver, which is but eight leagues from hence, and there will wee have him cured, if his disease may bee holpen, or at least wee shall learne what hee is, when hee turnes to his wits, and whether hee hath any friends to whom notice of his misfortune may bee given. This is, Sirs, all that I can say concer ning that which you demand of mee; and you shall understand that the owner of those things which you saw in the way, is the very same, whom you saw passe by you so na ked and nimble: for Don-Quixote had told him by this, that hee had seen that man goe by, leaping among the Rocks. Don-Quixote rested marvailously admired at the Goatheards tale, and with greater desire to know who that unfortunate mad-man was, purposed with himselfe, as he had already resolved, to search him throughout the Mountaines, without leaving a corner or Cave of it unsought, untill hee had gotten him. But Fortune disposed the matter better then hee expected; for hee appeared in that very instant in a clift of a Rock, that answered to the place where they stood speaking, who came towards them, murmu ring somwhat to himselfe, which could not bee understood neere at hand, and much lesse a farre off: His aparrell was such as wee have delivered, only differing in this, as Don-Quixote perceived when hee drew neerer, that hee wore on him, although torne, a leather Jerkin, perfumed with Amber; by which hee throughly collected, that the person which wore such attire was not of the least qualitie. When the young man came to the place where they discoursed, hee saluted them with a hoarce voice, but with great courtesie: and Don-Quixote returned him his gree tings with no lesse complement; and alighting from Rozinante, hee advanced to im brace him with very good carriage and countenance, and held him a good while streightly betweene his armes, as if hee had known him of long time. The other, whom wee may call The unfortunate Knight of the Kock, as well as Don-Quixote the Knight of the illfavored face; after hee had permitted himselfe to bee imbraced a while, did step a little off from our Knight, and laying his hand on his shoulders, began to be hold him earnestly, as one desirous to call to minde whether hee had ever seene him be fore; being perhaps no lesse admired to see Don-Quixotes figure, proportion and Armes, then Don-Quixote was to view him. In resolution, the first that spoke after the imbracing, was the ragged Knight, and said what wee will presently recount.