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About Google Book Search Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web at |http: //books .google .com/I I THE TUDOR TRANSLATIONS EDITED BY W. E. HENLEY XIV THE HISTORY OF DON QUIXOTE OF THE MANCHA TRANSLATED PBOH THE SPANISH OF MIGUEL DE CEBVANTE8 BY THOMAS SH ELTON ANNU l6l8, l6S0 With Introductions by JAMES FITZMAURICE-KELLY VOLUME II LONDON Publiehed by DAVID NUTT IN THE STRAND 1896 storage PO Edinbargh : T. and A» Comitablb, Printers to Her Maieaty THE TABLE OF THE FOURTH BOOKE of the delightfull Historie of Don-Quixote CHAPTER I PAGB Wherein is discoursed the new and pleasant adventure, that happened to the Curate and Barber in Sierra Morena . 1 CHAPTER II Which treates of the discretion of the beautifull Dorotea : and of the artificial! maner used to disswade the amorous Knight from continuing his penance, and how hee was gotten away ; with many other delightfull and pleasant occurrences 18 CHAPTER III Of many pleasant discourses passed betweene Don-Quixote, and those of his companie, after that he had abandoned the rigorous place of his penance . .31 CHAPTER nil Of the pleasant discourses continued betweene Don-Quixote, and his Squire Sancho Pan^a, with other adventures 43 CHAPTER V Treating of that which befell all Don-Quixotes traine in the Inue 53 CHAPTER VI Wherein is recounted the novell of the Curious Impertinent 61 CHAPTER VII Wherein is prosecuted the novell of the Curious Impertinent 83 • V THE FIRST PART OF THE CHAPTER VIII PAGB Wherein is finished the novell of the Curious Impertinent : and likewise recounted the rough incounter passed betweene Don- Quixote^ and certaine bagges of red Wine . . 104 CHAPTER IX Which treates of many rare successes befiJlen in the Inne . 114 CHAPTER X Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the fitmous Princesse Mico- micona^ with other delightfull adventures . 125 CHAPTER XI Treating of the curious discourse made by I>on-42uixote> upon the exercise of Armes and Letters .... 136 CHAPTER XII Wherein the captive recounteth his life> and other accidents . 141 CHAPTER XIII Wherein is prosecuted the Historic of the Captive . 160 CHAPTER XIIII Wherein the Captive yet continueth the pleasant narration of his life ........ 164 CHAPTER XV Which speakes of that which befell afterward in the Inne> and of sundrie other things worthy of knowledge . 186 CHAPTER XVI Wherein is recounted the Historie of the Lackey^ with other strange adventures befallen in the Inne . 194 CHAPTER XVII Wherein are prosecuted the wonderfull adventures of the Inne 206 vi HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE CHAPTER XVIII PAGE Wherein are decided the controversies of Mambrinos Helmet, and the Asses pannell^ with other strange adventures most douhtlesly befallen ...... 214 CHAPTER XIX In which is finished the notable adventure of the troupers: and the great ferodtie of our good Knight Don-Quixote, and how he was inchanted ...... 223 CHAPTER XX Wherdn is prosecuted the manner of Don-Quixotes inchantment, with other fiunous occurrences .... 232 CHAPTER XXI Wherein the Canon continueth his discourse upon Bookes of Chivalrie with many other things worthy of his note . 243 CHAPTER XXII Wherein is laide downe the very discreete discourse that passed betweene Sanco Pan^ and his Lord Don-Quixote . 252 CHAPTER XXIII Of the discreete contention passed betweene Don-Quixote and the Canon, with other accidents ..... 260 CHAPTER XXIIII Relating that which the Goateheard told to those that carried away Don-Quixote ...... 267 CHAPTER XXV Of the falling out of Don-Quixote with the Goateheard : with the adventure of the disciplinants, to which the Knight gave end although to his cost ..... 273 Vll THE FOURTH BOOKE CHAPTER I Wherein is discoursed the new and pleasant adven- \ip& that hapned to the Curate and Barber, in Sierra Morena. IJOST happy and fortunate were those times, wherein the thrise audacious and bold Kiiigbt Don-Quixote of the Mancha was bestowed on the world ; by whose most Honorable resolution, to revive and re- nue in it the already worne out, and 2 welnigh diseased exercise of armes, wee joy in this our so niggard and scant an age of all pastimes, not onely the sweetnesse of his true Historie, but also of the other tales, and digressions con- tained therein, which are in some respects lesse pleasing, arti6Giall and true, then the very History it selfe. The which prosecuting the carded, spun, and selfetwined threede of the relation saves, that as the Curate began to bethinke himselfe upon some answere that might both confort and animate Cardenio, hee was hindered by a voyce which came to his hearing, said very dolefully the words ensuing : O God ! is it possible that I have yet found out the place which may serve for a hidden Sepulchre, to the load or this loathsome body that I unwillingly beare so long ? Yes it may be, if the solitannesse of these rockes doe not illude me, ah unfortunate that I am ! How much more gratefull 3:A 1 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER companions will these cracges and thickets prove to my I designes, by affoording me leisure to communicate my mis- Wherein is haps to heaven with plaints ; then that if any mortall man discoursed livmg, since there is none upon earth from whom may be plMSMt *° expected counsell in doubts, ease in complaints, or in harmes adventure remedie. The Curate and his companions heard and under- that hapned stood all the words cleerely, and for as much as they con- *^*?R«L K*^ jectured (as indeede it was) that those plaints were deUvered in Sierra^'* very neere unto them, they did all arise to search out the Morena. plaintifiPe ; and having gone some twenty steppes thence, they beheld a young youth behinde a rocke, sitting under an Ashe tree, and attired like a country Swaine, whom by reason his face was inclined, as hee sate washing of his feete in the cleere streame that glided that way, they could not perfectly disceme; and therefore approched towards him with so great silence, as they were not descryed by him who only attended to the washing of his feet, which were so white, as they properly resembled two pieces of cleere crystall, that grew among the other stones of the streame. The whitenesse and beauty of the feet amazed them, being not made as they well conjectured, to tread cloddes, or measure the steps of lazie Oxen, and holding the Plow, as the youthes apparrell would perswade them ; and therefore the Curate, who went before the rest, seeing they were not yet espyed, made signes to the other two that they should aivert a little out of the way, or hide themselves behinde some broken cliffes that were neere the place, which they did all of them, noting what the youth did with very great attention. He wore a little browne Capouch, gyrt very neere to his body with a white Towell; also a paire of Breeches and Gamashoes of the same coloured cloth, and on his head a clay-coloured Cap. His Gamashoes were lifted up halfe the legge, which verily seemed to be white Alabaster. Finally, having washed his feet, taking out a linnen Eerchife from under his Cappe, he dried them there- withall, and at the taking out of the Eerchife, he held up his face, and then those which stood gazing on him, had leisure to disceme an unmatchable beautie, so surpassing great, as Cardenio rounding the Curate in the eare, saio, 2 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE This bodie, since it is not Luscinda, can be no humane CHAPTER creature, but a divine. The youth tooke oiF his Cappe at ^ last, and shaking his head to the one and other part, did Wherein is disheavell and discover such beautiful! haires, as those of ^wcoursed Phoebus might justly emulate them: and thereby they pi^^*" knew the supposed Swaine to be a delicate woman, yea adventure and the fairest that ever the first two had scene in their that hapned lives, or Cardenio himselfe, the lovely Luscinda excepted; *^!^«^Uf**® for as he after affirmed, no feature save Luscindas could ^si^w'* contend with hers. The long and golden haires did not Morena. onely cover her shoulders, but did also hide her round about, in such sort, as (her feet excepted) no other part of her body appeared, they were so neere and long. At this time her hands served her for a Combe, which as her feet seemed pieces of crystal! in the water, so did they appeare among her liaires like pieces of driven Snow. All which circumstances did possesse the three which stood gazing at her with great admiration, and desire to know what she was ; and therefore resolved to shew themselves ; and with the noyse which they made when they arose, the beautifull mayden held up her head, and removing her haires from before her eyes with both hands, she espyed those that had made it, and presently arising full of feare and trouble, shee laid hand on a packet that was by her, which seemed to be of apparell, and thought to flie away, without staying to pull on her shooes, or to gather up her haire : But scarce nad shee gone sixe paces, when her delicate and tender feete, unable to abide the rough encounter of the stones, made her to fall to the earth. Which the three perceiving, they came out to her, and the Curate arriving first of all, said to her : Lady, whatsoever you be, stay and feare nothing ; for we which you beholde here, come only with intention to doe you service, and therefore you need not pretend so im- pertinent a flight, which neither your feete can endure nor would we permit. The poore Gyrle remained so amazed and confounded, as shee answered not a word : wherefore the Curate and the rest drawing neerer, he tooke her by the hand, and then hee prosecuted his speech, saying. What your habit concealed from us, Ladie, your haires CHAPTER I Wherein is discoursed the new and pleasant adventure that hapned to tiie (Jurate and Barber^ in Sierra Morena. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. have bewrayed, being manifest arguments that the causes were of no smal moment, which have thus bemasked your singular beauty, under so unworthy array, and conducted you to this all-abandoned desart; wherein it was a won- derfuU chaunce to have met you, if not to remedie your harmes, yet at least to give you some comfort, seeing no evill can afflict and vexe one so much, and plunge him in so deepe extreames, (whilest it deprives not the life) that will whoUy abhorre from listening to the advice that is offered, with a mod and sincere intention; so that, faire Ladie, or Lord, or what else you shall please to be termed, shake off your affrightment, and renearse unto us your good or ill fortune, for you shall finde in us joyntly, or in every one apart, companions to heipe you to deplore your disasters. Whilest the Curate made this speech, the disguised woman stood as one halfe asleepe, now beholding the one, now the other, without once moving her lippe or saying a word ; much like unto a rusticke Clowne, when rare and unseene things to him before, are unexpectedly presented to his view. But the Curate insisting and using other perswasive reasons addrest to that effect, won her at last to make a breach on her tedious silence, and with a profound sigh, blow open her curall gates, sa3ring somewhat to this effect : Since tne solitarinesse of these rockes hath not beene potent to conoeale me, nor the disheaveling of my disordered naires, licensed my tongue to belie my sexe, it were in vaine for me to faine that anew, which, if you beleeved it, would be more for courtesies sake then any other respect. Which presupposed, I say, good Sirs, that I doe gratifie you highly for the liberall offers you have made me ; which are such, as have bound me to satisfie your demaund as neere as I may ; although I feare the relation which I must make to you of my mishappes, will breede sorrow at once with com- passion in you, by reason you shal not be able to find any salve that may cure, comfort, or beguile them: yet not- withstanding, to the end my reputation may not hover longer suspended in your opinions, seeing you know me to be a woman, and view me, young, alone, and thus attyred, 4 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE being things all of them able either joyned or parted, to CHAPTER overthrow the best credite, I must be enforced to unfold, ^ what I could otherwise most willingly conceale. All this, Wherein ig she that appeared so comely, spoke without stoppe or stair- discoursed gering, wiTT ready deliverirand so sweete a voiceri. S:S her discretion admired them no lesse then her beautie. adventure And renewing aeaine their complements and intreaties that banned to her, to accomplish speedily her promise, she setting all ^^^^^ coynesse apart, drawing on her shooes very modestly, and ^ sj^^**^' winding up her haire, sate her downe on a stone, and the Morena. other three about her, where she used no little violence to smother certaine rebellious teares that strove to breake forth without her permission: and then with a reposed and cleere voyce she began the Historic of her life in this manner. In this Province of Andaluzia there is a certaine Towne, from whence a Duke derives his denomination, which makes him one of those in Spain are callM Grandes : He hath two sonnes, the elder is heire of his States, and likewise, as may be presumed, of his vertues : the younger is heire I know ' not of what, if it bee not of ♦Vellido his treacheries, or *One that Gralalons frauds. My parents are this Noblemans vassals, murdered of humble and low calling ; but so rich, as if the goods of £??^i °*^ nature had equalled those of their fortunes, then should j^^ ^i^g easimr they have had nothing else to desire, nor I feared to see my himselfe at selfe in the misfortunes, wherein I now am plunged. For the siege of perhaps my mishaps proceed from that of theirs, in not Camora. Deing nobly descended. True it is that they are not so base, as they should therefore shame their calling, nor so high as may check my conceit, which perswades me, that my disasters proceede from their lownesse. In conclusion, they are but Farmours, and plaine people, but without any touch or spot of badde bloua, and as we usually say, Olde rustic Christians, yet so rustic and auncient, as it, their riches, and magnificent porte, gaines them by little and little the title of Gentilitie ; yea, and of worship also ; although the treasure and Nobility, whereof they made most price and account, was to have had me for their daughter : and therefore as well by reason that they had none other heire CHAPTER I Wherein is discoursed the new and pleasant adventure that hapned to the Curate and Barber, in Sierra Morena. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. then my selfe, as also because as affectionate parents, they held mee most deere : I was one of the most made of and cherished daughters that ever father brought up : I was the mirrour wherein they beheld themselves, the staffe of their olde age, and the subject to which they addrest all their desires. From which, because they were most vertuous, mine did not stray an inch : and even in the same manner that I was Ladie of their mindes, so was I also of their goods. By me were servants admitted or dismissed : the notice and account of what was sowed or reaped, past through my hands, of the Oyle-mils, the Wine-presses, the number of great and little cattell, the Bee-hives ; in fine, of all that which so rich a Farmour as my Father was, had or could have; I kept the account, and was the Steward thereof and Mistresse, with such care of my side, and plea- sure of theirs, as I cannot possibly endeere it enough. The times of leisure that I had in the day, after I had given what was necessary to the head servants, and other labourers, I did entertaine in those exercises, which were both com- mendable and requisite for maydens, to wit, in sowing, making of bone-lace, and many times handling the Distaffe : and if sometimes I left those exercises to recreate my minde a little, I would then take some godly booke in hand, or play at the Harpe; for experience had taught me, that musicke ordereth disordered mindes, and doth lighten the 1)assions that afflict the spirit. This was the life which I ed in my fathers house : the recounting whereof so parti- cularly, hath not beene done for ostentation, nor to give you to understand that I am rich, but to the end you may note how much, without mine owne fault, have I falne from that happy state I have said, unto the unhappie plight into which I am now reduced. The Historie therefore is this, that passing my life in so many occupations, and that with such recollection as might bee compared to a religious life, unseene as I thought by any other person then those of our house : for when I went to Masse, it was commonly so earely, and so accompanied by my mother and other mayd-ser- vants ; and I my selfe so coverd and watchfiiU, as mine eyes did scarce see the earth whereon I treade : and yet notwith- 6 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE standing those of love, or as I may better terme them, of CHAPTER idlenesse, to which Linces Eyes may not bee compared, did I represent me to Don Ferdinandos affection and care ; for Wherein is this is the name of the Dukes younger sonne, of whom I discoursed spake before. Scarce had she named Don Ferdinando when pieMant*^** Cardenio changed colour, and began to sweate with such adventure alteration of bodie and countenance, as the Curate and that hapned Barber which beheld it, feared that the accident of frenzie to the Curate did assault him which was wont as they had heard to pos- ?"d Barber, sesse him at times. But Cardenio did nothing else then Morena. sweat, and stood still beholding now and then the countrey gyrle imagining straight what she was, who without taking notice of his alteration, followed on her discourse in this manner. And scarce had he seene mee, when (as he him- selfe after confest) he abode greatly surprized by my love, as his actions did after give evident demonstration. But to conclude soone the relation of those misfortunes which have no conclusion, I will overslip in silence the diligences and practises of Don Ferdinando used to declare unto me his affection : he suborned all the folke of the house. He bestowed gifts and favours on my parents : every day was a holy day, and a day of sports in the streets where I dwelled : at night no man could sleepe for musicke; the letters were innumerable that came to my hands, without knowing who brought them ; farsed too full of amorous conceits and ofi*ers ; and contayning more promises and protestations then they had characters. All which, not onely could not moUifie my mind, but rather hardened it as much as if hee were my mortal enemie, and therefore did construe all the indevours he used to gaine my good will, to be practised to a contrary end : which I did not, as accounting Don Ferdinando ungentle, or that I esteemed him too importunat, for I took a kind of de- light to see my selfe so highly esteemed and beloved of so noble a Grentleman : nor was I any thing offended to see his papers written in my praise ; for if I be not deceived in this point, be we women ever so foule, we love to heare men call us beautifull. But mine honesty was that which opposed it selfe unto all these things, and the continuall 7 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER admonitions of my parents, which had by this plainely per- ^ ceived Don Femanaos pretence, as one that cared not all Wherein is the world should know it. They would often say unto me, ^scourged ^y^^^ ^j^^y j^j^j deposited their honours and reputation in pleasant °^7 vertue alone and discretion, and bad me consider the adventure inequality that was betweene Don Fernando and me, and thatha|^ned that I might collect by it how his thoughts (did he ever *^iJ^R«L hlf**^ so much affirme the contrary) were more addrest to com- ^ Sierra ^' passe his pleasures then my profit : And that if I feared any Morena. mconvenience might befall, to the end they might crosse it, and cause him to abandon his so unjust a pursuit, they would match me where I most liked, eyther to the best of that towne, or any other towne adjoyning, saying, they might easily compasse it, both by reason of their great wealth and my good report. I fortified my resolution and integritie with these certaine promises, and the knowne truth which they told me, and therefore would never answer to Don Fernando any word, that might ever so farre of argue the least hope of condiscending to his desires. All which cautions of mine which I thinke he deemed to be disdains, did inflame more his lascivious appetite (for this is the name wherewithall I intitle his affection towards me) which had it beene such as it ought, you had not knowne it now, for then the cause of revealing it had not befalne me. Finally Don Fernando understood how my parents meant to marrie me, to the end they might illude his hope of ever possessing me : or at least set more gards to preserve mine honour, and this newes or surmise was an occasion that he did, what you shall presently heare. For one night as I sate in my chamber, only attended by a younff Mayden that served me, I having shut the doores very safe, for feare lest through any negligence my honestie might incur any danger, without knowing or imagining how it might happen: notwithstanding all my diligences used and preventions, and amidst the solitude of this silence and recollection, he stood before me in my chamber. At his presence I was so troubled, as I lost both sight and speech, and by reason thereof could not crie, nor I thinke he would not, though I |)ad attempted it, permit me. For 8 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE he presently ranne over to me, and taking me betweene his CHAPTER armes (for as I have said, I was so amazed, as I had no ^ r)wer to defend my selfe) he spake such things to me, as Wherein is knew not how it is possible that so many lies should have ^^^""^ j ability to faine things resembling in shew so much the pleasant truth : and the traytor caused teares, to give credit to his adventure words and sighes, to give countenance to his intention, thathapned I poore soule beinff alone amidst my friends, and weakly ^ ?IS Curate practised in such IfFaires, began I tnow not how to ac- ^%S^' count his leesings for verities, but not in such sort, as his Morena. teares or sighes might any wise move me to any compas- sion that were not commendable. And so the first trouble and amazement of mind being past, I began againe to recover my defective spirits, and then said to him with more courage then I thought I should have had, if as I am, my Lord, betweene your armes, I were betweene the pawes of a fierce Lyon, and that I were made certaine of my liberty on condition to doe or say any thing prejudicial! to mine honour, it would proove as impossible for me to accept it, as for that which once hath beene, to leave off his essence and being. Wherefore even as you have ingyrt my middle with your armes, so likewise have I tied fast my minde with vertuous and forcible desires, that are wholy discrepant from yours, as you shall perceive, if seeking to force me, you presume to passe further with your inordinate designe. I am your vassall, but not your slave, nor hath the nobility of your bloud power, nor ought it to harden, to dishonour, staine or hold in little account the humility of mine; and I doe esteeme my selfe though a countrey wench and farmers daughter, as much as you can your selfe, though a Nobleman and a Lord : With me your violence shall not prevaile, your riches gaine any grace, your words have power to deceive, or your sighes and teares be able to move : yet if I shall finde any of these properties mentioned in him, whom my parents snail please to bestow on mee for my spouse, I will presently subject my will to his, nor shall it ever varie from his minde a jot: So that if I might remaine with honor, although I rested void of delights, yet would I willingly bestow on 2:B 9 CHAPTER I Wherein is discoursed the new and pleasant adventure that hapned to tiie Curate and Barber^ in Sierra Morena. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. you, that which you presently labour so much to obtaine : all which I doe say, to divert your straying thought firom ever thinking that any one may obtaine of me ought, who is not my lawfuU spouse. If the let onely consistes therein, most beautifuU Dorotea (for so I am called) an- swered the disloyall Lord : behold, I give thee here my hand to be thine alone : and let the heavens, from which nothing is concealed; and this Image of our Lady which thou hast heere present, be witnesses of this truth. When Cardenio heard her say that she was called Dorotea, hee fell againe into his former suspicion, and in the end confirmed his first opinion to bee true : but would not interrupt her speech, oeing desirous to know the successe, which ne knew wholy almost before, and therefore said only. Lady, is it possible that you are named Dorotea? I have heard report of another of that name, which perhaps hath runne the like course of your misfortunes : but I re- quest you to continue your relation ; for a time may come, wherem I may recount unto you things of the same kinde, which will breed no small admiration. Dorotea noted Car- denios words, and his uncouth and disastrous attire, and then intreated him very instantly, if hee knew any thing of her affaires, he would acquaint her therewithall. For if fortune had left her any good, it was onely the courage which she had to beare patiently any disaster that might befall her, being certaine in her opinion, that no new one could arrive, which might increase a whit those she had alreadie. Ladie, I would not let slip the occasion (mioth Cardenio) to tell you what I thinke, if that which I imagine were true: and yet there is no commoditie left to doe it: nor can it availe you much to know it. Let it be what it list, said Dorotea : but that which after befell of my relation, was this: That Don Fernando tooke an Image that was in my Chamber for witnesse of our contract, and added withall most forcible words and unusuall oathes, promising unto me to become my husband. Although I warned him, before he had ended his speech, to see well what he did, and to weigh the wrath of his father, when he should see him married to one so base, and his vassall, and that there- to IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE fore he should take heed that my beautie such as it was CHAPTER should not blinde him. Seeing hee should not finde therein ' a su£Scient excuse for his errour : and that if he meant to Wherein is doe me any good, I conjured him by the love that he bore ^scoursed unto me, to license my fortunes to roule in their owne pj^^^ spheare, according as my quality reached : For such un- adventure equall matches doe never please long, nor persever with that banned that deliirht wherewithall they begunne. ^ *^® Curate All the reasons heere rehearsed, I said unto him, and ^l^^' many moe ; which now are falne out of minde, but yet Morena. proved of no efficacy to weane him from his obstinate pur- pose, even like unto one that goeth to buy ; with intention never to pay for what he takes : and therefore never con- siders the price, worthinesse, or faultlesse of the stuffe he takes to credit. I at this secison made a briefe discourse, and said thus to my selfe : I may doe this, for I am not the first which by matrimonie hath ascended from a low degree to a high estate: nor shall Don Fernando be the first whom beautie or blind affection (for that is the most certaine) hath induced to make choyce of a consort unequall to his greatnesse. Then since herein I create no new world, nor custome, what error can be committed by embracing the honour wherewithall fortune crownes me ? Although it so befell, that his affection to me endured no longer then till he accomplish his will : for before God, I certes shall still remaine his wife. And if I should disdainfully give him the repulse, I see him now in such termes, as perhaps for- getting the dutie of a Noble man, hee may use violence, and then shall I remaine for ever dishonoured, and also without excuse of the imputations of the ignorant which knew not how much without any fault I have falne into this inevitable danger. For, what reasons may be sufficiently forcible to perswade my father and other, that this Noble man did enter into my Chamber without my consent? All these demaunds and answers did I in an instant revolve in mine imagination, and found my selfe chiefly forced (how I cannot tell) to assent to his petition, by the witnesses hee invoked, the teares hee shed, and finally by his sweete disposition and comely feature, which accompanied with so many arguments 11 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER of unfained affection, were able to conauer and enthrall any I other heart, though it were as free and wary as mine owne. Wherein is Then called I for my waiting maide, that she might on discoursed earth accompany the celestial! witnesses. And then Don iMsa^ Fernando turned againe to reiterate and confirme his adventure oathes, and added to his former, other new Saints as that hapned witnesses ; and wished a thousand succeeding maledictions to the Curate to light on him, if he did not accomplish his promise to ^S' ' ™^* ^^* ®y®* againe waxed moyst, nis sighes increased, Morena. ^^^ himselfe inwreathed mee more straightly betweene his armes, from which he had never once loosed mee: and with this, and my Maydens departure, I left to be a Mayden, and hee beganne to be a traytor, and disloyall man. The day that succeeded to the night of my mishaps, came not I thinke so soone as Don Fernando aesired it : for after a man hath satisfied that which the appetite covets, the greatest delight it can take after is to apart it selfe from the place where the desire was accomplished. I say this, because Don Fernando did hasten his departure from me, by my Maids Industrie, who was the very same that had brought him into my chamber, hee was got in the streete before dawning. And at his departure from mee, he said (although not with so OTcat shew of affection and vehemencie, as hee had used at nis comming) that I might bee secure of his faith, and that his oathes were firme most true : and for a more confirmation of his word hee tooke a rich ring off his finger, and put it on mine. In fine he departed and I remained behinde I cannot well say, whether joyfull or sad ; but this much I know that I rested confused and pensive, and almost beside my selfe for the late mis- chance ; yet eyther I had not the heart, or else I forgot to chide my Maide for her treacherie committed by shutting up Don Fernando in my chamber : for as yet I could not determine, whether that which had befalne mee, was a good or an evill. I said to Don Fernando at his departure that he might see mee other nights when he pleased by the same meanes hee had come that night seeing I was his owne, and would rest so, untill it pleased him to let the world know that I was his wife. But hee never returned 12 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE againe, but the next night following ; [nor] could I see him CHAPTER aner, for the space of a moneth evther in the streete or ^ Church, so as I did but spend time m vaine to expect him : Wherein is although I understood that hee was still in towne, and rode ^iscoureed • X1.J i_j.» •j.v'Li- tne new and evene other day a huntmg : an exercise to which hee was pleasant much addicted. adventure Those dayes were, I know, unfortunate and accursed to that hapned me, and those houres sorrowfuU; for in them I began to ^^^?^^ doubt, nay rather wholly to discredite Don Fernando his ^ sierra ^* faith : and my maide did then heare loudly the checkes I Morena. gave unto her for her presumption, ever untill then dis- sembled. And I was moreover constrained to watch and keepe guard on my teares and countenance, lest I should give occasion to my parents to demaund of mee the cause of my discontents, and thereby ingage me to use ambages or untruthes to cover them. But all this ended in an instant, one moment arriving whereon all these respects stumbled, all honourable discourses ended, patience was lost, and my most hidden secrets issued in publicke: which was, when there was spread a certaine rumour throughout the towne within a few dayes after, that Don Fernando had married in a Citie neere adjoyning, a damzell of surpctssing beautie, and of very noble birth, although not so rich, as could deserve by her preferment or dowrie so worthy a husband. It was also said, that she was named Luscinda, with many other things that hapned at their Spousals, worthy of admiration. Cardenio hearing Luscinda named, did nothing else but lift up his shoulders, bite his lippe, bend his browes, and after a little while shedde from his eyes two floods of teares. But yet for all that, Dorotea did not interrupt the file of her Historic, saying, This dolefull newes came to my hearing, and my heart, in stcede of freezing thereat, was so inflamed with choler and rage, as I had welnigh runne out to the streets, and with outcries published the deceit and treason that was done to me : but my furie was presently asswaged by the resolution which I made, to doe what I put in execution the very same night, and then I put on this habite which you see, being given unto me by one of those that among us Countrey-folke are called Swaines, who was 13 CHAPTER I Wherein is discoursed the new and pleasant adventure that hapned to tiie Curate and Barber^ in Sierra Morena. THE FIUST PART OF THE [ub. my fathers servant ; to whom I disclosed all my misfortunes, and requested him to accompany me to the Citie, where I understood mine enemie sojourned. He, after he had repre- hended my boldnesse, perceiving me to have an inflexible resolution, made ofier to attend on mee as hee said, unto the end of the world : and presently after I trussed up in a pillowbeare, a womans attire, some mony and jewels, to prevent necessities that might befall ; and in the silence of night, without acquainting my treacherous maide with my purpose, I issued out of my house, accompanied by my ser- vant, and many imaginations: and in that manner set on towaids the Citie, and though I went on foote, was yet borne away flying, by my desires, to come, if not time enough to hinder that which was past, yet at least to demaund of Don Fernando that he would tell me with what conscience or soule he had done it. I arrived where I wished within two dayes and a halfe ; and at the entry of the Citie I demaunded where Luscinda her father dwelled ? and he of whom I first demaunded the question, answered me more then I desired to heare : he shewed me the house, and recounted to me all that befell at the daughters mar- riage, being a thing so publique and knowne in the Citie, as men made meetings of purpose to discourse thereof. Hee said to me, that the very night wherein Don Fernando was espoused to Luscinda, after tnat she had given her con- sent to be his wife, shee was instantly assayled by a terrible accident, that strucke her into a traunce, and her spouse approching to unclaspe her bosome, that she might take the ayre, found a paper foulded in it, written with Luscindas owne hand, wherein she said and declared, that she could not be Don Femando^s wife, because she was already Car- denioes, who was, as the man tolde me, a very principall Gentleman of the same Citie ; and that if she had given her consent to Don Fernando, it was onely done, because she would not disobey her parents : in conclusion he tolde mee, that the Billet made also mention, how shee had a resolu- tion to kill her selfe presently after the marriage, and did also lay downe therein the motives she had to doe it All which, as they say, was confirmed by a poynard that was 14 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE found hidden about her in her apparrell. Which Don Fer- CHAPTER nando perceiving, presuming that Luscinda did flout him, ^ and hold him in little account, hee set upon her ere she was Wherein is come to her selfe, and attempted to kill her with the very ^J^coursed same poynard ; and had done it, if her father and other pleasant friends which were present had not opposed themselves, adventure and hindered his determination. Moreover, they reported that hapned that presently after Don Fernando absented himselfe from *® l^^\?f*** the Citie, and that Luscinda turned not out of her agony [^sierra '' untill the next day, and then recounted to her parents Morena. how she was verily Spouse to that Cardenio of whom we spake even now. I learned besides that Cardenio as it is rumoured, was present at the marriage, and that as soone as he saw her married, being a thing he would never have credited, departed out of the Citie in a desperate moode, but first left behinde him a letter, wherein he shewed at large the wrong Luscinda had done to him, and that hee himselfe meant to goe to some place where people should never after heare of him. All this was notorious, and publiquely bruited throughout the Citie, and every one spoke thereof, but most of all having very soone after understood that Luscinda was missing from her Parents house and the Citie ; for shee could not be found in neyther of both : for which her parents were almost beside themselves, not knowing what meanes to use to finde her. These newes reduced my hopes againe to their rancks, and I esteemed it better to find Don Fernando unmarried then married, presuming that yet the gates of my remedy were not wholly shut, I giving my selfe to understand that heaven had peradventure set that impediment on the second marriage, to make him understand what hee ought to the first ; and to remember, how he was a Christian, and that he was more obliged to his soule then to humane respects. I revolved all these things in my minde, and comfortlesse did yet comfort my selfe, by faining large yet languishing hopes, to sustaine that life which I now do so much abhor. And whilest I staide thus in the Citie, ignorant what I might doe, seeing I found not Don Fernando, I heard a 15 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER cryer goe about publikely, promisiDg great rewards to any ^ one that could finde me out, giving signes of the very age Wherein is and apparrell I wore. And I likewise heard it was bruited the^ewwid *^^^^' ^^^^ *^^ youth which came with me had carried pleasant ^^ away from my fathers house. A thing that touched adventure my soule very neerely, to view my credit so greatly wrackt, thathapned seeing that it was not sufficient to have lost it by my *^d^B^e*** comminff away, without the addition him with whom I in Sierra ^' departed, being a subject so base and unworthy of my Morena. lottier thoughts. Having heard this crie, I departed out of the Citie with my servant : who even then be^n to give tokens that he faultred in the fidelitie he had promised to me: and both of us together entred the very same night into the most hidden parts of this mountaine, fear- ing lest we might be found. But as it is commonly said, that one evill cals on another, and that the end of one disaster is the beginning of a greater, so proved it with me ; for my good servant, untill then faithfull and trustie, rather incitea by his owne villany then my beautie, thought to have taken the benefite of the oportunity which these inhabitable places offered ; and sollicited me of love, with little shame and lesse feare of God, or respect of my selfe: and now seeing that I answered his impudencies with severe and reprehensive words, leaving the mtreaties aside, wherewithal! hee thought first to have compast his will, he beganne to use his force. But just heaven which seldome or never neglects the iust mans assistance, did so favour my proceedings, as with my weake forces, and very little labour, I threw him downe a steepe rocke, and there I left him, I know not whether alive or dead. And presently I entred in among these mountaines, with more swiftnesse then my feare and wearinesse required ; havinfi^ therein no other project or desiime, then to hide my Jfe in them, and shunni my father Ind othe», which by his intreaty and meanes sought for me everywhere. Some moneths are past since my first comming here, where I found a Heardman, who carried me to a village seated in the midst of these rockes, wherein he dwelled and intertained me, whom I have served as a Sheepheard 16 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE ever since, procuring as much as lay in me to abide still in CHAPTER the fielde, to cover these haires, which have now so unex- ^ pectedly betraide me. Yet all my C£ure and industry was Wherein is not very beneficiall, seeing my Master came at last to the ^iscoureed notice that I was no man, but a woman, which was an pi^i^i^* occasion that the like evill thought sprung in him, as before adventure in my servant. And as fortune gives not alwayes remedie that hi^ued for the difficulties which occurre, I found neither rocke *® ***® C^*® nor downefall to coole and cure my Masters infirmitie, as I *„ sierra '' had done for my man : and therefore I accounted it a lesse Morena. inconvenience to depart thence, and hide my selfe againe among these desarts, then to adventure the triall of my strength or reason with him. Therefore, as I say, I turned to imboske my selfe, and search out some place, where, without any encumbrance I might intreat heaven with my sighes and teares, to have compassion on my mishap ; and lend me industry and favour, eyther to issue fortunately out of it, or else to die amidst these solitudes, not leaving any memory of a wretch, who hath ministred matter, although not through her owne default, that men may speake and murmure of her, both in her owne and in other countries. 2:C 17 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["«. CHAPTER II Which treates of the discretion of the beautiftill Dorotea, and the artdficiall manner used to dis- swade the amorous Knight from continuing his pen- ance : and how hee was gotten away ; with many other ddightfull and pleasant occurrences. nl HIS is, Sirs, the true relation of my Tragedie : see therefore now and judee, whether the sighes you heard, the wonis to which you listened, and the teares that gushed out at mine eyes, have not had sufficient occa- sion to appe&re in greater abundance : and having considered the quality of my dis- grace ; you shall perceive all comfort to bee vaine, seeing tne remedie thereof is impoEsible. Only I will request at your hands one favour wnich vou ought and may easily grant, and is that you will addresse me unto some placie, where I may live secure from the feare and suspition I have to he found by those which I know do daily travel in my pursuit : for although I am sure that my parents great affection towards me, doth warrant me to m kindly received and intertained by them : yet the shame is BO great that poasesieth me, onely to thinke that I shall not retume to their presence in that state which they ex- pect, as I account it farre better to banish my selfe from their sight for ever, then once to beholde their face, with the least suspition that they againe would behold mine divorced &om that honestie which whilome my modest behaviour promised. Here she ended, and her face suddenly over-run by a lovely scarlet, perspicuously denoted the feeling and Mshfulnesse of her soule. The audients of her sad storie, felt great motions both 18 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE of pitie and admiration for her misfortunes : and although CHAPTER the Curate thought to comfort and counsell her forUi- ^^ with, yet was he prevented by Cardenio, who taking her Which treates first by the hand, said at last; Ladie, thou art the beauti- <>f *^© ^*- full Dorotea, daughter unto rich Cleonardo. Dorotea rested t^^^Jji admired when she heard her fathers name, and saw of how Dorotea and little value he seemed, who had named him. For we have the artificiall already recounted how raggedly Cardenio was clothed ; and nnanner used therefore she said unto him, And who art thou, friend, that ^ ^isswade knowest so well my fathers name ; for untill this houre Knight from (if I have not forgotten my selfe) I did not once name continuing him throughout the whole Discourse of my unfortunate his penance: tale ? I am (answered Cardenio) the unluckie Knight, *°^ ^^^ ^^ whom Luscinda (as thou saidst) affirmed to be her husband. J^^^Jh I am the disastrous Cardenio, whom the wicked proceeding many 'other of him that hath also brought thee to those termes wherein delightfull thou art, hath conducted me to the state in which I am, *^d pleasant and thou mayest beholde ragged, naked, abandoned by al ^^^^^n^^^^c^ humane comfort : and what is worse, voyde of sense ; seeing I onely enjoy it but at some few short times, and that, when heaven pleaseth to lend it me. I am hee, Dorotea, that was present at Don Femando^s unreasonable wed- ding, and tnat heard the consent which Luscinda gave him to be his wife. I was hee, that had not the courage to stay and see the end of her traunce, or what became of the paper found in her bosome. For my soule had not power or sufferance, to behold so many disventures at once, and therefore abandoned the place and my patience together, and onely left a Letter with mine Hoste, whom I intreated to deliver it into Luscinda her owne hands, and then came into these desarts, with resolution to end in them my miserable life, which since that houre I have hated as my most mortall enemie. But fortune hath not pleased to deprive me of it, thinking it sufficient to have impaired my wit, perhaps reserving me for the ?;ood successe befalne me now in finding of your selfe; or that being true (as I beleeve it is) which you have here discoursed, perad venture it may have reserved yet better hap for us both in our disasters then we doe expect. 19 i CHAPTER II Which treates of the dis- cretion of the beautifiill Dorotea, and the artificiall manner used to diaswade the amorouB Knight from continuing hii penance: and how hee was gotten away; with many other delightfuU and pleasant occurrences. THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. For presupposing that Luscinda cannot marry with Don Fernando, because she is mine, nor Don Fernando with her because yours: and that she hath declared so manifestly the same : we may well hope that heaven hath meanes to restore to every one that which is his owne, seeing it yet consists in bein^ not made away, or anihilated. And seeing this comu>rt remaines, not sprung from any very remote hope, nor founded on idle surmises, I request thee faire Ladie to take another resolution in thine honourable thought, seeing I meane to doe it in mine, and let us accommodate our selves to expect better successe. For I doe vow unto thee by the faith of a Grentleman and Christian, not to forsake thee, untill I see thee in Don Femandoes possession, and when I shall not by reasons be able to induce him to acknowledge how farre he rests indebted to thee, then will I use the liberty graunted to me as a Grentleman, and with just title challenge him to the fielde, in respect of the wrong he hath done unto thee; forgetting wholly mine owne injuries, whose revenge I will leave to heaven, that I may be able to right yours on earth. Dorotea rested wonderfully admired having knowne and heard Cardenio, and ignoring what competent thankes she might retume him in satisfaction of his large offers, she cast her selfe downe at his feet to have kist them, which Cardenio would not permit: and the Licenciat emswered for both, praising greatly Cardenios discourse: and chiefely intreated, prayed, and counselled them, that they would goe with him to his village, where they might fit themselves with such things as they wanted, and also take order how to search out Don Fernando, or carrie Dorotea to her fathers house, or doe else what they deemed most convenient. Cardenio and Dorotea gratified his courtesies, and accepted the favour hee proffered. The Barber also, who had stood all the while silent and suspended, made them a prettie Dis- course, with as friendly an offer of himselfe, and his service as Master Curate ; and likewise did briefly relate the occasion of their comming thither, with the extravagant kinde of madnesse which Don-Quixote had, and how they expected SO IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE now his Squires retume, whom they had sent to search for CHAPTER him. Cardenio having heard him named, remembred pre- ^^ sently as in a dreame the conflict past betweene them both, ^Vhich treates and recounted it unto them, but could not in any wise call ^^ *^® ^'f^fi, to minde the occasion thereof. l)eautMl ^ By this time they heard one call for them, and knew by Dorotea, and the voyce, that it was Sancho Pan9as, who because hee the artiiiciall found them not in the place where he had left them, cryed manner used out for them as loudly as he might. They went to meete the amioroug him, and demaunding for Don-Quixote, he answered, that Kuight from he found him all nalced to his shirt, leane, yellow, almost continuing dead for hunger, and sighing for his Lady Dulcinea : and his penance : although he had tolde him, how she commaunded him ^ JL to repayre presently to Toboso, where she expected him : away; with yet notwithstanding he answered that he was determined many other never to appeare before her beautie, untill he had done delightfull Feats that snould make him worthy of her gracious favor. *"^ pleasant And then the Squire affirmed if that humor passed on any further, hec feared his Lord would be in danger never to become an Emperour as he was bound in honour, no nor a Cardinall, which was the least that could be expected of him. The Licenciat bid him be of good cheere, for they would bring him from thence whether he would or no; and recounted to Cardenio and Dorotea, what they had bethought for Don-Quixotes remedie, or at le€ist for the canying of him home to his house. To that Dorotea answered, that she would counterfeit the distressed Ladie better then the Barber ; and chiefly seeing shee had apparell wherewithall to act it most naturally. And therefore de- sired them to leave to her charge the representing of all that which should bee needfuU for the atchieving of their designe ; for she had read many books of Knighthood, and knew well the stile that distressed damzels used, when they requested any favour of Knights adventurous. And then neede we nothing else, quoth the Curate, but onely to put our purpose presently in execution. For questionlesse good successe tumes on our side, seeing it hath so unexpectedly begun alrcadie to open the gates of your remedy, and hath also facilitated for us that wherof we had most necessity in 21 CHAPTER II Which treates of the dis- cretion of the beautifull Dorotea^ and the artiiiciall manner used to disswade the amorous Knight from continuing his penance: and how hee was gotten away; with many other delightfuU and pleasant occurrences. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. this exigent. Dorotea tooke forthwith out of her pillow- beare a whole gowne of very rich stuffe, and a short mantle of another greene stuffe, and a collar and many other rich jewels out of a boxe, wherewithal! she adorned her selfe in a trice so gorgeously, as shee seemed a very rich and goodly Ladie. All which and much more she had brought with her as she said from her house, to prevent what might happen, but never had any use of them, untill then. Her grace, gesture and beautie liked them all extremely, and made them account Don Fernando to be a man oi little understanding, seeing he contemned such feature. But he which was most of cul admired was Sancho Panca, because, as he thought (and it was so indeed) that he had not in all the dayes of his life before seene so faire a creature: and he requested the Curate very seriously to tell him who that beautifull Ladie was? and what she sought among those through-fares ? This faire Lady, friend Sancho, an- swered the Curate, is (as if a man said nothing, she is so ffreat) heire apparent by direct line of the mighty Eing- aome of Micomicon, and comes in the search of your Lord, to demaund a boone of him, which is, that he will destroy and undoe a great wrong done unto her by a wicked Giant; and through the great fame which is spread over all Guinea of your Lords prowesse, this Princesse is come to finde him out. A happy searcher, and a fortunate finding, quoth Sancho, and chiefly, if my Master be so happie as to right that injurie, and redresse that wrong by killing that, O ! the mighbr lubber of a Giant whom you say : yes, he will kill him, I am very certaine, if he can once but meete him, and if he be not a spirit ; For my Master hath no kinde of power over spirits. But I must request one favour of you among others most earnestly, good Mr. Licenciat, and tis, that to the end my Lord may not take an humour of becomming a Cardinal! (which is the thing I feare most in this world) that you will give him counsel! to marry this Princesse presently, and by that meanes he shall remaine incapable of the dignitie of a Cardinal!, and will come very easily by his Empyre, and I to the end of my desires : for I have thought well of the matter, and have K>und that it is 22 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE in DO wise expedient that my Lord should become a Car- CHAPTER dinall ; for I am wholly unfit for any Ecclesiasticall dignitie, II seeing I am a married man: and therefore to trouble my Wliichtreates selfe now with seekinir of dispensations to injoy Church- ofthedis- livings, having as I have both wife and children, were ^'^^"fj*,!*^" never to end : so that all my good consists, in that my Dorotea, and Lord do marry this Princesse instantly, whose name yet the artificiall I know not, and therfore I have not said it. She is manner used hight (quoth the Curate) the Princesse Micomicona, for to disswade 1 ® xr« ^ J i_ • 11 J -m^' • -x • 'J T 1- the amorous her Kmgdome bemg called Micomicon, it is evident she Knight from must be termed so. That is questionlesse, quoth Sancho, continuing for I have knowne many to take their denomination and his penance: surname from the place of their birth, calling themselves *"^ ^^Zl^^ Peter of Alcala, John of Ubeda, and lames of Valedolid: ^way^wiSi and perhaps in Guinea Princes and Queenes use the many'other same custome, and call themselves by the names of their delightMl Provinces. ^^ pleasant So I thinke, quoth the Curate: and as touching your ^occurrences. Masters marriage with her, I will labour therein as much as lies in my power. Wherewithall Sancho remained as well satisfied, as the Curate admired at his simplicitie, and to see how firmely he had fixed in his fantasie the very ravings of his Master, seeing he did beleeve without doubt that his Lord should become an Emperour. Dorotea in this space had gotten upon the Curates Mule, and the Barber had somewhat better fitted the beard which he made of the Oxes tayle on his face, and did after intreat Sancho to guide them to the place where Don-Quixote was, and advertised him withall, that he should in no wise take any notice of the Curate or Barber, or confesse in any sort that he knew them, for therein consisted all the meanes of bringing Don-Quixote to the minde to become an Emperour. Yet Cardenio would not goe with them, fearing lest tnereby Don-Quixote might call to minde their contention : and the Curate thinking also that his presence was not expedient, remained with him, letting the others goe before, and these followed a farre off faire and softly on foot, and ere they departed, the Curate instructed Dorotea a new, what she should say, who bid him to feare nothing, for she would 28 CHAPTER II Which treates of the dis- cretion of the beautiful! Dorotea, and the artificial! manner used to disswade the amorous Knight from continuing his penance : and how hee was gotten many other delightful! and pleasant occurrences. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. discharge her part to his satisfaction, and as bookes of Chivalne required and laid downe. They travelled about three quarters of a league, as they espied the Knight, and at last they discovered him among a number of intricate rocks, all apparelled but not armed: and as soone as Dorotea beheld him, she strucke her Fal- fray, her well bearded Barber following her: and as they approached Don-Quixote, the Barber leaped lightly down from his Mule, and ranne towards Dorotea to take her downe betweene his armes, who allighting, went with a very good grace towards Don-Quixote, and kneeled before him. And although hee strived to make her arise, yet she remaining still on her knees, spake to him in this manner : I will not arise from hence tnrice valourous and approoved Knight, untill your bountie and courtesie shall grant unto me one boone, which shall much redound unto your honour and prize of your person, and to the profit of the most discon- solate and wronged Damzell that tlie Sunne hath ever scene. And if it be so, that the valour of your invincible arme be correspondent to the bruite of your immortall fame, you are obliged to succour this comfortlesse Wight, that comes from lands so remote, to the sound of your famous name, searching you for to remedie her mishaps. I will not answere you a word, faire Lady, quoth Don- Quixote, nor heare a jot of your affaire, untill you arise f^om the ground. I will not get up from hence, my Lord, quoth the afflicted Ladie, if first of your wonted Dountic you doe not grant to my request. I doe give and grant it, said Don-Quixote, so that it be not a thing that may tume to the dammage or hinderance of my Kin^, my countrey, or of her that keepes the key of my heart and liberty. It shall not turne to the dammage or hinderance of those you have said, good Sir, replied the dolorous Damzell ; and as she was saying this, Sancho Pan^a rounded his Lord in the eare, saying softly to hun ; Sir, you may very well grant the request she asketh, for it is a matter of nothing, it is onely to kIU a monstrous Giant, and shee that demands it is the mightie Princesse Micomicona Queene of the great Kingdome of Micomicon in Ethiopia. Let her be what she will, quoth S4 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE DoD-Quixote, for I will accomplish what I am bound, and CHAPTER my conscience shal informe me conformable to the state I 1^ have professed : and then turning to the Damsell, he said, Which treates Let your great beautie arise, for I grant to you any boone ®^ *^® ^^ which vou shall please to aske of me. Why then quoth the ^^^^u Damsell that which I demand is, that your magnanimous Dorotea^ and person come presently away with mee, to the place where I the artificiall shall carry you, and doe likewise make me a promise, not to maimer used undertake any other adventure or demaund untill you revenge ^ "wswade me upon a traytour who hath, against all lawes both divine Kni^fht from and humane, usurped my kingdome. I say that I grant conidnuing you all that quoth Don-Quixote, and therefore Ladie you his penance: may cast away from this day forward all the melancholy *°^ ^^Z^^ that troubles you, and labour that your languishing and ^^^ ^^ dismaied hopes may recover againe new strength and cour- many' other a£e, for by the helpe of God, and that of mine arme you delight^ shall see your selfe shortly restored to your kingdome, and *^^ pleasant enthronized in the chayre of your ancient and great estate, ®<5<5»*"*^<5®"" in despite and maugre the traytors that shall dare gainesay it: and therefore Hands to the worke, for they s^, that danger alwayes followes delay. The distressed Damsell strove with much ado to kisse his hand : but Don-Quixote, who was a most accomplished Knight for courtesie, would never condescend thereunto, but making her arise, he im- braced her with great kindenesse and respect ; and com- maunded Sancho to saddle Rozinante, and helpe him to arme himselfe. Sancho tooke downe the armes forthwith, which hung on a tree like trophies, and searching the guirts armed his Lord in a moment, who seeing himselfe armed said. Let us in Gods name depart from hence to assist this great Lady. The barber kneeled all this while, and could with much adoe dissemble his laughter, or keepe on his beard that threatned still to fall off; with whose fall perhaps, they should all have reqiained without bringing their good purpose to passe : and seeing that the boone was granted, ana noted the diligence wherewithall Don -Quixote made himselfe ready to depart and accomplish the same: hee arose and tooke his Ladie by the hand, and both of them together holpe her upon her Mule: and presently after, 2:D 26 CHAPTBR II Which treates of the dis- cretion of the heautifiill Dorotea^ and the artificial! manner used to diaswade the amorous Knifhtfrom contmuing his penance: and now hee was gotten away; with many other delightfuU and pleasant occurrences. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. Don-Quixote leaped on Rozinante, and the Barber got up on his beast, Sancho onely remayning a foote : where hee a fresh renued the memory of the losse of his gray Asse, with the want procured to him thereby. But all this he bore with very great patience, because he supposed that his Lord was now in the way, and next degree to be an Emperour : for he made an infallible account that he would marry that Princesse, and at least be King of Micomicon : but yet it grieved him to thinke how that S[ingdome was in the countrey of blacke Moores, and that therefore the Nation which should be given to him for his vassals, should be all blacke: for whioi diificultie his imagination coyned pre- sently a good remedie : and he discoursed with himselie in this manner : Why should I care, though my subjects be all blacke Moores, is there any more to be done, then to loade them in a ship, and bring them into Spaine, where I may sell them, and receive the price of them in readie money ? And with that money may I buy some title or Office, wherein I may after live at mine ease all the daies of my life ? No ! but sleepe, and have no wit, nor abilitie to dispose of things, and to sell thirtie or ten thousand vassailes in the space that one would say, give me those strawes. I will dispatch them all, they shall nie the little with the great, or as I can best contrive the matter. And be they ever so blacke, I will transforme them into white or yellow ones ; come neere and see whether I cannot sucke well my fingers ends : And thus he travailed so soUicitous and glad, as he quite forgot his paine of travailing a foote. Cardenio and the Curate stood in the meane time beholding all that passed from behind some brambles, where they lay lurking, and where in doubt what meanes to use to issue and joyne in company with them. But the Curate who was an ingenious and prompt plotter, devised instantly what was to bee done, that they might attaine their desire, thus he tooke out of his case a payre of sheares, and cut ofi^ Cardenioes beard therewithall in a trice, and then gave unto him to weare a riding Capouch which he himselfe had on, and a blacke cloake ; and himselfe walked in a dublet and hose. Cardenio thus attired looked so unlike that he was before, as he would not have knowne S6 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE himselfe in a looking glasse. This being finished, and the CHAPTER others eone on before whilst they disguised themselves, ^ they sallied out with facility to the high way before Don- Whichta^atea Quixote or his company, for the rocks ana many other ®£^® ^f^fi, bad passages did not permit those that were a horsebacke, ^eauSidl * to make so speedie an end of their journey as they : €md Dorotea^ and when they had thorowly past the mountaine, they expected the artificiall at the foot thereof for the Knight and his compeuiie : and manner used when the Knight appeared, the Curate looked on him very Jhe Imorous earnestly for a great space, with inkling that he beganne to Knight from know him : and after he had a good while beheld him, he continuing ranne towards him with his armes spread abroad, saying, In a ^^w penance: irood houre be the mirrour of all Knifichthood found and my ^^ *^®?T ^^ • was ffWEten noble country-man Don-Quixote of the Mancha, the flower away • with and the creame of Grentilitie, the shaddow and remedie of many'other the afflicted and the Quintessence of Knights Errant : and delightfull saying this he held Don-Quixote his left thigh embraced. *"^ pleasant Who, admiring at that which he heard that man to say and ^^^'*"*°®®*' do, did also review him with attention, and finally knew him, and all amazed to see him, made much ado to alight, but the Curate would not permit him : wherefore Don- Quixote said, good Master I^cenciat permit me to alight, for it is in no sort decent that I be a horsebacke, and so reverend a person as you goe on foot. I will never consent thereunto, quoth the Curate, your highnes must needs stay on horsebacke, seeing that thereon you are accustomed to atchieve the greatest feats of Chivalrie and adventures, which were ever scene in our age. For it shall suffice me, who am an unworthy Priest, to get up behinde some one of these other Gentlemen that ride in your company, if they will not take it in bad part, yea, and I will make account that I ride on Pegasus, or the * Zebra of the famous Moore Muzaraquc, who lies yet in- ^A strange chanted in the steepe rocke (^ulema, neere unto Alcala of ^^?^ Henares. Truely I did not thinke upon it good Master f^vels ver^* Licenciat, answered Don-Quixote, yet I presume that swiftly. my Lady the Princesse will be well appaide for my sake to commaund her Squire to lend you the use of his saddle, and to get up himselfe on the Croper, if so it 87 CHAPTER II Which of the dis- cretion of the heautifuU Dorotea, and the artificiall manner lued to diMwade the amorous Knight firmn eontinaing hit penance: andhowhee gotten awaj; with manj other deligh^aU •n^ pleannt occ n rre n cei. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. be that the beast will beare double. Yes that it will, said the Princesse, for ought I know, and likewise I am sure it will not be necessary to commaund my Squire to alight, for he is of himselfe so courteous and courtly, as he will in no wise condiscend that an Ecclesiasticall man should go a foote, when he may helpe him to a horse. That is most certaine, quoth the Barber; and saying so he alighted, and intreated the Curate to take the saddle ; to which courtesie he did easily condescend. But by eviU fortune, as the Barber thought to leape up behind him : the Mule which was in effect a hired one (and that is sufficient to say it was unhappy) did lift a little her hinder quarters, and oestowed two or three flings on the ayre, which, had they hit on Master Nicholas his Brest or pate, he would have bequeathed the quest of Don-Quixote upon the Divill : but notwithstanding the Barber was so afihghted, as he fell on the ground with so little heed of his beard, as it fell quite off, and lay spread upon the ground : and perceiving himselfe without it, he had no other shift, but to cover his face with both his handes, and complaine that all his cheeke-teeth were strucken out. Don-Quixote beholding such a great sheafe of a beard falne away, without jaw or bloud from the face, he said, I vow, this is one of the greatest miracles that ever I saw in my life ; it hath taken and pluckt away his beard, as smoothly as if it were done of purpose. The Curate beholding the danger wherein their invention was like to incurre if it were detected, went forthwith, and taking up the beard, came to Master Nicholas that lay still a playing, and with one push bringing his head towards his owne brest, he set it on againe, murmuring the while over him oertaine words, which he said were a certaine prayer, appro- priated to the setting on of falne beards, as they should soone perceive : Ana so having set it on handsomly, the Squire remained as well bearded and whole as ever he was in his life : whereat Don-Quixote rested marvellously admired, and requested the Curate to teach him that prayer when they were at leasure. For he supposed that the vertue thereof extended it selfe farther then to the fastning on of beards ; since it was manifest that the place 28 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE whence the beard was torne, must have remained with- CHAPTER out flesh, wounded and il-dight; and seeing it cured all, ^^ it must of force serve for more then the beard. It is >Vliichtxeatei true, replyed Master Curate ; and then promised to instruct ®^ *^® ^^f^t h him with the secret, with the first oportunity that was beautifuU presented. Dorotea, and Then they agreed that the Curate should ride first on the the artifioiall Mule, and after him the other two, each one by tumes r!l^°®^^®^ untill they arrived to the Inne, which was about some two ^^ Imorous leagues thence. Three being thus mounted, to wit, Don- Knight from Quixote, the Princesse €Uid Curate, and the other three on continuing foote, Cardenio, the Barber, and Sancho Pan9a. Don-Quixote hw penance: said to the damzell. Madam, let me intreat your highnesse *^ ffottra* to leade me the way that most pleaseth you. And before away; with she could answere, the Licenciat said, Towards what King- many otiier dome would you travell ? Is it by fortune towards that of delightfull Micomicon ? I suppose, it should be thitherwards, or else ^^ pleasant I know but little of Kingdomes. She, who knew very well the Curates meaning, and was her selfe no babe, answered, saying ; Yes Sir, my way lies towards that Kingdome. If it be so, quoth the Curate, you must passe tnorow the village where I dwell, and from thence direct your course towards Cartagena, where you may luckily embarke your selves. And if you have a prosperous winde, and a quiet and calme Sea, you may come within the space of nine yeares to the sight of the Lake Meona, I meane Meolidas, which stands on this side of your Highnesse Kingdome some hundred dayes journey or more. I take you to be deceived good Sir, quoth shee ; for it is not yet fully two yeares since I departed from thence; and truely I never almost had any laire weather, and yet notwithstanding I have arrived, and come to see that which I so mucn longed for, to wit, the presence of the worthy Don-Quixote of the Mancha, whose renowne came to my notice as soone as I touched the earth of Spaine with my foote, and moved me to search for him, to commend my selfe to his courtesie, and commit the justice of my cause to the valour of his invincible arme. No more, quoth Don-Quixote, I cannot abide to heare my selfe praysed. For I am a swome 39 CHAPTER II Which treatei of the dis- cretion of the heautifuU Dorotea^ and the artifidall manner used to diwwade the amorous Kniffhtfrom contmuing his penance: and how hee was gotten away; with many other delightfuU and pleasant occurrences. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. enemy of all adulation. And although this be not such, yet notwithstanding the like discourses do offend my chaste eares. What I can say to you, faire Princesse is, that whether I have valour or not ; that which I have or have not, shalbe imploied in your service, even to the very losse of my life. And so omitting that til his time, let me intreat good Master Ldcenciat, to tell me the occasion which hath brought him heere to these quarters so alone, without attendants, and so slightly attired, as it strikes me in no little admiration ? To this I will an- swere with brevity, quoth the Curate : You shall under- stand that Master Nicolas the Barber, our very good friend, and my selfe, travelled towards Sivill, to recover certaine summes of money, which a kinseman of mine, who dwek this many yeeres in the Indias hath sent unto me. The summe is not a little one, for it surmounted seventy thousand Rials of eight, all of good waight : see if it was not a rich gift. And passing yesterday through this way, we were set upon by foure robbers, which dispoiled us of all, even to our very beardes, and that in such sort, as the Barber was forced to set on a counterfeit one: and this yong man that goeth here with us (meaning Cardenio) was transformed by them anew. And the best of it is, that it is publikely oruited about all this Commarke, that those which surprized us, were Gralley-slaves, who were set at liberty, as it is reported, much about this same place, by so valiant a Sjiight, as in despite of the Commissarie and the guard he freed them all. And questionlesse hee either was wood, or else as great a knave as themselves, or some one that wanted botn soule and conscience, seeing he let slip the Wolves amidst the Sheepe, the Foxe among the Hennes, and Flies hard by Home, and did frustrate justice, rebell against his naturaU Lord and King, for he did so by oppugning his just com- mandements, and hath deprived the Gallies of their feete, and set all the Holy brotherhood in an uprore, which hath reposed these many yeares past. And finally, would doe an act, by which he should lose his soule, and yet not gaine his bodie. Sancho had rehearsed to the Curate and Barber the adventure of the slaves, which his Lord had accomplished with 80 ■V] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE such glorie ; and therefore the Curate did use this vehemencie CHAPTER as he repeated it, to see what Don-Quixote would say or ^^ doe, whose colour changed at every word, and durst not Whichtreatos confesse that he was himselfe, and the deliverer of that good ^r^m^'thB people ; and these, quoth the Curate, were they that have beautifull robbed us: and God of his infinite mercy peutlon him Dorotra, etc who hmdered their going to receive the punish- ment they had so well deserved. CHAPTER III Of many pleasant discourses passed betweene Don-Quixote, and those of his companie, after he had abandoned the rigorous place of his penance. CARCB had the Curate finished his speech throughly, when Sancho said: By my faith, Master Licenciat, he that did that tea.te, was my Lord, and that not for want of warning, for I told him before hand, and advised him, that he should see well what he did, and that it was a sinne to deliver them, because they were all sent to the Gallies for very great villanies they had played. You bottlehead, replyed Don-Quijcote, hearing him speake, it concemeth not Knights Errant to examine whether the afflicted, inchaincd, and oppressed, which they encounter by the way, be carried in that fashion, or are plunged in that distresse, through their owne default or dis- grace ; but onely are obliged to assist them as needie and oppressed, setting their eyes upon their paines, and not on their crimes. I met with a Rosarie or beades of inserted people, sorrowfull and unfortunate, and I did for them that which my religion exacts, as for the rest, let 31 CHAPTER III Of many pleasant dis- courses passed betweene Don-Quixote^ and those of his companies after he had abandoned the rigorous place of his penance. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. them verifie it elsewhere: and to whosoever else the holy dignitie and honourable person of Master Licenciat ex- cepted, it shall seeme evill : I say hee knowes but slightly what belongs to Chivalrie ; and hee lies like a whoreson and a villaine borne : and this will I make him know with the broad side of my sword. These words he said, settling himselfe in his stirrups, and addressing his Morion (for the Barbers bason, which he accounted to be Mambrino his Helmet, he carried hanging at the pomell of his saddle, untill he might have it repaired of the crazings the Galley- slave had wrought in it.) Dorotea who was very discreete and pleasant, and that was by this well acquainted with Don-Quixotes faultie humour, and saw all the rest make a jest of him, Sancho Pan^a excepted, would also shew her conceit to bee as good as some others, and therefore said unto him. Sir Enignt, remember your selfe of the boone you have promised unto mee, whereunto conforming your selfe, you cannot intermeddle in any other adventure, be it ever so urgent. Therefore asswage your stomacke, for if Master Licenciat had known that the gallislaves were delivered by your invincible arme, he would rather have given unto himselfe three blowes on the mouth, and also bit his tongue thrice then have spoken any word whence might result your indignation. That I dare sweare, quoth the Curate, yea and oesides tome away one of my Mustachioes. Madame said Don-Quixote, I will hold my peace, and suppresse the just choler already inkindled in my breast, and will ride quietly and peaceably, until I have accom- plished the thing I have promised: and I request vou in recompence of this my good desire, if it be not displeasing to you, to tell mee your grievance, and how many, which, and what the persons be, of whom I must take due, sufficient, and entjrre revenge? I will promptly performe your will herein €uiswered Dorotea, if it will not bee irkesome to you to listen to disasters. In no sort good Madam, said Don-Quixote: to which Dorotea, answered thus, be then attentive to my relation. Scarce had she said so, when Cardenio and the Barber came by her side, desirous to heare how the discreete Dorotea would faine her tale : and 82 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE the same did Sancho, which was as much deceived in her CHAPTER Eerson as his Lord Don-Quixote and she, after dressing ^^^ er selfe well in the saddle, bethought and provided her Of many selfe whilst she coufi^hed and used other gestures, and then pl®"*^* dis- bemn to speake m this manner. betweeiS^ First of all good Sirs I would have you note that I am Don-Quixote, called : and heere she stood suspended a while, by reason and those of she had forgotten the name that the Curate had given *^^ ^^ij"^??}^* unto her ; but he presently occurd to her succour, under- abandoned standing the cause, and said. It is no wonder great Ladie the rigorous that you be troubled and stagger, whilest you recount place of his your misfortunes, seeing it is their ordinarie custome penance, of disasters to deprive those whom they torment and distract their memorie in such sort, as they cannot re- member themselves, even of their owne very names; as now it proves done in your Highncsse, which forgets it selfe, that you are called the Princesse Micomicona law- fiill inheritrix of the great Kingdome of M icomicon : and with this note, you may easily reduce into your dole- full memory, all that which you shall please to rehearse. It is very true (quoth the Damsell) and from henceforth I thinke it will not be needfuU to prompt me any more; for I will arrive into a safe port, with the narration of my authenticke Historic: which is, that my father, who was called The wise Tinacrio, was very expert in that which is called Art Magick, and he knew by his science, that my Mother, who was called Queenc Xaramilla should die before he deceased, and that he should also passe from this life within a while after, and leave me an Orphane, but he was woont to say, how that did not afflict his mind so much, as that he was very certaine that a huge Giant, Lord of a great Hand neere unto my Kingdome, called Pandafilando, of the duskie sight: because, although his eyes stand in their right places, yet doe they still looke a squint, which he doth to terrifie the beholders. I say that my father knew, that this Giant when he should heare oi his death, would passe with a maine power into my land, and deprive me therof, not leaving me the lest village, wherein I might hide my head. Yet might all this l>e 2:£ 88 CHAPTER III Of many pleasant dis- courses pagsed betweene Don-Quixote^ and those of his companies after he had abandoned the rigorous place of his penance. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. excused, if I would marry with him, but as he found out by his science, he knew I would never condiscend there- unto, or incline mine affection to so unequall a marriage : and herein he said nothing but truth, for it never past once my thought, to espouse that Giant, nor with any other, were he ever so unreasonable, great and mightie: my father likewise added then, that after his death, I should see Landafilando usurpe my Kingdome, and that I should in no wise stand to my defence, for that would Erove my destruction; but leaving to him the kingdome leely without troubles, if I meant to excuse mine owne death, and the totall ruine of my good and lovall subjects, for it would be impossible to defend my seUe from the divellish force of the giant ; I should presently direct my course towards Spayne, where I should find a redresse of my harmes, bv incountring with a Knight Errant, whose fame should extend it selfe much about that time throughout that kingdome, and his name should be if I forget not my selfe, Don Afote or Don Gigote. Ladie, you would say Don-Quixote quoth Sancho Panca, or as hee is called by another name, the Sjiight of tne ilfavoured face. You have reason replied Dorotea: he said moreover, that he should bee high of stature, have a withered face, and that on the right side, a little under the left shoulder, or thereabouts, he should have a tawny spot with certaine haires like to bristles. Don -Quixote hearing this said to his Squire, hold my horse heere, sonne Sancho; and helpe me to take off mine apparrell, for I will see whether I be the Knight, of whom the wise king hath prophesied. Why would you now put off your cloaths ? quoth Dorotea. To see whether I have that spot which your father mentioned, answered Don-Quixote : You need not undoe your apparrell for that purpose said Sancho, for I know alreadie that you have a spot with the tokens she named on the very ridfges of your backe, and argues you to bee a very strong man. That is sufficient quoth Dorotea : for wee must not looke too neere, or be over curious in our friends affaires, and whether it be on the shoulder, or ridge of the backe it imports but little : for the substance 84 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE consists onely in having such a marke, and that wheresoever CHAPTER it shall be ; seeing all is one, and the selfe-same flesh : and ^ doubtlesly my good father did ayme well at all, and I like- Of many wise in commending my selfe to Don-Quixote : for surely he pleasant dia- is the man of whom my father spoke, seeing the signes of bet^w^*"^^^ his face a^ee with those of the great renowne that is spread Don-Quixote, abroad of this Knight, not onely in Spayne, but also in and those of iEthiopia : for I had no sooner landed in Osuna, when I ^^ *^®^^??1® heard so many of his prowesses recounted, as my minde ^^^^[oned five me presently, that hee was the man in whose search ^^ rigorous travailed. But how did you land in Osuna good Madam place of his quoth Don-Quixote, seeing it is no Sea-towne? Marrie penance, sir quoth the Curate, anticipating Dorotea'^s answere, the Princesse would say that after she had landed in Malaga, the first place wherein she heard tidings of you, was at Osuna. So I would have said quoth Dorotea. And it may be very wel quoth the Curate, and I desire your Majestie to continue your discourse : there needs no farther continuation quoth Dorotea, but that finally my Fortune hath beene so favourable in finding of Don-Quixote, as I doe alreadie hold and account my selfe for Queene and Ladie of all mine estate, seeing that hee of his wonted bountie and magnificence hath promised mee the boone to accompany me wheresoever I shall guide him, which shall be to none other place then to set him before Panda- filando of the duskie sight, to the end you may sley him, and restore mee to that which hee hath so wrongfully usurped: for all will succeed in the twinkling of an eye, as the wise Tinacrio my good father hath already foretold : who said moreover, and also left it written in Chaldaicall or Greeke characters, (for I cannot read them,) that if the Knight of the Prophecie, after having beheaded the Giant, would take me to wife, that I should in no sort refuse him, but instantly admitting him for my Spouse, make him at once possessor of my selfe and my Kingciome. What thinkest thou of this friend Sancho ? quoth Don- Quixote then, when he heard her say so: how likest this point? did not I tell thee thus much before? see now, whether we have not a kingdome to commaund, and a S5 CHAPTER III Of many pleasant dia- counes passed betweene Don-Quixote, and those of his companie, after he had abandoned the rigorous place of his penance. THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b Queene whom wee may marry? I sweare as much quoth Sancho, a poxe on the knave that will not marry as soone as Master Pandahilado his windepipes are cut. Mount then and see whether the Queene bee ill or no: I would to God all the fleas of my bed were turned to be such. And saying so, he gave two or three friskles in the ayre, with very great signes of contentment, and presently went to Dorotea, and taking her Mule by the bridle he with- held it, and laying himselfe downe on his knees before her requested her very submissively to give him her hands to kisse them, in signe that hee received her for his Queene and Ladie. Which of the beholders could abstaine from laughter, perceiving the masters madnesse, and the servants simplicity P To be briefe, Dorotea must needes give them unto him, and promised to make him a great Lord in her Eingdome, when heaven became so propitious to her, as to let her once recover and possesse it peaceablie. And Sancho returned her thankes, with such words as made them all laugh a new. This is my Historie noble Sirs, quoth Dorotea, whereof onely restes untold, that none of all the traine which I brought out of my Eingdome to attend on me, is now extant, but this well bearded Squire; for all of them were drowned in a great storme that overtooke us in the very sight of the Harborough, whence hee and I escaped, and came to land by the helpe of two plankes, on which we laid hold, almost by miracle; as also the whole discourse and mysterie of my life seemes none other then a miracle, as you might have noted : And if in any part of the relation I have exceeded, or not observed a due aecorum, you must impute it to that which Master Lecenciat said to the first of my History, that continuall paines and afflictions of mind depnves them that sufier the like of their memory. That shall not hinder mee (O high and valorous Ladie) quoth Don-Quixote, from enduring as many as I shall sufier in your service be they ever so great or difficult. And there- lore I doe anew ratifie and confirme the promise I have made, and doe sweare to goe with you to the end of the world untill I find out your fierce enemy, whose proud S6 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE head I meane to slice ofF by the helpe of God, and my CHAPTER valorous arme, with the edge of this (I will not say a good) ^ sword: thankes be to Gines of Passamonte, which tooke Of many away mine owne: this he said murmuring to himselfe, and P^®***°* ^|*]\ then prosecuted saying : and after I have cut it off, and left tetw^iw you peaceably in the possession of your state, it shal rest Don-Quixote, m your owne will to dispose of your person as you like best, and those of For as long as I shall have my memory possessed, and my ^j? companie, will captiv^, and my understanding yeelded to her, I will *J^„'donSi say no more, it is not possible that ever I may induce my the rigorous selfe to marry any other, although shee were a Phoenix. place of his That which Don -Quixote had said last of all, of not penance, marrying, disliked Sancho so much, as lifting his voyce with great anger, he said, I vow and sweare by my selfe, that you are not in your right wits. Sir Don-Quixote: for how is it possible, that you can call the matter of contracting so high a Princesse as this is in doubt .^^ do you think that Fortune will offer you at every comers end the like happe of this which is now proffered ? Is my Ladie Dulcinea perhaps more beautifuU .'^ No certainely, nor halfe so faire, nay I am rather about to say, that she comes not to her shoo that is heere present. In an ill howre shall I arrive to possesse that unfortunate Earldome which I expect, if you goe thus seeking for Mushrubs in the bottome of the Sea : Marry, marry your selfe presently ; the divell take you for me, and take that Eingdome comes into your hands, and being a King make me presently a Marquesse, or Admirall, and instantly after let the divell take all if he pleaseth. Don-Quixote, who heard such blasphemies spoken against his Ladie Dulcinea, could not beare them any longer : and therefore lifting up his laveline without speakmg any word to Sancho, gave him therewith- all too such blowes as hee overthrew him to the earth : and had not Dorotea cried to him, to hold his hand, he had doubtlesly slaine him in the place. Thinkest thou (quoth he after a while) base peasant, that I shall have aiwaies leasiire and disposition to thrust my hand into my pouch, and that there be nothing else but thou still erring, and I pardoning; and doest not thou think 87 CHAPTER III Of many pleasant dis- courses passed betweene Don-Quixote^ and those of his Gompanie, after he had abandoned the rigorous place of his penance. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. of it (excommunicated rascall) for certainely thou art ex- communicated, seeing thou hast talked so oroadly of the peerelesse Dulcinea, and doest not thou know, base slave, Vagabond, that if it were not for the valour shee infuseth into mine arme, that I should not have sufficient forces to kill a flea, Say, scoffer with the vipers tongue, who dost thou thinke hath gained this kingdome, and cut the head of this Giant, and made thee a M arquesse P (For I give all this for done alreadie, and for a matter ended and judged) but the worthes and valour of Dulcinea : using mine arme as the instrument of her act. She fights under my person, and overcomes in mee : And I live and breathe in her, and from her I hold my life and being. O whoreson villaine, how ungratefull art thou, that seest thy selfe exalted out from the dust of the earth to be a Nobleman, and yet dost repay so great a benefit, with detracting the person that bestowed it on thee. Sancho was not so sore hurt, but that he could heare all his Masters reasons very well : \irherefore arising somewhat hastily, hee ranne behmde Dorotea her Palfray, and from thence said to his Lord : Tell me Sir if you bee not deter- mined to marry with this Princesse, it is most cleere that the Kingdome shall not be yours : and if it bee not, what favours can you bee able to doe to me P It is of this that I complaine me, marrie your selfe one for one with this Princesse, now that we have her here, as it were rained to us downe from heaven, and you may after tume to my Ladie Dulcinea, for I thinke tnere bee Kings in the world, that keepe I/cmmons. As for beauty, I will not inter- meddle ; for if I must say the truth, each of both is very faire, although I have never seene the Ladie Dulcinea. How, hast not thou seene her, blasphemous traytor ? quoth Don-Quixote, if thou didst but even now bring mee a message from her ? I say, quoth Sancho, I have not seene her so leisurely, as I might particularly note her beautie and good partes one by one, but yet in a clap as I saw them, they liked me very well. I doe excuse thee now, said Don- Quixote, and paraon me the displeasure which I have given unto thee, for the first motions are not in our handes. I see 88 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE that well, quoth Sancho, and that is the reason why talke is CHAPTER in me of one of those first motions. And I cannot omit to ^^^ speake once at least, that which comes to my tongue. For Of many all that Sancho, replied Don-Quixote, see well what thou Pj^J^!^;^ speakest, for the earthen pitcher goes so oft to the water, betweene I will say no more. Don-Quixote, Well then answered Sancho, God is in heaven, who seeth »"d those of all these guiles, and shall be one day judge of him that IL^T*^?^®' sinnes most, of mee in not speaking well, or of you by not abandoned doing well. Lict there be no more, quoth Dorotea ; but the rigorous run, Sancho, and kisse your Lords hand, and aske him for- place of his givenesse, and from henceforth take more heede how you P«nance. praise or dispraise any body, and speake no ill of that Ladie Toboso, whom I doe not Know otherwise then to doe her service : and have confidence in Grod, for thou shalt not want a Lordship wherein thou mayest live like a King. Sancho went with his head han^ng downward, and de- maunded his Lords hand, which he gave unto him with a grave countenance, and after hee had kissed it, he gave him his blessing, and said to him, that hee had somewhat to say unto him, and therefore bade him to come some- what forward that he might speake unto him. Sancho obeyed, and both of them gomg a little a side, Don- Quixote said unto him, I have not had leisure after thy comming to demaund of thee in particular concerning the Embassage that thou carriedst, and the answere that thou broughtest backe; and therefore now Fortune lends us some oportunitie and leisure, doe not denie mee the happinesse which thou mayest give me by thy good newes. Demaund what you please, quoth Sancho, ana I will an- swere you, and I request you good my Lord, that you bee not from henceforth so wrathfuU. Why doest thou say so, Sancho ? quoth Don-Quixote. I say it, replied Sancho, because that these blowes which thou bestowed now, were rather given in revenge of the dissention which the Divell stirred betweene us two the other night, then for any thing I said against my Lady Dulcinea, whom I doe honour and reverence as a relike, although she be none, onely because she is yours. I pray thee good Sancho, said Don-Quixote, S9 CHAPTER III Of many pleasant dis- Gourses passed betweene Don-Quixote^ and those of his companies after he had abandoned the rigorous place of his penance. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. fal not againe into those discourses, for they offend me. I did pardon thee then, and thou knowest that a new offence must have a new penance. As they talked thus, they espied a gallant, comming towards them, riding on an Asse, and when he drewe neere he seemed to be an iGgyptian : but Sancho Panfa, who whensoever hee met any Asses, followed them with his eyes and his heart, as one that thought still on his owne, had scarce eyed him when hee knew that it was Gines of Passamonte, and by the looke of the i£gyptian, found out the fleece of his Asse, as in truth it was ; for Gines came ridinjg on his gray Asse ; who to the end that hee might not bee knowne, and also have commodity to sell his beast, attired himselfe like an Egyptian, whose language and many others he could speake as well as if they were his mother tongue. Sancho saw him and knew him : and scarce had hee scene and taken notice of him, when he cryed out aloude, Ah thiefe, Ginesillo, leave my goods behinde thee, set my life loose, and doe not intermeddle with my ease. Leave mine Asse, leave my comfort; flie, villaine, absent thy selfe, thiefe, and abandon that which is none of thine. He needed not to have used so many words and frumps, for Gines leaped downe at the very first, and beginning a trot that seemed rather to be a gallop, he absented himselfe and fled farre enough from them in a moment. Sancho went then to his Asse, and imbracing him, said, How hast thou done hitherto, my darling and treasure, gray Asse of mine eyes, and my dearest companion ? and with that stroked and kissed him as if it were a reason- able creature. The Asse held his peace, and permitted Sancho to kisse and cherish him, without answering a word. All the rest arrived, and congratulated with Sancho for the finding of his Asse, but chiefly Don-Quixote, who said unto him, that notwithstanding that he found his Asse, yet would not he therefore annuU his warrant for the three Colts ; for which Sancho returned him very great thankes. Whilest they two travelled together discoursing thus, the Curate said to Dorotea, that she had very discreetly dis- charged her selfe, as well in the Historic, as in her brevitie 40 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE and imitation thereof, to the phrase and conceits of books CHAPTER of Knighthood : she answered that she did ofttimes reade HI books of that subject, but that she knew not where the P*ro- Of many vinces lay, nor Sea ports ; and therefore did onely say at pleasant dis- randome, that she had landed in Osuna. I knew it was tet^u^***^ so, quoth the Curate, and therefore I said what you heard, Don-QuUote, wherewithall the matter was souldered. But is it not a and those of marvellous thing to see with what facility the unfortunate ^is companies Gentleman beleeves all these inventions and lies, onely be- *v^j ^ cause they beare the stile and manner of the follies laid ^he rigorous downe in his bookes? It is, quoth Cardenio, and that so place of his rare and beyond all conceit, as I beleeve, if the like were penance, to be invented, scarce could the sharpest wits devise such another. There is yet, quoth the Curate, as marvellous a matter as that : for leaving apart the simplicities which this good Grentleman speakes concerning his frensie, if you will commune with him of any other subject whatsoever he will discourse on it with an excellent methode, and shew him- selfe to have a cleere and pleasing understanding. So that, if he be not touched by matters of Chivalry, there is no man but will deeme him to be of a sound and excellent judgement. Don-Quixote on the other side prosecuted his conversing with his Squire, whilest the others talked together ; and said to Sancho : Let us two, friend Pan^a forget old injuries, and say unto mee now, without any rancour or anger, where, how, and when didst thou finde my Ladie Dulcinea ? What did she when thou camest ? What saidst thou to her ? What answered shee? What countenance shewed she as shee read my Letter? And who writ it out fairelv for thee? Ancf every other thing that thou shalt thinke worthy of notice in this affaire, to be demanded or an- swered, without either addition or lying, or soothing adula- tion : and on the other side doe not abbreviate it, lest thou shouldest defraude mee thereby of expected delight. Sir, answered Sancho, if I must say the trutn, none copied out the Letter for me, for I caried no Letter at alL Thou sayest true, quoth Don -Quixote: for I found the Tablets wherein it was written, with my selfe, two dayes after 2:F 41 CHAPTER m Of many pleasant dia- couraes passed betweene Don-Quixote, and those of his companies after he had abandoned the rigorous place of his venaooe. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. thy dep€U*ture, which did meve me exceedingly, because I knew not what thou wouldest do, when thou didst perceive the want of the Letter, and I alwaies made full account, that thou wouldest retume i^aine firom the place where thou shouldest first misse it. 1 had done so, quoth Sancho, if I had not borne it away in memory, when you read it to mee, in such sort, as I said it to a Gierke of a Vestrie, who did copie it out of my understanding so point by point, as he saia that he never in all the dayes of his life, although he had read many a Letter of excommunication, read or seene so fine a Letter as it was. And dost thou hold it yet in memory, Sancho P quoth Don-Quixote. No, Sir, said Sancho, for after I gave it, seeing it served for none other purpose, I did willingly forget it. And if I remember any thinff, it is that of the mouldy, I would say ^ Soveraigne Ladie,^ and the end, * Yours untill death, The Knight of the iUfavoured face,^ and I put betweene these two things in the Letter three hundred ^soules,^ and * lives,^ and ^ sweet eyes."* 42 rvl HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE CHAPTER nil Of the pleasant discourses continued betweene Don-Quixote, and his Squire Sancho Pan^a, with other adventures. nlLX. this liketh me well, said Don-Quixote, therefore say on, thou Anivedst, and what was that Queene of Beauty doing then P I dare say that thou foundegt her threed- ing of Pearls, or imbroidering some curi- ous device, with Venice golde for me her captive Knight? No that I did not, quoth Sancho, but winnowing two bushels of Wheate in the yard of her house. Why then, said Don-Quixote, thou mayest make account that each come of that Wheate was a graine of Pearle, seeing they were touched by her delicate hand. And Iriend, didst thou note well what the Wheate was, whether of the best or ordinarieP It was not but redde, said Sancho. Well then I assure thee, answered Don-Quixote, that being sifted by her hands, it must needs make very faire bread and wnite. But passe forward, when thou didst deliver my Letter, did she kisse itP Did she set it on her head P Did she use any ceremony worthy of such a Letter? Or what did she? When I went to give it unto her, said Sancho, she was holding up of her armes with a good quan- tity of Wheate that she had in her Sive, and therfore said unto me, friend, lay downe that Letter there on the sack, for I cannot read it untill I have winnowed all that is here. O discreetc Ladle, quoth Don-Quixote, she surely did that, because she might read it at leasure, and recreate her selfe therewithall. Forward, Sancho and aa long as shee waa thus busied, what discourses passed she with thee ? What did she demaund of thee concerning me ? And thou, what didst thou answere P Say all good Sancho, say all, recount 43 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER to me every p€u*ticularity, and let not the least immunity Iin remaine in tne In ke- home. She demaunded nothing of Of the me, quoth Sancho: but I recounted unto her the state pleasant J had left you in for her sake, doing of penance, all naked discourses from the cyrdle upward amon&: these rockes like a bruit continued v . i ® • *^ xu 5 j j.* u j betweene beast, sleepmg on the ground, and eating your bread Don-Quixote, without Table-clothes, and that you never combed your and his Squire beard, but was weeping and cursing your fortune. TOiere ^*^^^9*» thou saidst ill (quoth Don-Quixote) for I doe not curse adventu^. ^7 fortune, but rather blisse it, and will blisse it as long as I shall live, seeing it hath made me worthy to merite the love of so high a Lady as Dulcinea of Todoso. She is in good faith so nigh, answered Sancho, as she sur- passeth me almost by a whole cubite. Why how now, Sancho, said the Knight, hast thou measured thy selfe with herp I did measure my selfe with her in this manner, replyed Sancho, that comming over to helpe her to lift up a sacke of Wheat on an Asse, we joyned so neere, as I well perceived that she was more then a great spanne higher then my selfe. That is true, quoth Don-Quixote : but thinkest thou not that the talnesse of her extended stature is adorned with a thousand millions of graces and indowments of the soule? But Sancho, thou canst not denie me one thing, when thou didst thus approch her, didst thou not feele a most odoriferous smell, an aromaticall flagrancie, an, I cannot tell what, so pleasing, as I know not how to terme it? I say, such a sent, as if thou werst in some curious perfumers shop? That which I know, quoth Sancho, is, that I felt a little unsavorie sent, somewhat rammish and manlike, and I thinke the reason was, because shee had sweat a little doing of that exercise. It was not so (quoth Don- Quixote) but either thou hadst the murre, or else didst smell thy selfe ; for I know very well how that Rose among thomes doth sent, that Lillie of the field, and that chosen Amber. It may well be, said Sancho, as you have said; for I have had many times such a smell, as mee thought the Ladie Dulcinea had then : and though shee smeld to, it were no marvell : for one Divell is like another. And well (quoth Don -Quixote) see here, she hath sifted 44 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE her corne, and sent it to the Mill. What did she after shee CHAPTER had read the Letter? The Lietter said Sancho, shee read ^^I it not, for she said she could neither read nor write, and Of the therefore she tore it into small pieces, and would have no pleasant man to read it, lest those of the vill£^ should know her contin^ secrets, and say, that what I had told her by word of mouth betweene of your love and extraordinarie penance, which you remayned Don-Quixote^ doing for her sake was sufficient. And finally she con- and his Squire eluded, commaunding me to say unto you, that she had her ^^^^ ^^ *°^ commended unto you, and that shee remained with greater adventures, desire to see you, then to write unto you; and therefore she requested and willed you, as you tendred her affection, that presently upon sight hereof you should abandon these shrubbie groves, leave off your frensie, and take presently the way of Toboso. If some matter of greater importance did not occur, for she had very great desire to see and talke with you. She laughed heartily when I told her that you named your selfe the Knight of the ill-favoured face. I demaunded of her, whether the beaten Biscaine came there ? And she answered that hee did, and affirmed withall, that he was a very honest man. I asked also for the Galley- slaves, but she toldc me, that she had seene none of them as yet. All goes well till this, said Don-Quixote : but tell mee, I pray thee what lewell did shee bestow on thee at thy departure, for reward of the newes thou carriedst unto her of mee ? For it is an usuall and auncient custome among Knights and Ladies errant, to bestow on Squires, Damsels, or dwarfes, which bring them any good tidings of their Ladies, or Servants, some rich lewell, as a reward and thanks of their welcome newes. It may well be, quoth Sancho, and I hold it for a very laudable custom, but I thinke it was only used in times past; for I thinke the manner of this our age is only to give a piece of bread, and cheese : for this was all that my Lady Dulcinea bestowed on me, and that over the yard wals, when I tooke my leave with her. And in signe thereof (well fare all good tokens) the cheese was made of sheepes milke. She is marvellous liberall quoth Don-Quixote : and if she gave thee not a 46 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER lewell of gold, it was, without doubt, because she had none ^"^ then about her. ^ But sleeves are good, although they come Of the after the feast/ I will see her, and then all things shall pleasant jjg^ amended. Enowest thou, Sancho, whereat I wonder? continued ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^^ sodaine retume, for it seemes to me thou wast betweene gone, and hast come backe againe in the ayre, for thou hast I>on-Quixote, beene away but a little more then three daies, Toboso being and his Squire more then thirtie leagues from hence: And therefore doe withotliCT*^ beleeve that the wise inchanter, who takes care of mine adventurea. affaires, and is my friend (for there is such a one of force, and there must bee, under paine that I else should not be a good Knight Errant) I say, I verely thinke that wise man holpe thee to trample unawares of thy selfe : for there are wise men of that condition, which will take a Knight Errant sleeping in his bed ; and without knowing how or in what manner hee will wake the next day a thousand Leagues from that place where hee fell a sleepe. And were it not for this, Knights Errant could not succour one another in their most dangerous exigents, as they doe now at every step. For it oft-times befalles, that a Sjiight is fighting in the Mountaines of Armenia with some divellish Fauno, some dreadfull shaddow, or fierce Knight, where hee is like to have the worst, and in this point of death, when I least expect it, there appeares there on the top of a cloude, or riding in a chariot of fire another Knight his friend, who was but even then in England, and helpes him, and delivers him from death, and retumes againe that night to his owne lodging, where hee suppes with a very good appetite, and iret for all that, is there woont to bee, two or three thousand eagues from the one to the other Countrey. All which is compassed by the industrie and wisedome of those skilfull inchaunters, that take care of the said valorous Knights. So that, friend Sancho, I am not hard of beleefe in giving thee credite that thou hast gone and returned in so short a time from this place to Toboso, seeing as I have said, some wise man my friend hath belike transported thee thither by stealth, and unaware, of thy selfe. I easily thinke it, replied Sancho, for Rozinante travailed in good faith as lustily, as if he were an Egyptians Asse with quicksilver 46* IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE in his eares. And thinkest thou not, quoth Don-Quixote, CHAPTER that he had not quicksilver in his eares ? yes and a legion ^^^ of divels also to helpe it, who are folke that doe travaile Of the and make others goe as much as they list without any S-g^^^jLg weannesse. ^ .... continued But leaving all this apart, what is thine opinion that I betweene should doe now, concerning my Ladies commaundement, to Don-Quixote, goe and see her ? for although I know that I am bound to ^^^iJopSn*'^ obey her behests : yet doe I finde my selfe disabled at this ^^ ^^^^ ^ time to accomplish them, by reason of the grant I have adventures. made to the Princesse that comes with us, and the law of armes doth compell mee to accomplish my word, rather then my will : on the one side I am assaulted and urged by a desire to goe and see my Ladie : on the other, my promised faith, and the glory tliat I shall winne in this enterprize, doe incite and call me away. But that which I resolve to doe, is to travaile with all speed, that I may quickly arrive to the place where that Giant is, and will cut off his head at my comming : and when I have peaceably installed the Princesse in her Kingdome, will presently returne to see the light that doth lighten my senses; to whom I will yeeld such forcible reasons of my so long absence, as she shall easily condescend to excuse my stay, seeing all doth re- dound to her glory and fame. For all that I have gained, doe winne, or shall hereafter atchieve by force of armes in this life, proceedes wholy from the gracious favour she pleaseth to bestow upon me, and my bemg hers. O God ! quoth Sancho, I perceive that you are greatly diseased in the pate. I pray you Sir tell me whether you mean to go this long voyage for nought ? And let slip and lose so rich and so noble a preferment as this ? where the dowrie is a Kingdome, which is in good faith as I have heard say, twentie thousand leagues in compasse. And most plenti- fully stored with all things necessary for the sustayning of humane life : and that it is greater then Portugall and Castile joyned together ? Peace for Gods love, and blush at your owne words, and take my counsaile, and marry presently in the first village that hath a parish Priest : and if you will not doe it there, can you wisn a better commodity then to 47 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER have our owne Master Liceniat, who will doe it most excel- mi lently ? And note that I am old enough to give counsaile, Of the and that this which I now deliver is as fit for you, as if it pleasant ^gj^ expresly cast for you in a mould. For a Sparrow in continij^ the fist, is worth more then a flying Bittor. Don-Ouizote ^^^ ^® ^^^ ^^^ have good, and evill doth chuse^ and hii Squire ^^"^ ^^ ^** ^^^^ ^™' ™"«^ ^^* P**^®^^ ^^^• with other^^ Why Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, if thou givest me coun- adventures. 8&ile to marry, to the end I may become a King after I have slaine the Giant, and have commoditie thereby to promote thee, and give thee what I have promised: I let thee to understand that I may doe all that most easily, without marrying my self. For before I enter into the bataile, I will make this condition, that when I come away victor, although I marry not the Princesse, yet shall a part of the Kingdome bee at my disposition, to bestow upon whom I E lease ; and when I receive it, upon whom wouldest thou ave me bestow it but on thy selfe P That is manifest, said Sancho : but I pray you Sir have care to chuse that part you would reserve towards the Seaside, to the end that if the living doe not please me, I may embarke my blacke vassailes, and make the benefit of them which I have said. And likewise I pray you not to trouble your minde, think- ing to goe and see my Ladie Dulcinea at this time ; but travaile towards the place where the Giant is, and kill him, and conclude that businesse first: for I sweare unto you, that I am of opinion it will proove an adventure of very great honour and profit. I assure thee, Sancho, quoth Don- Quixote, thou art in the right, and I will follow thy coun- saile in rather going first with the Princesse, then to visite Dulcinea* And I wame thee not to speake a word to any bodie, no not to those that ride with us, of that which wee have heere spoken and discoursed together : for since Dul- cinea is so warie and secret, as she would not have her thoughts discovered, it is no reason, that I either by my selfe or any other should detect them. If that be so quoth Sancho, why then doe you send all those which you vanquish by vertue of your arme to pre- 48 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE sent themselves to my Lady Dulcinea, seeing this is as good CHAPTER as subsignation of your hands-writing, that you wish her ^^ well, ana are enamored on her ? and seeing that those which Of the goe to her, must forcibly lay them downe on their knees pjeasant before her presence, and say that they come from you to conSnii^ doe her homage, how then can the thoughts of you both be betweeue hidden and concealed ? O ! how great a foole art thou, and Don-Quixote, how simple, quoth Don-Quixote. Dost not thou perceive and his Squire Sancho, now all this results to her greater glory ? For thou with other*^ oughtest to wit, that in our Knightly proceedings, it is adventures, great honour, that one Ladie alone have many Knights Errant for her servitors, without extending their thoughts any further then to serve her, only for her high worthes, without attending any other reward of their many and good desires, then that shee will deiene to accept them as her servants and knights. I have heard preach, said Sancho, that men should love our Saviour with that kinde of love, onely for his owne sake, without being mooved thereunto, eyther by the hope of glory, or the feare of paine, although for my part I would love and serve him, for what hee is able to doe. The Divell take thee for a clowne, quoth Don-Quixote, how sharpe and pertinently dost thou speake now and then ? able to make a man imagine that thou hast studied. Now by mine honesty, quoth Sancho, I can neyther reade nor write. Master Nicholas perceiving them drowned thus in their discourses, cried out to them to stay, and drinke of a little fountaine that was by the way. Don-Quixote rested, to Sancho^s very great contentment, who was already tyred with telling him so many lies, and was afiraid his Master would intrappe him in his owne wordes. For although hee knew Dulcinea to bee of Toboso, yet had hee never scene her in his life. And Cardenio had by this time done on the apparrell Dorotea wore when they found her in the moun- taines, which though they were not very good, yet exceeded with great advantage those which he had himselfe before. And allighting hard by the fountain, they satisfied with the provision the Curate had brought with him from the Inne, although it were but little, the great hunger that 2:6 « 49 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER pressed them. And whilest they tooke their ease there, nil a certaine young stripling that travelled, passed by, who Of the looking very earnestly on all those which sate about the pleasant fountaine, he ranne presently after to Don-Quixote, and co^dnij^ imbracing his legs, he said, weeping downe right : O my betweene Lord doe not you know mee? Looke well upon me, for Don-Quixote^ I am the youth Andrew, whom you unloosed from the ^ his Squire Qake whereunto I was tyad. Don-Quixote presently knew wiSi ^^^ taking him by the handes, he turned to those that adventures, "were present, and said. Because you may see of how great impoitance it is, that there bee Benights Errant in the world, to undoe wron^ and injuries, that are committed in it by the insolent ana badde men which live therein, you shall wit that a few daies past, as I rode thorow a wood, I heard cer- taine lamentable scritches and cries, as of some needefull and afflicted person : I forthwith occurd, borne away by my pro- fession towards the place from whence the lamentable voyce sounded, and I found tied to an Oaken tree, this boy whom you see here in our presence; for which I am marvellous glad, because if I shall not say the truth, he may checke me. I say that he was tied to the Oake starke naked from the middle upward, and a certaine clowne was opening his flesh with cruell blows that he gave him with the reynes of a bridle : which clown, as I after understood, was his Master. And so, assoone as I saw him, I demaunded the cause of those cruell stripes. The rude fellow answered, that he beat him, because he was his servant, and that certaine negli- gences of his proceeded rather from being a thiefe, then of simplicity. To which this childe answered : Sir, he whips me for no other cause, but by reason that I demaund my wages of him. His Master replied, I know not now what speeches and excuses, the which although I heard, yet were they not by me admitted. In resolution, I caused him to be loosed, and tooke the clownes oath, that he would take him home, and pay him there his wages, one Riall upon another ; I and those also perfumed. Is it not true, sonne Andrew? Didst not thou note with what a domineering countenance I commanded it ; and with what humilitie he promised to accomplish all that I imposed, commaunded, and 60 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE desired ? Answer me, be not ashamed, nor stagger at all, CHAPTER but tell what passed to these Gentlemen, to the end it may Hl^ be manifestly seene how necessary it is, as I have said, to Of the have Knights Errant up and downe the high waies. pleasant All that which you have said, quoth the boy, is very true ; c^^^q^ but the end of the matter succeeded altogether contrary to betweene that which you imagined. How contrarie? quoth Don- Don-Quixote, Quixote. Why, hath not the peasant paide thee ? He not ^d his Squire only hath not payed me, answered the boy, but rather as ^^ othS^^' soone as you were passed the wood, and tnat we remained adventures, both alone, he turned againe and tied mee to the same tree, and gave me a fresh so many blowes, as I remained another S. Bartholomew, all fleaed : and at every blow he said some jest or other in derision of you : so that if I had not felt the paine of the stripes so much as I did, I could have found in my heart to have laughed very heartily. In fine, he left me in such pitifull case, as I have beene ever since curing my selfe in an Hospitall of the evil, which the wicked peasant did then unto me. And you are in the fault of al tnis, for if you had ridden on your way, and not come to the place where you were not sought for, nor intermedled your selfe in other mens affaires, perhaps my Master had contented himself with giving me a doozen or two of strokes, and would presently after have loosed me, and payed me my wages. But by reason you dishonoured him so much with- out cause, and said to him so many villanies, his choler was inflamed ; and seeing he could not revenge it on you, finding himselfe alone, he disburdened the showre on me so heavily, as I greatly feare that I shall never againe be mine own man. The nurt consisted in my departure (quoth Don-Quixote) for I should not have gone from thence, untill I had seene thee payed. For I might have very well knowne by many experiences, that * there is no clowne that will keepe his wordf, if ne see the keeping of it can tume any way to his damage."" But yet, Andrew, thou dost remember how I swore that if he paied thee not, I would retumc and seeke him out, and likewise findc him, although he conveyed himselfe into a Whales belly. Thats true, quoth Andfrew, but all availes not: thou shalt see whether it availes or no presently, 61 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER quoth Don-Quixote: and saying so, got up very hastily, ^m and commaunded Sancho to bridle Rozinante, who was Of the feeding whilest they did eate. Dorotea demanded of him pleasant what he meant to doe ? He answered, that hee would goe co^dnu^ and finde out the villaine, and punish him for using such betweene had proceedings, and cause Andrew to bee paid the last Don-Quixote, denier, in despite of as many pesants as lived in the world. ^dhiB Squire To which she answered, intreating him to remember that with othw^^ hee could not deale with any other adventure, according adventures. ^ ^ promise, untill hers were atchieved : and seeing that hee himselfe knew it to bee true better then any other, that hee should pacifie himselfe, untill his retume from her Kingdome. You have reason, said Don-Quixote : and therefore Andrew must have patience perforce untill my retume (as you have said, Madame) and when I shall tume againe, I doe sweare unto him, and likewise renew my promise, never to rest untill he be satisfied and payed. I beleeve not in such oathes, quoth Andrew, but would have as much money as might carry mee to Sivill, rather then all the revenges in the world. Give mee some meate to eate, and carrie away with me, and God bee with you and all other Knights Errant, and I pray God that they may proove as erring to themselves as tney have beene to me. Sancho tooke out of his bagge a piece of bread and cheese, and giving it to the Youth, said, hold, brother, Andrew, for every one hath his part of your misfortune. I pray you what part thereof have you ? said Andrew. This piece of bread and cheese that I bestow on thee, quoth Sancho, for God only knowes whether I shall have neede of it againe or no: for thou must wit, friend, that we the Squires of Knights Errant, are very subject to great hunger and evill lucke, yea, and to other thin^ which are better felt then told. Andrew laid hold on his bread and cheese ; and see- ing that no-body gave him any other thing, hee bowed his head, and went on his way. True it is, that he said to Don -Quixote at his departure: for Gods love, eood Sir Knight Errant, if you snail ever meet me againe in the plight you have done, although you should see 52 "] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE me torne in pieces, yet doe not succour or helpe me, but CHAPTER leave me in my disgrace ; for it cannot be so great, but that I'^I a greater will result from your helpe, upon whom and all Oftheple*- the other Knights Errant that are borne in the world, I pray ""^ '*'*' God his curse may alight. Don-Quixote thought to arise ' to chastise him : but he ran away so swiftly, as no man durst follow him and our Knight remained marvellouslv ashamed at Andrews tale : wherefore the rest witn much adoe supprest their desire to laugh, lest they snould throughly confound him. CHAPTER V Treating of that which befell all Don-Quixote his traine in the Inne. jjIHE dinner being ended, they saddled and went to horse presently, and travelled all that day, and the next without incoun- tring any adventure of price, untill they arrived at the only bugge and scar-crow of Sancho Pan^a : and though bee would full faine have excused his entry into it, yet could he in no wise avoide it : the Inkeeper, the Hostesse her daughter, and Maritomes seeing Don-Quixote and Sancho retume, went out to receive them with tokens of great love and joy, and he intertained them with grave countenance and applause, and bade them to make him ready a better bedde then the other which th^ had given unto him the time before. Sir, quoth the Hostesse, if you would pay us better then the last time, we would give you one for a Prince. Don-Quixote answered that he would; they prepared a reasonable good bedde for him in the same wide rooroe where he lay before : and he went presently to bedde, by reason that he arrived much tyred, and voide of THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER wit. And scarce was he gotten into his chamber, when the ^ Hostesse leaping suddenly on the Barber, and taking him by Treating of the beard, said, Now by my selfe blissed, thou shalt use my tiiat which ^]g jjQ more for a beard, and thou shalt turne me my taile ; oSte JS"" for my husbands combe goes throwne up and doWn the traine in the floore, that it is a shame to see it : I meane the combe that Inne. I was wont to hang up in my good taile. The Barber would not sive it unto her for all her drawing, until the Licenciate bad him to restore it, that they had now no more use there- of, but that he might now very well discover himselfe, and appeare in his owne shape, and said to Don-Quixote, that after the Gralley-slaves had robd him, he fledde to that Inne ; and if Don-Quixote demaunded by chaunce for the Princesse her Squire, that they should tell him, how she had sent him before to her kinedome, to give intelligence to her sulnects, that she returned, bringing with her him that should A'ee and give them all libertie. With this the Barber surrendred the taile willingly to the Hostesse, and likewise all the other borrowed wares which she had lent for Don-Quixotes deliverie. All those of the Inne rested wonderfull amazed at Doroteas beautie, and also at the comelinesse of the Shepheard Cardenio. Then the Curate gave order to make reaaie for them such meat as the Inne could affoord : and the Inkeeper, in hope of better payment, did dresse very speedily for them a reasonable good dinner. Don-Quixote slept all this while, and they were of opinion to let him take his rest, seeing sleepe was more requisite for his disease then meate. At the Table they discoursed (the Inkeeper, his wife, daughter and Maritornes, and all the other travellers being present) of Don-Quixotes strange frensie, and of the maner wherein they found him. The Hostesse eftsoones recounted what had hapned there betweene him and the Carrier ; and looking to see whether Sancho were present, perceiving that hee was away, she tolde likewise all the story of his canvasing, whereat they conceived no little content and pastime. And as the Curate said, that the oiiginall cause of Don-Quixotes madnesse proceeded from the reading of bookes of Knighthood ; the In-keeper answered. I cannot conceive how that may be, for (as I beleeve) 54 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE there is no reading so delightful! in this world : and I my CHAPTER selfe have two or three bookes of that kinde with other ^ Eapers, which doe verily keepe me alive, and not onely me, Treating of ut many other. For in the reaping times, many of the u f^if^^^^u- reapers repaire to this place in the heates of mid-day, and Quixote his there is evermore some one or other among them that can traiue in the reade, who takes one of these bookes in hand, and then luue. some thirtie or more of us doe compasse him about, and doe listen to him with such pleasure, as it hinders a thousand hoary haires : for I dare say at least of my selfe, that when I heare tell of those furious and terrible blowes that Knights Errant give, it inflames me with a desire to become such a one my selfe, and could finde in my heart to be hearing of them day and night. I am just of the same minde no more, nor no lesse, said the Hostesse, for I never have any quiet houre in my house, but when thou art hearing those bookes whereon thou art so besotted, as then thou doest onely for- get to chide, which 'is thy ordinarie exercise at other times. That is very true, said Maritomes. And I in good sooth doe take great delight to heare those things, for they are very fine, and especially when they tell how such a Xadie lies embraced by her Knight under an Orange tree, and that a certaine Damsell keepeth watch all the while, readie to burst for envie that she hath not likewise her sweet heart : And very much afraid. I say that all those things are as sweete as honey to mee. And you, quoth the Curate to the Inkeepers daughter, what do you thinke ? I know not in good sooth Sir quoth she, but I do likewise give eare, and m truth although I understand it not, yet doe I take some pleasure to heare them, but I raislike greatly those blowes, which please my father so much ; and oncIy delight in the lamentations that Knightes make, being absent u-om their Ladies : which in sooth doe now and then make mee weepe through the compassion I take of them. Well then, quoth Dorotea, belike, faire Maiden, you would remedie them, if such plaints were breathed for your owne sake? I know not what I would doe, answered the Gyrle, onely this I know, that there are some of those Ladies so cruell, as their Knights call them Tigres and Lyons, and a thousand other 55 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAPTER wild beasts. And good lesus, I knew not what unsouled V folke they bee, and so without conscience, that because they Treating of will not once behold an honorable man, they suffer him ?*?*i7^i^ either to die or run mad. And I know not to what end &Uote hS"" serves all that coynesse. For if they doe it for honesties traine in the sake, let them marry with them, for the Knights desire Inne. nothing more: Peace, childe, quoth the Hostesse, for it seemes that thou knowest too much of those matters, and it is not decent that maidens should know or speake so much: I speake, quoth she, by reason that this good Sir made me the demaund. And I could not in courtesie omit to answere him : Well, said the Curate, let me intreat you good mine Host, to bring us here those bookes, for I would &ine see them. I am pleased, said the Inkeeper : and then entring into his chamoer, he brought forth a little old Mallet shut up with a chaine, and opening thereof, he tooke out three great bookes and certaine papers written with a very faire letter. The first booke he opened, was that of Don Cirongilio of ThrcuAa. The other Feliamiarte ofHirccmia : And the third, The Historie of the great Captaine^ Goufolo Hernandez of Cordova, with the life of Diego Garcia of Paredes, adjoyned. As soone as the Curate had read the titles of the two bookes, he said to the Barber, We have now great want of our friends, the old woman and Neece. Not so much as you thinke, quoth the Barber, for I know also the way to the yard, or the chimney, and in good sooth, there is a fire in it good enough for that purpose. Would you then, quoth the Host bume mv bookes ? No more of them, quoth the Curate, but these nrst two of Don Cironffilio and Felivmarte. Are my bookes perhaps, quoth the Inkeeper, hereticall or flegmaucall, that you would thus roughly handle them? Schismaticall thou wouldest have said, quoth the Barber, and not flegmaticalL It is so, said the Inkeeper, but if you will needs bume any, I pray you rather let it be that of the Great Captaine, and of that Diego Garcia^ for I would rather suffer one of my sonnes to be burned, then any one of those other two. Grood friend, these two bookes are lying and full of follies and vanities, but that of the 66* IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE GrecU Captaine is true, and containeth the artes of Gonfalo CHAPTER Hernandez of Cordova : who for his sundrie and noble acts, ^ merited to be termed by all the world, The great Captaine, Treating of a name famous, illustrious, and onelv deserved by himselfe, J^^i^^}^ and this other Diego Garcia of Paredjes was a noble Grentle- Quf^ote his" man, borne in the Citie of Truxillo in Estremadura, and traine in the was a most valorous souldier, and of so surpassing force, Inne. as hee would detaine a mill wheele with one hand from turning in the midst of the speediest motion : and standing once at the end of a bridge with a two handed sword, de- fended the passage against a mightie armie that attempted to passe over it: and did so many other things, that if another, who were a stranger and unpassionate, had written them, as he did himselfe who was the relater and historio- grapher of his owne acts, and therefore recounted them with the modestie of a Gentleman, and proper Chronicler ; they would have drowned all the Hectors, Achillises and Hollands in oblivion. There is a jest, quoth the Inkeeper, deale with my father, I pray you, see at what you wonder. A wise tale, at the withholding of the wheele of a mill. I sweare you ought to read that which is reaxi in Felixmarte of Hircania^ who with one thwart blow cut five mightie Giants in halfes, as if they were of beanes, like to the little Friers that children make of bean-cods. And set another time upon a great and most powerful army of more then a million and sixe hundred thousand souldiers, and overthrew and scattered them all like a flocke of sheepe. What then can you say to me of the good Don Cirongilio of Thracia, who was so animous and valiant as may be seene in his booke : wherein is laid downe, that as he sayled along a River, there issued out of the middest of the water a serpent, of fire, and he, as soone a^ he perceived it, leaped upon her, and hanging by her squamie shoulders he wroong her throat so straitly betweene both his armes, that the Serpent perceiving her selfe to bee well- nigh strangled, had no other way to save her selfe, but by diving down into the deeps, carrying the knight away with her, who would never let goe his gripe, and when they came to the bottome, he found himselfe by a Pallace in such a:H 67 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER faire and pleasant gardens, as it was a wonder : and pre- V sently the Serpent turned into an old man, which said to Treating of him such things as there is no more to be desired. Two !^^r^i^ fiffs for the Great Captaine, and that Diego Grarcia, of whom befell allDon- ^^ gpeake ^ ' & -^ traine in the Dorotea hearing him speake thus, said to Cardenio, mee Inne. thinks our host wants but litle to make up a second part of Don-Quixote ? So it seemes to me likewise replied Cardenio, for as we may conjecture by his words, he certainly beleeves that every tmng written in those bookes passed just as it is laid down, and barefooted friers would oe scarce able to perswade him the contrary. Enow, friend (quoth the Curate to the Inkeeper^ that there was never any such man as Felixmarte oi Hircania, or Don Ciron^lio of Thracia, nor other such Knights, as books of Chivalry recount. For all is but a device and fiction of idle wits that composed them, to the end that thou sayest, to passe over the time, as yoiur readers do in reading of them. For I sincerely sweare unto thee, that there were never such knights in the world, nor such adventures and ravings hapned in it. Cast that bone to another dog, quoth the Inkeeper, as though I knew not how many numbers are five, and where the snoo wrests me now. I pray you. Sir, goe not about to give me pappe, for by the Lord I am not so white. Is it not a good sport that you labour to perswade mee that al that which tnese good books say, are but ravings and fables, they being printed by grace and priviledge of the Lords of the privie Counsell ; as if they were folke that would permit so many lies to be printed at once : and so many battels and inchant- ments, as are able to make a man nmne out of his wits. I have told thee already, friend (said the Curate) that this is done for the recreation of our idle thoughts : and so even as in welgovemd commonwesdths, the plaies of Chesse, Tennis, and TVucks are tollerated for the pastime of some men, which have none other occupation, and either ought not, or cannot work : even so such books are permitted to be printed : presuming (as in truth they ought) that no man would be found so simple and ignorant, as to hold any of these bookes for a true history. And if my leasure per- IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE mittedy and that it were a thing requisite for this auditory, CHAPTER I could say many things concerning the subject of books ^ of knighthood, to the end that they should be well con- Treatiii^of trived, and also be pleasant and profitable to the readers : ^5*i7^^ but I hope sometime to have the commoditie to communi- Qu^ote Wt**" cate my conceit with those that may redresse it. And in traine in the the meane while you may beleeve good mine host what Inne. I have said, and take to you your bookes, and agree with their truthes or leasings as you please, and much good may it do you. And I pray Grod that you hault not in time on the foot that your mest Don-Quixote halteth. Not so, quoth the Inkeeper, for I will never be so wood as to become a Knight errant, for I see well, that what was used in the times of these famous Sjiights, is now in no use nor request. Sancho came in about the midst of this discourse, and rested much confounded and pensative of that which he heard them say, that Knights Errant were now in no request, and that the bookes of Chivalry, onely contained follies and lies : and purposed with himselfe to see the end of that voyage of his Lords, and that if it sorted not the wished successe which he expected, he resolved to leave him, and retume home to his wife and children, and accustomed labour. The Inkeeper thought to take away his bookes and budget, but the Curate withheld him, saying, stay a while, tor I would see what papers are those which are written in so faire a character. The host took them out and gave them to him to read, bein^ in number some eight sheets with a title written in text letters, which said, The History of the curious impertinent: The Curate read two or three lines softly to himselfe, and said after, truly, the title of this History doth not mislike mee, and therefore I am about to reade it through. The Inkeeper hearing him, said, your reverence may very well do it, lor I assure you, that some guests whicn have read it here as they travelled, did commend it exceedingly, and have begd it of me as earnestly, but I would never bestow it, hoping some day to restore it to the owner of this Mallet, who forgot it heere behind him with these bookes and papers, 69 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER for it may be that he will sometime retume, and although V I know tnat I shall have great want of the bookes, yet will Treating of I make to him restitution, for although I am an Inkeeper, ^^Sr^^ yet Grod be thanked I am a Christian therewithall. You Ou^te Ws"^" have great reason my friend, quoth the Curate, but yet traineinthe notwithstanding if the tast like me, thou must give me Inne. leave to take a copie thereof; with all my heart, replied the host. And as they two talked, Cardenio taking the booke began to reade a little of it, and it pleasing him as much as it had done the Curate, he requested him to reade it in such sort as they might al heare him : that I would willingly do said the Curate, if the time were not now more fit for sleeping then reading. It were sufficient repose for me said Dorotea, to passe away the time listening to some tale or other, for my spirit is not yet so well quieted, as to affbord me licence to sleepe, even then when nature exacteth it. If that be so quotn the Curate, I will read it if it were but for curiositie, perhaps it containeth some delight- full matter. Master Nicholas and Sancho intreated the same: the Curate seeing and knowing that he should therein do them all a pleasure, and he himselfe like- wise receive as great, said, seeing you will needs heare it, be all of you attentive, for the His- toric b^nneth in this manner. 60 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE CHAPTER VI Wherein is rehearsed the Historie of the curious impertinent. N Florence, a rich and famous Citie of Italie, in the Province called Tuscane, there dwelled two rich and principall Grentle- men called Anselmo and Lothario, which two were so great friends, as they were named for excellency and by Antono- masia, by all those that knew them, the two friends. They were both batchelers, and much of one age and manners ; all which was of force to make them answer one another with reciprocall amity. True it is, that Anselmo was somewhat more inclined to amorous dalliance then Lothario, who was altogether ad- dicted to hunting. But when occasion exacted it, Anselmo would omit his owne pleasures to satisfie liis friends, and Lothario likewise his, to please Anselmo. And by this mcanes both their wils were so correspondent, as no clocke could be better ordred then were their desires. Anselmo being at last deepely enamoured of a principall and beauti- full young Ladie of the same Citie, called Camila, being so wortnily descended, and she her selfc of such merit there- withall, as he resolved (by the consent of his friend Lothario, without whom he did nothing) to demand her of her parents for wife, and did put his purpose in execution: and Lothario himselfe was the messenger, and concluded the matter so to his friends satisfaction, as he was shortly after put in possession of his desires : and Camila so contented to have gotten Anselmo, as she ceased not to render Heaven and Lothario thankes, by whose meanes she had obtained so good a match. The first dayes, as all marriage dales are wont to be merry Lothario frequented, according to the custome, his friend Anselmo's house, endevouring to honor, 61 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER feast and recreate him all the waves he might possible: ^ but after the Nuptials were finished, and the concourse of Wherein is strangers visitations and congratulations somewhat ceajsed, rehearsed the Ix)thario also began to be somewhat more slacke then he the curious wonted in going to Anselmo his house, deeming it (as it impertinent ^^ reason that all discreet men should) not so convenient to visit or haunt so often the house of his friend after marriage, as he would, had he still remained a Batcheler. For although true amitie neyther should, or ought to admit the least suspition: yet notwithstanding a married mans honour is so delicate and tender a thing, as it seemes it may be sometimes impa3rred even by very brethren, and how much more by mends. Anselmo noted the remisnes of Lothario, and did grievously complaine thereof, saying, that if he had wist by marriage he should thus be deprived of his dearest conversation, he would never have married ; and that since through the uniforme correspondencie of them both bein? free, they had deserved the sweet title of * the two friends,' that he should not now permit (because he would be noted circumspect without any other occasion) that so famous and pleasing a name should be lost: and therefore he requested him (if it were lawfull to use such a terme betweene them two) to retume and be Master of his house, and come and goe, as he had done before his marriage, assuring him that his Spouse Camila had no other pleasure and wul, then that which himselfe pleased she shoula have : and that she, after having knowne how great was both their friendships, was not a Tittie amazed to see him become so strange. To all these and many other reasons alleaged by Anselmo, to perswade Lothario to frequent his house, he answered with so CTeat prudence, discretion and warinesse, as Anselmo remained satisfied of his friends good intention herein : and they made an agreement betweene them two, that Lothario should dine at his house twice a weeke, and the Holy-daies besides. And although this agreement had passed betweene them, yet Lothario purposed to doe that onely which he should finde most expedient for his friends honour, whose reputation he tendered much more deerely then he did his 62 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE owne ; and was wont to say very discreetly, that the married CHAPTER man unto whom heaven had given a beautiful! wife, ought VI to have as much heede of the friends which hee brought to ^Vllerem is his house, as he should of the women friends that visited rehearsed the his wife, for that which is not done nor agreed upon in the ^o oirious Church or Market, nor in publike feasts or stations (being impertiDent places that a man cannot lawfully hinder his wife from frequenting somtimes at least) are oft-times facilitated, and contrived in a friends or kinsewomans house, whom perhaps we never suspected. Ansel mo on the other side affirmed, that therefore married men ought every one of them to have some friend who might advertise them of the faults escaped in their manner of proceeding ; for it befals many times, that through the great love which the husband beares towards his wife, eyther he doth not take notice, or else he doth not ^vertise her, because he would not offend her to doe, or omit to doe certaine things, the doing or omitting whereof, might tume to his honour or obloquie : to which things being advertised by his friend hee might easily apply some remedie : but where might a man finde a friend so discreet, loyall and trustie as Anselmo demaunds ? I know not truely, if not Lothario ; for he it was, that with all sollicitude and care regarded the honour of his friend : and therefore endevoured to clip and diminish the number of the daies promised, lest he should give occasion to the idle vulgar, or to the eyes of vagabonds and malitious men to judge any sinister thing, viewing so rich, comely, noble, and qualifiea a young man as he was, to have so free accesse into the house of a woman so beautifull as Camila. For though his vertues and modest carriage were sufficiently able to set a bridle to any malignant tongue, yet notwith- standing he would not have his credit, nor that of his friends called into any question, and therefore would spend most of the dayes that he had agreed, to visite his friend, in other places and exercises ; yet fayning excuses so plausible, as his friend admitted them for very reasonable. And thus the time passed on in challenges of unkindnesse of these one side, and lawfull excuses of the other. It so fell out, that as both the friends walked on a day 68 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER together in a field without the Citie, Ansebno said to ^' Lothario these words ensuing. I know veiy well, friend Wherein is Lothario, that among all the £Bivours, which God of his Hbto*^ f^* bountie hath bestowed upon me, by making me the sonne the curioas ^^ ^^^^ parents, and giving to me with so uberall a hand, impertinent both the goods of Nature and Fortune: yet as I cannot answer him with sufficient gratitude for the oenefits alreadie received, so doe I finde my selfe most highly bound unto him above all others, for having given me such a friend as thou art, and so beautifull a wife as Camila ; being both of you such pawnes, as if I esteeme you not in the d^ree which I ought, yet doe I hold you as deere as I may. And yet possessmg all those things which are wont to bee the all and some, that are wont, and may make a man happy, I live notwithstanding the most sullen and discontented life of the world. Being troubled, I know not since when and inwardly wrested with so strange a desire, and extravagant from the common use of others, as I marvaile at my selfe, and doe condemne and rebuke my selfe when I am alone, and do labour to conceale and cover mine owne desires, all which hath served me to as little effect, as if I had pro- claimed mine owne errors purposely to the world. And seeing that it must finally breake out, my will is that it bee onely communicated to the treasury of thy secret. Hoping that by it and mine owne industry which (as my true friend) thou wilt use to helpe me, I shall be quickly freed from the anguish it causeth, and by thy meanes my joy and contentment shall arrive to the passe, that my discontents have brought mee through mine owne folly. Lothario stood suspended at Anselmo^s speech, as one that could not imagine, to what so prolixe a prevention and preamble tended : And although he revolved and imagined sundry things in his mind which hee deemed might aifiict his friend, yet did he ever shoote wide from the marke which in truth it was: and that he might quickly escape that agonie, wherein the suspension held him, he said that his friend did notable injune to their amitie in searching out wreathings and ambages in the discovery of his most hidden thougnts to him, seeing he might assure himself 64 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE certainely, either to receive counsels of him how to enter- CHAPTER tain, or else remedy and meanes how to accomplish them. ^^ It is very true, answered Anselmo, and with that confi- \Vherein is dence I let thee to understand friend Lothario, that the rehearsed the desire which vexeth me, is a longing to know, whether my the curious wife Camila be as good and perfect, as I doe account her : impertinent and I cannot wholy rest satisfied of this truth, but by making triall of her, in such sort, as it may give manifest argument of the degree of her goodnesse, as the fire doth shew the value of gold. For I am of opinion (O friend) that a woman is of no more worth or vertue, then that which is in her, after she hath *bene solicited, and that ^Ckutaett she alone is strong, who cannot be bowed by the promises, ^uamnemo gifts, tears, and continuall importunities of importunate ''*^^^"^' Lovers. For what thanks is it (quoth he) for a woman to be good, if no bodie say or teach her ill ? What wonder that she be retired and timcrous, if no occasion be ministred to her of dissolution, and chiefly she that knowes she hath a husband readie to kill her, for the least argument of light- nesse ? So that she which is onely good for feare, or want of occasion, will I never hold in that estimation, that I would the other sollicited and pursued, who notwithstand- ing comes away crowned with the victory. And therefore being moved as well by these reasons, as by many other, which I could tell you, which accredite and fortific mine opinion, I desire that my wife Camila doe also passe thorow the pikes of those proofes and difficulties, ana purifie and refine her selfe in the fire of being requested, solicited and pursued; and that by one whose worthes and valour may deserve acceptance in her opinion : and if she beare away the Palme of the victory, as I beleeve shee will, I shall account my fortune matchlesse, and may brag that my desires are in their height : and will say that a strong woman hath falne to my lot, of whom the Wise man saith, * Who shall finde her ? ^ and when it shall succeed contrary to mine expectation I shall with the pleasure that I will conceive to see how rightly it jumps with mine opinion, beare very indifferently the gricie which in all reason, this so costly a triall must stir in me. And presupposing that 2:1 65 CHAPTER VI Wherein is rehearsed the Historie of the curious impertinent THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. nothing which thou shalt say to mee, shall be availeable to hinder my designe, or disswade me from putting my aose in execution ; I would have thy selfe, deere mena ario, to provide thee to be the instrument, that shall labour this worke of my liking, and I will give thee oportunitie enough to performe the same without omitting any thing that may further thee in the solici- tation of an honest, noble, warie, retired, and passionlesse woman. And I am chiefly moved to commit this so hard an cnterprize to thy trust, because I know that if Ccunila be vanquished by thee, yet shall not the victory arrive to the last push and upshot, but onely to that of accounting a thing to bee done, which shall not be done for many good respects. So shall I remaine nothing oflended, and mine injury concealed in the vertue of thy silence ; for I know thy care to be such in matters concerning mec, as it shall be eternall like that of death. And tnerefore if thou desirest that I may leade a life, deserving that name, thou must forthwith provide thy selfe to enter into this amorous conflict, and that not languishing or slouthfully, but with that courage and diligence which my desire expecteth, and the confidence I have in our amitie assureth me. These were the reasons used by Anselmo to Lothario ; to all which he was so attentive as untill he ended, hee did not once unfold his lippes to speake a word save those which we have above relatea: and seeing that he spoke no more; after he had beheld him a good while, as a thing that he had never before, and did therefore strike him into admira- tion and amazement he said. Friend Anselmo I cannot per- swade my selfe, that the words you have spoken be other then jests, for had I thought that thou wert in earnest, I would not have suffered thee to passe on so farre, and by lend- ing thee no eare, would have excused this tedious Oration. I doe verily imagine, that either thou doest not know me, or I thee : but not so ; for I know thee to bee Anselmo, and thou, that I am Lothario : the dammage is, that I thinkc thou are not the Anselmo thou wast wont to be, and perhaps thou deemest me not to be the accustomed Lothario 66 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE that I ought to be : for the things which thou hast spoken, CHAPTER are not of that Anselmo my friend ; nor those which thou VI seekest, ought to be demaunded of that Lothario, of whom Wherein is thou hast notice. For true friends ought to prove and use rehearsed the their friends, as the Poet said, Usque adAras: that is, that Se^il^ous they should in no sort imploy them or implore their assist- impertinent ance in things offensive unto God : and if a Grentile was of this opinion in matters of friendship, how much greater reason is it that a Christian should have that reeling, specially knowing that the celestiall amitie is not to be lost for any humane friendship whatsoever ? And when the friend should throw the barres so wide, as to set heavenly respectes apart, for to compliment with his friend, it must not be done on light grounas, or for things of small moment, but rather for those wheron his friends life and honour wholy depends. Then tell me now Anselmo, in which of these two things art thou in danger, that I may adventure my person to doe thee a pleasure ; and attempt so detestable a thing as thou doest demaund ? None of them truely, but rather doest demaund, as I may conjecture, that I doe in- dustriously labour to deprive thee of thine honour and life together, and in doing so, I likewise deprive my selfe of them both. For if I must labour to take away thy credit, it is most evident, that I dispoile thee of life, for a man without reputation, is worse then a dead man : and I being the instrument (as thou desirest that I should be) of so great harme unto thee, doe not I become likewise thereby dishonoured, and by the same consequence also without life ? Heare mee friend Anselmo, and have patience not to answere me until I have said all that I think, concerning that which thy minde exactcth of thee. For wee shall have after leasure enough, wherein thou mayest reply, and I have patience to listen unto thy reasons. I am pleased, quoth Anselmo, say what thou likest : And Lothario prosecuted his speech in this manner, me thinks, Anselmo, that thou art now of the Moores humors, which can by no meanes be made to understand the errour of their sect. Neither by Citations of the holy Scripture, nor by reasons which consist in speculations of the understand- 67 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER ing, or that are founded in the Articles of the faith : but ^ must be won by palpable examples, and those, easie, in- Wherein is telligible, demonstrative and doubtlesse, by Mathematicall H^to^?^^ demonstrations which cannot be denied. Even as when we the curious ^y> * ^ ^^™ ^^^ equall parts, wee take away two parts impertinent equall, the parts that remaine are also equall/ And when they cannot understand this, as in truth they doe not, we must demonstrate it to them with our hands, and lay it before their eyes, and vet for all this, nought can availe to winne them in the end to give credit to the verities of our religion, which very termes and manner of proceeding I must use with thee, by reason that the desire which is sprung in thee, doth so wander and stray from all that which b^ires the shadow onely of reason, as I doubt much that I shaU spend my time in vaine, which I shall bestow to make thee understand thine owne simplicity, for I will give it no other name at this present: and in good earnest I was almost perswaded to leave thee in thine humour, in punishment of thine inordinate and unreasonable desire, but that the love which I beare towards thee doth not consent, I use to thee such rigour, or leave thee in so manifest a danger of thine owne perdition. And that thou maist cleerely see it, tell me Anselmo, hast not thou said unto me, that I must sollicit one that stands upon her reputation : perswade an honest woman, make proffers to one that is not passionate or engaged ? and serve a discreete woman ? yes, thou hast said all this. Well then, if thou knowest already that thou hast a retyred, honest, unpassionate, and prudent wife, what seekest thou more ? And if thou thinkest that she will rest victorious after all mine assaults, as doubtlesly she will, what better titles wouldest thou after bestow upon her, then those she possesseth already? eyther it proceeds be- cause thou dost not thinke of her as thou sayest, or els because thou knowest not what thou demaundest. If thou dost not account her such as thou praysest her, to what end wouldest thou prove her, but rather as an evill person, use her as thou likest best: but if she be as good as thou beleevest, it were an impertinent thing to make tryall of truth it selfe. For after it is made, yet it will still rest 68 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE only with the same reputation it had before. Wherfore it CHAPTER is a concluding reason, that to attempt things whence rather VI harme may after result unto us then good, is the part of ^Vherein is rash and discourseless braines, and principally when they rehearsed tiie deale with those things whereunto they are not compelled or the curious driven, and that they see even a farre off, how the attempt- impertinent ing the like is manifest folly. Difficult things are under- taken for God, or the world, or both. Those that are done for Grod, are the workes of the Saints, indeavouring to leade Angels lives in fraile and mortall bodies. Those of the world are the travels and toiles of such as crosse such immense seas, travell through so adverse regions, and con- verse with so many nations, to acquire that which we call the goods of Fortune. And the things acted for God and the world together, are the worthy exploits of resolute and valorous martiall men, which scarce perceive so great a breach in the adversarie wall, as the common billet is wont to make, when leaving all feare apart, without making any discourse, or taking notice of the manifest danger that threatens them, borne away by the wings of desire and honour to serve God, their Nation and Prince, doe throw themselves boldly into the throate of a thousand menacing deaths which expect them. These are things wont to be practised, and it is honour, glory and profit to attempt them, be they never so full of inconveniences and danger: but that which thou sayest, thou wilt trie and put in practice, shall never gaine thee Gods glorie, the goods of Fortune, or renoune among men : for suppose that thou bringest it to passe according to thine owne fantasie, thou shalt remaine nothing more con- tented, rich or honorable then thou art already : and if thou doest not, then shalt thou see thy selfe in the greatest miserie of any wretch living : for it will little availe thee then, to thinke that no man knowes the disgrace befallen thee, it being sufficient both to afflict and dissolve thee, that thou knowest it thy selfe, and for greater confirmation of this truth I will repeate unto thee a stanza of the famous Poet Ludovico Tansilo in the end of his first part of Saint Peters teareSj which is : 69 CHAPTER VI Wherein is rehearsed the Historie of the curious impertinent THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. The griefe increaseth^ and withall the shame^ In Peter when the day it selfe did show. And though he no man sees^ yet doth he blame Himselfe^ because he had offended so : For brests, magnanimous not onely tame^ When that of others^ they are seene, they know. But of themselves asham d they often bee^ Though none but Heaven and Earth their errour see. So that thou canst not excuse thy griefe, with secrecie, be it never so great, but rather shalt have continual! occasion to weepe, if not watry teares from thine eyes, at least teares of bloud from thy heart, such as that simple Doctor wept, of whom our Poet makes mention, who made triall of the vessell, which the prudent Reynaldos upon maturer discourse refused to deale withall: and al- though it be but a Poeticall fiction, yet doth it containe many hidden morals, worthy to bee noted, understood and imitated: how much more seeing that by what I meane to say now, I hope thou shalt begin to conceave the great errour which thou wouldest wittingly commit. Tell me, Anselmo, if heaven or thy fortunes had made thee Lord and lawful! possessor of a most precious Diamante, of whose ffoodnesse and qualitie all the Lapidarists that had viewed the same would rest satisfied, and that all of them would joyntly and uniformely afHrme that it arrived in quality, goodnes, and finesse to all that, to which the Nature of such a stone might extend it selfe, and that thou thy selfe didst beleeve the same, without witting any thing to the contrary : would it be just that thou shouldest take an humour to set that Diamant betweene an Anvile and a hammer ; and to trie there by very force of blowes whether it be so hard and so fine as they say ? And farther, when thou didst put thy designe in execution, put the case that the stone made resistance to thy foolish triall, yet wouldest thou adde thereby no new valour or esteeme to it ? and if it did breake as it might befall, were not then all lost? Yes certainely, and that leaving the owner in all mens opinion for a very poore ignorant person. Then friend Anselmo, make account that Ccunila is a most precious Diamant, as well in thine, as in other mens estimation, 70 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE and it is no reason to put her in contingent danger of CHAPTER breaking, seeing that although she remain in her integ- ^^ rity, she cannot mount to more worth then she hath at ^Vherein is the present ; and if she faltred, or did not resist, consider reheareed the even at this present, what state you would be in then, and the ci^ious how justly thou mightest then complaine of thy selfe, for impertinent being cause of her perdition and thine owne? See how there is no Jewell in the world comparable to the modest and chaste woman. And that all womens honour consists in the good opinion thats had of them : and seeing that of thy spouse is so great, as it arrives to that summe of per- fection which thou knowest, why wouldest thou call this verity in question ? Know friend, that a woman is an im- perfect creature, and should therefore have nothing cast in ner way to make her stumble and fall, but rather to cleere, and doe all incumbrances away out of it, to the end she may without impeachment run with a swift course to ob- taine the perfection she wants, which only consists in being vertuous. The Naturalists recount, that the Ermine is a little beast that hath a most white skinne, and that when the Hunters would chase him, they use this art to take him : as soone as they finde out his haunt, and places where he hath recourse, they thwart them with mire and dirt, and after when they discrie the little beast, thejrpursue him towards those places which are defiled : and the Erimine espying the mire standcs still, and permits himselfc to be taken and captived in ex- change of not passing through the mire, or stayning of his whitenesse, which it esteemes more then either liberty or life. The honest and chaste woman is an Ermine, and the vertue of chastitie is whiter and purer then Snow : and he that would not lose it, but rather desires to keepc and preserve it, must proceed with a different stile from that of the Ermine. For they must not propose and lay before her the mire of the passions, flatteries and services of importu- nate Lovers ; for perhaps shee shall not have the naturall impulse and force which commonly through proper debility is wont to stumble, to passe over those incumbrances safely : and therefore it is requisite to free the passage and take 71 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER them away, and lay before her the cleerenesse of vertue, ^I and the beauty comprized in good fame. The good woman Wherein is is also like unto a bright and cleere mirrour of Crystall, rohearsed the ^nd therfore is subject to be stained and dimmed by every the curious breath that toucheth it. The honest woman is to be impertinent used as reliques of Saints, to wit, she must be honoured, but not touched. The good woman is to be kept and prized like a faire Garden full of sweet flowers and Roses, that is held in estimation ; whose owner permits no man to enter and trample, or touch his flowers, but holdes it to be suflicient, that they standing a farre off without the railes, may joy at the delightfull sight, and fragrancie thereof. Finally I will repeat certaine verses unto thee that have now come to my memorie, the which were repeated of late in a new play, and seeme to mee very fit for the purpose of which we treat. A prudent olde man did give a neighbour of his that had a daughter, counsaile to keepe and shut her up : and among many other reasons hee used these : Truely woman is of glasse^ Therefore no man ouffht to trie If she broke or not might bee^ Seeing all might come to passe. Yet to breake her tis more easie^ And it is no wit to venter A thing of so brittle temper^ That to soulder is so queasie. And I would have all men dwell In this truths and reasons ground^ That if Danaes^ may be found. Golden showres are found as welL All that which I have said to thee Anselmo untill this instant, hath beene for that which may touch thy selfe : and it is now high time that somewhat bee heard concerning me. And if by chance I shall be somewhat prolixe, I pray thee to pardon me; for the Labyrinth wherein thou hast entred, and out of which thou wouldest have mee to free thee, requires no lesse. Thou boldest me to be thy friend, and yet goest about to dispoyle me of mine honour, being a thing contrary to all amitie ; and dost not onely pretend this, but dost likewise indeavour that I should robbe thee of 78 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE the same, that thou wouldest deprive me of mine is evident ; CHAPTER for when Camila shall perceive that I soUicite her as thou ^ demaundest, it is certaine that she will esteeme of me, as of Wherein is one quite devoide of wit, and indiscreet, seeing I intend and JJ^c*'?«d ^® doe a thing so repugnant to that, which the being that ^g curious him I am, and thme amitie doe binde me unto, that thou impertinent wouldest have me rob thee thereof is as manifest; for Camila seeing mee thus to court her^ must imagine that I have noted some lightnesse in her, which lent me boldnes thus to discover unto her my depraved desires, and she holding her selfe to be thereby injuried and dishonoured, her disgrace must also conceme thee as a principall part of her. And hence springs that which is commonly said, that the husband of the adulterous wife, althougn he know nothing of her lewdnesse, nor hath given any occasion to her to doe what she ought not, nor was able any way to hinder by diligence, care, or other means his disgrace, yet is intituled with a vituperious and vile name, and is in a manner beheld by those that know his wives malice, with the eyes of contempt; whereas they should indeed regard him rather with those of compassion, seeing that hee fals into that misfortune, not so much through his owne default, as through the light fantasie of his wicked consort. But I will shew thee the reason why a badde womans husband is justly dishonoured and contemned, although he be ignorant and guiltlesse thereof, and cannot prevent nor hath given to it any occasion. And be not grieved to heare me, seeing the benefit of the discourse shall redound unto thy selfe. When God created our first parent in the terrestriall Paradise, the holy Scripture saith, ^ that God infused sleepe into Adam,^ and that oeing asleepe, he tooke out a riboe out of his left side, of which hee formed our mother Eve, and as soone as Adam awaked and beheld her, he said, this is flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bones. And Grod said, for this cause shall a man leave his father and his mother, and they shall be two in one flesh, and then was the divine Sacrament of Matrimonie first instituted, with such indis- soluble knots, as onely may be by death dissolved. And this marvellous Sacrament is of such eflicacie and force, as S:K 78 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAPTER it makes two different persons to be one very flesh, and yet VI operates farther in gooid married folke : For although tney Wherein is have two soules, yet it makes them to have but one wilL rehearsed ^e And hence it proceeds, that by reason the wives flesh is one S^urio^ and the very same with her husbands, the blemishes or impertinent defects that taint it, doe also redound into the husbands, although he (as we have said) have ministred no occasion to receive ihat dammage. For as all the whole body feeles any paine of the foote, head or any other member, because it is all one flesh : and the head smarts at the griefe of the Ancle, although it hath not caused it, so is the husband parti- cipant of his wives dishonour, because he is one and the selfesame with her. And by reason that all the honours and dishonours of the world are, and spring from flesh and bloud ; and those of the badde woman oe of this kinde, it is forcible, that part of them fall to the husbands share, and that he be accoimted dishonourable, although he wholly be ignorant of it. See then Anselmo to what perill thou doest thrust thy selfe, by seeking to disturbe the quietnesse and repose wherein thy wife lives : and for how vaine and impertinent curiositie thou wouldest stir up the humors which are now quiet in thy chaste spouses brest; note how the thing thou dost adventure to gaine, is of small moment, but that which thou shaJt lose so great, that I must leave it in his point, having no wordes sufficiently able to indeere it. But if all that 1 have said, be not aole to move thee from thy badde purpose ; thou mayest well seeke out for some other instrument of thy dishonour and mis- haps : for I meane not to be one, although I should there- fore lose thine amitie, which is the greatest losse that might any way befall mee. Here the prudent Lothario held his peace, and Anselmo remained so confounded and melancholic, as he could not answere a word to him, for a very great while. But in the end he said. I have listned, friend Lothario, to all that which thou hast said unto me, with the attention which thou hast noted. And have perceived in thy reasons, ex- amples, and similitudes, the great discretion wherewithall thou art indowed, and the perfection of amitie that thou 74 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE hast attained : and do also confesse and see, that if I follow CHAPTER not thine advice, but should leane unto mine owne, I doe ^1 but shunne the good, and pursue the evill. Yet oughtest Wherein is thou likewise to consider, how herein I suffer the disease jefiearsed the which some women are wont to have, that long to eate K^^us earth, lime, coales, and other far worse and loathsome things, impertinent even to the very sight, and much more to the taste. So that it is behovefull to use some art by which I may be cured, and this might be easily done, by beginning only to sollicite Camila although you did it but weake and fainedly : for I know shee will not bee so soft and pliable, as to dash her honestie about the ground at the first encounters, and I will rest satisfied with this commencement alone : and thou shalt herein accomplish the obligation thou owest to our friend- ship, by not onely restoring mee to life, but also by per- swading me not to dispoile my selfe of mine honour. And thou art bound to doe this for one reason that I shall alledge, to wit, that I being resolved as indeed I am to make this experience, thou oughtest not to permit being my friend, that I should bewray my defect herein to a stranger, whereby I might very much indanger my reputation, which thou labourest so much to preserve, and though thy credit may lose some degrees in Camila^s opinion, whilst thou dost solicite her, it matters not very much or rather nothing ; for very shortly, when wee shall espie in her the integritie that we expect, thou maist open unto her sincerely the drift of our practice, by which thou shalt againe recover thine impaired reputation. Therefore seeing the adventure is little, and the pleasure thou shalt doe me by the enterpriz- ing thereof so, too great, I pray thee doe it, though ever so many incumbrances represent themselves to thee, for (as I have promised) with onely thy beginning, I will rest satisfied and account the cause concluded. Lothario perceaving the firme resolution of Anselmo, and nothing else occurring forcibly disswasive, nor knowing what other reasons to use, that might hinder this his precipitate resolution : and noting withall, how hee threatned to breake the matter of this his indiscreet desires to a stranger : he determined to avoid greater inconveniences to give him 76 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAPTER satis&ction, and performe bis denuumd, with purpose and VI resolution to guide the matter so discreetlj, as vithout Wlerain is troubling CamiWs thoughts, Ansebno should rest contented, ir'""iJ**?'* and therefore intraated him not to open his mind to any ^T^lirious other, for he himselfe would undertake that enterprise, ana impertiDent. beginne it whraisoever he pleased. Anselmo imbraced him very tender and lovingly, and gratified him as much for that promise, as if hee had done him some very great favour; and there they accorded betweene them, that he should beginne the worke the very next day insuing, for he would give him Elace and leasure to speake alone with Camila, and would kewise provide him of money, jewels, and other things to present unto her. He did also admonish him to bring musicke under her windowes by night, and write verses in her praise, and if he would not teke the paiae to make them, he himselfe would compose them for him. Lothario promised to performe all himselfe, yet with an intention far wide from Anselmos ; and with this agreement they returned to Anselmos house, where they found Camila somewhat sad and carefull, expecting her husbands retume, who had stayed longer abroad that day then his custome. Lothario leaving him at his house, returned to his owne, as pensive as he had left Anselmo contented, and knew not what plot to lay, to issue out of that impertinent affaire with prosperous successe. But that night hee bethought himselfe of a manner how to deceive Anselmo without offending Camila : and so the next d^ insuing hee came to his friends house to dinner, where Camila knowing the great good will her husband bore towards him, did receave and entertaine him very kindly with the like : dinner being ended, and the table taken up, Anselmo requested Lothario to keepe Camila company until! his retume, for he must have gone about an aifaire that concerned him greatly, but woiud retume againe within an houre and a haSe. Camila intreated her husband to stay, and Lothario proferd to goe and keepe him companie, but nothing could prevaile with Anselmo, but rather he impor- tuned nis iriend Lothario, to remaine and abide there till bis returne, because hee must goe to treate of a matter of much consequence. Hee also commanded Camila not to 76 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE leave Lothario alone untill he came backe. And so he de- CHAPTER parted, leaving Camila and Lothario together at the table, VI by reason that all the attendants and servants were gone to Wherein is dinner. rehearsed the Here Lothario saw that he was entred into the lists, JheciSious which his friend so much desired, with his adversarie before impertinent him, who was with her beautie able to overcome a whole squadron of armed Knights ; see then if Lothario had not reason to feare himselfe ? but that which he did at the first onset was to lay his elbow on the arme of his chaire, and his hand on his cheeke, and desiring Camila to beare with his respectlesnesse therein, he said he would repose a little, whilest he attended Anselmo^s comming. Camila answered that shee thought hee might take his ease better on the cushions of State, and therefore prayed him hee would enter into the parler and lye on them. But he excused himselfe, and so remained a sleepe in the same place, untill Anselmo^s retume, who comming in, and finding his wife in her Chamber and Lothario a sleepe, made full accoimt, that by reason of his long stay, they had time enough both to talke, and repose, and therefore expected very greedily the houre wherein his friend should awake, to go out with him, and leame what successe he had : all succeeded as he wished, for Lothario arose, and both of them went abroad, and then hee demanded of him what he desired : and Lothario answered, that it seemed not to him so good to discover al his mean- ing at the first, and therefore had done no other thing at that time, then speake a little of her beautie and discretion, for it seemed to him that this was the best preamble he could use, to gaine by little and little some interest and possession in her acceptance, to dispose her thereby the better to give eare againe to his words more willingly, imitating therein the Divels craft when he meanes to deceive any one that is vigilant and careful!, for then he translates himselfe into an Angell of light, being one of darkenesse, and laying before him apparent goods, discovers what he is in the end, and brings nis intention to passe, if his guiles be not at the beginning detected. All this did greatly like Anselmo, who said that he would affoorde him every dav as 77 CHAPTER VI Wherein is rehearsed the Historie of the curious impertinent THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. much leasure, although he did not goe abroad, for he would spend the time so at home, as Camila should never be able to suspect his drift. It tnerefore befell, that many daies passed, which Lothario did willingly overslip, and said nothing to Camila, yet did he ever soothe Anselmo, and told him, that hee had spoken to her, but could never win her to give the least argument of flexibilitie, or make way for the feeblest hope that might be: but rather affirmed that shee threatned him, that if hee did not repell his impertinent desires, she would detect his indirect proceedings to her husband. It is well quoth Anselmo. Hitherto Camila hath resisted words, it is there- fore requisite to trie what resistance she will make against works. I will give thee to morrow foure thousand crownes in gold, to the end thou maist offer, and also bestow them on her: and thou shalt have as many more to buy lewels, wherewithall to baite her : for women are naturally inclined, and specially if they be faire (be they ever so chaste) to ^oe brave and gorgeously attired, and if shee can overcome this temptation, I will remaine pleased, and put thee to no more trouble. Lothario answered, that seeing he had begun, he would beare his enterprise on to an end, although he made full account, that he should depart from the conflict, both tyred and vanquished. He receaved the foure thousand crownes the next day, and at once with them foure thousand perplexities, for he knew not what to invent, to lie a new ; out concluded finally to tell to his friend how Camila was as inflexible at gifts and promises as at words, and therefore it would be in vaine to travaile any more in her pursuite, seeing he should doe nothing else but spend the time in vaine. But fortune, whidi guided these affaires in another manner, so disposed, that Anselmo having left Lothario and Camila alone as he was wont, entred secretly into a chamber, and thorow the crannies and chinks did listen and see what they would doe : where he perceaved that Lothario in the space of halfe an houre, spoke not a word to Camila, nor yet would he have spoken though hee had remained there a whole age, and thereupon surmised straight, that all that which his friend had told him of Camilas answeres and his 78 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE owne speech were but fictions and untruthes : and that hcc CHAPTER might the more confirme himselfe, and see whether it were VI so, he came forth and calling Lothario apart, he demaunded Wherein is of him what Camila had said, and in what humor shee rehearsed the was at the present? Lothario answered that he meant 4.i,!f*!!y!L?/o i ^ i ii*ii. .. ^1 ^^ cunous not ever any more to sound her m that matter, for shee impertinent replied to him so untowardly and sharply, as he durst not attempt any more to speake unto her of such things. O, quoth Anselmo, Lothario, Lothario, how evill dost thou answere to the affection thou owest mee, or to the con- fidence I did repose in thee ? I have stood beholding thee all this while tnrough the hole of that locke, and saw how thou never spokest one word to her. Whereby I doe also collect, that thou hast not yet once accosted her : and if it be so, as doubtlesly it is, say, why dost thou deceave me ? or why goest thou about fraudulently to deprive me of those meanes, whereby I may obtaine my desires ? Anselmo said no more, yet what he said was sufficient to make Lothario confused and ashamed, who taking it to be a blemish to his reputation to bee found in a lie, swore to Anselmo, that hee would from thence forward so indevour to please his minde, and tell him no more leasings, as hee himselfe mi^ht prceave the successe thereof, if he did again curiously lye m watch for him : a thing which hee might well excuse, because his most serious labour to satisfie his desire, should rcmoovc all shadow of suspicion. Anselmo beleeved him, and that he might give him the greater commodity, and lesse occasion of feare, he resolved to absent himselfe from his house some eight daies, and goe to visit a friend of his, that dwelled in a Viilace not farre from the Cittie, and therefore dealt with his friend that he should send a messenger to call for him very earnestly, that under that pretext, he might finde an excuse to Camila for his departure. O infortunate and inconsiderate Anselmo, what is that which thou doest ? what doest thou contrive ? or what is that thou goest about ? l)ehold, thou workest thine owne mine, lajdng plots of thine owne dishonour, and giving order to thy proper perdition. Thy wife Camila is gooa, thou dost possesse her in quiet and peaceable manner, no man 79 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAPTER surpriseth thy delights, her thoughts transgresse not the ^^ limits of her house. Thou art her neayen on earth, and the Wherein is goale to which her desires aspire. Thou art the accomplish- J^f**?^^* ment and sunime of her delectation, thou art the squire the^irious ^X ^^^^ ^^^ measureth and directeth her wiU, adjusting impertinent wholy with thine and with that of heaven. Since then the mines of her honour, beautie, modestie, and recollection, bountifully afford thee without any toile, all the treasures * contained in them, or thou canst desire, why wouldest thou digge the earth, and seeke out new vaines, and new scene treasures, exposing thy selfe to the danger, that thy labours may tume to wracke, seeing in fine, that they are only sustained by the weake supporters of her fraile nature? remember how he that seekes the impossible, may justly bee refused of that which is possible, according unto that which the Poet saith : In death for life I seeke^ Health in infirmitie : For issue in a dungeon deepe : In jayles for libertie. And in a treachour loyaltie. But envious fate, which still Conspires to worke mine ill. With Heaven hath thus deoreed ; That easie things should be to me denide, 'Cause I crave ui' impossible. Anselmo departed the next day following to the Village, tellinff Camila at his departure, that whilest hee were absent, his fnend Lothario would come and see to the affaires of his house, and to eate with her, and desired her therefore, to make as much of him, as she would doe of his owne person. Camila like a discreet and modest woman, was grieved at the order her husband did give to her, and reauested him to render how indecent it was that any one shoula possesse the chaire of his table, he being absent, and if hee did it, as doubting her insufHciende, to manage his houshold affaires, that at least he should make triall of her that one time, and should clearely perceive how she was able to discharge matters of farre greater consequence. Anselmo replyed, that what hee commanded, was his pleasure, and therefore shee had notiiing 80 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE else to doe, but hold downe the head, and obay it. Camila CHAPTER answered, that shce would do so, although it was very much VI against her will. In fine her husband departed, and Lothario Wlerein is came the next day following to the house, where hee was rehearsed the entertained by Camila very friendly, but would never treate JJ^*<>"? ®^ .., tj.1'1 uj. ji_i the cunous with Liothario alone, but evermore was compassed by her impertinent servant and waiting Maidens, but chiefly by one called Leonela, whom she loved dearely ; as one that had beenc brought up with her in her Fathers house, even from their infancie, and when shee did marry Anselmo, shee brought her from thence in her company. The first three dayes Lothario spoke not a word, although he might, when the tables were taken up, and that the folke of the house went hastely to dinner, for so Camila had com- manded, and did give Leonela order besides to dine before her selfe, and that shee should still keepe by her side : but the gyrle which had her fancie otherwise imployed in thinges more pleasing her humour, and needed those houres and times for the accomplishing of them, did not tdwaies accom- plish so punctually her Ladies command, but now and then would leave her alone, as if that were her Ladies beheast. But the honest presence of Camila, the gravitie of her face, and the modestie of her carriage was such, as it served as a bridle to restraine Lotharios tongue. But the benefit of Camilas many vertues, setting silence to Lotharios speech, resulted afterward to both their harmes. For though the tongue spoke not, yet did his thoughts discourse, and had leasure afforded them to contemplate, part by part, all the extremes of worth and beautie that were cumulated in Camila, potent to inflame a statue of frozen Marble : how much more an heart of flesh. Lothario did only behold her in the time and space he should speake unto her, and did 4hen consider how worthy shee was to be loved. And this consideration did by little and little give assaults to the respects which he ought to have borne towards his friepd Anselmo : a thousand times did hee determine to absent him- selfe from the Cittie, and goe where Anselmo should never see him, nor hee Camila, but the delight hee tooke in beholding her did againc vrith-hold and hinder his resolutions. When 2:L 81 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER hee was tdone, he would condcmnc himselfc of his madde VI designe, and tearme himselfe a badde fnend and worse Chris- Wherein is tian, hee made discourses and comparisons betweene himselfe rehearsed the ^nd Anselmo, all which did finish in this point that Anselmo^s 2^^\)^ foolhardinesse, and madnesse, was greater, then his owne in- impertinent, fidelitie, and that if hee might bee as easily excused before Gt>d, for that he meant to doe, as he woula be before men, he needed not to feare any punishment should bee inflicted on him for the crime : finally, Camilas beautie and worths, assisted by the occasion, which the ignorant husband had thrust into his fists, did wholly mine and overthrow Lothario his loytdtie, an(l therefore without regarding any other thing then that to which his pleasure conducted him, about a three dayes after Anselmos departure (which time he had spent in a continuall battaile and resistance of his contend- ing thoughts) he beganne to solicite Camila, with such trouble of the spirits, and so amorous wordes, as she was strucken almost beside her selfe with wonder, and made him no other answere, but arising from the table, flung away in a furie into her chamber. But yet for all this drines, Lothario his hope (which is wont evermore to bee borne at once with love) was nothing dismayed, but rather accounted the more of Camila, who perceiving that in Lothario, which she never durst before to imagine, knew not what she might doe ; but it seeming unto her to be a thing neither secure nor honest, to give him occasion or leisure to speake unto him againe, determined to send one unto her husband ^ Anselmo the same very night, as indeed she did, with a letter to recal him home to her house. The subject of her Letter was this. 82 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE CHAPTER VII Wherein is prosecuted the History of the curious impertinent VEN as it is commonly said, that an Armie ' seemes not well without a Grenerall, or ' a Castle without a Constable, so doe I ' affirme, that it is much more indecent ' to see a young married woman without ^ her husl»nd, when he is not Justly de- ' tfiined away by necetsarie aftaires. I ' Hade my selfe so ill-disposed in your ' absence, and so impatient and impotent to indure it longer, ' as if you doe not speedily retume, I shall be constrained ' to retume backe unto my father, although I should leave ' your house without any keeping. For the guard you ap- ' pointed for me, if it be so that bee may deserve that title, * tookes more I beleeve to his owne pleasure, then to that ' which concemes you, therefore seeing you have wit enough, * I will say no more, nor ought I to say more in reason/ Anselmo received the Letter, and by it understood that Lothario had begun the enterprize, and that Camila had answered to him according as he had hoped : and marvellous glad at the newes, he answered his wife by word of mouth, that she should not remoove in any wise from her house, for he would retume with all speed. Camila was greatly admired at his answer, which struck her into a greater per- plexitie then she was at the first, being affraid to stay at home, and also to go to her father. For by staying, she indangers her honesty, by going, she should transgresse her husbands commaund : at last she resolved to do that which was worst, which was to remaini.' at home, and not to shunne Lotharios presence, lest she should give her servants occa- sion of suspition : and now she was grieved to have written what she did to her husband, fearefull lest he should thinke Whereia is proHcuted the History Ofthecimoa impertinent. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER that Lothario had noted in her some tokea of lightnesse, VII which might have moved him to lose the respect which otherwise was due unto her: but confident in her innocency, she cast her hopes in God and her good thoughts, where- withal! shee thought to resist all Lotharios words, and by holding her silent without making him any answere, without giving any further account of the matter to her husband, &st thereby she might plunge him in new difficulties and contention with his friend, and did therefore bethinke her how shee might excuse Lothario to Anselmo, when he should demand the occasion that moved her to write unto him that Letter. With these more honest then profitable or discreete resolutions, she gave eare the second day to Lothario, who charged her with such resolution, as her constancy beganne to stagger, and her honesty had enough to doe, recurring to her eyes to containe them, lest they should give any demonstration of the amorous compassion which Lotharios wordes and teares had stirred in her brest. Lothario noted all this, and it inflamed him the more. Finally, he thought that it was requisite the time and leisure which Anaelmoes absence aiFoorded him, to lay closer siege to that Fortresse : and so he assaulted Iier presumptiu- ously with the praises of her beauty ; for there is nothing which with such facility doth render and raze to the ground the proudly-crested Turrets of womens vanity, tlien the same vanity being dilated on by the tongue of adulation and flattery. To oe bricfe, he did with all diligence under- mine the rocke of her integrity with so warlike engines, as although Camila were made of brasge, yet would she be overthrowne. For Lothario wept, intreated, promised, flattered, persisted and fained so feelingly, and with such tokens of truth, as traversing Camilas care of her honour, he came in the end to triumph over that which was least suspected, and he most desired : for she rendred her selfe, even Camila rendred her selfe. But what wonder if Lotharioes amitie could not stand on foote P A cleere ex- ample, ploinlv demonstrating that the amorous passion is onely vanquisned by shunning it; and that no body ought to adveuture to wrestle with so strong an adversarie: for 84 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE heavenly forces are necessarie for him that would confront CHAPTER the violence of that passion, although humane. None but VII Leonela knew the weakenesse of her Ladie, for from her Wherein is the two bad friends and new lovers could not conceale the prosecuted matter : nor yet would Lothario discover to Camila her ^^e History husbands pretence, or that he had given him wittingly the impertinent, oportunity whereby he arrived to that passe, because she should not imagine that he had gotten her lightly, and by chance, and did not purposely sollicite her. A few dayes after Anselmo arrived to his house, and did not perceive what wanted therein, to wit, that which it had lost, and he most esteemed. From thence he went to see his friend Lothario, whom he found at home, and embrac- ing one another, he demanded of him the newes of his life or of his death. The newes which I can give thee, friend Anselmo, quoth Lothario, are, that thou hast a wife, who may deservedly be the example and garland of all good women. The words that I spoke unto her, were spent on the ayre, my proffers contemned, and my gifts repulsed, and besides, she nath mockt me notably for certaine fained tearcs that I did shed. In resolution, even as Camila is the patteme of all beauty, so is she a treasury wherein modesty resides, courtesie and warinesse dwell, and all the other vertues that may beautifie an honourable woman, or make her fortunate. Therefore friend take backe thy money, for here it is ready, and I never had occasion to imploy it : for Camila'^s integritie cannot be subdued with so base things as are gifts and promises. And Anselmo content thy selfe now with the proofes made already, without attempting to make any farther triall. And seeing thou hast past over the Sea of difficulties and suspitions with a drie foote, which may and are wont to be had of women : doe not eftsoones enter into the profound depthes of new inconveniences, nor take thou any other Pilot to make experience of the ^ood- nesse and strength of the vessell that heaven hath allotted to thee, to passe therein through the Seas of this world : but make account that thou art harboured in a safe haven, and there hold thy selfe fast with the Anchors of good con- sideration, and so rest thee untill death come to demaund his 86 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER debt, from the payment whereof no Nobility or priviledge ^^1 whatsoever can exempt us.. Anselmo rested singularly sat^- Wherein is fied at Lotharios discourse, and did beleeve it as firmely S^^H'^fcrT^ as if it were delivered by an Oracle ; but did intreat him of tiie cumus ^notwithstanding to prosecute his attempt, although it were impertinent onely done for curiositie, and to passe away the time ; yet not to use so efficacious meanes, as he thitherto practised : and that he only desired him to write some verses in her E raise, under the name of Clori, for hee would make Camila eleeve, how that he was inamoured of a certaine Lady, to whom he did appropriate that name, that hee might celebrate her praises witn the respect due to her honour : and that if he would not take the pajmes to invent them, that he him- selfe would willingly compose them. That is not needfull, quoth Lothario, for the Muses are not so alienated from me, but that they visite mee sometimes in the yeare. Tell you unto Camila what you have devised of my loves : and as for the verses, I will make them my selfe, if not so well as the subject deserves, yet at the least as artificially as I may devise them. The impertinent curious man and his treacherous friend having thus agreed, and Anselmo returned to his house, he demaunded of Camila that which she marvelled he had not asked before, that shee should tell unto him the occasion why shee sent unto him the Letter ? Camila made answere, because it seemed unto her, that Lothario beheld her somewhat more immodestly then when he was at home ; but that now she did againe disswade her selfe, and beleeved that it was but a light surmise, without any ground, because that she perceived Lothario to loath her presence, or be by any meanes alone with her. Anselmo tolde her that she miffht very well live secure for him, for that he knew Lotharios afiections were bestowed else- where, and that upon one of the noblest damzels of the Citie, whose praises he solemnized under the name of Clori, and that although he were not, yet was there no cause to doubt of Lotharios vertue, or the amitie that was betweene them both. Here if Camila had not beene premonished by Lothario, that the love of Clori was but fained, and that he himselfe had told it to Anselmo to blinde him, that he might with lesse diffi- 86 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE cultie celebrate her owne praises under the name of Clori, CHAPTER shee had without doubt falne into the desperate toyles VII of jealousie ; but being already advertised, she posted Wherein is over that assault lightly. The day following they three ff*^-^!^ sitting together at dinner, Anselmo requested Lothario to of tiie^curious repeate some one of the verses that he had made to his impertinent beloved Clori; for seeing that Camila knew her not, he might boldly say what ne pleased. Although she knew her, quoth Lothario, yet would I not therefore suppresse any part of her praises. For when any Lover praiseth his Ladie for her beauty, and doth withall taxe her of cruelty, her credit incurres no danger. But befall what it list, I composed yesterday a Sonnet of the ingratitude of Clori, and IS this ensuing : A Sonnet. Amidst the silence of the darkest nighty When sweetest sleepe invadeth mortall eyes : I poore account^ to neav'n and Clori bright^ Give of the richest harmes^ which ever rise. And at the time^ we Phoebus may devise^ Shine through the Roseall gates of th' Orient bright, With deepe accents, and sighes in wonted guise I doe my plaints renew, with maine and might. And when the Sunne, downe from his starry seat Directest rayes^ towards the earth doth send. My sighes I double and my sad regrete. And night retumes, but of my woes no end : For I iinde alwaies in my mortall strife, Heav'n without eares, and Clori likewise deafe. Camila liked the Sonnet very well, but Anselmo best of all ; for he praised it, and said, that the Lady must be very cruell, that would not answer such perspicuous truths, with reciprocall aiFection. But then Camila answered. Why then belilee ell that which inamoured Poets say is true ? In as much as Poets, quoth Lothario, they say not truth : but as they are inamoured, they remaine as short as they are true. That is auestionlesse, quoth Anselmo, all to underprop and give Lothario more credite with Camila, who was as carelesse of the cause her husband said so^ as she was enamoured 87 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER of Lothario, and therefore with the delight she tooke in VII his compositions, but chiefly knowing that his desires and Wherein is labors were addrest to her selfe, who was the true Clori, PJ^^^.***^ she intreated him to repeate some other Sonnet or Dittie, of the^curious ^^ ^^ remembred any. Yes that I doe, quoth Lothario, impertinent but I beleeve that it is not so good as the nrst, as you may well judge, for it is this : A Sonnet. I die, and if I cannot be beleev'd. My death 's more certaine, as it is most sure^ To see me at thy feet, of Hfe depriv'd : Rather then grieve, this thraldome to endure. Well may I in oblivious shades obscure Of fflory, life, and fevour be denide : And yet even there, shall in my bosome pure. The shape of thy fisdre face ingrav'd be eyed. For that 's a relique, which I doe reserve For the last traunces, my contentions threaten, Which midst thy rigour doth it selfe preserve. O woe 's the wight, that is by tempests beaten By night, in uiucnowne Seas, in danger rife, For want of North, or haven to lose his life ! Anselmo commended also this second Sonnet as hec had done the first, and added by that meanes one linke to another in the chaine, wherewith he intangled himselfe, and forged his owne dishonour : seeing when Lothario dishonoured him most of all, he said unto him then that he honored him most. And herewithtdl Camila made all the linkes, that verily served onely to abase her downe to the Center of con- tempt, seeme to mount her in her husbands opinion, up to the neight of vertue and good fame. I \ It befell soone after, that Camila finding her selfe alone with her mayden, said to her, I am ashamed, friend Leonela, to see how bttle I knew to value my self, seeing that I made not Lothario spend some time at least in the purchasing the whole possession of mee, which I with a prompt will bestowed upon him so speedily. I feare mee that he will impute my hastinesse to iightnesse, without considering the force he used towards mee, which wholly hindred and disabled my 88 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE resistance. Let not that afflict you, Madam, quoth Leonela, CHAPTER for it is no sufficient cause to diminish estimation, that, VII that bee given quickly which is to be given, if that in effect Wherein is be good tliat is given, and be in it seife worthy of estima- proswuted tion ; for it is an old proverbe, * That hee that gives quickly, ^ the^umus gives twice.' It is also said as well, quoth Camila, * That impertineut that which costeth little, is lesse esteemed.'' That reason hath no place in you quoth Leonela, for as much as love, according as some have said of it, doth sometimes flie, other times it goes, it runs with this man, and goes leasurely with the other ; it makes some key-cold, and inflames others, some it wounds, and some it kils, it begins the Carrire of his desires in an instant, and in the very same, concludes it likewise: It is wont to lay siege to the fortresse in the morn- ing, and at night it makes it to yeelde ; for therms no force able to resist it : which being so, what doe you wonder, or what is it that you feare ? If the same hath befalne Lothario, seeing that love made of my Lords absence an instrument to vanquish us ? and it was forcible, that in it we should conclude on it which love had before determined, without giving time it selfe any time, to leade Anselmo that he might retume, and with his presence leave the worke im- perjfect. For love hath none so officious or better a minister to execute his desires then is occasion : It serves it selfe of occasion in ell his act, but most of all at the beginning. And all this that I have said, I know rather by experience then hearsay : as I will some day let you to understand : for Madam, I am likewise made of flesh, and lustie yong bloud. And as for you Ladie, Camila, you did not give up and yeelde your selfe presently, but stayed until you had first seene in Lotharios eyes, his sighes in his discourses, in his promises and gifts all his soule, in which and in his per- fections, you might read how worthy he is to be loved. And seemg this is so, let not these scruples and nice thoughts assault or further disturbe your mind, but per- swade your selfe that Lothario esteemes you as much as you doe him, and lives with content and satisfaction, seeing that it was your fortune to fal into the amorous snare, that it was his good luck to catch you with his valour and 2 : M 89 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER deaetU : who not ooHj hsth the fijoie S^. winch they saj ^' every good Lof^er ought to have, but alio the whole A.fiLC. Wkemn m which if tou will sot credite, doe but Ibten to me & while, F!|[^^^^^ Mid I will repeate it to jou by roate. He is as it aeones, &nkJ^Mn&m ^^ ^ ^"^^ ^ ' ^'^ i^''^^ Miiiablej buu utifu ll, courteous, ityertiniut dutifiiU, eiMunored, finne, gmllsat, hooormUe, iUustrious, loyall, milde, noble, honest, prudent, quiet, rkh, and the && ninth they say, tmd bender true, Talofous. The X« doth not qua«r well with him, because it sounds harshly : Y. he is Yong. And the Z. he is aealous of thine honour. Camila lauj^ied at her maydens AJB.C. and accounted her to bee more practicfce in love-matters, then she her sdfe had confessed, as indeed she was, for th« she revealed to her Mistresse, how she and a certaine young man well borne of the Citie did treate of love one with another : Hereat her Mistresse was not a little troubled in minde, fearing that her homyur might be greatlv indangered by that meanes; she demanded whether her affections had passed farther then words, and the maide answered very shamelesly and freely that they did : for it is most certaine, that tius kinde of wretdilesse Mistresses doe also make their maydens care- les«e and impudent : who when they perceive tiidr Ladies to faulter, are commonly wont to hault likewise themselves, and care not that the world doe know it. Camila seeing this errour past remedie, could doe no more but intreate Leonela, not to reveale any thing of her affaires to him she said was her sweet heart ; and that she should handle her matters discreetly and secretlv, lest they might come to Anselmo or Lothario^s notice. Leonela promised to performe her wil, but did accomplish her promise in such sort, as she did con- firme Camilas feares, that she should lose her credit by her meanes. For the dishonest and bold Gyrle after that shee had perceived that her Mistres her proceedings were not such as thev were wont, grew so hardy, as shee gave en- trance, and brought her lover into her Maisters house, pre- suming that although her Ladie knew it, yet would she not dare to discover it. For this among ouier harmes follow the sinnes of Mistresses, that it makes them slaves to their ownc servants, and doth oblige them to conceale their dis- 90 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE honest and base proceeding, as it fell out in Camila, who, CHAPTER although she espied Leonela not once onely, but sundry ^^ times together with her lover in a certaine chamber of the Wherein is house, she not onely dared not to rebuke her for it, but S"^.^jj?* rather gave her oportunity to hide him, and would re- ^jf^^ cuSui move ajl occasions out of her husbands way, whereby he impertinent might suspect any such thing. But all could not hinder Lothario from espying him once, as he departed out of the house at the breake of the day : who not knowing him, thought at the first that it was a spirit, but when he saw him post away, and cast his cloake over his face, lest he should be knowne, he abandoning his simple surmise, fell into a new suspicion which had over- throwne them all, were it not that Camila did remedie it. For Lothario thought, that he whom he had scene issue out of Anselmos house at so unreasonable an houre, had not entred into it for Leonelas sake, nor did he remember then that there was such a one as Leonela in the world, but onely thought that as Camila was lightly gotten by him, so belike she was wonne by some other. For the wickednesse of a bad woman bringeth usually all these additions, that she loseth her reputation even with him to whom prayed and perswaded shee yeeldeth her selfe: and he beleeveth that shee will as easily, or with more facility consent to others, and doth inftdhbly credit the least suspicion which thereof may be offered. And it seemes that Lothario in this instant was wholy deprived of all reasonable discourse, and quite dispoyled of his understanding, for without pondering of the matter, impatient and kindled by the jealous rage that inwardly gnawed his bowels, fretting with desire to be revenged on Camila, who had never offended him, he came to Anselmo before he was up, and said to him : know, Anselmo, that I have had these many daies a civill conflict within my selfe whether I should speak or no, and I have used as much violence as I might, to my selfe, not to discover a thing unto you, which now it is neither just nor reasonable I shoula concetde. Enow that Camilas fortresse is rendred, and subject to all that I please to commaund, and if I have THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER beene somewhat slow to informe thee this of truth, it was VH because I would first see, whether it proceeded of some light Wherein is appetite in her : or whether shee did it to trie me, and see P'^^.^*®^ wnether that love was still constantly continued, which I of the cumus ^^^ began to make unto her by thy order and licence. I impertinent, did also beleeve, that if she had beene such as she ought to bee, and her that we both esteemed her, she would have by this time acquainted you with my importunacy : but seeing that she lingers therem, I presume that her promises made unto mee are true, that when you did again absent yourselfe out of the towne, she would speake with mee in the ward- robe (and it was true, for there Camila was accustomed to talke with him) yet would not I have thee runne rashly to take revenge, seeing the sinne is not yet otherwise com- mitted then in thought, and perhaps betweene this and the oportunity she might hope to put it in execution, her mind would be changed, and she repent her selfc of her folly. And therefore seeing that thou hast ever followed mine advises partly or wholy, follow and keepe one counsell that I will give unto thee now, to the end that thou mayest after with carefull assurance, and without fraud, satisfie thine own will as thou likest best: faine thy selfe to be absent two or three daies as thou art wont, and then con- vey thy selfe cunningly into the wardrobe, where thou maist very well hide thy selfe behind the Tapestry, and then thou shtdt see with thine owne eyes, and I with mine what Camila will doe ; and if it be that wickednesse which rather ought to be feared then hoped for, thou maiest with wisedome, silence, and discretion bee the proper executioner of so injurious a wrong. Anselmo remained amazed, and almost besides himselfe, hearing his friend Lothario so unexpectedly to acquaint him with those things, in a time wherein he least expected them, for now hee esteemed Camila to have escaped victresse from the forged assaults of Lothario, and aid himselfe triumph for glorie of her victorie: suspended thus and troubled, he stood silent a great while looking on the earth, without once removing his eye from it ; and finally, turning towards his friend, he said. Lothario, thou hast 92 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE done all that which I could expect from so intire amitie, CHAPTER and I do therfore meane to follow thine advice in all things ^^^ precisely : doe therefore what thou pleasest, and keep that Wherein is secret which is requisite in so waignty and unexpected an P^^^.^®^ event Or that I do promise, quoth Lothario : and so q{\}^q cumn departed wholly repented for what hee had told to Anselmo, impertinent seeing how foolishly hee had proceeded, since hee might have revenged himselfe on Camila very well, without taking a way so cruell and dishonorable. There did he curse his little wit ; and abased his light resolution, and knewe not what means to use to destroy what he had done, or give it some reasonable and contrary issue. In the end hee resolved to acquaint Camila with the whole matter, and by reason that he never missed of oportunitie to speak unto her, he found her alone the very same day ; and shee seeing like- wise that shee had fit time to speake unto him, said. Know friend Lothario, that a certaine thing doth pinch my heart in such manner, as it seemes ready to burst m my brest, as doubtlesly I feare me that in time it wiU, if we cannot set a remedie to it. For such is the immodestie of Leonela, as shee shuts up a lover of hers every night in this house, and remaines with him untill day light, which so much concemes my credit, as it leaves open a spacious field to him, that sees the other goe out of my house at so un- seasonable times, to judge of me what he pleaseth; and that which most grieves mee, is, that I dare not punish or rebuke her for it. For shee being privie to our proceedings sets a bridle on me, and constraines me to conceale hers ; and hence, I feare me will bad successe befall us. Lothario at the first suspected that Camila did speake thus to make him beleeve that the man whom he had espied was Leonela^s friend, and none of hers : but seeing her to weepe indeede and bee greatly afflicted in minde, he began at last to give credit unto the truth, and beleeving it, was greatly con- founded and grieved for that he had done. And yet not- withstanding nee answered Camila that shee should not trouble or vexe her selfe any more, for he would take such order, as Leonelas impudencies should be easily crost and suppressed. And then did recount unto her all that hee had 93 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAPTER seAd to Anselmo, spurd on by the furioug rage of Jealous VII indignation, and how her husband had agreed to hide him- Wherein b gelfe behind the tapeatrie of the wardroBe, that he might ?ir**H'^ta* from thence clearelv perceive the little loyaltie shee kept of the curioui towards him, and demanded pardon of her for that folly iropertiuent ^^d counsaile to redrease it, and come safely out of the intn- cate Labyrinth, whereioto his weake-eyed discoune had con- ducted him. Camila havine heard Lothario^g diBCOurse, was afraid and amazed, and with great anger, and many and dis- creet reasons did rebuke him, reTiling the basenesse of his thoughts, and the simple and little consideration that hee had. But as women have naturally a suddaine wit, for good or bad, much more prompt then men : although when indeed they would make discourses, it proves defective. So Camila found in an instant a remedy for an affaire in apparance so irremediable and belplesse, and therefore bade Lothario to induce his friend Anselmo to hide him- selfe the next day ensuing, for shee hoped to take com- modity out of his being there, for them both to joy one another with more secuntie then ever they had before : and without wholly manifesting her proverbe to him, shee only advertised him to have care, that after Anselmo were hidden, he should presently come when Leonela called for him, and that he should answer her as directly to every questioQ shee proposed, as if Anselmo were not in place. Lothario did urge her importunately to declare her designe unto him, to the end hee might with more security and advice observe all that was necessarie. I say, quoth Camila, there is no other observance to bee had, then only to answere me directly to what I shall demaund. For she would not give him account beforehand of her determination, fearefull that he would not confonne himselfe to her opinion which she tooke to bee so good ; or else least he would follow or seeke any other, that would not prove after so well. Thus departed Lothario, and Anselmo, under pretext that hee would visit his friend out of Towne departed, and returned covertly back againe to .hide himselfe, which hee could do the more commodiously, because Camila and Leonela did purposely 94 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE afford him oportunitie. Anselmo, having hidden himselfe, CHAPTER with the griefe that may bee ima^ned one would con- VII ceive, who did expect to see with his owne eyes an anot- \VTierein is omie made of the bowels of his honour, and was in danger pro8«!uted to lose the highest felicitie that hee accounted himselfe ^f the^cumui to possesse in his beloved Camila: Camila and Leonela impertinent being certainc that he was hidden within the wardrobe, entred into it, wherein scarce had Camila set her foote, when breathing forth of a deepe sigh shee spoke in this manner : Ah friend Leonela were it not better, that before I put in execution, that which I would not have thee to know, lest thou shouldest indeavour to hinder it, that thou takest Anselmos poyniard that I have sought of thee, and passe this infamous brest of mine through and through ? but doe it not, for it is no reason that I should suffer for other mens faults. I will know first of all what the bold and dishonest eyes of Lothario noted in me that should stirre in him the presumption to discover unto me so unlawfuU a desire, as that which hee hath revealed, so much in contempt of his friend, and to my dishonour. Stand at that window Leonela, and call him to mee, for I doe infallibly beleeve, that hee stands in the streete awayting to effect nis wicked purpose. But first my crucll, yet honorable minde shall be Brst performed. Alas, deare Madame (quoth the wise and craftie Leonela) what is it you meane to doe with that poyniard ? Meane you perhaps to deprive either your owne or Lotharios life therewithal!? for which soever of these things you do, shall redound to the losse of your credit and fame. It is much better that you dissemble your wrong, and give no occasion to the bad man now to enter into this house, and find us here in it alone : Consider good Madame how we are but weake women, and hee is a man, and one resolute, and by reason that he comes blinded by his bad and passionate intent hee may peradventure before thou beest able to put thine in execution, doe somewhat that would bee worse for you, then to deprive you of your life. Evill befall my Mr. Anselmo, that ministers so great occasion to impudencie, thus to discover her visage in our 96 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER house : and if you should kill him by chance Madame, as ^11 I suspect you meane to doe, what shall we doe after with Wherein is the dead carkasse ? What ? said Camila, we would leave ^^^^•"*^ him heere that Anselmo might burie him. For he must «!pti!^'!^J!Z«- i^ all equitie esteeme that laoour for ease, which hee shall oitnecunouB • ii • . • i? i.- • ^ • nr i j impertinent passe, in the interring of his owne mfamie. Make an end then, and call him, for mee thinkes that all the time which I spend untaking due revenge of my just disdaine, turnes into the prejudice of the loyaltie which I owe to my spouse. Anselmo listned very attentively all the while, and at every word that Camila said, his thoughts changed. But when he understood that shee was resolved to kill Lothario, he was about to come out and discover himselfe, to the end that such a thing should not be done, but the desire that hee had to see wherein so brave and honest a resolution would end, with-held him, determining then to sallie out, when his presence should be needfuU to hinder it. Camila about this time beganne to bee very weake and dismayed, and casting her selfe, as if she had falne into a trance upon a bed that was in the roome, Leonela began to lament very bitterly and to say. Alas, wretch that I am, how unfor- tunate should I be, if the flower of the worlds honestie, the crowne of good women, and the patteme of chastitie, should die here betweene my hands. Those and such other things shee said so dolefully, as no one could heare her, that would not deeme her to bee one of the most esteemed and loyall Damzels of the world : and take her Ladie for an other new and persecuted Penelope. Soone after Camila re- turned to her selfe, and saia presently. Why goest thou not Leonela to call the most diiloyall friend of a friend, that ever the Sunne beheld, or the night concealed ? Make an end, runne, make hast, and let not the fire of my choUer bee through thy stay consumed and spent, nor the just re- venge, which I hope to take passe over in threats or male- dictions. I goe to call him Madame quoth Leonela, but first of all you must give me that poyniard, lest you should doe with it in mine absence somewhat, that would minister occasions to us your friends to deplore you all the dayes of 96 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE our lives. Goe away boldly friend Leonela said Camila, CHAPTER for I shall doe nothing in thine absence ; for although I be ^^^ in thine opinion both simple and bold enough to tume for Wherein is mine honor, yet meane I not to be so much as the cele- pros^uted brated Lucrctia, of whom it is recorded that she slew her *rtv«*!*^„. selfe, without having committed any error or slame him impertinent first who was the principal cause of her disgrace : I will die if I must needes die, but I will be satisfied and revenged on him that hath given me occasion to come into this place to lament his boldnesse, sprung without my default. Leonela could scarcely be intreated to go and call Lothario ; but at last she went out, and in the meane time Camila remained, speaking to her selfe these words : Good God, had not it beene more discretion to have dismissed Lothario, as I did many times before, then thus to possesse him as I have done, with an opinion that I am an evill and dishonest woman, at least all the while that passeth, imtill mine actes shall undeceive him, and teach him the contrary ? It had beene doubtlesly better : but then should not I be revenged, nor mine husbands honour satisfied, if he were permitted to beare away so cleerely his malignitie, or escape out of the snare wherein his wicked thougnts involved him. Let the Traytor pay with his lifes defrayment, that which he attempted with so lascivious a desire. Let the world know (if it by chance shal come to know it) that Camila did not only conserve the loyaltie due to her Lord, but also tooke revenge of the intended ipoile thereof. But yet I beleeve that it were best to give Anselmo first notice thereof; but I did already touch it to him in the Letter which I wrote to him to the Village: and I beleeve that his not con- curring to take order in this so manifest an abuse, proceeds of his too sincere euid good meaning, which would not, nor cannot beleeve, that the like kind of thought could ever finde intertainment in the breast of so firme a friend, tending so much to his dishonour : and what marvell, if I my self could not credit it for a great many dales together, nor would I ever have thought it, if his insolency had not arrived to that passe, which the manifest gifts, large pro- mises, and continuall teares hee shed doe give testimony. 8:N 97 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER But why doe I make now these discourses ? Hath a gallant VII resolution perhaps any neede of advice ? No verily ; there- Wherein is fore avaunt treacnerous thoughts, here we must use revenge. ^K^^-*^**^ Let the false man come in, arrive, die and end, and let after «5*i>^*!*^ - befall what can befall. I entred pure and imtouched to or the cunous ,. . ii vi.*j i» • impertinent "^^ possession, whom heaven bestowed on mee for mme, and 1 will depart from him purely : and if the worst befall, I shall onely be defiled by mine owne chaste bloud, and the impure gore of the falsest friend that ever amitie saw in this world. And saying of this, shee praunced up and downe the roome with the poyniard naked in her hand, with such long and unmeasurable strides, and making with- al such gestures, as she rather seemed defective of wit, and a desperate ruffian, then a delicate woman. All this Anselmo perceived very well from behinde the Arras that coverd him ; which did not a little admire him, and he thought that what he had scene and heard, was a sufficient satinaction of far greater suspitions then he had : and could have wished witti all his heart, that the triall of Lotharios comming might be excused, fearing greatly some sudden bad successe : and as hee was ready to mani- fest hiraselfe, and to come out and embrace and disswade his wife; he withdrew himselfe, because he saw Leonela retume, bringing Lothario in by the hand, and as soone as Camila beheld him, she drew a sreat stroke with the point of the poyniard athwart the wararop, saying, Lothario, note well what I meane to say unto thee : for if by chance thou beest so hardy as to passe over this line which thou seest, ere I come as farre as it, I will in the very same instant stabbe my selfe into the heart with this poyniard, which I hold in my hand : and before thou doest speake or answer me any word, I would first have thee to listen to a few of mine, for I after thou maiest say what thou pleasest. First of all I would have thee, O Lothario, to say whether thou knowest my husband Anselmo, and what opinion thou hast of him ? And next I would have thee to tell me if thou knowest my selfe ? Answer to this without delay, nor do not stand long thinking on what thou art to answere, seeing they are no deepe questions which I propose unto thee. Lothario was 98 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE not SO ignorant, but that from the very beginning when CHAPTER Camila requested him to perswade her husband to hide him- VII selfe behinde the tapistry, he had not falne on the drift of Wherein is her invention, and therefore did answere her intention so pros^uted aptly and discreetly, as they made that untruth passe be- of the'cmdoue tweene them for a more then manifest verity : and so he impertinent answered to Camila in this forme, I did never conjecture, beautifull Camila, that thou wouldest have called me here to demaund of me things so wide from the purpose for which I come : if thou doest it to deferre yet the promised favour, thou mightest have intertained it yet farther off, for the good desired afflicteth so much the more, by how much the hope to possesse it is neere. But because thou mayest not accuse me for not answering to thy demaunds, I say that I know thy husband Anselmo, and both of us know one another even from our tender infancie, and I will not omit to say that, which thou also knowest of our amity, to make me thereby a witnesse against my selfe of the wrong which love compels me to doe unto him, yet love is a sufficient excuse and excuser of greater errors then are mine. Thee doe I likewise know and hold in the same possession that he doth : for were it not so, I should never have beene won bv lesse perfections then thine, to transgresse so much that wliich I owe to my selfe, and to the holy lawes of true amitie, now broken and violated by the tyrannic of so powerfuU an adversary as love hath proved. If thou dost acknowledge that, replied Camila, O mortall enemy of all that which justly deserveth love, with what face darest thou then appeare before that which thou knowest to bee the mirror wherein he lookes, in whom thou also oughtest to behold thy selfe, to the end thou mightest perceive upon how little occasion thou dost wrong him ? but unfortimate that I am, I fall now in the reason which hath moved thee to make so little account of thine owne duety, which was perhaps some negligent or light behaviour of mine, which I will not call dishonesty, seeing that as I presume, it hath not proceeded from me deliberately, but rather through the carelesnes that women which thinke they are not noted, do sometimes unwittingly commit. If not, say, traytor. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER when did I ever answere thy prayers with any word or VII token, that might awake in thee the lest shadow of hope to Wherein is accomplish thine infamous desires ? When were not thine prosecuted amorous intreaties reprehended and dispersed by the rough- S'th^Sua nesse and rigour of mine answers ? When were thy miny impertinent promises ana larger gifts ever beleeved or admitted ? But for as much as I am perswaded that no man can persevere long time in the amorous contention, who hath not beene sustayned by some hope, I will attribute the fault of thine impertinence to my selfe : for doubtlesly some carelesnesse of mine hath hitherto sustained thy care, and therefore I will chastise and give to my selfe the punishment which thy fault deserveth. And because thou mightest see that I being so inhumane towards my selfe, could not possibly be other then cruell to thee, I thought fit to call thee to be a witnesse of the sacrifice which I meane to make to the offended honor of my most honourable husband, tainted by thee, with the blackest note that thy malice could devise, and by me, through the negligence that I used, to shun the occasion, if I gave thee any, thus to nourish and canonize thy wicked intentions. I say againe, that the suspition I have, that my little regard hath ingendred in thee these distracted thoughts, is that which afflicteth me most, and that which I meane to chastise most with mine owne hands : for if another executioner punished me, then should my crime become more notorious; but before I doe this, I dying will kill, and carie him away with me, that shall end and satisfie the greedy desire of revenge which I hope for, and I have ; seeing before mine eyes wheresoever I shal go, the punishment which disingaged justice shall inflict, it still remayning unbowed or suborned by him, which hath brought me to so desperate termes. And having said these words, she flew upon Lothario with incredible force and lightnesse, and her poyniard naked, giving such arguments and tokens that shee meant to stabbe him, as he himselfe was in doubt whether her demonstra- tions were false or true ; wherfore he was driven to helpe himselfe by his wit and strength for to hinder Camila from striking of him, who did so lively acte her strange guile and 100 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE fiction, as to give it colour, she would give it a blush of CHAPTER her owne blood : for perceiving, or else fayning that shee VII could not hurt Lothano, she said, Seeing that adverse for- Wherein is tune will not satisfie throughly my just desires, yet at least R"*^^.^J^ it shall not be potent wholly to crosse my designes : and ^f^he curious then striving to free the dagger hand, whicn Lothario held impertinent fast, she snatched it away, and directing the point to some place of her bodie, which might hurt her but not very grievously, she stabd her selfe, and hid it in her apparrell neere unto the left shoulder, and fell forthwith to the ground, as if she were in a traunce. Lothario and Leonela stood amazed at the unexpected event, and still rested doubtfuU of the truth of the matter, seeing Camila to lie on the ground bathed in her bloud : Lothario ranne all wanne and pale, very hastily to her to take out the poyniard, and seeing how little bloud followed, he lost the feare that he had conceived of her greater hurt, and began a new to admire the cunning wit, and discretion of the beautifuU Camila: but yet that he might play the part of a friend, he began a long and dolefuU lamentation over Camilas bodie, even as she were dead, and began to breathe forth many curses and execrations not onely against himself, but also against him that had imployed him in that unfortunate affaire. And knowing that his friend Anselmo did listen unto him, hee said such things as would move a man to take more com- passion of him then of Camila her selfe, although they accounted her dead. Leonela tooke her up betweene her armes, and laid her on the bedde, and intrcated Lothario to goe out, and finde some one that would undertake to cure her secretly. She also demaunded of him his advice, touch- ing the excuse they might make to Anselmo concerning her Mistresse her wound, if hee came to towne before it were fully cured. He answered that they might say what they pleased, for hee was not in an humour of giving any coun- sell worth the following : And onely sayd this, that shee should labour to staunch her Ladies bloud : for hee meant to goe there, whence they should heare no newes of him ever after : And so departed out of the house with verie great tokens of griefe and feeling, and when hee was alone in 101 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER place where no bodie perceived him, he blist himselfe a ^y thousand times, to thinke of Camilas Art, and the gestures ^^^'^"^J* so proper and accommodated to the purpose, used by her Se^jstorv niayde Xeonela. Hee considered how assured Anselmo would of the curioiiB remayne, that hee had a second Portia to wife, and desired impertinent to meete him, that they might celebratte together the fiction, and the best dissembled truth that could bee ever imagined. Leonela as is said, staunched her Ladies bloud, which was just as much as might serve to colour her invention and no more, and washing the wound with some wine, shee tyed it up the best that she could, saying such words whilest she cured her, as were able, though nothing had been done before to make Anselmo beleeve that he had an Image of honesty in Camila : to the plants of Leonela Camila added others, terming her selfe a Coward of base spirit, since she wanted time, (bein^ a thing so necessary) to deprive her life which she hatra so mod;ally, she demaunded counsell of her maiden whether shee would tell, or conceale all that successe to her beloved Spouse: and she answered that it was best to concecde it, lest she should ingage her husband to be revenged on Lothario, which coiud not be done without his very great perill, and that every good wife was bound, not to give occasion to her husband of quarrel- ling, but rather to remove from him as many as was possible. Camila answered, that she allowed of her opinion, and would follow it. And that in any sort they must studie some device to cloake the occasion of her hurt from Anselmo, who could not chuse but espie it. To this Leonela answered, that she her selfe knew not how to lie, no not in very jest it selfe. Well, friend, quoth Camila, and I, what doe I know? for I dare not to forge or report an untruth, if my life lay on it. And if wee knew not how to give it a lietter issue, it will be better to report the naked truth, then to bee overtaken in a leesing. Doe not trouble your selfe Madame quoth Leonela, for I will bethinke my selfe of somewhat betweene this and to morrow morning, euid perhaps the woimd may be con- cealed from him, by reaison that it is in the place where it is, and heaven perhaps may be pleased to favour our 10« IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE SO iust and honourable thoughts: Be quiet good Madam CHAPTER and labour to appease your alteration of mmd, that my VII Lord at his returne may not find you perplexed, and leave Wherein is all the rest to Gods and my charge, who doth alwaies assist prosecuted the just the History With highest attention stood Anselmo listening and be- impertinent holding the tragcdie of his dying honours, which the per- sonages thereof had acted with so strange and forceable effects, as it verily seemed that they were transformed into the opposite truth of their well contrived fiction: hee longed greatly for the night, and leasure to get out of his house, that he might goe and congratulate with his good friend Lothario, for the precious lewell that he had found in this last triall of his wife. The Master and Mayden had as great care to give him the oportunitie to depart, and he Tearing to loose it, issued out in a trice, and went presently to finde Lothario, who being found, it is not possible to recount the embracements he gave unto him, the secrets of his contentment that he revealed, or the attributes and praises he gave to Camila. All which Lothario heard, with- out giving the least argument of love : having represented to his minde at that very time, how greatly deceived his friend lived, and how injustly hee himselfe had injuried him. And although that Anselmo noted that Lothano tooke no delight at his relation, yet did he beleeve that the cause of his sorrow proceeded from having left Camila wounded, and he himselie given the occasion iJiereof. And therefore among many other words said unto him, that there was no occasion to grieve at Camilas hurt, it doubtlesly being but light, seeing she and her mayde had agreed to hide it from him ; and that according unto this there was no great cause of feare, but that from thence forward he should live merrily and contentedly with him, seeing that by his in- dustrie and meanes, hee found himselfe raised to the highest felicitie that might be desired: and therefore would from thenceforth spend his idle times in writing of verses in Camilas praise, that he might eternize her name, and make it famous in insuins a^es. Lothario commended his re- solution therein, and said that he for his part would also lOS \ THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER helpe to raise up so noble an edifice, and herewithall VII Anselmo rested the most soothingly and contentedly de- Wherein is ceived, that could bee found in the world : and then him- prosMutad selfe tooke by the hand to his house (beleeving that he of 016*0^^118 '"*''* **"* instrument of his glory) the utter perdition of impertinent. '^'^ fame. Camila entertained him with a frowning coun- tenance, but a checrefull minde, the fraude rested un- knowne a while, untill at the end of certaine moneths, fortune turned the wheele, and the wickednesse that was so artificially cloaked, issued to the publike notice of the world, and Anselmo his impertinent curiositie cost him his life. CHAPTER VIII Wherein is ended the Historie of the curious impertinent: and likewise recounted the rough ineounter and conflict passed hetweene Don-Quixote and cert«ne bagges of red wine. LITTLE more of the novell did rest un- read, when Sancho Fan^ alt perplexed ranne out of the Chamber where his Lord reposed, crying as loud as hec could. Come good Sirs speedily, and assist my Lord, who is ingaged in one of the most terrible battailes, tnat ever mine eyes have aeene. I sweare that he hath given such a blow to the Giant, my Ladie the Princesse Micomicona her enemie, as hee hath cut his head quite off as round as a Tumep. What sayest thou, friend, quoth the Curate, (leaving ofi at that word to prosecute the reading of his novell) art thou in thy wits, Sancho P what a Divell, nian, how can that be, seeing the Giant dwels at least two thou- 104 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE sand leagues from hence. By this they heard a marvailous CHAPTER great noyse within the chamber, and that Don-Quixote cried ^^ out aloud, Stay false Thiefe, Robber stay, for since thou art ^VTierein it here, thy Cimitar shall but little availe thee ; and therewith- f?.^ .^^^ all it seemed that he struck a number of mighty blowes on ^^ curiouB the wals. And Sancho said, there it no neede to stand impertinent: thus listening abroad, but rather that you goe in, and part and likewise the fray, or else assist my Lord. Although I thinke it be recounted not very necessary, for the Giant is auestionlesse dead by ^nooui^rand this, and giving account for the ill life nee ledde : For I saw conflictpassed his bloud runne all about the house, and his head cut off, betweene which is as great as a great Wine ba^ge. I am content to Don-Quixote bee hewen in pieces, quoth the Inne keeper, hearing of this, ^^J^'^f^"* if Don-Quixote or Don-Divell have not given some blow J^froie. to one of the wine bagges that stood filled at his beds head, and the shedde wine must needes bee that which seemes bloud to this ^ood man, and saying so, he entred into the roome, and all the rest followed him, where they found Don-Quixote in the strangest guise that may bee imagined : hee was in his shirt, the which was not long enough before to cover his thighes, and it was sixe fingers shorter behinde : his legges were very long and leane, full of haire and horrible dirtie. Hee wore on his head a little red very greazy nieht- cap, which belonged to the Inkeeper, he had wreathed on his left arme the coverlet of his bedde, on which Sancho looked very often and angerly, as one that knew well the cause of his owne malice to it, and in his right hand he griped his naked sword, wherewithall he laid round about him many a thwacke, and withall spake, as if he were in battell with some Giant: and the best sport of all was, that he held not his eyes open, for he was indeed a sleepe, and dreaming that he was in fight with the Giant. For the imagination of the adventure which hee had undertaken to finish, was so bent upon it, as it made him to dreame that he was already arrived at the Kingdome of Micomicon, and that he was then in combate with his enemie : and hee had given so many blowes on the wine baeges, supposing them to bee the Giant, as all the whole ^lamber flowed with wine. Which being perceived by the Host all inflamed S:0 106 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAPTER with rage, he set upon Don-Quixote with drie fists, and VIII gave unto him so many blowes, that if Cardenio and the Wherein is Curate had not taken nim away, he would doubtlesly have ended the finished the warre of the Giant, and yet with al this did the curious ^^^ ^^^ poore Knight awake, untill the Barber brought in impertinent : & great Kettle full of cold wai;er from the Wei, and threw and likewise it all at a clap upon him, and therewithall Don-Quixote recounted awaked but not in such sort as hee perceived the manner inoou^rand ^'^^''^^^ ^^ ^^* Dorotea seeinff how short and how thin Gonflictpassed ^^^ Champion was arrayed, would not goe in to see the con- betweene flict of her combattant and his adversarie. Don-Quixote Sancho went up and downe the floore searching for the radcertaine Giants head, and seeing that he could not finde it, hee said, ^1^3^^^ Now I doe see very well, that all the things of this house are inchantments, for the last time that I was here in this very same roome, I got many blowes and buffets, and knew not who did strike me, nor could I see any body : and now the head appeares not which I saw cut off with mine owne eyes, and yet the bloud ranne as swiftly from the body, as water would from a fountaine. What bloud or what fountaine dost thou tattle of here, thou enemie of Grod emd his Saints? quoth the Inkeeper; thou theefe, dost not thou see that the bloud and the fountaine is no other thing, then these wine bagges which are slashed here, and the wine redde that swims up and downe this Chamber, and I wish that I may see his soule swimming in hell which did bore them? I know nothing, replied Sancho, but this, that if I cannot finde the Giants nead, I shall become so unfortunate, as mine Earledome will dissolve like salt cast into water. And certes, Sancho awake, was in worse case then his Master sleeping, so much had his Lords promises distracted him. The Inkeeper on the other side was at his wits end, to see the humour of the Squire, and unhappinesse of his Lord, and swore that it should not succeed witn them now as it had done the other time, when they went awav without payment: and that now the priviledges of Chivalne should not availe him, but hee should pay both the one and other, yea even for the very patches that were to be set on the boared wine- bagges. 106 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE The Curate held fast Don -Quixote by the hands, who CHAPTER beleeving that he had atchieved the adventure, and was after ^^ it come into the Princesse Micomicona her presence, he Wherein is laid himselfe on his knees before the Curate, saying : * Well 5?.^ .^®^ * may your greatnesse, high, and famous Ladie, uve from ^^ curious ^ hence forth secure from any danger, that this unfortunate impertinent : ^ wretch may doe unto you ; and I am also freed from this and likewise * day forward from the promise that I made unto you, see- Recounted * ing I have by the assistance of the heavens, and through in^^JJU^^nd ^ her favour by whom I live and breathe, so happly accom- conflictpassed ^ plished it/ Did not I say so ? quoth Sancho, nearing of betweene his Master ; yea, I was not drunke : see, if my Master hath I>on-Quixote not powdred the Giant by this ? the matter is q uestionlesse, ^«™"^^* and the Earledome is mine owne. Who would not laugh red^^e. at these ravins fits of the Master and Man ? all of them laughed save tne Inkeeper, who gave himselfe for anger to the Divell more then a hundred times. And the Barber, Cardenio and the Curate got Don-Quixote to bed againe, not without much adoe, who presently fell asleepe with tokens of marvailous wearinesse. They left him sleeping, and went out to comfort Sancho Panfa for the griefe hee had, because hee could not finde the Giant^s head: but yet had more adoe to pacific the Inkeeper, who was almost out of his wits for the unexpected and sudden death of his wine bagges. The Hostesse on the other side went up and downe whining and saying, in an ill season emd an unlucky houre did this Knight Errant enter into my house ; Alas, and I would that mine eyes had never scene him, seeing hee costs mee so deere. The last time that hee was heere, hee went away scot-free for his supper, bedde, straw, and barley, both for himselfe and his man, his horse, and his Asse, saying, that he was a knight adventurous (and God give to him ill venture, and to all the other adventurers of the world) and was not therefore bound to pay any thing, for so it was written in the statutes of Chivahy. And now for his cause came the other Grentleman, and tooke away my good taile, and hath returned it me backe, with two quarters of damage. For all the haire is falne off, and it cannot stand my husband any more in steed for the purpose he had it ; and for an 107 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER end and conclusion of aU, to breake my wine bagges and Vin sbedde my wine : I wish I may see as much of his bloud Wherein is shedde. And do not thinke otherwise ; for by my fathers ^^®^J*® old bones, and the life of my mother, they snail pay mee ^curious every doit, one quart on another, or else I will never impertinent: be called as I am, nor be mine owne fathers daughter, ana likewise These and such like words spake the Inkeepers wife with recounted y^ry great funr, and was seconded by her good servant ?*® ^2^ and Maritomes. The daughter held her peace, and would now conflictpassed ^^d then smile a little : but Master Parson did quiet and betweene pacific all, by promising to satisfie them for the damages as Don-Quixote well as he might, as well for the wine as for the bagges, but wodMrtune chiefly for her taile, the which was so much accounted of, ^^f^^^ and valued so highly. Dorotea did comfort Sancho, say- ing to him, that whensoever it should be verified that his Lord had slaine the Giant, and established her quietly in her kingdome, she would bestow upon him the best Earle- dome thereof. With this he tooke courage, and assured the Princesse, that he himselfe had scene the Giants head cut off, and for a more certaine token thereof, he said that hee had a beard that reached him downc to his gyrdle ; and that if the head could not now be found, it was oy reason that all the affaires of the house were guided by inchantment, as hee had made experience to his cost the last time that he was lodged therein. Dorotea replyed, that she was of the same opinion, and bad him to be of good cheere, for all would be well ended to his hearts desire. All parties being quieted, the Curate resolved to finish the end of his novell, oecause he perceived that there rested but a little unread thereof. Cardenio, Dorotea, and all the rest intreated him earnestly to finish it. And he desiring to delight them all herein, and recreate himselfe, did prosecute the tale in this manner. It after befell, that Anselmo grew so satisfied of his wives honestie, as he led a most contented and secure life : and Camila did for the nonce looke sourely upon Lothario to the end Anselmo might conster her mind amisse : and for a greater confirmation thereof, Lothario requested Anselmo to excuse his commin^ any more to his house, seeing that hee cleerely perceived now Camila could neither brooke his 108 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE company nor presence. But the hoodwink^ Anselmo an- CHAPTER swered him, that he would in no wise consent thereunto, VIII and in this manner did weave his owne dishonour a thousand Wherein is waies, thinking to worke his contentment. In this season ®?.^®^.*^®- such was the delight that Leonela tooke also in her aSec- t^^^Jrious tions, as she suffered her selfe to be borne away by them impertinent: headlongly without any care or regard confident, because and likewise her Ladle did cover it, yea, and sometimes instructed her recounted how she might put her desires in practice, without any ^^ unterand feare or danger. But finally Anselmo heard on a night conflictpaned some body walke in Leonelas Chamber, and being desirous betweene to know who it was, as he thought to enter, he felt the Don-Quixote doore to be held fast against him, which gave him a greater ^l^"^^* desire to open it, and therfore he struggled so long, and Jljf^^^ used such violence, as he threw open the dore, and entred just at the time that another leaped out at the window, and therfore he ran out to overtake him, or see wherein he might know him, but could neyther compasse the one or the other, by reason that Leonela embracing him hardly, with-held him and said, pacific your self, good Sir, and oe not troubled, nor follow nim that was here, for he is one that belongs to mee, and that so much as hee is my spouse. Anselmo would not beleeve her, but rather blinde with rage, he drew out his poyniard, and would have wounded her, say- ing, that she should presently tell him the truth, or else he would kill her. She distracted with feare, said, without noting her owne words : Kill mee not Sir, and I will acquaint you with things which conceme you more then you can imagine. Say quickly then, quoth Anselmo, or else thou shalt die. It will bee impossible, replied Leonela, for me to speake any thing now I am so affrighted, but give me respite till morning, and I will recount unto you things that will marvellously astonish you, and in the meane time rest secure ; that he which leaped out of the window is a young man of this citie, betwixt whom and me hath passed a promise of marriage. Anselmo was somewhat satisfied by these words, and therefore resolved to expect the terme which she had demaunded to open her minde ; for hee did not suspect that he should heare any thing of Camila, by 109 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["a CHAPTER reason that hee was already so assured of her vertue : and Vin go departing out of the chamber, and shutting up Leonela l-Vherein is therin, threatning her withall, that she should never depart Hkto '^^^f thence, untill she had said all that she promised to reveale the curious ^^^ ^^°*' ^^ yrent presently to Camita to tell unto her impertinent: all that which his mayden had said, and the promise she and likewise had passed, to disclose greater and more important things ; recounted whether Camila hearing this, were perplexed or no, I leave incomer and ^ ^^^ discreete readers ludgement : for such was the feare conflictpassed ^hich she conceived, beleeving certainely (as it was to be betweene doubted) that Leonela would tell to Ansebno all that she Don-Quixote knew of her disloyalty, as she had not the courage to expect ^jJ^^*^® and see whether her surmise would become false or no : but red^^e. ^^^ ^^T sa™^ night, as soone as she perceived Anselmo to be asleepe, gathering together her best jewels and some money, she departed out of her house unperceived of any, and went to JLotharios lodging, to whom she recounted al that had past, and requested him eyther to leave her in some safe place, or both of them to depart to some place, where they might live secure out of Anselmos reach. The con- fusion that Camila strucke into Lothario, was such, as he knew not what to say, and much lesse how to resolve him- selfe what he might do. But at last he determined to carie Camila to a Monastery wherein his sister was Prioresse ; to which shee easily condiscended, and therefore Lothario de- parted, and left her there with all the speed that the case required, and did also absent himselfe presently from the citie, without acquainting any body with his departure. Anselmo, as soone as it was dfay, without needing the absence of his wife, arose and went to the place where he had shut up Leonela, with desire to know of her what she had Sromised to acquaint him withall : he opened the chamber ore and entred, but could finde no body therein, but some certaine sheetes knit together, and tied to the window as a certaine signe how Leonela had made an escape by that way. Wherefore he returned very sadde, to tell to Camila the adventure ; but when hee could neither finde her at bedde, nor in the whole house, he remained astonied, and demaunded for her of his servants, but none of them could tell him any 110 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE thing. And as he searched for her, hee hapned to see her CHAPTER coffers lye open, and most of her jewels wanting ; and heere- VIII withall fell into the true account of his disgrace, and that Wherein is Leonela was not the cause of his misfortune, and so departed ??.^ ^^^ out of his house sad and pensive, even as hee was, halfe ready ^^^^ curious and unapparelled to his mend Lothario, to recount unto him impertinent : his disaster: but when hee found him to be likewise absented, and likewise and that the servants told him how their master was de- recounted parted the very same night, and had borne away with him ^^{j^rand all his money, he was ready to runne out of his wits. And conflictpassed to conclude, nee returned to his owne house againe, wherein betweene he found no creature, man or woman, for all his folke were Don-Quixote departed, and had left the house alone and desert : he knew ^zJ^'^* not what he might thinke, say, or doe, and then his judge- redidne. ment beganne to faile him. There he did contemplate and behold himselfe in an instant, without a wife, a friend, and servants : abandoned (to his seeming) of heaven that covered him, and chiefly without honour, for he clearely noted his owne perdition in Camilas crime. In the end he resolved, after he had bethought himselfe a great while to go to his friends Village wherein hee had beene all the while that hee afforded the leisure to contrive that disaster, and so shut- ting up his house, he mounted a horse-backe, and rode away in languishing and dolefuU wise. And scarce had he ridden the halfe way, when he was so fiercely assaulted by his thoughts, as he was constrained to alight, and tyin^ his horse to a tree, he leaned himselfe to the trunke thereot^and breathed out a thousand pittifiill and dolorous sighes : and there hee abode untill it was almost night; about which houre hee espied a man to come from the Cittie a horse-backe by the same way, and having saluted him, he demaunded of him what newes he brought from Florencia ? The Cittizen replyed that the strangest that had hapned there many a day, for it is there reported publikely, that Liothario the great friend of the rich man, hath carried away the said Anselmos wife Camila this night, for shee is also missing, all which a waiting-maidc of Camilas hath confest, whom the gover- nour apprehended yesternight, as she slipt downe at a win- dow by a paire of sheets, out of the said Anselmos house, 111 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER I know not particularly the truth of the affaire, but well I vni wote, that all the Cittie is amazed at the accident, for such \\nierein is a fact would not be as much as surmised, from the great and ended the familiar amitie of them two, which was so much, as they Historiecf ^^^ called the two friends. Is it perhaps yet knowen, impertinent : V^^^ Anselmo, which way Lothario and Camila have taken ? andlikewise In no wise, replyed the Cittizen, although the Grovernour recounted hath used all possible diligence to finde them out. Farewell the rough then, good Sir, said Anselmo ; and with you Sir, said the ^Si^Md traveller : and so departed. betweene With these so unfortunate newes poore Anselmo arrived Don-Quixote not only to termes of loosing his wits, but also welnigh of imdcertune loosing his life : and therefore arising as well as he might, he ^^^Ig^ came to his friends house, who had heard nothing yet of his disgrace ; but perceiving him to arrive, so wanne, pyned and dried up, he presently conjectured that some grievous evill afflicted him. Anselmo requested him presently that hee I might be carried to his chamber, and provided of paper and ! inke to write withall ; all was done, and he left at bed, and • alone, for so he desired them ; and also that the dore should I bee fast locked : and being alone, the imagination of his j misfortune gave him such a terrible charse, as he clearely i perceived that his life would shortly faile him, and therefore resolved to leave notice of the cause of his suddaine and un- expected death : and therefore he beganne to write it, but before he could set an end to his discourse, his breath failed, and yeelded up his life into the hands of sorrowe, which his impertinent curiositie had stirred up in him. The Gentle- man of the house seeing that it grew late, and that Anselmo had not called, determmed to enter, and know whether his indisposition passed forward : and hee found him lying on his face, with halfe of his body in the bed, and the other halfe leaning on the table whereon hee lay, with a written paper unfol£d, and held the pen also yet in his hand. His Host drew neere unto him, and first of all having called him, hee tooke him by the hand : and seeing that hee answered not, and that it was cold, he knew that he was dead : and greatly perplexed and grieved thereat, hee called in his people, that they might also be witnesses of the disastrous successe 112 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE of Anselmo : and after all he tooke the paper and read it, CHAPTER which he knew to bee written with his owne hand, the sub- VIII stance whereof was this : Wherein is * A foolish and impertinent desire hath despoiled mee of ended the ' Ufe. If the newes of my death shall arrive to Camila, let SeSious ' her also know that I doe pardon her, for shee was not bound impertinent : ^ to worke miracles ; nor had I any neede to desire that shee andlikewise * should worke them. And seeing I was the builder and con- recounted * triver of mine owne dishonour, there is no reason.** !^® roigh Hitherunto did Anselmo write, by which it appeared, that ^nflictpawed his life ended in that point, ere he could set an end to the betweene reason he was to give. The next day insuing, the Gentle- Don-Quixote man his friend, acquainted Anselmos kinsfolke with his ^fj^"^^® ' death : the which had already knowledge of his misfortune, JlJf^n^ and also of the Monasterie wherein Camila had retired her selfe, being almost in termes to accompany her husband in that forcible voyage ; not for the newes of his death, but for griefe of others which she had received of her absent friend. It is said that although she was a widdow, yet would shee neither depart out of the Monasterie, nor become a reli- gious woman, untill shee had received within a few dayes after newes how Lothario was slaine in a battell given by Monsieur dc Lautrec, to the great Captainc Gon9alo Fernandez of Cordova, in the Kingdome of Naples : and that was the end of the late repentant friend, the which being knowne to Camila she made a profession, and shortly after deceased betweene the rigorous hands of sorrow and melan- cholic, and this was the end of them all, sprung from a rash and inconsiderate beginning. This novell, quoth the Curate, having read it, is a prettie one ; but yet I cannot pcrswade mv selfe that it is true : and if it be a nction, the authour erred, therein, for it cannot bee imagined, that any husband would be so foolish, as to make so costly an experience as did Anselmo. But if this accident had beene devised betwixt a Grentleman and his love, then were it possible, but being betweene man and wife, it containes somewhat that is impossible and unlikely : but yet I can take no exception against the manner of recounting thereof. 2 : P 118 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER IX Which treates of many rare successes, be&hie in the Inne. SIHILST they discoursed thus, the Inkeeper, who stood all the while at the dore, said, heere comes a &ire troupe of guests; and if thej will here alight, wee may sing Gaudeamut. What folke is it? quoth Cardenio. Foure men a horse- backe, quoth the Host, aud ride gennet- wise, with launces and targets, and maskes on their faces, and with them comes likewise a woman, apparelled in white, in a side saddle, and her face also masked, and two Lackeys, that run with them a foote. Are they neere P auoth the Curate. So neare, repljed the Inkeeper, as they ao now arrive. Dorotea hearing him say so, covered her race, and Cardenio entred into Don-Quisot^ Chamber, and scarce had they leisure to doe it, when the others, of whom the Host spake, entred into the Inne : and the foure Horsemen alighting, which were all of very comely and gallant disposition, they went to helpe downe the Lady that rode in the side saddle ; and one of them taking her downe in his armes, did seat her in a chaire that stood at the chamber dore, into which Cardenio had entred and all this while neither shee, nor they, tooke off their maskes, or spake a word, onely the Gentlewoman, at her sitting downe in the Chaire, breathed forth a very deepe sigh, and let fall her armes, like a sicke and dbmayed person. The Lackeyes carried away their Horses to the Stable. Master Curate seeing and noting all this, and curious to know what they were that came to the Inne in so unwonted an attyre, and kept such profound silence therein, went to the Lackeies, and demaunded of one of them that which he desired to know. Who answered him. In good faith Sir I cannot 114 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE tell you what folke this is, only this I know, that they CHAPTER seeme to be very Noble, but chiefly hee that went and tooke IX downe the Ladie in his armes that you see there : and this I Wlilchtreates say, because all the others doe respect him very much, and of many rare nothing is done, but what hee ordaines and commaunds. t^^^*' And the Ladie, what is shee ? quoth the Curate, I can as the Inne. hardly informe you, quoth the Lackey, for I have not once scene her face in all this journey, yet I have heard her often grone, and breathe out so profound sighes, as it seemes shee would give up the Ghost at every one of them : and it is no marvaile, that we should know no more then wee have said, for my companion and my selfe have beene in their companie but two aayes : for they incountred us on the way, and prayed and perswaded us to goe with them unto Andaluzia, promising that they would recompence our paines largely. And hast thou heard them name one another ? said the Curate. No truly, answered the Lackey ; for they all travaile with such silence, as it is a wonder : for you shall not heare a word among them, but the sighs and throbs of the poore Ladie, which doe move in us very great compassion, and we doe questionlesse perswade our selves, that she is forced wheresoever shee goes: and as it may bee collected by her attyre shee is a Nunne, or as is most probable goes to be one ; and perhaps shee goeth so sorrow- full as it seemes, because shee hath no desire to become religious. It may very well be so, quoth the Curate ; and so leaving them hee returned to the place where he had left Dorotea, who hearing the disguised Ladie to sigh so often, mooved by the native compassion of that sexe, drew neare her and said, what ailes you good Madam? I pray you thinke if it be any of those inconveniences to whicn women bee subject, and whereof they may have use and experience to cure them : I doe oiFer unto you my service, assistance, and good will, to helpe you as much as lies in my power. To all those complements the dolefull Ladie answered nothing, and although Dorotea made her againe larger offers of her service, yet stood shee ever silent until! the bemasked Gentleman (whom the Lackey said, the rest did obay) came over and said to Dorotea: Ladie doe not trouble 116 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER your selfe, to o£Per any thing to that woman, for shee is of IX a most ingratefuU nature, and is never wont to gratifie any Whichtreates curtesie, nor doe you seeke her to answer unto your de- of many rare maunds, if you would not heare some lie from her mouth. beS^eTn ^ never said any (quoth the silent Ladie) but rather because the Inne. ^ ^^i so true and sincere without guiles, I am now drowned here in those misfortunes,, and of this I would have thy selfe beare witnesse, seeing my pure truth makes thee to be so false and disloyaL Cardenio overheard these words very cleere and distinctly, as one that stood so neere unto her that said them, as onely Don-Quixotes chamber doore stood between them, and instantly when he heard them, he said with a very loud voyce, good God, what is this that I heare? what voyce is this that hath touched mine eare? The Ladie moved with a sodaine passion, turned her head at those outcries, and seeing shee could not perceive him that gave them, she got up, and would have entred into the roome, which the Grentleman espying, withheld her, and would not let her stirre out of the place: and with the altera- tion and sodaine motion the maske fell off her face, and , she discovered an incomparable beautie, and an angelicall countenance, although it was somewhat wanne and pede, and turned heere and there with her eyes to every place so earnestly as she seemed to be distracted: which motions without knowing the reason why they were made, strucke Dorotea and the rest that beheld her into very great com- passion. The Grentleman held her very strongly fast by the shoulders, and was so busied as hee could not hold up the maske, that hee wore on his own face that was falling, as it did in the end wholy : Dorotea, who had likewise embraced the Ladie, lifting up her eyes by chance, saw that he, which did also embrace the Ladie was her spouse Don Fernando : and scarce had she known him, when breathing out a long and most pittifull ^ Alas^ from the bottome of her heart, she fell backward in a trance. And if the Barber had not bin by good hap at hand, she would have falne on the ground with all the waight of her bodie : the Curate pre- sently repaired to take off the vaile of her face, and cast 116 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE water thereon : and as soone as he did discover it, Don CHAPTER Fernando, who was he indeed that held fast the other, IX knew her, and looked like a dead man as soone as he Whichtreates viewed her, but did not all this [while] let so Luscinda, of many rare who was the other whom he held so fast, and that laboured JJJf^^,^ so much to escape out of his hands. Cardenio likewise thelnne. heard the ^ Alas'* that Dorotea said, when she fell into a trance, and beleeving that it was his Luscinda, issued out of the chamber greatly altered, and the first he espied was Don Fernando, which held Luscinda fast; who forthwith knew him: and all the three, Luscinda, Cardenio, and Dorotea, stood dumbe and amazed, as folke that knew not what had befalne unto them. All of them held their peace, and beheld one another. Dorotea looked on Don Fernando, Don Fernando on Cardenio, Cardenio on Luscinda, and Luscinda againe on Cardenio: but Luscinda was the first that broke silence, speaking to Don Fernando in this manner. Leave me off, Lord Fernando, I conjure thee, by that thou shouldest bee, for that which thou art ; if thou wilt not doe it for any other respect : let me cleave to the wall, whose Ivie I am, to the supporter from whom neither thy im- portunities nor threats, promises or gifts could once aeflect me. Note how heaven, by unusuall, unfrequented, and from us concealed waies, hath set my true spouse before mine eyes : and thou doest know well by a thousand costly experiences, that onely death is potent to blot forth his re- membrance out of my memory : let then so manifest truthes be of power (if thou must doe none other) to convert thine affliction into rage, and thy good will into despight, and therewithall end my life : for if I may render up the ghost in the presence of my deere spouse, I shall account it fortunately lost. Perhaps by my death he will remaine satisfied of the faith, which I ever kept sincere towards him, untill the last period of my life. By this time Dorotea was come to her selfe, and listned to most of Luscindas reasons, and by them came to the knowledge of her selfe : but seeing that Don Fernando did not yet let her depart from betweene his armes, nor answer any thing to her words, encouramng her selfe the best that she might, she arose, and kneeling 117 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER at his feete, and shedding a number of Cristall and pene- IX trating teares, she spoke to him thus. Which treates If it be not so my Lord, that the beames of that Sunne of many rare which thou boldest eclipsed betweene thine armes, doe Sefi^eTn darken and deprive those of thine eyes, thou mightest have the Inne. ^7 ^^^^ perceived how she that is prostrated at thy feet is the unfortunate (untill thou shalt please) and the disastrous Dorotea. I am that poore humble countriwoman, whom thou ejrther through toy bountie, or for thy pleasure didst deigne to raise to that height that she might call thee her owne. I am she which sometime immured within the limits of honestie did lead a most contented life, untill it opened the gates of her recollection and wearinesse, to thine im- portunitie, and seeming just, and amorous requests, and rendred up to thee the keyes of her libertie, a greefe by thee so ill recompensed, as the finding my selfe in so remote a place as this : wherein you have met with mee, and I scene you, may cleerely testifie, but yet for all this, I would not have you to imagine that I come heere, euided by dis- honourable steps being onely hither concfucted by the tracts of dolour, and feeling to see my selfe thus forgotten by thee. It was thy will, that I should be thine owne, and tnou didst desire it m such a manner, as although now thou wouldst not have it so, yet canst not thou possibly leave off to be mine. Enow my deare Lord that the matchlesse affections that I do beare towards thee, may recompense and be equivalent to her beautic and nobilitie, for whom thou doest abandon mee. Thou canst not be the beautifull Luscindas, because thou art mine: nor she thine, for as much as shee belongs to Cardenio, and it will be more easie, if you will note it well, to reduce thy will to love her that adores thee, then to addresse hers that hates thee, to beare thee affection: Thou diddest sollicite my wretchles- nesse; thou prayedst to mine integritie, and wast not ignorant of my qualitie : thou knowest also very well upon what termes I subjected my selfe to thy will, so as there remaines no place, nor colour to terme it a fraud or deceit. And all this oeing so, as in veritie it is, and that thou beest as Christian as thou art noble, why doest thou with these 118 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE SO many untoward wreathings dilate the making of mine CHAPTER end happy, whose commencement thou diddest illustrate so IX much? and if thou wilt not have mee for what I am, who Which treates am thy true and lawfuU spouse ; yet at least take and ^^ "^*^y ""•""^ admit me for thy slave, for so that I may be in thy pos- wi^^^i session, I will account my selfe happy and fortunate. Doe the Inne. not permit that by leaving and abandoning me, meetings may DC made to discourse of my dishonour. Doe not vexe thus the declining yeeres of my parents, seeing that the loyall services which they ever have done as vassailes to thine, deserve not so honest a recompenoe. And if thou esteemest that thy bloud by medlinff with mine shall be stayned or embased : consider how few Noble bowses, or rather none at all are there in the world, which have not runne the same way: and that the womans side is not essentially requisite for the illustrating of noble descents, how much more, seeine that true nobilitie consists in vertue, which if it shaU want in thee, by refusing that which thou owest mee so justly, I shall remaine with many more decrees of nobilitie then thou shalt. And in con- clusion, that which I will lastly say, is, that whether thou wilt or no, I am thy wife, the witnesses are thine owne words, which neither should nor ought to lie, if thou doest prize thy selfe of that for whose want thou despisest mee. Witnesse shall also be thine ownc hand writing. Witnesse heaven, which thou didst invoke to beare witoesse of that which thou didst promise unto mee : and when all this shal faile, thy very conscience shall never fayle from using clamours, bemg silent in thy mirth and turning, for this truth which I have said to thee now, shall trouble thy greatest pleasure and delight. These and many other hke reasons did the sweetly grieved Dorotea use with such feeling and abundance of teares, as all those that were present, as well such as accompanied Don Fernando, as all the others that did accompany her. Don Fernando listned to her without replying a word, untill she had ended her speech, and given beginning to so many sighes and sobs, as the heart that could indure to behold them without moving, were harder then brasse. Luscinda 119 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER did also regard her, no lessc compassionate of her sorrow, IX then admired at her discretion and beautie : and although Whichtreates she would have approched to her, and used some consola- of many rare torie words, vet was she hindred by Don Femandoes armes, hli^^' which held her still embraced ; who full of confusion and thelnneT marvell, after he had stood very attentively beholding Dorotea a good while, opening his armes, and leaving Luscinda free, said. Thou hast vanquished: O beautifuU Dorotea, thou hast vanquished me. For it is not possible to resist or deny so many united truthes. Luscinda through her former trance and weakenesse, as Don Fernando left her, was like to fall, if Cardenio, who stoode behind Don Fernando all the while, lest he should be knowne, shaking oiF all feare and indangering his person, had not started forward to stay her from falling : and clasping her sweetly between his armes, he said, if pittifull heaven be pleasedf, and would have thee now at last take some ease, my loyall, constant and beautifull ladie, I presume that thou canst not possesse it more securely, then betweene these armes which do now receive thee, as whilome they did when for- tune was pleased, that I might call thee mine owne: and then Luscinda first severing her eyelids, beheld Cardenio, and having first taken notice of him by his voyce, and con- firmed it againe by her sight, like one quite distracted, without farther regarding modest respects, she cast both her armes about his necke, and joyning her face to his, said ; yea, thou indeed art my Lord : thou, the true owner of this poorc captive, howsoever adverse fortune shall thwart it, or this life, which is only sustained and lives by thine, be ever so much thretned. This was a marvellous spectacle to Don Fernando, and all the rest of the beholders, which did uni- versally admire at this so unexpected an event : and Dorotea perceiving Don Fernando to change color, as one resolv- mg to take revenge on Cardenio, for he had set hand to his sword; which she conjecturing, did with marvellous expedition kneele, and catcning hold on his legges, kissing them, she strained them with so loving embracements, asi he could not stirre out of the place, and then with her eyes overflowen with teares, said unto him : what meanest ISO IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE thou to doe my onely refuge in this unexpected traunce ? CHAPTER Thou hast heere thine owne spouse at thy feete, and her IX whom thou wouldest faine possesse, is betweene *hcr owne Which treates husbands armes : jud^e then whether it become thee, or of many rare is a thing possible to dissolve that which heaven hath knit, ^ef^^^ or whether it be any wise laudable to indevour to raise thelnne. and equall to thy selfe her, who contemning all dangers and inconveniences, and confirmed in faith and constancy, doth in thy presence bathe her eyes with amorous liquor of her true loves face and bosome. I desire thee for Gods sake, and by thine owne worths, I request thee that this so notorious a verity may not onely asswage thy choler, but also diminish it in such sort, as thou mayest quietly and peaceably permit those two lovers to enioy their desires without any encumbrance, all the time tnat heaven shall grant it to them : and herein thou shalt shew the gene- rositic of thy magnanimous and noble breast, and give the world to understand how reason prcvaileth in thee, and dominereth over passion. All the time that Dorotea spoke thus to Don Fernando, although Cardenio held Luscinda be- tweene his armes, yet did he never take his eye of Don Fernando, with resolution, that if he did see him once stir in his prejudice, he would labour both to defend himself, and offend his adversary, and all those that shuld joine with him to do him any harme as much as he could, although it were with the rest of his life : but Don Femandos friends, the Curate and Barber who were present, and saw all that was past repayred in the meane season, without omitting the good Sancho Pan^a, and all of them together com- passed Don Fernando, intreating him to have regard of the beautiful! Doroteas teares, and it being true (as they beleeved it was) which she had said he should not permit her to remain defrauded of her so just and lawful nopes. And that he should ponder how it was not by chance, out rather by the particular providence and disposition of the heavens, that they had al met together so unexpectedly. • And that he should remember, as Master Curate said very wel, that only death could sever Luscinda from her Cardenio. And that although the edge of a sword might devide and 2 : Q 121 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER part them asunder, yet in that case they would account their IX death most happy, and that in irremedilesse events, it was Which treates highest prudence, by straining and overcomming himselfe of many rare iq shew a generous minde, permitting that he might con- be^beTn V^^^ ^^^ owne will they two should joy that good, which thelnna heaven had alreadie granted to them, and that he should convert his eyes to behold the beautie of Dorotea, and he should see that few or none could for feature paragon with her ; and much lesse excell her, and that he snould confer her humilitie and extreme love which she bore to him, with her other indowments ; and princii^dly, that if he gloried m the titles of Nobility or Chnstianitie, hee could not doe any other then accompbsh the promise that he had past to her : and that by fulfilling it, hee should please God, and satisfie discreet persons, which know veir well, how it is a speciall prerogative of beautie, though it be in an humble and meane subject, if it bee consorted with modestie and vertue, to exalt and equall it selfe to any dignitie, without disparage- ment of him which doth helpe to raise, or unite it to him- selfe. And when the strong lawes of delight are accomplished (so that there intercurre no sinne in the acting thereof) he is not to bee condemned which doth follow them. Finally, they added to these reasons, others so many and forcible, that the valerous breast of Don Fernando (as commonly all those that are warmed and nourished by Noble bloud are wont) was mollified, and permitted it selfe to bee vanquished by that truth which he could not denie though hee would : and the token that hee gave of his being overcome, was to stoupe downe and imbrace Dorotea, saymg unto her, arise Ladle, for it is not just that shee be prostrated at my feete, whose Image I have erected in my mmde, and if I have not hitherto given demonstrations of what I now averre, it hath perhaps befallen through the disposition of heaven, to the end that I might by noting the constancie and faith where- withall thou dost affect me, know after how to valewe and esteeme thee according unto thy merits : and that which in recompence thereof I doe intreat of thee is, that thou wilt excuse in me mine ill maner of proceeding, and exceeding carelcsnesse in repaying thy gooa wilL For the very occa- 182 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE sion and violent passions that made mee to accept thee as CHAPTER mine, the very same did also impell me againe not to be IX thine : and for the more verifying of mine assertion, doe but ^VTiichtreates once behold the eyes of the now contented Luscinda, and of many rare thou mayest read in them a thousand excuses for mine JJ^^j^^n errour : and seeing shee hath found and obtained her hearts the Inne. desire; and I have in thee also gotten what is most con- venient : for I wish she may live securely and joyfully, many and happy yeeres with her Cardenio, for I will pray the same, that it will license mee to enjoy my beloved iDorotea : and saying so, he embraced her againe, and joyned his face to hers with so lovely motion, as it constrayned him to hold watch over his teares, lest violently bursting forth, they should give doubtlesse arguments of his fervent love, and remorse. Cardenio, Luscinda, and almost all the rest could not doe so, for the greater number of them shed so many teares, some for their private contentment, and others for their friends, as it seemed, that some grievous and heavy mis- fortune had betided them all : even very Sancho Pan^a wept, although hee excused it afterward, saying, that he wept only because that he saw that Dorotca was not the Queene Micomicona, as he had imagined, of whom he hoped to have received so great gifts and favours. The admiration and teares joyned, indured in them all for a pretty space, and presently after Cardenio and Luscinda went and Kneeled to Don Fernando, yeelding him thankes for the favour that he had done to them, with so courteous complements, as he knew not what to answerc; and therefore lifted them up, and embraced them with very great affection and kinde- nesse ; and presently after he demaundcd of Dorotea how she came to that place so farre from her owne dwelling? And she recounted unto him all that she had told to Car- denio: whereat Don Fernando and those which came with him tooke so great delight, as they could have wished that her story had continued a longer time in the telling then it did, so great was Doroteas grace in setting out of her mis- fortunes. And as soone as she had ended, Don Fernando told all that had befalne him in the Citie, after that he had 12S THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAFTBR found the scroule in Luscinda's bosome, wherein shee decUred I^ Cardenio to be her husband; and that he therefore could WhlchtreatM not nuury her, and also how he attempted to kill her, and ofmanjnre would hare done it, were it not that her parents hindred JJ^^J^ him, and that hee therefore departed out of the house full the Inna of shame and despite, with resolution to revenge himselfe more conunodiously ; and how he understood the next day following, how Luscinda was secretly departed from her fathers bouse, and gone no body knew where ; but that he finally learned within a few monetlis after that she had entred into a certaine Monastery, with intention to remaine there all the dales of her life, if she could not passe them with Cardenio : and that as soone as he had learned that, choosing those three Grentlemen for his associates, hee came to the place where she was, but would not speake to her, fearing lest that as soone as they knew of his being there, they would increase the guardes of the Monastery, and there- fore expected untill he found on a day the gates of the Monastery open ; and leaving two of his fellowes to keepe the doore, he with the other entred into the Abbey in LuBcindas search, whom they found talking with a Nunne in the Cloyster, and snatching her away ere she could retire her selfe, ^ey brought her to a certaine village, where they disguised themselves in that sort they were ; for so it was requbite for to brine her away. All which they did with the more facility, that the Monastery was seated abroad in the fields, a good way from any village. He likewise told that as soone as Luscinda saw her selfe in his power, she fell into a sound and that after she had returned to her selfe, she never did any other thing but weepe and sigh, wiliiout speaking a word^ and that in that manner, accompanied with silence and teares, they had arrived to that Inne, which was to him as gratefull as an arrivall to heaven, wherein all earthly mis- haps are concluded and finished. IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE CHAPTER X Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the fiunous Princesse Micomicona, with other ddightfull adventures. ntANCHOgave eare to all this with no small gricfe of minde, seeing that all the hopes of hh Lordship vanished away like smoalce, and tliat the faire Princesse Micomicona was turned into Dorotea, and the Giant into Don Fernando, and that his Master slept sa soundly and carelesse of all tiiht had hapned. Dorotea could not yet assure her selfe whether the happinesse that she possest was a dreame, or no. Cardenio was in the very same taking, and also Luscindas thought run the same race. Don Fernando yeelded many thanks unto heaven for hav- ing dealt with him so propitiously, and unwinded him out of the intricate Labyrinth, wherein straying, hee was at the point to have lost at once his soule and credite, and finally, as many as were in the Inne, were very glad and joyfull of the successe of so thwart, intricate, and desperate afiaires. The Curate compounded and ordered all things through his discretion, and congratulated every one of the good he oh- tayned : but she Sat kept greatest Jubilee and joy, was the Hostesse for the promise that Cardenio and the Curate had made to pay her the damages and harmes committed bv Don-Quixote ; onely Sancho, as we have said, was afflicted, unfortunate, and sorrowfull. And thus he entred with melan- choly semblance to his Lord, who did but then awake, and said to him. Well and securely n»y you sleepe, Sir Knight of the heavie countenance, as long as it shall please your selfe, without troubling your selfe with any care of killing any Giant, or of restoring the Queene to her Kingdome, for all is concluded 125 CHAPTER X MHierein is prosecuted the Historie of the famous Princesse Micomicona, with other delightfuU adventures. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. and done already. I beleeve thee very easily, replyed Don- Quixote, for I have had the monstrousest and most terrible battell with that Giant, that ever I thinke to have all the dayes of my life with any ; and yet with one thwart blow thawacke, I overthrew his head to the around : and there issued so much bloud, as the streames thereof ranne along the earth, as if they were of water. As if they were of red wine, you might better have said, replied Sancho Pan9a: for I would let you to understand, if you know it not already, that the dead Giant is a bored wine bagse : and the bloud, sixe and thirty gallons of redde Wine, which it contayncd in his belly : the head that was flasht off so neately, is the whoore my mother and let the Divell take all away for mee. And what is this thou sayest madde man (quoth jDon- Quixote) ? Art thou in thy right wits ? G«t up. Sir (quoth Sancho) and you your selfe shall see the faire stuffe you have made, and what we have to pay, and you shall behold the Queene transformed into a particular Ladie called Dorotea, with other successes, which if you may once conceive them aright, will strike you into admiration. I would marvell at nothing, quoth Don-Quixote, for if thou beest well remem- bred, I tolde thee the other time that we were here, how all that succeeded in this place, was done by inchantment, and what wonder then if now the like should eftsoones befall ? I could easily be induced to beleeve all, replied Sancho, if my canvassing in the Coverlet were of that nature. But indeed it was not, but most reall and certaine. And I saw well how the Inkeeper that is here yet this very day alive, held one end of the Coverlet, and did tosse me up towards heaven with very good grace and strength, no lesse merrily then lightly: and where the notice of parties intercurs, I doe beleeve, although I am a simple man, and a sinner, that there is no kind of inchantment, but rather much trouble, brusing and misfortune. Well, God will remedie all, said Don-Quixote, and give me mine apparrell, for I will get up and goe forth, and see those successes and transformations which thou speakest of. Sancho gave him his cloathes, and whilst he was a making of him readie, the Curate recounted to Don Fernando and to the rest, Don-Quixotes mad pranks, 126 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE and the guile hee had used to bring him away out of the CHAPTER poore Rocke, wherein he imagined that hee lived exiled X through the disdaine of his Lady. Hee told them more- Wherein is over all the other adventures, which Sancho had discovered, prosecuted whereat they did not laugh a little and wonder withall, of\he'f^ous because it seemed to them all to be one of the extravagantest Princesse kinds of madnesse, that ever befell a distracted braine. The Micomicona^ Curate also added, that seeing the good successe of the Lady ^*}* ^t^®'' Dorotea did impeach the farther prosecuting of their designe, ?^^ ^ that it was requisite to invent and finde some other way, how to carry him home to his owne village. Cardenio offred himselfe to prosecute the adventure, and Luscinda should represent Doroteas person. No, quoth Don-Fernando, it shal not be so, for I will have Dorotea to prosecute her owne invention. For so that the Village of this good Gentle- man be not very far off from hence, I will be very glad to procure his remedy. It is no more then two daies journey from hence, said the Curate. Wei though it were more replied Don Fernando, I wold be pleased to travel them, in exchange of doing so good a worke. Don-Quixote sallied out at this time completely armed with Mambrinos Helmet, (although with a great hole in it) on his head, his target on his arme, and leaned on his Trunke or laveline: nis strange countenance and gate amazed Don Fernando and his companions very much, seeing his ilfavoured visage so withered and yealow, the inequalitie and insutability of his armes, and his grave manner of proceeding ; and stood all silent to sec what he would : who casting his eyes on the beautiful Dorotea, with very great gravitie and stayednesse said. I am informed (beautifuU Ladie) by this my Souire, that your greatnesse is annihilated, and your being aestroyed : lor of a Queene and mightie Princesse which you were wont to bee, you are now become a particular Damzell : which if it hath bene done by particular order of the magicall king your Father, dreadmg that I would not bee able to give you the necessarie and requisite helpe for your restitution; I say, that he neither knew nor doth know the one halfe of the enterprise, and that he was very little acquainted with 127 CHAPTER X Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the famous Princesse Micomicona, with other delightfuU adventures. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. Histories of chivalry, for if he had read them, or passed them over with so great attention and leasure, as I have done and read them, he should have found at every other step how other knights of a great deale lesse fame then my selte, have ended more desperate adventures, seeing it is not so great a matter to kill a Giant, be he ever so arrogant : for it is not many howres since I my selfe fought with one, and what insued I will not say, least they should tell me that I doe lie, but time the detector of all things will disclose it, when wee doe least thinke thereof. Thou foughtest with two wine bag^, and not with a Giant, quoth the Host at this season, but Don Fernando commaunded him to be silent, and not interrupt Don-Quixote in any wise, who prosecuted his speech saying. In fine I say high and dis- inherited Ladie, that if your father hath made this meta- morphoses in your person for the causes related, give him no credit : for there is no perill so great on earth, but my sword shall open a way through it, wherewithall I overthrow- ^ing your enemies head to the ground, will set your CroMme on your oMme head within a few dayes. Heere Don-Quixote held his peace, and awaited the Princesse her answere, who knowing Don Femando^s determination and will, that she should continue the commenced guile untill Don-Quixote were carried home againe, answered with a very good grace and countenance in this manner. Whosoever mrormed you valorous Knight of the ill favored face, that I have altered and changed my being, hath not told you the truth : for I am the very same to day, that I was yesterday : true it is, that some unexpected yet fortunate successes have wrought some alteration in mee by bestowing on me better hap, then I hoped for, or could wish my selfe : but yet for all that, I have not left off to be that which before, or to have the very same thoughts, which I ever had, to helpe my selfe by the valour of your most valorous and invincible arme. And therefore I request you good my Lord of your accus- tomed bounty, to retume my father his honour againe, and account of him as of a very discreete and prudent man ; seeing that he found by this skill, so easie and so infallible a way to redresse my disgraces. For I doe certainly beleeve, 128 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE that if it had not beene by your meanes, I should never CHAPTER have hapned to attaine to the good fortune, which now I ^ possesse, as all those Noblemen present may witnesse : what Wherein is therefore rests, is, that to morrow morning we doe set P^^j^^- forward, for to day is now alreadie so overgone, as we should <,£ \he faz^us not be able to travaile very farre from hence : as for the Princesse conclusion of the ffood successe that I doe hourely expect, I Micomicoiu^ referre that to Grod, and the valour of your invincible arme. J^|^ u^^\ Thus much the discreet Dorotea said, and Don-Quixote a^vMitures. having heard her, hee turned him to Sancho with very manifest tokens of indignation, and said. Now I say unto thee little Sancho, that thou art the veryest rascall that is in all Spaine : tell me theefe and vagabond, didst not thou but even very now say unto mee, Uiat this Princesse was turned into a Damsell, and that called Dorotea ? and that the heade which I thought I had slashed from a giants shoulders, was the whore which bore thee ? with a thousand other follies, which did plunge mee into the greatest con- fusion that ever I was in, in my life ? I vow (and then he looked upon heaven, and did crash his teeth together) that I am about to make such a wracke on thee, as shall beate wit into the pates of all the lying Squires that shall ever hereafter serve Knights Errant in this world. I pray you have patience, good my Lord, answered Sancho, for it may very well befall me, to bee deceived in that which touchetn the transmutation of the Ladie and Princesse Micomicona : but in that which concerneth the Giants head, or at least the boaring of the wine bagges, and that the bloud was but red wine, I am not deceived I sweare. For the bagges lie yet wounded there within at your ownc beds head : and the red wine hath made a lake in the Chamber : and if it bee not so, it shall be perceived at the frying of the egges, I meane, that you shall see it, when Master Inkeepers worship, who is heere present, shall demand the losse and dammage : I say thee, Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, that thou art a mad-cap : pardon me, and so it is enough. It is enough indeed quoth Don Fernando : and therefore let me intreate you to say no more of this : and seeing my Ladie the Prin- cesse saies she will goe away to morrow, seeing it is now to 2:R 1S9 CHAPTER X Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the famous Princesse Micomicona, with other delightfiiU adventures. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. late to depart to day, let it be so agreed on, and we will spend this night in pleasant discourses, untill the approach of the insuing day, wherein wee will all accompany and attend on the worthy Knight Sir Don-Quixote, because we would be eye-witnesses of the valorous and unmatchable feates of armes, which he shall doe in the pursuit of this weightie enterprize, which hee hath taken upon him : I am hee that will serve and accompany you good my Lord, replyed Don-Quixote, and I doe highly gratifie the honour that is done me, and the good opinion that is held of me, the which I will indevour to verine and approovc, or it shall cost mee my life, or more, if more it might cost mee. Many other words of complement and gratification past betweene Don-Quixote and Don Fernando : but a certaine passenger imposed silence to them all, by his arrivall to the Inne, in that very season, who by his attire shewed that hee was a Christian newly returned from among the Moores, for he was apparrellcd with a short skirted cassocke of blew cloth, sleeves reaching downe halfe the arme, and without a coller : his breeches were likewise of blew linnen, and he wore a bonnet of the same colour, a payre of date colour buskins, and a Turkish Cimitar hanging at his necke in a scarfe: which went athwart his brest: there entred after him riding on an Asse a woman clad like a Moore, and her face covered with a piece of the vaile of her head, she wore on her head a little cap of cloath of gold, and was covered with a little Turkish mantle, from the shoulders doMme to the feete. The man was of strong and comely making, of the age of fortie yeeres or there abouts, his face was some- what tanned, he had long Mostacheos, and a very handsome beard. To conclude, his making was such as if he were well attired, men would take him to be a person of quality, and good birth : he demaunded a Chamber as soone as hee had entred : and being answered that there was no one vacant in the Inne, he seemed to bee grieved : and comming to her which in her attire devoted her selfe to be a Moore, he tooke her downe from her Asse. Luscinda, Dorotea, the hostesse, her daughter, and Maritomes, allured to behold the new and strange attire of the Moore, compassed her ISO IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE about and Dorotea, who was alwaies most gracious, cour- CHAPTER teous, and discreete, deeming that both she and he that X had brought her, were discontented for the want of a lodg- Wherein is ing she said. Ladie be not grieved for the trouble you are pros^uted heere like to endure for want of meanes to refresh your selfe, t^® Hi^"^® ... . II J 11 • i» 11 T J. i_ 01 the tamous seeing it is an universall and usuall vice of all Innes to be princesse defective herein : yet notwithstanding if it shall please you Micomicona^ to passe away the time among us (pointing to Luscinda) with other perhaps you have met in the discourse of your travels, other ^%^tfull worse places of intertainmcnt then this shall prove. The disguised Lady made none answere, nor other thing then arising from the place wherein shee sate, and setting both her hands a crosse on her bosome, she inclined her head, and bowed her bodie in signe that she rendred them thanks : by her silence they doubtlesly conjectured her to bee a Moore, and that she could not speake the Castilian tongue. In this the captive arrived who was otherwise imployed untill then, and seeing that they all had invironed her that came with him, and that she made no answere to their speech, he said. Ladies this maiden scarce understands my tongue yet, nor doth she know any other then that of her owne Countrey ; and therefore she hath not, nor can make any answere to your demaunds. We demand nothing of her, quoth Luscinda, but onely doe make her an offer of our companies for this night, and part of her roume where we our selves arc, shall be accommodated, where she shall be cherished up as much as the commodity of this place, and the Obligation wherein wee bee tied to shew courtesies to strangers that may want it, doe bindc us, especially she being a woman, to whom we may doe this service. Sweet Lfidy I kisse your hands both for her and my selfe replied the captive, and I do highly prize, as it aeserveth, the favor you have proffered, which in such an occasion, and offred oy such persons as you seeme to be, doth very plainely shew how great it is. Tell me good Sir quoth Dorotea, whether is this Lady a Christian or a Moore ? for by her attire and silence she makes us suspect that shee is, that we would not wish she were. A Moore she is in attire and body, answered the captive: but in mind she is a very 181 r CHAPTER X Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the fiunous Princesse Micomioona^ with other delightfoU adventures. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. fervent Christian, for she hath very ezpresly desired to become one. Then she is not yet baptizea ? said Luscinda : there hath beene no oportunitie offered to us, quoth the captive, to christen her, since she departed firom Argell, which is her Towne and Country : and since that time shee was not in any so eminent a danger of death, as might obliee her to be baptized, before shee were first instructed in u the ceremonies which our holy Mother the Chiurch commandeth: but I hope shortly (if it shall please Grod) to see her baptized with that decency, which her quality and calling deserves, which is greater then her attire or mine makes shew o£ These words inflamed all the hearers with a great desire to know, who the Moore and her captive were; yet none of them would at that time intreate him to satisfie their longing, because the season rather invited them to take som order how they might rest after their travailes, then to demaund of them the discourse of their lives. Dorotea then taking her by the hand, caused her to sit downe by her selfe, and prayed her to taJce off the veile from her face : shee instantly beheld the Captive, as if shee demaunded of him, what they said ; and hee in the Arabicall language told her, how they desired her to discover her face, and bad her to doe it, which presently shee did, and discovered so beautiful! a visage, as Dorotea esteemed her to bee fairer then Luscinda, and Luscinda prized her to excell Dorotea : and all the beholders perceived, that if any one could sur- passe them both in beautie, it was the Moore ; and there were some that thought shee excelled them both in some respects. And as beautie hath evermore the prerogative ana grace to reconcile mens minds, and attract their wils to it ; so all of them forthwith dedicated their desires to serve and make much of the lovely Moore. Don Fernando demaunded of the Captive, how shee was called : and hee answered, that her name was Lela Zoraida, and as soone as shee heard him, and understood what they had demaunded, shee suddenly answered with, anguish, but yet with a very good grsjcBj no, not Zoraida, but Maria, Maria, giving them to understand that shee was called Maria, and not Zoraida. 132 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE These words and the great affect and vehemencie where- CHAPTER withall the Moore delivered them, extorted more then one ^ teare from the hearers, especially fix)m the womon, who are Wherein is naturally tender hearted and compassive. Luscinda em- Fi^^*^.^J^. braced her then with great love, and said. I, I, Maria, of^heVammia Maria, to which shee answered, I, I, Maria ; Zoraida man- Princeese cange: that is, and not Zoraida. By this it was growen Micomicona, some foure of the clocke in the aftemoone, and by order J^J^ y^% of those which were Don Ferdinandos companions, the In- a^{^u^[J|^ keeper had provided for them as good a beaver as the Inne could in any wise affoord unto them. Therefore it being the houre, they sate downe all together at a long table, for there was never a square or round one in all the house, and they gave the first and principall end (although hee refused it as much as hee could) to Don-Quixote, who commaunded that the Ladie Micomicona should sit at his elbow, seeing he was her champion, presently were placed Luscinda, and Zoraida, and Don Fernando, and Cardenio right over against them, and after the Captive and other Gentlemen, and on the other side the Curate and Barber : and thus they made their drinking with very great recrea- tion, which was the more augmented to see Don-Quixote, leaving of his meate, and moved by the like spirit of that which had made him once before talke so much to the Goate-heards, beginne to offer them an occasion of speech in this manner : Truely, good Sirs, if it be well considered, those which professe the order of Knight-hood, doe see many great, and unexpected things. If it bee not so, say, what mortall man alive is there, that entring in at this Castle gate, and seeing of us all in the manner we be now present here, can judge and beleeve that we are those which wee be? who is it that can say, that this Ladie which sits here at my sleeve, is the great Queene that wee all know her to bee, and that I am that Knight of the heavie Counten- ance, that am so much blab'd of abroad by the mouth of fame? therefore it cannot be now doubted, but that this art and exercise excelleth all the others which ever humane wit, the underminer of Nature invented, and it is 13S CHAPTER X Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the fiunous Princesse Micomicona^ with other ddightfidi adventures. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. the more to be prized, by how much it exposeth it selfe, more then other trades, to dangers and inconveniences. Away with those that shall affirme learning to surpasse armes, for I will say unto them, be they what they list, that they know not what they say. For the reason which such men doe most urge, and to which they most relye, is, that the travailes of the spirit doe farre exceed those of the body : and that the use oi armes are onely exercised by the body, as if it were an office fit for porters, for which nothing were requisite but bodily forces, or as if in that which wee that professe it doe call armes, were not included the acts of Fortitude, which require deepe understanding to execute them, or as if the Warriours minde did not labour as well as his body, who had a great armie to leade and command, or the defence of a besieged Citie. If not, see if hee can arrive by his corporall strength, to know or sound the intent of his enemy, the designes, stratagems, and diffi- culties, how to prevent imminent dangers, all these being operations of the understanding, wherein the body hath no meddling at all : it being therefore so, that the exercise of armes require spirit as well as those of learning ; let us now examine which of the two spirits, that of the SchoUer, or Souldier, doe take most paine? and this may bee best understood by the end, to which both of them are addressed, for that intention is most to be esteemed, which hath for object the most Noble end. The end and conclusion of learning is, I speake not now of Divinitie whose scope is to leade and addresse souls to heaven, for to an end so much without end as this, no other may be compared, I meane of humane sciences and arts, to maintaine aistribu- tive justice in his perfection, and give to every one that which is his owne: to indeavour and cause good XAwes to bee religiously observed ; an end most certainely, gener- ous, high, and worthy of great praise : but not of so much as that, to which the exercise of armes is annext, which hath for his object and end, peace : which is the greatest good men can desire in this life: and therefore the first good newes that ever the world had, or men received, were those which the Angels brought on that night which 134 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE was our day when they sung in the skies : * Glorie bee in CHAPTER the heights, and peace on earth, to men of good mindes.*^ X And the salutation which the bc^st Master that ever was on Wherein is earth or in heaven, taught to his Disciples and favourites, prosecuted was that, when they entred into any house, they should *^® ^i^torie say, 'Peace be to this house": and many other times hee Princ^sse"^"* said, *I give unto you my peace; I leave my peace unto Micomicona, you : peace bee amongst you " : It is a good, as precious ^ith other as a Jewell, and a gift given, and left by such a hand : ^%htf»ill a Jewell, without which neither on earth or in heaven can ^®^*^«*' there be any perfect good. This peace is the true end of warre, for armes, ana warre are one and the selfe same things. This truth being therefore presupposed, that the end of warre is peace, and that herein it doth excell the end of learning: let us descend to the corporall labours of the SchoUer, and to those of him which professeth armes, and consider which of them are more toilesome. Don-Quixote did prosecute his discourse in such sort, and with so pleasing termes, as he had almost induced his audients to esteeme him, to be at that time at least, exempt from his frensie : and therefore by reason that the greater number of them were Gentlemen, to whom the use of armes is in a manner essential and proper, they did willingly listen to him, and therefore hee continued on with his discourse in this manner. I say then that the paines of the Student are commonly these : principally poverty (not that I would maintaine that all Stuaents arc poore, but that I may put the case in the greatest extremity it can have) and by saying that he may be poore, mee thinks there may bee no greater aggravation of his misery. For he that is poore, hath no perfection: and this poverty is suffered by him sundry waies, sometimes by hunger, other times by cold or nakednesse, and many times by all of them together. Yet it is never so extreme, but that he doth eate, although it be somewhat later then the custome ; or of the scraps and reversion of the rich man : and the greatest misery of the Student is that which they terme, to live by saps and pottage : and though they want fire of their owne, yet may they have recourse to their 1S6 CHAPTER X Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the {kmoua Princesse Micomicona, with other delightfuU admitureB. THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. Neighbours chimney, which if it doe not worme, yet will it weaken the cold ; and finally, they ileepe at night under a roofe. I will not descend to other trifles, to wit, the want of shirts and shoes, the barenessc of their clothes, or the overloading of their stomacks with meate, when good fortune lends them as good a meale : for by this way which I have decyphered so rough and difficult, stum- bling here, falling there, getting up againe on the other side, and refaUing on this, they attaine the decree which they have desireaso much, which many having compassed as wee have seene, which having passed through these diffi- culties, and sailed by Scylla and Choribdis (borne away flying in a manner by favourable fortune) they command and goveme all the world from a chaire, turning their hunger into sacietie, their nakedneese into pompe, and their sleeping on a matte, into a sweet repose among Hollands and Damaske: a reward justly merited by their Vertue; but their labours confronted and compared to those of the militant Souldier, remaine very far be- hinde, as I will presently declare. CHAPTER XI Treating of the curious discourse made by Don-Quixote upon the exercises of Armes and Letters. ON-QUIXOTE continuing his discourse, sud. Seeing wee beginne in the Student with poverty and her parts, let us ex- amine whether the Souldier bee richer? certaincly wee shall findc, that no man cEui exceede the Souldier in poverty it selfe, For hee is tyed to his wretched pay which comes either late or never : or else to his owne shifts with notable danger of his life 136 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE and conscience, and his nakednesse is oft-times so much, as CHAPTER many times a leather jerken gashed, serves him at once for ^ a shirt and an ornament : and in the midst of winter he Treatinj^ of hath sundry times no other defence or helpe to resist the ^® curious inclemencies of the aire in the midst of the open fields, made^b^Don- then the breath of his mouth ; which I verily beleeve doth Quixote upon against nature come out cold, by reason it sallies from an the exercises cmptie place : expect there till the night fall, that hee may ®f Armes and repaire all these discommodities, by the easinesse of his bea, ^^^^ the which if it be not through his owne default, shall never offend in narrownesse, for hee may measure out for it on the earth as many foot as he pleaseth, and tumble himselfe up and downe in it, without indangering the wrinckline of his sheetes. Let after all this the day and houre arrive, wherein he is to receive the decree of his profession. Let, I say, a day of battaile arrive, for there they will set on his head the Cappe of his dignitie, made of lints to cure the wound of some bullet that hath past throw and throw his temples, or hath maimed an arme or a Icgge, and when this doth not befall, but that heaven doth piously keepe and preserve him whole and sound ; hee shall perhaps abide still m the same poverty wherein he was at the first ; and that it bee requisite that one and another battell doe suc- ceed, and he come of ever a victour, to the end that he may prosper, and be at the last advanced. But such miracles are but few times wrought, and say, good Sirs, if you have noted it, how few are those which the warres reward, in respect of the others that it hath destroyed ? you must answere without question, that there can bee no compari- son made betweene them, nor can the dead be reduced to any number, but all the living and such as are advanced, may be counted easily with three arithmeticall figures ; all which fals out contrary in learned men, for all of them have wherewithall to entertaine and maintaine themselves by skirts, I will say nothing of sleeves : So that although the Souldiers labour is greater, yet is his reward much lesse. But to this may be answered, that it is ecisier to reward two hundred thousand learned men, then thirty thousand Souldiers ; for they may be advanced by giving unto them S : S 187 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER offices which must of necessity be bestowed on men of their ^ profession : but Souldiers cannot bee recompensed otherwise Treating of then by the Lords substance and wealth wnom they serve ; ^e cunouB g^^d yet this objection and impossibility doth fortine much discourse ,«^^ ««„ ^«»^^;^^ made bv Don- ^^^^ ™y assertion. Quixote upon But leaving this apart which is a labyrinth of very diffi- the exercises cult issue, let us retume to the preeminency of armes over of Amies and learning, which is a matter hitherto depending, so many ^^"' are the reasons that every one alleageth for himselfe : and among those which I my selfe have repeated, then learning doth argue thus for it selfe, that armes without it cannot be long maintained, for as much as the warre hath also lawes, and is subject to them, and that the lawes are con- tayned under the title of learning, and belong to learned men. To this objection, Armes doe make answere, that the lawes cannot be sustained without them, for common- welths are defended by armes, and Eingdomes preserved, Citties fenced, high waies made safe, the Seas freed from Pirates : and to be briefe, if it were not for them, Common- welths, Kingdomes, Monarchies, Citties, and waves by Sea and Land, would be subject to the rigour ana confusion which attendeth on the warre all the time that it indureth, and is licensed to practise his prerogatives and violence: And it is a knowne truth, that it which cost most, is or ought to bee most accounted of, that one may become eminent in learning, it costs him time, watchings, hunger, nakednesse, head-aches, rawnesse of stomake, and other such inconveniences, as I have partly mentioned already. But that one may arrive by true termes to be a good Souldier, it costs him al that it costs the Student, in so exceeding a degree, as admits no comparison, for he is at every steppe in jeoperdie to lose his life. And what feare of necessity, or poverty, may befall or molest a Student so fiercely as it doth a Souldier, who seeing himself at the siege of some im- pregnable place, and standing Centinell in some Raveline or halfe Moone, feeles the enemies undermining neere to the place where he is, and yet dares not to depart or abandon nis stand, upon any occasion whatsoever, or shun the danger which so nearely threatens him; but that which he only 1S8 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE may doe, is to advise his Captaine of that which passeth, CHAPTER to the end hee may remedy it by some countermine, whilest ^ he must stand stil fearing and expecting when he shal sud- Treating of dainly fly up to the clowds without wings, and after de- ^® curious scend to the depths against his will. And if this appeare nladeb^Don- to be but a small danger, let us way whether the grapling Quixote upon of two gallies, the one vnth the other in the midst of the the exercises spacious Maine, may be compared, or doe surpasse it, the of Armesand which nailed and grapled fast the one to the other, the Soid- ^^®**®"' dier hath no more roome in them, then two foot broad of a Elanke on the battaillings, and notwithstanding, although e clearly see laid before him so many ministers of deaui, for all the peeces of artillery that are planted on the ad- verse side, doe threaten him, and are not distant from his body the length of a launce : and seeing that if he slipt ever so little aside, he should fall into the deepes; doth yet neverthelesse with undaunted heart, borne away on the wings of honour, which spurreth him onward, oppose him- selfe as a worke to all tneir shot, and strives to passe by that so narrow a way into the enemies vessell : Ana what is most to bee admired, is to behold how scarce is one fallen into that place; from whence hee shall never after arise untill the worldes end, when another takes possession of the same place : and if he doe likewise tumole into the Sea, which gapes like an enemy for him also, another and another will succeed unto him, without giving any respite to the times of their death, vaJour, and boldnesse, which is the greatest that may be found among all the traunces of warfare. Those blessed ages were fortunate, which wanted the dreadfull furie of the divelish and murdering peeces of Ordenance, to whose inventor I am verily perswaded that they render in hell an etemall guerdon K)r his Diabolicall invention ; by which he hath given power to an infamous, base, vile and dastardly arme, to bereave the most valorous Knight of life; and that without knowing how or from whence, in the midst of the stomacke and courage that inflames and animates valorous mindes, there arrives a wandrinff bullet (shot off perhaps by him that was affraid, and fledae at the very blaze of tne powder, as he discharged 189 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER the accursed engine) and cuts off and finisheth in a moment ^I the thoughts and life of him who merited to enjoy it many Treating of ages. tiie curious ^jj j whilest I consider this I am about to say that it madeby^Don- gi^^ves me to have ever undertaken the exercise of a Knight Quixote upon Errant in this our detestable age ; for although no danger £e exercises can afiright me, yet notwithstanding I live in jealousie of Annas and to thinke how powder and Lead might deprive me of ^^"^ the power to make my selfe famous and renouned by the strength of mine arme, and edge of my sword throughout the face of the earth. But let heaven dispose as it pleaseth : for so much the more shal I be esteemed, if I can compasse my pretentions, by how much the dangers were greater, to whicn I opposed my selfe, then those atchieved in foregoing times by Knights adventurous. Don-Quixote made all this prolixe speech, whilest the rest of his company did eate, wnolly forgetting to taste one bit, although Sancho Fanfa did now and then put him in remembrance of his victuals, saying that hee should have leisure enough after, to speake as much as he could desire. In those that had heard, was againe renued a kinde of com- passion, to see a man of so good a witte as he seemed to be, and of so good discourse in all the other matters which he tooke in hand, to remaine so cleerely devoyd of it, when any occasion of speech were offered, treating of his accursed ChivaJrie. The Curate applauded his discourse, affirming that hee produced very good reasons for al that he had spoken in the favour of armes, and that hee himselfe (although he was learned and Graduated) was likewise of his opinion. The Beaver being ended, and the table clothes taken away, whilest Maritomes did helpe her Mistresse and her daughter to make ready the roome where Don-Quixote had slept for the Grentlewomen, wherein they alone might retire tnemselves that night. Don Fernando intreated the captive to recount unto them the history of his life, for as much as he suspected that it must have beene rare and delightfuU, as he gathered by the tokens he gave, by comming in the lovely Zoraydas companie. To which the captive replied, that he would accomplish his desire 140 LetteisL nr] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE with a very good will, and that onely he feared that the CHAPTER discourae would not proove bo savory as they expected. ^I But yet for all that ne would tell it, because hee would Treating of not disobey him i the Curate and all the rest thanked *^^ curious him for his promise, and turned to request him againe to nl^^by^Don- hegin his discourse ; and he perceiving ao many to sollicite Ouixote upon him, said, that prayers were not requisite, when commaunde- uie ezerciHs ments were of such force: and therefore I desire you, of Armesind quoth he, to be attentive, and you shall heare a true dis- ***■"■ coune, to which perhaps no fained invention m^ be com- pared for variety or delight The rest animated by these bis words, did accommodate themselves with very great silence, and he beholding their silence and expecta- tion of his history, with a modest and pleasing voyce, began in this manner. CHAPTER Xn AVherein the Captive recounteth his life, and other accidents. ifiN a certain Village of the Mountaines of Lion, my lineaee had beginning, where- withal! nature dealt much more liberally then fortune, although my father had the opinion amidst the penury and poverty 01 that people, to be a rich man, aa in- deed he might have beene, bad he but used as much care to hoard up his wealth, as prodigality to spend it. And this his liberall disposition proceed^ from his being a souldier in bis youthful] yeares : for warre is the schoole wherein the miser is made francke, and the francke man prodigall: and if among souldien we finde some wretches and ni^ards, they are accounted Monsters which are seldome scene. My father passed the bounds of liberality, and touched verv neerely the confines 141 CHAPTER XII Wherein the Captive recounteth his life, and other accidents. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. of prodigality ; a thing nothing profitable for a married man, who had children that should succeed him in his name and being. My father had three sonnes, all men, and of yeares sufficient to make an election of the state of life they meaned to lead. Wherefore he perceiving as he himselfe was wont to say, that he coidd not bridle his nature in that condition of spending, he resolved to deprive him- selfe of the instrument and cause, which made him such a spender and so liberall, to wit, of his goods ; without which Alexander the great himselfe would be accounted a miser ; and therefore cfluling us all three together on a day into his chamber, he used these or such like reasons to us. Sonnes, to affirme that I love you well, may be presumed, seeing I terme you my sonnes : and yet it may be suspected that I hate you, seeing I doe not goveme my selfe so well as I might, in the husbanding and increasing of your stocke. But, to the end that you may from henceforth perceive that I doe a£Pect you with a fatherly love, and that I meane not to overthrow you like a step-father, I will doe one thing to you which I have pondered, and vnth mature deliberation purposed these many daies : You are all of age to accept an estate, or at least to make choice of some such exercise, as may tume to your honour and profite at riper yeares : and therefore that which I have thought upon, is to devide my goods into foure parts; the three I will bestow upon you, to every one that which appertaines to him, without exceeding a jot, and I my selfe will reserve the fourth, to live and maintaine me with as long as it shall please heaven to lend mee breath. Yet I doe greatly desire that after every one of you is possest of his portion, hee would take one of the courses which I meane to propose. There is an old proverbe in this our Spaine, in mine opinion very true, (as ordinarily all proverbs are, being certaine brie& sentences collected out of long and discreet experiences) and it is this ; * The Church, the Sea, or the Court ^ : The mean- ing whereof is, That whosoever would become wealthy, or worthy, must either follow the Church, haunte the Seas by exercising the trade of Merchandizes, or get him a place of service, and entertainment in the Kings house, for men say, 142 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE that ^ A Kings crumme is more worth then a Lords loafe/ CHAPTER This I say, because I desire, and it is my will, that one of ^1 you doe follow his booke, another merchandize, and the third Wherein the warre ; seeing that the service of his owne house is a ^® ^**t^* difficult thing to compcisse. And although the warre is ^^^^ not wont to inrich a man, yet it addes unto him great and other worth and renoune. Within these eight dayes I doe meane accidents, to give you all your portions in money, without defrauding you of a mite, as you shall see in effect. Therefore tell me now whether you meane to follow mine opinion and advice in this which I have proposed. And then he commaunded me by reason that I was the eldest, to make him an answere. I, after I had intreated him not to make away his goods, but to spend and dispose of them as hee listed, seeing that we were both young and able enough to gaine more; at last I concluded that I would accomplish his will, and that mine was to follow the wars, therein serving God and my King together. The second brother made the same offer, and imploying his portion in commodities, would venter it to the Indias. The youngest, and as I deemc, the discreetest, said, that either he would follow the Church, or goe at the least to Salamanca to finish his already commenml studies. And as soone as we had ended the agreement and election of our vocations, my father embraced us all, and afterwards performed unto us, in as short a time as he had mentioned, all that hee promised ; giving unto each of us a portion, amounting, if I doe well remember, to three thousand duckats a piece in money: for an uncle of ours bought all the goods, and paide ready money, because he would not have them made away trom our owne familie and linea^. We all tooke our leaves of our good father in one day, cmd in that instant it seeming to me a ffreat inhumanity to leave my father so old, and with so little meanes ; I dealt so with him, as I constrayned him to take backe againe two thousand duckats of the three he had given me, for as much as the rest was sufficient to furnish me in very good sort with all things requisite for a souldier. My brothers, moved by mine example, did each of them give him a thousand crownes : so tnat my father remained 148 CHAPTER XII Wherein the Captive recounteth his life^ and other accidents. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. yrith foure thousand crownes in money, and three in ^oods, as they were valued ; which goods hee would not sell, but keepe them still in stocke. Finally, we bad him (and our saia uncle) farewell, not without much feeling and many teares on both sides: and they charged us that we would from time to time acquaint them with our successes, whether prosperous or adverse. We promised to performe it, and then embracing us, and giving us his blessme, one departed towards Salamanca, another to Sivill, and my selfe to Alicante. I arrived prosperously at Genova, and from thence went to Milaine, where I did accommodate my selfe with armes, and other braveries used by souldiers, and departed from thence to settle my selfe in Piemonte, and being in my way towards the Citie of Alexandria de la Faglia, I heard newes that the great Duke of Alva did risse towards Flanders. Wherefore changing my purpose, went with him, and served him in all the expeditions he made: I was present at the beheading of the Earles of Egmont and Homes, and obtained at last to be Ensigne to a famous Captaine of Guada-lajara, called Diego de Urbina. Within a while after mine arrivall to Flanders the newes were divulged of the league that Pius Quintus the Pope, of £sunous memory, had made with the Venetians, and the King of Spaine, against our common enemy the Turke, who had gayned by force the famous Island of Cypres, much about the same time, which Island belonged to the State of Venice, and was an unfortunate and Limentable losse. It was also certainly knowne, that the most noble Don lohn of Austria, our good King Don Philips naturall Brother, did come downe for geneiall of this League, and the great provision that was made for the warre was published every where. Al this did incite and stirre on my minde and desire to be present at that expedition so much expected : and there- fore although I had conjectures, and halfe promises to bee made a Captaine in the first occasion that should be offered, yet I resolved to leave all those hopes, and goe into Italie, as in effect I did. And my good fortune so disposed, as the Lord Don lohn of Austria arrived just at the same 144 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE time at Grenova, cuid went towards Naples, to joyne him- CHAPTER selfe with the Venetian Navie, as he did after at Messina. ^^ In this most fortunate journey I was present, being by this >VTierem made a Captaine of foote : to which honourable charge, I ^® ^*?^* was mounted rather by my good fortune, then by my ^^Ufe deserts. And that very day which was so fortunate to and other all Christendome ; for therein the whole world was unde- accidents, ceived, and all the nations thereof freed of all the errour they held, and beliefe they had, that the Turke was in- vincible at Sea : in that very day I say, wherein the swell- ing stomacke, cmd Ottomanicall pride was broken among so many happy men as were there (for the Christians that were slaine were much more happy then those which they \ left victorious alive) I alone was unfortunate, seeing that in exchange of some Naval Crowne, which I might expect, had I lived in the times of the auncient Romanes, I found my selfe, the night ensuing that so famous a day, with my legges chained, and my hands manacled, which befell in this manner : that Uchali King of Ar^ers, a bolde and venturous Pirate, having invested and distressed the Ad- mirall of Malta (for onely three Knights remained alive, and those very sore wounded) lohn Andreas chiefe Gallic came to her succour, wherein I went with my company : and doing what was requisit in such em occasion, I leapt into the enemies vessell, the which falling off from that which had assaulted her, hindred my souldiers from follow- ing me ; by which means I saw my selfe alone amidst mine enemies, against whom I could make no long resistance, they were so many. In fine, I was taken full of wounds. Now as you may have heard, Uchali saved himselfe and all his squadron, whereby I became captive in his power, and onely remained sorrowfuU among so many joyfull, and captive among so many freed : for that day fifteene thousand Christians, which came slaves and inchained in the Turkish Gallies recovered their desired liberty. I was carried to Constantinople, where the great Turke Selim, made my Lord Grenerall of the Sea, by reason that he had so well performed his duety in the battell, having brought away, for a witnesse of his valour the Standara, of the S:T 145 r CHAPl'ER XII Wherein the Captive recounteth his life^ and other accidents. / f t 1 t 1 / f ( *E8tarUeroi, p. 442. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. Order of Malta. I was the yeere insuing of 1572, in Navarino, rowing in the Admirall of the tJ^ee LanthoimeSy and saw and noted there the oportunity that was lost, of taking all the Turkish Navie within the haven : for all the Grenisaries and other souldiers that were in it, made full account, that the^ should be set upon, even within the very Fort, and therefore trussed up all their baggage, and made ready their shoes, to flie away presently to the land, being in no wise minded to expect tne assault, our Navie did strike such terrour into them. But Crod disposed other- wise of the matter, not through the fault or negligence of the Grenerall that governed our men, but for the sinnes of Christendome, and because God permits and wils, that we have alwaies some executioners to chastice us. In summe, Uchali got into Modon, which is an Island neere to Navarino, and landing his men there, he fortified the mouth of the haven, and there remained untill Don lohn departed. In this voyage was taken the Gaily called Presa^ whereof the famous Pirate Barbarossas his sonne was Cap- taine : it was surprised by the head Galley of Naples called the Shee Wolfe^ that was commaunded by the thunder- bolt of warre, the father of souldiers, that fortunate and never overthrowne Don Alvaro de Bafan, the Marquesse of Sancta Cruez. And here I will not forget to recount what befell at the taking of the Presa : this sonne of Bar- barossas was so crueU, and used his slaves so ill, that as soone as they that were rowing, perceived the Shee Wolfe to approach them, cmd that she had overtaken them, they cast away their Oares all at one time, and laying hands on their Captaine that stood on the *Poope, crying to them to row with more speede, and passing him from one bancke to another, from the Poope to the Prow, they tooke so .many bits out of him, as he had sccurce passed beyond the Mast, when his soule was already wasted to hell ; such was the cruelty wherewithall he intreated them, and so great the hate they also bore towards him. We re- turned the next yeare after to Constantinople, being that of seventy and three, and there we learned now Don lohn had gained Tunez, and taking that Eingdome away from IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE the Turkes, had by installing Muley Hamet therein, cut CHAPTER away all Muley Hamedas hopes to raigne againe tiiere, ^I who was the most crueU and valiant Moore that ever Wherein livedo the Captive The great Turke was very much grieved for this losse, ^^^^ and therefore using the sagacity wherewithall all his race and other were indued, he made peace with the Venetians, which accidents, wished for [it] much more then he did himselfe: and the yeare after of seventy and foure he assaulted the fortresse of Groleta, and the other fortresse that Don lohn had raised neere unto Tunez : cmd in all these occasions I was present, tyed to the Oare, without any hope of liberty ; at leastwise by ransome, being resolved never to signifie by letter my misfortunes to my father. The Goleta was lost in fine, and also the Fortresse, before which two places lay in siege seventy five thousand Turkes, and more then foure hundred thousand Moores, and other Sarasins of all the other parts of Afirica, being furnished with such abundance of munition and warlike engines, and so many Pioners as were able to cover Goleta and the Fortresse, if every one did cast but his handfuU of earth upon them. Thus was Goleta, accounted untill then impregnable, first lost, the which did not happen through default of valour in the defendants, who in defence thereof did all they could, or ought to have done; but because experience shewed the facility where- withall trenches might be raised in that desart send ; for though water had beene found in it within two spannes depth, the Turkes could not finde it in the depth of two yeards ; and therefore filling many sacks full of sand, they raised their trenches so high, as they did surmount the walls of the sconce, and did so gall the defendants from them with their shot, as no one could stand to make any defence : it was a common report, that our men would not immure themselves within Goleta, but expect the enemy in the champaine, at their disembarquing : but those that gave this out, spake widely, as men very little acquainted with the like affaires : for if in Goleta and the Fortresse, there were scarce seven thousand Souldiers, how could so few a number, were they ever so resolute, make a sallie, and 147 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["ft CHAFTER remaine in the Forb, against so great a number of enemies P ^I or how is it poseible, that the forces which are not seconded Wlerein and supplied, should not be overcome, specially being be- ***" '^t^' sieged by many, and obstinate enemies, and those in their jj^^ owne CountreyP But many others esteemed, and bo did and other I likewise among the rest, that almighty God did a par- ■eddenta. ticular erace and &vour unto Spaine, in that manner permit- ting to ne destroied the stop and cloake of all wickeanesse; ana the sponge and Moath of innumerable summes of money spent tiiere unprofitably, without serving to any other end, then to preserve the memoir of being gayned by the Emperour Charles the &{t, aa if it had beene requisite for the keeping of it etemall (as it is, and shall bee ever) that those stones should sustaine it. The Fortresae was also wonne, but the Turkes were constrained to gmne it, span by spanne : for the Souldiers which defended it, fought so manfully and resolutely, as the number of the enemies slaine in two and twenty generall assaults which they gave unto it, did passe five and twenty thousand. Never a one was taken prisoaer, but three hundred, which survived their fellowes : a certayne and manifest token of their valour and strength, and how well they had defended themselves and kept their fortresses. A little Fort or turret that stood in the midst of the place, under the command of Don lohn Zanoguera, a Valen- tian Gentleman, and famous Souldier, was yeelded upon composition, and Don Pedro de Puertocarrero, Generall of Goleta, was taken prisoner, who omitted no diligence pos- sible to defend the place : but yet was so grieved to have lost it, as he dyed for very griefe on the way towards Constat! nople, whither they carried him Captive. The Generall likewise of the Fort, called Gabriel Cerbellon, being a Gentleman of Milan, and a great enginer, and most reso- lute Souldier, was taken : and there dyed in both the places many persons of worth, among which, Pagan de Oria was one, a Knight of the order of Sajnt lohn, of a most noble dis- position, as the exceeding liberalitie which he used towards his brother the famous lohn Andrea de Oria clearly demon- strates, and that which rendred his death more deplorable, was, 148 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE that he was slaine by certaine Sarracmes (which he trusted, CHAPTER perceiving how the Fort was lost) who had offered to convey ^^^ him thence in the habit of a Moore to Tabarca, which is a Wherein little haven or creeke possest by the Grenevoses, that fish ^^j^?Sj* for Corral in that coast. These Sarracens cut off his head, i^jg ^f^ and brought it to the Generall of the Turkish armie, who did and other accomplish in them the Spanish proverve ; * That although accidents. the treason pleaseth, yet is the Traitor hated ^ : and so it is reported, that he commanded those to bee handed that had brought him the present, because they had not brought it alive. Among the Christians that were lost in the Fort, there was one called Don Pedro de Aguilar, borne in Andulizia, in some Towne whose name I have forgotten, he had beene Auncient in the Fortresse,and was a Souldier of great account, and of a rare understanding, and specially had a particular grace in Foetrie : this I say, because his fortune brought im to be slave to my Fatron, even into the very same Galley cmd bench whereon I sate. This Gentleman made two Sonnets in forme of Epitaphs ; the one for the Goleta, the other for the Fort : and I will repeate them, because I remember them very well, and doe beleeve that they will be rather gratefuU, then any thing disgustfuU to the audients ; as soone as ever the Captive named Don Fedro de Aguilar, Don Fernando beheld his Camaradas, and they all three did smile : and when he beganne to talke of the Sonnets, one of them said, before you passe further, I beseech you good Sir let me intreat you to tell me, what became of that Don Pedro de Aguilar, whom you have named ? that which I know of that affaire, answered the Captive, is, that after he had beene two yeares in Constantinople, he fled away in the attire of an Armenian, with a Greeke spie, and I cannot tell whether he recovered his liberty, or no ; although I suppose he did : for within a yeare after I saw the Greeke in Constan- tinople, but I had not the oportunity to demaund of him, the successe of that voyage. He came then into Spaine, quoth the Gentleman : for that same Don Pedro is my brother, and dwels now at home in our owne Towne, very well, rich, marryed, cmd a Father of three Sonnes. Gt)d bee 149 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER thanked, quoth the Captive, for the infinite favour he hath ^I shewed unto him : for m mine opinion there is not on earth Wherein any contentment able to be compared to that of recovering *^® ^*P*JY® a mans lost liberty. I doe moreover, said the Gentleman, hU^Hfe etc. ^^^ the Sonnets which mv brother composed ; I pray you then, good Sir, quoth the Captive, repeate them : for perhaps you can say them better then I; ivith a very good will, answered the Gentleman ; and that of the Goleta is thus. CHAPTER XIII Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the Captive. A Sotmtt, O BAFPT Boules, which from this mortall vaile Freed and exempted, through the good you wrought. Safe fr^m the harmes, that here did you aasaile ; Bv vour deserts, to hiest Heaven were brought. Wliich here inflam'd by wrath, and noble thought. Shewed how much your forces did availe : Wlien both your owne and forrain bloods you taught From sandie shoares, into the deeps to traile. Your lives before your valours end, deceased In your tyr'd armes ; which though they were a dying And vanquisht ; yet on victorie have ceazed. And this your life from servile thraldome flying : Ending, acquires, betweene the sword and wall. Heavens glorie there, fame here on earth, for alL I have it even in the very same manner, quoth the Captive : well then, said the Gentleman, that of the Fort is thus, if I doe not forget it : A Son/net. From midst the barren earth, here overthrowne. In these sad clods, which on the ground doe lie, Tliree thousand souldiers holy soules are flow'n. And to a happier mansion, gone on hie : 150 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE Here when they did in vaine the vigour trie CHAPTER Of their strong armes^ to coste of many a one^ XIII After the most through extreame toile did die : \in,AwA;n ;i. The cruell Sword a few did light upon : Zn^cnt^ And this same plot eternally hath beene, K ^ u;.^^-;^ With thousand dolefuU memories repleate, f the As well this age^ as in foregoing time. Cantive But from his cruell bosome Heav'n ne're yet ^ Receav'd sincerer soules^ then were the last^ Nor earth so valiant bodies^ aye possest. The Sonnets were not misliked : and the Captive was greatly recreated with the newes which he received of his companion, and prosecuting his Historic, he said : The Goleta, and the Fort being rendred, the Turkes gave order to dismantell Goleta, for the Fort was left in such sort, as there remained nothing up that might be overthrowen : and to do it with more brevity and lesse labour, they undermined it in three places, but that which seemed least strong, could not be blowen up by any of them, which was the old walles ; but all that which bad remained a foote of the new fortifica- tions and workes of Fratin, fell downe to the ground with great facility: and this being ended the Navie returned trium- phant and victorious to Constantinople : where within a few moneths afterward my Lord Uchali died, whom they called Uchali Fartax, which signifies in the Turkish language, the scald or scurfie renegate, for he was such ; and it is a cus- tome among the Turkes to give one another nicke names either of the defects, or perfections and vertues which they have, and the reason hereof is, that among them all they have but foure linages that have surnames, and these doe contend with that of Ottomanes, for Nobility of bloud : and all the rest, as I have said doe take denomination, sometime from the blemishes of the body, and sometime from the vertues of the minde : and this scurvie fellow did row foure teene yeares, being the great Turkes slave, and did renoimce his faith, bein^ foure and thirtie yeares old, for despight, and because he might be revenged on a Turke, that gave him a cuffe on the face as he rowed ; and his valour was so great, as without ascending by the dishonourable meanes and waies usually taken [by] the greatest minions about the great Turke, 161 CHAPTER XIII Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the Captive. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. he came first to be King of Amers, and after to be General! of the Sea, which is the third most Noble charge and dig- nitie of all the Turkish Empire. He was borne in Calabria, and was a good morall man, and used with great humanity his Slaves, whereof hee had above three thousand, which were after his death devided, as he had left in his Testament, betweene the great Turke (who is ever an inheritour to every dead man, and hath a portion among the deceased his children) and his runnegates. I fell to the lot of a Venetian runnegate, who bein^ a shippe-boy in a certaine vessell, was taken by Uchali, vmo loved him so tenderly, as he was one of the dearest youthes he had, and he became after the most cruell runnegate that ever lived. He was called Azanaga, and came to be very rich, and King of Argiers : with him I came from Constantinople, somewhat contented in minde, because I should be nearer unto Spaine ; not for that I meaned to write unto any one of my unfor- tunate successe, but only to see whether fortime would prove more favourable to me in Algiers, then at Con- stantinople; where I had attempted a thousand waies to escape, but none of them sorted unto any good effect : and I thought to search out in Amers some other meanes to compasse that which I so greeculy desired ; for the hope of attaining liberty sometime had never abandoned me; and when in the contriving, I thought, or put my designes in practice, and that the successe did not answere mine expecta- tion, presently without forsaking me, it forged and sought out for another hope, that might sustaine me, although it were debile, fiuid weake. With this did I passe away my life, shut up in a prison or house, which the Turkes call Bathes, wherein they doe inclose the Captive Christians, as well those that belong to the king, as other particular mens, and those which they call of the Almazen, which is as much to say, as slaves of the Counsell, who are deputed to serve the Citie in the publike workes and other affiiires thereof, and these of all other Captives doe with most difiicultie attaine to liberty ; for by reason they belong to the commimalty, and have no particular master, there is none with whom a man may treate 162 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE of their redemption, although they should have the price CHAPTER of their ransom. To these Bathes, as I have said, some ^^^ particular men carry their Captives to be kept, chiefly if Wherein is they be to be ransomed ; for there they have them at their ff^^^^J?^. ease and secure, untill they be redemea. The Kings Cap- ^^ ^^ tives of ransome also, doe not goe forth to labour with the Captive, other poore crew, if it be not when the paying of their ransom is deferred ; for then, to the end they may make them write for money more earnestly, they make them labour, and goe to fetch wood with the rest, which is no small toyle and trouble. I then was one of those of ransome ; for as soone as it was knowne how I was a Captaine, not- withstanding that I told them of my little possibilitie, and want of meanes, all could not prevaile to disswade them from consorting me with the multitude of Gentlemen, and those of ransome: they put on me then a chaine, rather to be a token that I was there for my ransome, then to keepe me the better with it, and so I passed away my time there with many other Grentlemen, and men of marke, held and kept in there for their ransome. And although both hunger and nakednesse did vexe us now and then, or rather evermore, yet nothing did afflict us so much, as to heare and see every moment the cruelties that my master used towardes Christians. Every day he hanged up one, he set this man on a stake, and would cut off tne others eares, and that, for so little occasion, or wholy without it, as the very Turks themselves perceived, that he did it not for any other cause, but because he had a will to doe it, and that it was his naturall inclination to be a homicide of all humane kind. Onely one Spanish soldier called such a one of Saavedra was in his good grace, who although hee did sundrie things that will remaine in the memorie of that Naltion for many yeares, and all to the end to get his liberty ; yet he never strucke him, nor commaunded him to be strucken, nor said as much as an evill word unto him : and vet we all feared that hee should be broached on a stake for the least of many things which he did, and himselfe did also dread it more then once ; and if it were not that time denieth me leasure to doe it, I would recount unto you things done by this 2:U 163 CHAPTER XIII Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the Captive. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. souldier, which might both entertaine and astonish you much more then the relation of my life. There were over the square court of our prison certaine windowes that looked into it, and belonged to a certaine rich and principall Moore; the which windowes (as ordi- narily are all the Moores windowes) rather seemed to be holes then windowes : and even these were also veiy closely covered and shut fast with linnen coverings. It therefore befell that standing one day upon the battlements of our prison with other three companions, trying which of us could leape best in his shakles to passe away the time, and beinff alone (for all the other Christians were gone abroad to labour) I lifted up by chance mine eyes, and I saw thrust out at one of those so close-shut windowes a cane, and a linnen tied at the end thereof, and the Cane was moved and wagged up and downe, as if it had made signes, that we should come and take it : we looked upon it, and one of my companions went under the cane, to see whether they would let it fall, or what they would doe else ; but as soone as he approached it, the Cane was lifted up, and did stirre it to eytner side, as if they had said (with wagging of the head) no ; the Christian returned to us ; and the Cane being eftsoones let fall, and beginning to move as it had done before, an other of my fellowes went, and the same suc- ceeded unto him, that did to the first. Finally, the third approached it, with no better successe then the former two, which I perceiving, would not omit to trie my fortitude, and as soone as I came neere to stand under the Cane, it was let slip and fel within the Bathes just at my feete: I forthwith went to untie the linnen which was knotted, wherein I found tenne Zianiys, which are certaine peeces of base gold, used among the Moores, and worth each of them tenne rials of our money. I leave to your discretion to thinke if I was not glad of my bootie, certes my joy and admira- tion was much, to thinke whence that good might come unto us, but specially to my selfe, since the signes of refusall to let it fall to the other did confirme cleerly that the favour was only addrest to my selfe. I tooke my welcome money, broke the Cane, and returned to the battlements, 154 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE and viewed the window earnestly, and perceived a very CHAPTER beautiful! hand issue out thereat, which did open and shut ^^^ it againe very speedily. By which imagining and thinking Wherein is that some woman that dwelled in that house, had done us ^/^u-^J^. the charitie and benefit, in token of our thankful! minds, we q£\}^q "* made our courtesies after the Moorish fashion, by inclining Captive, of our heads, bending of the bodie, and pressing our hands to our breasts ; within a while after, there appeared out of the same window a little crosse made of Canes, which pre- sently was taken in againe : this signe did confirme us in the opinion, that there was some Christian woman captive in that place, and that it was shee which did to us the courtesie : but the whitenesse of her hand, and her rich bracelets destroyed this presumption : although we did not- withstanding conjecture that it was some renegate Chris- tian, whom their masters there do very ordinarily take to wives, yea and account verie good hap to light on one of them, for they are much more accounted of, then the women of the nation it selfe. Yet in all these discourses we strayed very farre from the truth of the accident ; and so from thence forward, all our passing of the time was imployed in beholding that window as our North, wherein had appeared the starre of the Cane : but fifteene daies past over, or we could descrie either it, or the hand again, or any other signe. And although in the meane time we endevoured all that we might to know who dwelled in that house, or whether there were any renegate Christian therein, yet never a one could tell us any other things but that it belonged to a very rich and noble Moore, called Aguimorato who had beene Constable of the Pata, [a] dignitie among them of very great qualitie. But when we thought least that it would raine any more Zianiys by that way we saw the Cane suddenly to appeare, and an other linnet) hanging on it, whose bulke wJ^ much greater : and this befell when the bath was freed of concourse, and void, as the other time before. We made the accustomed triall, every one approaching it before mee, but without effect, until! I came, for presently as I approached it, it was permitted to fall. I untied the knot ana found inwreathed in it fortie 155 CHAPTER XIII Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the Captive. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. duckets of Spanish gold, with a letter written in the Arabian tongue, ana at the end thereof was drawne a very great crosse. I kissed the crosse, tooke up the money, and re- turned againe to the battlements, and we altogether made our receivers ; the hand also appeared, I made signes that I would reade the paper, and the window was shut inconti- nently. All of us were marvellously astonished, yet joyfull at that which had befalne us, and by reason that none of us understood the Arabian tongue, the desire that we had to understand the contents of uie letter was surpassing great, but greater the difficultie to finde out some trustie person that might reade it. In the end I resolved to trust m this afiaire a renegate of Murcia, who did professe himselfe to be my very great friend, and having by my UberaUty and other good tumes done secretly obliged him to be secret in the affaire wherein I would use him: for some renegates are accustomed, when they have an intention to tume into the Christian countries to bring with them the testimonies of the most principall captives, wherein they informe, and in the amplest manner they may, how the bearer is an honest man, and that he hath ever done many good tumes to the Christians, and that he hath himselfe a desire to escape by the first commoditie. Some renegates there are, which procure those testimonies sincerely, and with a good intention, others take the benefit of them, eyther by chance or industrie ; who intending to goe and rob into the countries of Christians, if by chance they be astray or taken, bring forth their testimonies and say, that by those papers may be collected the purpose wherewithall they came, that is, to remaine in Christian countries, and that therefore they came abroad a p3nrating with the other Turks: and by this meanes they escape that first brunt, and are reconciletl againe to the Church, without receiving any harme at all : and when they espie their time doe retume againe into Barbarie, to be sucn as they were before. Others there are, which procure those writings with a pure intention, and doe after stay in Christian countries. Well this my friend was a renegate of his last kinde: who had the testimonies of all mv companions, wherein we did commend him, as amply 156 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE as we could devise : and certainly if the Moores bad found CHAPTER those papers about him, they would have burnt him for it. ^^^ I understand how he could speake the Arabian tongue Wherein ii very perfectly, and not onely that alone, but also write it ET^^SJ^^^. withall : yet before I would wholy breake my minde to him, of the**^* I requested him to read me that scroule, which I had found Captive. by chance in a hole of my cabin : he opened it, and stood a good while beholding and construing thereof, murmuring somewhat betweene his teeth. I demaunded therefore of him whether he understood itP and he answered that he did, very well : and that if I desired to have it translated ver- bahmy I should bring unto him Pen and Ink, to the end he might do it more completely : we presently gave unto him that which he asked, and he did translate it by little and little ; and having finisht it, he said ; all that is heere in Spanish, is punctually without omitting a letter, the con- tentes of the Moorish paper, and here you must note, that where it sayes Lela Marien, it meanes our Ladie the blessed Virgine Marie. We read the paper, whereof the contents were these which ensue : ^ When I was a child, my father had a certaine Christian woman captive, that taught mee in mine owne tongue all the Christian Religion, and told mee many things of Lela Marien. The Christian died, and I know shee went not to the fire, but, to Ala, for shee appeared to mee twice after her death, and bade me goe to the Christian countrey, to see Lela Marien, who loved mee much : I know not how I may goe : I have seene many Christians through this Window, and none of them hath seemed to mee a Gentle- man but thy selfe : I am very beautifull and young, and I have a great deale of riches to carry away with me. See thou whether thou canst contrive the way how wee may depart, and thou shalt there be my husband, if thou pleasest ; and if thou wilt not, I doe not greatly care, for Lela Marien will provide mee of a husband. I wrote my selfe this billet, oe therefore wary, whom thou trustest to reade it : doe not trust any Moore, for they are all of them deceiptfuU traytours. It is this that grieves mee most 157 CHAPTER xin Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the Captive. THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. of all, for I would not have thee, if it were possible, to dis- close the matter to any living bodie ; for if my father did know it, hee would throw mee downe into a well, and oppresse mee in it with stones. I will hang a threede to the end of the Cane, and therein thou mayest tie thine answere. And if thou canst not write the Arabian, tell mee thy minde by signes, for Lek Marien wiU make mee to imderstand it. Who with Ala preserve thee, and this Crosse which I doe many times kisse, for so the Captive commaunded me to doe.^ See, good Sir, if it was not great reason, that the reasons comprehended in this Letter should recreate and astonish us. And certainely the one and the other was so great, as the runnagate perceived well that the paper was not found by chance, but was really addressed unto some one of us : and therefore desired us earnestly, that if that were true which he suspected, that we would trust and tell it unto him, and he would adventure his life to procure our liberties: and saying this, he tooke out of his bosome a Crudfixe of mettle, and protested with very many teares by the Grod which that Imafie represented, in whom he, although a sinner and wicked man, did most firmely beleeve, that he would be most loyall and secret to us in all that which we would discover unto him ; for it seemed to him, and he almost divined, that both himselfe and we all should re- cover our liberties by her meanes that did write the Letter : and he should then also see himselfe in the state which he most desired, to wit, in the bosome of his mother the holy Catholicke Church ; from which, through his ignorance and sinne, he was departed and devided as an unprofitable and corrupt member. The Renegate said this with so many teares, and such evident tokens of repentance, as all of us consented to open our mindes imto nim, and declare the truth of the matter ; and so wee recounted unto him the whole discourse, without concealing any circumstance, and shewed unto him the window by which the Cane was wont to appeare, and he marked tne house from thence, and rested with special charge to informe himselfe well of those 158 ^ IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE that dwelled therein. We thought also that it was requisite CHAPTER to answere the Moorish Ladies Letter : and therefore havine ^I^^ him present, that could so well performe that taske, we caused Wherein is the renegate to draw out an answer presently as I did Prosecuted dilate it to him, which was punctually such as I will recount : ^jf ^^^ "^ for of all the most substantial points that befell mc in that Captive, affaire, no one is falne out of my memorie, nor shall ever as long as I have breath. In effect that which I answered to the Moore, was this : ^ The true Ala preserve you deere Ladie, and that blessed Marian, who is the true mother of Grod, and is she that hath put in your minde the desire to goe into the Chris- tian Countries, because she doth love you wel : pray unto her that she will vouchsafe to instruct you, how you may bring the matter to passe, which she commaundeth you to doe : for she is so good, as she will easily con- descend to doe it. As for my part, I doe promise, as well for my selfe, as for these other Christians that are with me, to do for you all that we are able to doe untill death. Doe not omit to write unto me, and acquaint me with your purposes, and I will answer you every time : for great Al^ hath given us a captive Christian, that can write and rcade your language well, as you may perceive by this paper. So that you may securely, and without any dread, advise us of all that you shall thinkc good. And as concerning that which you say, that you will become my wife, after we arrive to the Christian countries, I doe promise you the same, as I am a good Christian: and you shall understand that the Christians do accomplish their words far better then do the Moores. Alk and Marien his Mother preserve you my deerest Ladie.' This Letter being written and inclosed, I expected two dayes, that the Bathes might be free of concourse, as.it was wont, which assoone as it befcl, I went up to my accustomed place of the battlements, to see whether the Cane appeared ; which was presently after thrust out at the window. And 159 CHAPTER XIII Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the Captive. THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. BOone as I perceived it, although I could not note who it was that set it, I shewed my paper, to give them warning to set on the threed : but it was already hanging thereon. To the which I tied the Letter, and within a while after beganne to appeare our Starre, with the white flagee of peace, and the knotted linnen ; which they let fall, and I tooke up, and I found tiierin in divers sorts of money and golde more then fiftie duckats, which redoubled our joyes more then fifty times, and confirmed the hope wee conceived of attayning libertie. The very same night our Renegate returned to us, and tolde, how he had learned that the verv same Moore which wee were informed of before called Aguimorata dwelt there, and was excessive rich, and had one only daughter, the heire of all his goods ; of whom the common opinion throughout the citie was, that she was the fairest woman of all Barbaric : and that many of the Viceroyes that came there, had demaunded her to wife, but she would never con- discend to any motion of manage : and that he likewise had understood that she had sometimes a Christian captive, which now was deceased : all which agreed with the contents of the Letter. We presently entred in counsell with the Renegate, about the meanes we were to use, to fetch away the Moore, and come all of us to Christian landes, and in the end we concluded to attend for that time, the second advice of Zoraida (for so was she then called, who now meanes to name her selfe Maria) for as much as we cleerely perceived that it was shee and none other that could minister to us the meanes to remove all these difficulties. After we had rested on this resolution, the Renesate bid us be of good courage, for he would ingage his hfe, or set us at liberty. Foure dayes after the Bathes were troubled with people : which was an occasion that the Cane appeared not all that while. But that impediment heins removed and the accus- tomed solitude returned, the Cane £d againe appeare with a linnen hanging thereat so grossely impregned, as it pro- mised to be delivered of a most happie burden. Both cane and Linnen bent themselves to me, and in them I found another paper and a hundred duckats in golde, besides other small money. The Renegate was present, 160 i IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE and we gave him the Letter to reade, the effect whereof CHAPTER was this. XIII * I know not, good Sir, what order to give for our going Wherein is into Spainc, nor hath Lela Marien tolde me any thing con- E[^^*^^J^. ceming it, although I have demaundcd her counsaile. That of^the* "* which may be done is, that I will thorow this window give Captive, unto you great store of money, wherewith you may redeeme your selfe, and your friends : and let one of you goe into the Christians countrey, and buy a Barke, and after re- tume for his fellowes, and he shall finde me in my fathers garden, which is at the gate of Babazon, neere to the Sea coast, where I meane to stay all this Sommer, with my father and my servants : from whence you may take mee out boldly by night, and carry me to the Barke. And see well that thou wilt be my nusband ; for if thou wilt not, I will demaund of Marien to chastise thee : and if thou darest trust no body to goe for the vessell, redeeme thy selfe and goe, for I know thou wilt rather retume then another, seeing thou art a Grentleman and a Christian ; leame out the garden : and when I see thee walke there where thou now art, I will make account that the Bath is emptie, and will give thee great store of money. Al^ pre- serve thee, my deere friend.^ These were the contents of the second Letter, which being heard by us all, every one offered to bee himselfe the ran- somed person, and promised to goe cmd retume with all punctuality, and I also made a proffer of my selfe : to all which resolutions the Renegate opposed himselfe, saying that he would consent in no wise that any one of us should be freed, untill we were all together delivered : for experi- ence had taught him how evill ransomed men were wont to keepe those promises which they passed in the times of their thraldome : for many times certaine principall captives had made that kinde of triall, redeeming of some one or other that should goe to Valentia or Mallorca, with money to freight a Barke or Fr^at, and retume for him that had ransomed them, and did never retume again : for the re- covered liberty, and the feare of adventuring to lose it 2 : X 161 CHAPTER XIII Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the Captive. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. againe, concurring, did blot out of their memory all the other obligations of the world. And to confirme the truth which he averred, he briefly recounted unto us an accident which befel much about the same time to certaine Christian Grentlemen, the strangest, as I suppose, that ever hapned in those quarters, wherein do succeede every other day events full of wonder and admiration, and therfore concluded, that what ought and might be done, was, that they should give unto him to buy a Barke, such money as they meant to imploy in the ransome of a captive, and he would buy it there in Argiers, under pretext of becomming a mercliant and sayler in Tetuan and that cost : and being once owner of a Barke, he would easily devise how to have them out of the Baths and imbarke them al : how much more, if the Moorish Ladie did, as she promised, give them money enough to ransom them all, was it a most easie thing they bemg free, to embark themselves at midday : but the greatest difficultie in this affaire was, that the Moores use not to permit any Renegate to buy any Barke or other small vessell, but onely great vessels of warre : for they sus- pect that he that buyes a Barke, especially if he be a Spaniard, does it for no other end but to runne away to Christian Countries. And yet hee knew how to facilitate that incon- venience, by inducing a Tangerine Moore to become his partner of the Barke, the gaines that should be gotten by the commodities thereof, and with this shaddow hee would become Lord of it himselfe, and therewithal! accounted the matter ended. And although that both my selfe and my Camaradas held it the better course to send unto Mallorca for one, as the Moorish Leuiy said, yet durst we not contra- dict him, fearefull that if we did not what he would have us to doe, he would discover us, and indanser our lives, if he did once detect Zoraidas practices, for the safeguard of whose life wee would all of us most willingly adventure our owne : and therfore we determmed to put our selves into Grods and the Renegates hands. And so we answered at the same instant to Zorayda, telling her that we would accomplish all that she haa admonished us, because she had advertised us as wel as if Lela Marien had told her what she 162 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE should say, and that the dilating or shortning of the affaire CHAPTER did consist only in her selfe. I did offer my selfe anew ^^^ to become her husband: and with this the day ensuing, Wherein is wherein the Bath was also free, she sent me downe at divers I?^®?;^*^. times by the Cane two thousand Duckats, and a Letter, ^,f^g "® wherein she said that she would spe to her fathers garden Captive, the next lumia, that is, the Friday following, and that before she went away, she would give us more money. And that, if it were not enough we should advise her, and she would ffive unto us as much as we would demaund; for her father had so much treasure, as he would never perceive it, how much more seeing she had, and kept the Keyes of all. We gave five hundred crownes presently to the Renegate to buy a Barke, and with eight hundred I redeemed my selfe, giving the money to a Valentian Mer- chant, which was at Qiat season in Argiers, who did ransome me of the King, taking me forth on his word, which he passed to pay my ransome, at the arrivall of the first Ship that should come from Valentia. For if hee had delivered the money instantly, it would have given occasion to the King to suspect that my ransome was many dayes before in Argiers, and that the Merchant had kept it silently, to make his benefite thereof. Finally, my Master was so cavilous as I durst not in any wise pay him presently. The Thursday before the Friday of the beautifuU Zoraidas departure towards the garden, she gave unto us other two thousand duckats, and did likewise advise us of her going away, intreating me that as soone as I had ransomed my selfe, I should leame the way to the garden, and take occa- sion howsoever to goe to it, and see her. I answered her briefly, that I would doe so, and prayed her that she would carefully commend our proceedings to Lela Marien, with those prayers which the captive had taught her. This being done, order was also given for the ransoming of my three companions, to facilitate our issue out of the Bathes, and also that they seeing me free, and themselves undelivered, might not lie troubled or perswaded by the Divell, to doe any thing in prejudice of Zorayda. For although that they, being the men of that quality they were, might 16S THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER aasure me from this feare, I would not, for all that, ad- ^U venture the matter, and therefore I caused them to be Wherein ia ransomed by the same meanes that I was redeemed iny Sh°mS "^^^' ^i^"? "^ *** °"'°^? *° **"* Merchant, that he of the "' might wim the more security passe his word for us ; to Ckptire. whom yet we never did discover our practise and secret, by reason of the eminent danger of the discovery thereof. CHAPTER XIIII Wherdn the captive prosecuteth the pleasant narration of his life. TITEENE dayes were not fully expired. when the Renegate had bou«it him a very good Barke, able to holde thirty persons or more ; and for the better colour and assurance of his husinesae, he made a voyage to a place called Sargel, which is thirty leagues distant from Ar- eiers towards the side of Oran, and is a mque for drie Figges. He made this voy- L the Tagarine, of whom great place of t age twice or thrice in company wiU ^ we made mention : and the name of Tagarino is in Barbary given to the Moors of Arragon, Granada, and Mudejares. And in the Kingdomc of Fez those Mudejares are called Elches, and are the Nation which that ^ng doth most imploy in warlike aSaires. You shall therefore understand, that every time he passed by with his Barke, he did cast Ancre in a little cncke, twise the shot of a Croshow from the Garden wherein Zorayda attended ; and there the Rene- gate would in very good earnest exercise himselfe with Uie Moores that rowed, eyther to flie or else to assault one another in jest, as he meant to doe after in good earnest : and would now and then eoe to Zoraydas Garden, and 164 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE demaund fruits, which her father would bestow upon him, CHAPTER without knowing what hec was: and although hee desired XIIII to have spoken with Zorayda, as hee told mee afterward Wherein himselfe, and have informed her, how it was hee that was *^® *^^^5i to carry her away by my direction into the land of Chris- ^^^^^gant ti€uis, and that shee should therefore live chearfuU and narration of secure, yet was it never possible, forasmuch as the women his life. of that nation do not suffer themselves to be viewed by any Moore or Turkc if he be not their husband, or that their parents command them, yet do they haunt and com- municate themselves to Christian captives freely, and that sometimes more then is convenient, and truly, it would have grieved me, that he should have spoken unto her, for perhaps it would have peiplexed her extraordinarily, to sec her anaire committed to the trust of a runnegate : out God who did otherwise dispose it, did not concurre with this good desire of our renegate: who seeing how safely he went and returned from Sargel, and that he sounded when and where he pleased ; and tnat the Tagarino his partner, did only what he liked, and that I was ransomed, and nothing else wanting, but to finde out some Christians that would row, hee bad mee bethinke my selfe, what men I would bring away with mee besides those that I had ran- somed, and that I should wame them to be ready a^nst the next Friday, wherein hee was resolved that wee snould depart. Seeing this, I spake to twelve Spaniards very lusty rowers, and those that could with most liberty get out of the Citty : and it was not a little matter to finde so many there at that time, for there were twenty gallies abroade a robbing, which had carried all the other rowers with them, and these were left behinde, because their Master did keepe at home that Summer to finish a Gralley that was on tne Stockes a making. To these I said nothing else, but only warned them that the Friday ensuing in the evening, they should closely steale out by one and one, and goe towards Aguimorates Garden, and there expect me untill I came unto them. I gave this advice to every one of them a part, with order also, that although they saw any other 165 CHAPTER XIIII Wherein the captive prosecuteth the pleasant narration of his life. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. Christians there, they should tell them nothing else, but that I had commaimded them to expect me in that place. This diligence being used, yet wanted there another, which was the most expedient of all, to wit, to advise Zoraida of the termes wherein oiur affaires did stand, to the end shee might be likewise ready and prepared, and not affrighted, though wee did assault her before the time that shee could imagine the barke of the Christians to be come to fetch her away ; and therefore I resolved to goe my selfe unto the Garden and see whether I might speake with her : and taking the occasion to goe and gather some hearbs, I went unto it the day before our departure, and the first person with whom I encountred, was her fether, who de- manded of me m a language, which in all Barbarie and Constantinople is usually spoken by the Moores to their captives, ana is neither Arabicm, Spanish, nor of any other nation, but rather a mixture of all languages, wherewith all of us understand one another : he, I say, in that kinde of speech demanded of me, what I sought for in that his garaen, and to whom I did belong P I answered, that I was one Amaute Mami his slave (and this, because I was very certainly informed that he was his intire friend) and that I came thither to gather of all sorts of hearbs to make a sallade : he consequently asked of me whether I was a man of ransome or no, and how much my Master demaunded for me P and bein^ in those questions and demaunds, the beautifull Zoraida descended from the house into the garden, who had espyed me a good while before: and as the Moorish women doe not greatly estrange themselves from the sight of Christians, nor are in their behaviour or conversation with them any thing squeamish, as we have said already, shee did not greatly feare to approch the place where her father talked with mee : but rather, her father perceiving that shee came on somewhat slowly, did call, and commanded her to draw neare. It were a thing impossible for mee to recount the great beauty and gallant disposition, or the bravery and nches of att)rre, wherein my beloved Zoraida then shewed her selfe to mine eyes. I will only say this, that there hanged more Pearles at her eares, superlative faire necke, and 166 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE haire, then shee hath haires on her head, about the wrests CHAPTER of her legges, which were naked after the manner of her XIIII Countrey, shee wore two Carcaxes (for so the maniclcs or Wherein bracelets of the feete are called in the Morisco tongue) of **® captive the finest gold, wherein were inchaced so many Diamonds, the^pS^^t that as shee told me after, her father valued them at twenty narration of thousand crowns ; and those about the wrests of her hands, his life. were of cquall esteeme. Her pearles were many, and those most Orient ; for all the chiefe bravery and ornament of the Moorish Ladies consists in the adommg of themselves with Pearles and Pearle seede ; by reason whereof there is more Pearles and Pearle seede to be found among the Moores, then among all the other nations of the world : and Zoraidas father had the fame to have many, and those the very best that were in Argiers ; and also above two hundred thousand Duckats of Spanish gold : of all which was shee the Lady, who now is mine. And if with all this ornament shee could then seeme faire, by the relikes that have remained unto her among so many labors, may be easily ghessed, what shee would have beene in the time of prosperity; for all of us doe know, that the beauty of some women hath limited dayes and seasons, and requireth.certayne accidents either to diminish or increase it, and it is a thing naturall to the passions of the minde, either to raise, or abase it, but most commonly they wholly destroy it. To be briefe, I say, that shee arrived to the place where we discoursed at that time most richly attyred, and beautifuU beyond measure, or I at last deemed her the fairest that I had ever beheld untill then: and herewithall remembring the obligation wherein shee had tyed mee, thought that some Deitie had presented it selfe to my view, being come from heaven to the earth, for my recreation and reliefs. As soone as shee was arrived her father told her in her owne language, how I was his friend Amaute Mami his captive, and that I came there to gather a sallade : then shee taking the speech, demaunded in that medly of tongues of which I have spoken, whether I was a Grentleman, and what the reason was why I redeemed not my selfe ? I made answere, that I was already ransomed, and by the ransome 167 CHAPTER XIIII Wherein the captive prosecuteth the pleasant narration of his life. THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. might be conjectured, in how much my Master valued me, seeing hee had for my liberty a thousand and five hundred Coltamis ; to this shee answered ; In good sooth, if thou werst my fathers, I would cause him not to give thee for twice as much more : for you Christians are great lyars, and doe make eve^ one of your selves poore men, to defraude the Moores of their due ransome. It may well bee so, Madame, quoth I : but I have for my part used all truth in this afikire with my Master, and doe, and will use truth with as many persons as I shall ever have occasion to treate with in this world ; and when dost thou goe away P quoth Zoraida: to morrow, as I beleeve, quoth I. For there is a French vessell here, which sets forth to morrow, and I meane to depart in her: were it not better, replyed Zoraida, to expect untill vessels come out of Spaine, and goe away with them, then with those of France, which are not your friends ? no, quoth I, although if it were true as the newes runne, that tnere comes a vessell from Spaine, I would attend it; but yet it is more certaine that I shall depart to morrow : for the desire I have to see my selfe at home in my Countrey, and with those persons whom I love, is so great, as it will not pennit me to expect any other commodity, that foreslowes it selfe, bee it never so good. Thou art doubtlesly marryed in thy Countrey, said Zoraida, and therefore desirest to goe see thy wife P I am not mar- ried, quoth I, but I have passed my word to marry, as soone as I am there safely arrived. And is shee beautiful to whome thou hast past it P quoth Zoraida. So beautifull, said I, as to indeere it and tell you the truth, shee is very like unto your selfe. Hereat her father laughed very hartily, and said. In good earnest Christian, shee must be very fair that may compare with my daughter, who is the most beautifull of all this Eingdome : and if thou wilt not beleeve me, looke on her well, and thou shalt see that I tell thee but the truth. He himselfe, as most perfect in the tongue, did serve for the interpreter of most of our speeches ; for al- though shee could speake that illegitimate language which is there in use, yet did shee manifest her mind more by signes then by wordes. 168 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE Whilst thus wee reasoned of many matters, there came CHAPTER running towards us a certaine Moore, and told his Master XIIII how foure Turkes had leaped over the Garden walles, and Wherein were gathering the fruits, although they were not yet ripe. ^J^^^^ The old man and his daughter Zoraida started hereat ; for {^^ pleasant it is an universall and naturall defect in the MoOres to feare narration of the Turkes, but specially the Souldiers of that nation, who his life, arc commonly so insolent, and have such command over the Moores that are their subjects, as they doe use them worse then if they were their slaves. Therefore Zoraidas father said unto her ; daughter, retire thy selfe into the house, and keepe thy selfe in wnilest I goe speake to those dogges ; and thou. Christian, goe and seeke out thine hearbs, and depart in good houre, and I pray Alk to conduct thee safely to thy Country. I inclined my selfe to him, and he departed to search out the Turkes, leaving me alone with Zoraida, who began to make cuioe as if she went whither her father had commanded her; but scarce was hee covei'ed among the trees of the Garden, when she returned to mee, with her eyes full of teares, said, Amexi ChristianOy AmeaA^ that is, goest thou away. Christian, goest thou away ? I answered, yes Ladie, that I doe, but I will never depart away without thee : expect mee the next Friday, and be not affiighted when thou shalt see us, for we will goe to the Christian Country then, without all doubt. This I said to her in such sort as she understood all my words very well, and casting her arme over my neck, shee began to travell with languishing steps towaras the house, and fortune would (which mi^t have beene very ill, if heaven heA not rectified it) that as we walked together in that manner and forme, her father, who did by this retume after hee YieA caused the Turkes to depart, espyed us, and we saw also very well how he had perceivea us : wherefore Zoraida, who is very descreet, would not take away her arme from my necke, but rather drew nearer unto me, and laid her head on my brest, and bowed her knees a little, with evident token tnat she swouned, and I likewise mcuie as though I did sustaine her up by force. Her father came nmning over towards us, and seeing his daughter in that state, demanded the cause S: Y 169 CHAPTER XIIII Wherein the captive prosecuteth the pleasant narration of his life. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ua of her : but seeing shee made no answere, hee himselfe said, she doubtlesly is dismaide by the suddaine affright she tooke at the entrance of those Dogges : and taking her away from me, he bowed her to his owne brest : and shee breath- ing out a sigh, with her eyes yet full of teares, said againe, Amexi Christiano^ Amexiy goe away, Christian, goe away : to which her Father replyed, there is no cause daughter why the Christian should goe away, for he hath done thee no harme, and the Turkes are abeady departed. Sir they have afirighted her (auoth I) as you have said, but yet since she hath commanded mee to goe away, I will not offend her ; therefore rest in peace, for I will retume, if it please you to give mee leave, for hearbs to this garden, when it is needfull ; for my Master saies there are none better to be found for sallads in any other garden, then you have here in this : come as oft as thou wilt, said Aguimorato, for my daughter saies not this, in respect that thou or any other Chnstian hath offended her, but that, meaning to say, that the Turkes should goe away, she bad thee to depart, or else shee spake it, because it is time for thee to gather thine hearbs. With this I tooke leave of both : and she seemed at the instant of my departure to have had her heart tome away from her, as she departed with her father; and I under colour of seeking herbs, went about all the garden at my le£Lsure, and viewed all the sallies, and the entrances thereof, the strength of the house, and the commodities that might bee offered to facilitate our enterprise. This being done, I came home and made a relation to the renegate, and my other fellowes, of all that heA passed : and did long infinitely to see the hower wherein I might, without any affright or danger, possesse that happinesse which fortune in the faire and lovely Zoraida, offered unto mee. In fine, the time passed over, and the so much desired day and terme arrived : and every one of us following the order, which with mature con- sideration and long discourse we had agreed on, we found the good successe we desired. For the very Friday fol- lowing the day wherein I had spoken with Zoraida m the Grarden, Morrenago (for so was the renegate called) neere 170 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE night cast anchor almost right before the place wherein the CHAPTER beautiful! Zoraida remaynea. The Christians also that were XIIII to row, were readie, and nidden in sundry places there abouts. Wherein All were suspended, and resolutely expected my comming, ^® ^^^^ desirous to set upon the Barke that was before their face : ^elpleasant for they knew not of the agreement that was betweene mec narration of and the renegate ; but rather made full account that they his life, were to gaine their liberty by force of armes, and killing the Moores that came in that vessell. It therefore befell, that as soone as I and my fellowes appeared, all the rest that were hidden, and espied us, made forthwith over towards us. This was at an hower when the Citie gates were shut, and never a bodie abroad among all those fields : and when wee were all together, wee were in doubt whether it would be best, first to goe and fetch Zoraida, or to imprison and stone the Tagarine Moores, that rowed in the frigat. And being in this doubt, the renegate came to us, asking upon what we stayed, for it was now high time to bee going away, and all his Moores were wretchlesse, and the greater number of them a sleepe : We told him then the cause of our stay, and he answered that it was of most importance, first to subject the vessell which might be done with very great facilitie, and without any perill, and that we might goe after for Zoraida. His opinion liked us all verie well, and therefore without lingring any longer, he lecuiing the way, we came to the vessell, and he himselfe leaping in first of all, set hand to his faulchion and said in Morisco, let none of you that is heere stirre himselfe, if he love his life. Ana saying so all the rest of the Christians entred : the Moores which were of little spirit, hearing their master say so, were marvellously amazed, and without daring, any one of them to set hand to their armes, which were but a few at all, they suffered themselves very quietly to be taken and bound by the Christians, which did it very dexteriously, threatning them, that if they did let slip the least outcry, they should presently be all put to the sword : this bemg finished, and the halfe of our people remaining in their guard, wee that were left, conducted also by the renegate, went towards Agui- 171 CHAPTER xim Wherein the captive proeecuteth the pleasant narration of his life. THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. moratos Garden : the doore thereof did, by very good hap, open with as little noyse, as if it had had no lock at all : whereupon we went with great quietnesse and silence towards the house unseene or espied of any. The beautifull Zoraida was the while expecting us at a window, and as soone as she felt people approach, de- manded with a low voice whether wee were Nizarans, as if she would say or aske, whether we were Christians ? I answered that we were, and willed her to come downe. As soone as shee knew mee, she stayed not a minute, but without answering any word, came downe in an instant; and opening the doore, shewed her selfe to us all, more beautifull, and richly attired, then I am able in any sort to expresse. As soone as I saw her, I tooke her by uie hand, and kissed it, the same did the renegate, and my two Camaradas ; and all the rest which knew not the matter, did as they had scene us doe before them ; for it seemed that wee did no more but give her thank es, and acknowledge her the auctresse of all our liberties. The Renegat demaunded of her in her owne hmguage, whether her father were in the Garden or no ? she answered that he was, and that he slept; Then wil it be requisite quoth the renegat, to rouse nim, and beare him, and al the other things of worth in this garden away with us : that shall not be so, (quoth she) for I wil have no man to touch my father, and in this house there is nothing of value, but that which I meane to carry away with my selfe, which is so much as will be suffi- cient to cheere and inrich you all : as if you will stay but a while, you shall perceive. And saying so, she entredfagaine into the house, promising to retume to us speedily, and bade us stand still, without making any noise. I demanded of the renemte what speech had passed betweene them, and he told me all she had said, and I answered him againe, that I would not have Zoraidas will transgrest in any sort: by this time she returned loden with a little Casket full of gold, so that she was scarce able to beare it. And her father in the meane season, by bad fortune awaked, and heard the noise that was beneath in his garden, and looking out at a window, he perceived that they were all 172 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE Christians that were in it, and therefore cried out in a loud CHAPTER and unmeasurable maner in the Arabian tongue, Chris- XIIII tians, Christians, Theeves, Theeves ; by which cries we were Wherein all of us strucken into very great feare and confusion : but ^® captive the renegate seeing the perill wherein we were, and how ^^p[^^n^ ncerely it concerned him to come off from that enterprize, narration of before he were discovered, ranne up very speedily to the his life, place where Aguimorato stood, ana some of our fellowes accompanied him (for I durst not abandon Zoraida, who had falne betweene mine armes all amazed) and in con- clusion, those which had mounted behaved themselves so well, as they brought Aguimorato downe in a trice, having tied his hand, and set a gagge in his mouth, which hindred his speech, threatning him that if hee did speake but a word, it should cost him his life. When his daughter saw him, she covered her eyes, be- cause she would not behold him, and he marvelled, wholy ignoring with how good a will she came away with us : but then considering that nothing was so requisite as our leggcs, we did with al velocity and diligence get into the frigat, for our companions did perplexedly expect our re- tume, halfe afraid that some disgrace hcui bfefalne us. Scarse were two houres of the night overrunne, when we were all imbarked : and then we unmanacled Zoraidas fathers hands, and tooke the cloath out of his mouth. But the renegate did againe admonish him, that as he tendred his life he should not speake one word; he beholding his daughter likewise there, began to sigh very feelingly, but chiefly per- ceiving me to hold her so straightly embraced, and that she made no resistance, nor did complaine or seeme coy, but stood quiet. But yet for all that he kept silence, fearing lest they should put the renegates menaces in execution. Zoraida seeing her selfe now saie within the Barkc, and that we were readie to row away, looking on her father, and the other Moores that were tied therein, she intreated the renegate to tell me how she desired me to doe her the favour to set those Moores and her father at libertie : for she would rather cast her selfe into the Sea, then see a father, who had loved her so dearely, carried away captive 178 CHAPTER XUII Wherein the captiye prosecuteth the pleasant narration of his life. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. before her eyes, and that also by her occasion. The rene- gate told me her minde, and I answered how I was very well pleased it should be so : but he replied, that it was in no sort expedient, by reason that if they were landed there, they would presently raise the countrey, and put the whole CiUe in a tumult, and cause certaine light Frigats to bee manned, and sent out in our pursuite; and lay both Sea and land for us in such sort, as it would be impossible for us to escape : but that as might bee done was to give them liberty at the first Christian countrey whereat wee arrived : All of us agreed to this opinion, and Zoraida also (to whom reason was given of the motives we had not to free them forthwith and accomplish her will therein) remained satisfied: and therefore presently with joyfull silence, and cheerefuU diligence every one of our lustie rowers, ceasing upon his oare, we beganne after we had commended our selves unto Almighty God, to lanch forth, and addresse our course towards the lies of Mallorca, which is the neerest Christian country: but by reason tiiat the wind blew somewhat from the mountaines, and that the Sea began to be rough, it was not possible to continue that course ; and so wee were forced to approach the shore, and go by little and little towards Oran, not without great griefe and anguish, for feare to be espied by the towne of Sargell, which is on that cost, and talis some seventie leagues be- yond Argiers: and we did likewise feare to meete in that passage some galleat of those which come ordinarily with merchandize from Tetuan, although everie one of us for himselfe, and for all together, did presume, that if we encountred a galliot of merchandize, so it were not a Pirate, that not only we wold not be lost, but rather would take the vessell that therein we might with more security finish our voyage. Zoraida whilst thus we sailed, went with her head between my hands, because she would not looke on her father, and I felt her, how she was still invoking of Lela Marien to assist us, and having sailed about some thirty leagues, the morning overtooke us about some three Musket shot from land, in a place that seemed to be desart, and free from all accesse of those that might 174 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE discover us; and yet for all that, we got by might and CHAPTER mayne, somewhat further into the Seas, that now were XIIII become a little calmer, and having entred some two leagues Wherein into the maine, order was given, that they should row by *^® captive tumes, whilst they did refresh themselves and take a little the^f^mt sustenance, for the Barke was very well furnished with narration of victuals, although those which did row, refused the oiFer, his life, sayinff, that then it was no time to repose, and that they should set those that did not row, to dinner, for they would not yet in any sort let go their Oares. It being done as they had said, the winde did rise so much, as it made us abandoning our Oares, to set saile and direct our Boat towards Oran, being unable to take any other course: all was done with very great speed, and so we mcuie by the saile more then eight miles an bower, free from all other feare, then that of encountring some vessell of warre. We gave the Moores our prisoners their dinner, and the rene- gate comforted them, saying, that they went not as prisoners, for they should receive their liberty, upon the first com- modity that were proferd. The same was likewise said to Zoraidas father, who returned them this answere. I would easily expect and beleeve any other thing O Christians of your liberality and honorable manner of proceeding, but doe not thinke that I am so simple as once to imagine that you will give me my liberty, for you did never expose your selfe to the danger of dispoiling me thereof, with intention to retume it me so prodigally againe, especially knowing as you doe, who I am, and the profit which you may reape by giving me it againe, to which profit if you wil put a name, and tel me how much would you demand, I doe even from hence oiFcr unto you all that which you will seeke for me, and for that unK)rtunate daughter of mine, or if you wil not deliver me, I will give you it for her alone, who is the greatest, and the best part of my soule. And saying so, he Degan to weepe so bitterly, as he moved us ail to com- passion, and forced Zoraida to looke upon him ; who seeing him weepe, was so strangely moved, as arising from my feet, she went and embraced her father, and laying her face upon his, they began together so tender a lamentation, as THE FIRST PART OF THE ["bl CHAPTER many of us that were in the Barke, were forced to keep Xllll them company : but when her father noted her to be so Wherein richly adorned, and with bo many Icwels on, he asked her in the captive ^^\g ©wne language; how haps this daughter that yester- ^r^Msant "ig**t late before this terrible disaster befel us, wherin we narration of c^re plunged, I saw thee attired in thine ordinary houshold hi* life. array, and that now, without having had any leasure to apparrel thy selfe, or having given tiiee any glad tidings, for whose solemnizing, thou oughtest to adorne and publish thy selfe, I do view thee thus clad in the richest attire which I could bestow upon thee, when our fortune was most favorable. Answer me to this, for thou hast suspended and astonished mee more then the very disgrace it selfe wherein lam. Alt that the Moore said to his daughter the Renegate declared unto us and she did not answere a word to him : but when he saw the little coffers lie at one side of the Barke, wherein she was wont to keepe her lewels, and that bee knew very well she had left at Argiers, and not brought to the garden, he was much more amazed, and demaunded of her, how that coffer was come into our possession, and what things she had therewith in it ? to which the renegate, without attending that Zoraida should answere him, said. Sir, doe not trouble your selfe by demaunding so many things of your daughter Zoraida, for with one that I will aay, I shal satisfie them all : and therefore you shall understand that shee is a Christian, and hath beene the file that cut ofiF our chainea, and is the libertie it selfe of our captivitie; and she goeth along with us of her owne free will, as con- tent (if mine imagination doth not wrong me) to see her selfe in this ntate, as he is that commeth out of darkenesse to the light, from death unto life, and out of paine into glory. Is it true daughter, which this man sayes ? quoth the Moore. It is, answered Zorayda : that thou in effect art a Christian, replyed the old man, and she that hath put her father into his enemies hands? To which Zorayda answered, I am she that is a Christian, but not she that hath brought thee to this passe : for my desire did never so estrange it selfe from thee, as to abandon or harme thee, but only endevoured to 176 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE doe my selfe good. And what good hast thou done thy CHAPTER self daughter? Demand that, said she, of Lela Marien, XIIII for she can therin informe thee better then I can. \Vlierein Scarce had the Moore heard her say so, when with in- ^® captive credible haste he threw himselfe headlong into the Sea, th^i^,^^^ wherein hee had beene questionlesly drowned, if the long narration of apparell he wore on, had not kept him up a while above his life, the water. Zoraida cried out to us to save him : and so we all presently ranne, and laying hold on a part of his Turkish robe, drew him up halfe drowned, and wholly devoyde of feeling. Whereat Zorayda was so grieved, that she lamented him as dolefully as if he had beene dead. There we laid him with his mouth downward, and he avoyded a great quantity of water, and after the space of two houres returned to himselfe againe : and in the meane time the winde also turn- ing, it did drive us towards the coast; so that we were constrayned to keepe our selves by very force of armes from striking upon it, and our good fortune directing us, we arrivea to a little Creeke at the side of a certaine Cape or Promontory, called by the Moores, the Cape of the Cava llumia, which in our Language signifies, ^ the ill Christian woman "*: and the Moores hold it for a tradition, that in the very same place was the Cava buried, for whom Spaine was lost, and conquered by the Moores : for Cava in their language signifies ^ an ill woman,^ and Rumia a ^ Christian "* : yea, and they holde it for a signe of misfortune, to arrive or cast Ancre there, when meere necessity drives them thither : without which they never approach it, yet did it not prove to us the shelter of an ill woman, but the secure haven of our safety. We sent our Centinels a shore, and never let the Oares slip out of our hands : We did likewise eate of the Renegat^ provision, and heartily besought Almightie Grod and our Ladie to assist and favour us with a happy end, to so luckie a beginning. And we agreed upon Zoray- das intreatie, to set her father and the other Moores that we heA tyed, a land in that place : for she was of so tender and compassionate a minde, as she could in no wise brooke to see her father tied in her presence, or her countreymen borne away captives : wherfore we made her a promise, 2:Z 1T7 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER that we wold at our departure let them go &1 away, semig Xllll we incurd no danger by leaving them in that inhabitable MHiereiii desart : our prayers were not so vaiu, but that they found the captive gentle acceptance in heaven, which presently changed the tbe^aunnt Winde, and appeased the Smi, inviting us cheerefuily to re- nftTTstion of turne to it againe, and prosecute our commenced voyage, his life. Seeing that the weather was favourable, we loosed the Moors, and set them al a land one by one ; and comming to disembark Zoraydas Father, who was by that time wholly come to himselfe, he said, For what doe you con- jecture, Christians, that this bad woman is glad that you give me libertie P Do you thinke that she doth it for pitie that she takes of me P No truely, but she doth it only to remove the hinderance my presence gave her when she would execute her unlawful desires. Nor ought you to beleeve that shee is mooved to change religion, by reason that she understands yours to he better then her owne, but onely because she knowes licentiousnesse to be more publickely and freely practised in your coimtrey then among us: and then turning to Zorayda, whom I and another Christian held fast by both the armes lest she should do some desperate act, ne said, in&mous girle, and il- advised mayden, where dost thou runne thus blinded and dis- tracted, in the power of those dogges our naturall enemies ? Cursed be the houre wherein I engendred thee, and cursed the delights and pleasures wherin thou wast nousled. I perceiving that he was not like to make an end of his exe- crations so soone as I could wish, had him set on shore, and thence he prosecuted his maledictions and plaints, praying unto Mahomet that he would intercede with Ali, that we might be all destroyed, confounded, and cast away. And when we could heare his words no longer, by reason that we set sailc, we perceived his workes, that were, to pluckc his beard, tearc his haire, and cast himselfe on the ground : but once he did lift up his voyce so high, as that we heard him say, return, beloved daughter, retume to the land, for I doe pardon thee all that thou hast done, and deliver that money to those men, for it is now their owne, and retume thou to comfort thy sadde and desolate father, who 178 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE will forsake his life on these desolate sands, if thou dost CHAPTER abandon him. XIIII Zorayda heard him say all this, and lamented thereat, but Wherein knew not how to speake, or answere him any other thing *^® *^^V^i, but this. Father mine, I pray Al^, that Lela Marien, who ^e^easant hath beene the cause of my becomming a Christian, may narration of likewise comfort thee in thy sorrow. Ali knowes well that his life. I could do none other then I did, and that these Christians do owe me nothing for my good wil, seeing that though I hcui not come away with them, but remained at my house, yet hcui it beene impossible (such was the hast wherewithal) my soule pressed me) not to have executed this my purpose ; which seemes to me to be as good, as thou O beloved father, dost account it wicked. She said this in a time that neither her father could heare her, nor we beholde him : and therefore, after I hcui comforted Zorayda, we did thenceforth onely attend our voyage, which was so much holpen by the favorable winde, as we made full account to bee the next day on the cost of Spaine : but, as good very seldome or rather never, betides a man thoroughly and wholly, without being accompanied or followed by some evill which troubles and assaults it, our fortune would, or rather the maledictions of the Moore, powred on his Daughter : (for the curses of any father whatsoever are to bee feared) that being ingulfed three houres within night, and going before the winde with a full sayle, and our Oares set up, oecause the prosperous winde had rid us of the labour of rowing: we saw neere unto us, by the light of the M oone that shined very cleerely, a round vessell which with all her sailes spread, did crosse before us in the Sea, and that so neerely as wee were faine to strike downe her Saile, that we might avoid the shog she was like to give us; and those that were in her had on the other side laboured also what they might, to tume her out of our way, standing all of them on the hatches to demaund of us what we were, from whence we came, and whither we did saile ? But by reason that they spake French, the Renegate bade us not to speake a word, saying. Let none answer, for these are French Pirates which make their bootie of everv body. For this cause none of "^ 179 CHAPTER XIIII Wherein the captive proBecuteth the pleasant narration of hia life. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ua lu answered : and being passed a litle forward, and that the Ship remained in the Lee of us, they suddenly shotte off two pieces of Artillery, and as I thinke both of them had chaine bullets, for with the one they cut our Mast asunder, and overthrew it and the saile into the sea, and instantly after they discharged another, and the bullet alighting in our barke^ did pierce it thorow and thorow, without doing any other hurt, but we, seeing that our vessell beganne to sinke, b^anne all to crie out, and request them to succour us, and prayed them that they would take us into their vessel, for we were a drowning. Then they came amaine, and casting out their Cocke-boate, there entred into it as good as a douzen Frenchmen, wel appointed with their Harcabuzes and Matches lighted, and so approched unto us ; and perceiving how few we were, and that the Barke did sinke, they received us into their boate, saying, that because we had used the discourtesie of not making them answer, that misfortune had befalne us. Our Ren^ate about this time tooke the coffer wherein Zoraydas treasures were kept, and threw it into the sea unperceived of any. In conclusion, we went all of us into the great vessel with the Frenchmen, who after they had informed themselves of all that which they desired to know, as if they were our capitall enemies, tney afterward dispoyled us of all that ever we had about us, and of Zorayda they tooke all, even unto her very bracelets, that she wore on the wrests of her feete. But the wrong they did to Zorayda did not afflict me so much as the feare I conceived, that after they had taken away from her, her most rich and pretious jewels, they would also deprive her of the Jewell of most prize, and which shee valued most. But the desires of that nation extend themselves no farther, then to the gaine of money : and their avarice in this is never throughly satisfied ; and at that time was so great, as they would have taken from us the very habites of slaves, that we brought from Barbaric, if they had found them to have beene worth any thing: and some there were of opinion among them, that we should be al inwreathed in a saile, and throwen into the Sea, be- cause they had intention to traffique into some havens of loU % IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE Spaine, under the name of Britaines, and that if they caned CHAPTER us alive, they should be punished, their robbery beine de- XIIII tected : but the Captaine, who was he that had pilled mv Wherein beloved Zorayda, said, that he was so contented with his *^® *^^^\1 booty, as he meaned not to touch any part of Spaine, but th^^^^gant would passe the streights of Gibraltar oy night, or as he narration of might, and so retume againe to Rochel, from whence he was his life. come : and there upon they all agreed to give us their Cock- boate, and all that was necessary for our short voyage, as indeed they performed the day ensuing when we were in the view of Spaine, with the sight whereof all our griefes and poverties were as quite forgotten, as if we never had felt any; so great is tne delight a man takes to recover his liberty. It was about midday when they put us into the Cocke, giving unto us two Barrels of water and some Bisket; and the Captaine moved with some compassion, as the beautifull Zorayda embarqued her selfe, bestowed on her about fortie crownes in gold ; nor would he permit his Souldiers to dispoyle her of these very garments, which then and now she weares. We entred into the cockboate, and giving them thankes for the good they did, and shewing at our departure more tokens of thankfulnes, then of discontent, they sayled pre- sently away from us towards the straights, and we without looking on any other north or starre, then the land it selfe which appeared before us, did row towards it so lustily, that at the Sunneset we were so neere, as we mcuie fiill ac- count to arrive before the night were farre spent. But by reason that the Moone did not shine, and the night was very darke, and that wee knew not where wee were, wee did not hold it the best course to approch the shore too neare ; yet others there were that thought it convenient and good, desiring that wee should make to it, although we ran the boate on the rocks, and farre from any dwelling; for by doing so, we should free our selves from the feare which we ought of reason to have, lest there should bee up and down on that coast any Frigats of the Pyrates of Tetuan, which arc wont to leave Barbaric over night, and be on the coast of Spaine ere morning, and ordinarily make their booty, and 181 CHAPTER XIIII Wherein the captive prosecuteth the pleasant narration of his life. THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. tume to their supper againe to Barbarie the night following: but of the contrary opinions, that which was followed was, that wee should draw neare the land by little and little, and that if the quietnesse of the Sea would permit it, wee should take land where wee might best and most commodiously doe it. This was done, and a little before midnight we arrived to the foot of a high and monstrous mountaine, which was not altogether so neare to the Sea, but that it did grant a litle patch of ground, whereon we might commodiously disembarke. Wherefore we ranne our selves on the sands, and came all a land and kissed the earth, and with teares of most joyfull content and delight, gave thankes unto our Lord Grod, for the incomjparable favours which hee had done us in our voyage: tnen tooke wee out our vittailes from the boate, and drew it selfe up on the shore, and ascended a great part of the mountaine : for although we were in that place, yet durst wee not assure our selves, nor did throughly beleeve that it was a Christian Country whereon we did treade. The day breaking somewhat slower then I could have wished it ; we ascended the mountaine wholly, to see whether we might discover any dwelling, or sheepfoulds from thence ; but although wee extended our sight unto every quarter, yet could we neither descry dwelling, person, path, nor hi^h way : yet did we resolve notwithstanding to enter into the land, seeing that wee could not choose but discover ere long some body who might give us notice of the place where we were : and that which afflicted me most of all was, to see Zoraida goe a foote through those rugged places; for although I did sometimes carry her on my shoulders, yet did the toile I tooke more weary her, then the repose she got could ease her ; and therefore would never after the first time suffer me to take that paines againe, and so shee went ever after a foot with great patience, and tokens of joy, I holding her still by the hand ; and having travailed little lesse then a quarter of a league, we heard the noise of a little bell, an infallible argument that neare at hand there was some cattel ; where- upon all of us looking very wistly to see whether any body appeared, wee might perceive under a Corke-tree a young 182 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE sheep-heard, who very quietly and carelesly was carving of a CHAPTER sticke with a knife: we called to him, and he leaped up XIIII lightly on foote, and (as we afterwards learned) the first that Wherein he got sight of, were the renegate and Zoraida whom he *^® ^*^t\h seeing apparelled in the M orisco habit, thought that all the ^jjg pleasant people ot Barbarie had beene at his heeles, and therefore uarration of running very swiftly into the wood, he cryed all along with his life, marvailous lowdnesse, M oores, Moores are in the land ; Moores, Moores, arme, arme. These outcryes struck us a new into a great perplexity, and scarce did wee know what we should doe : but considering how the sheep - heards alarme would cause all the Country to rise up, and that the horsemen that kept the coast would presently come to see what it was ; we all agreed that the renegate should put off his Turkish attyre, and put on a captives cassocke, which one of the company gave unto him forthwith, although the giver remained after in his shirt : and thus committing the aiFaire unto almighty God, we followed on by the same way, which we saw the sheep-heard had taken, alwaies expecting when the horsemen of the coast would fall upon us : and we were not deceived in our expectation, for within two houres after, having issued out of those woods into a plaiue, we discovered about some fifty horsemen which came running towards us as swiftly .as their horses could drive, and having perceived them, we stood still, and stayed untill they came to us, and saw, in steed of the Moores they sought for, so many poore Christians, and remayned somewhat ashamed thereat : and one of them demaunded whether wee were the occasion that a sheep-heard had given the alarme: yes, quoth I, and as I was about to informe what I was, and of all our.cuiventure, and from whence we came ; one of the Christians that came with us, did take notice of the horseman who hcui spoken unto us, and so interrupting my speech, he said. Sirs let God be praised which hath Drought us to so good a place as this is, for if I be not deceived, the earth which we tread, is of Velez Malaga ; and if the yeares of my captivitie have not con- founded my memory, you likewise Sir that demaunds what we be, are reter of Bustamante, mine Uncle. As soone as 183 CHAPTER XIIII Wherein the captive prosecuteth the pleasant narration of his life. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. ever the Christian captive had spoken those words, the hors- man leaping off his norse ranne and embraced him saying, O nephew, as deare to me as my soule and life, now I doe know thee very well, and many a day since have I wept for thee, thinking thou wast dead, and so hath my sister thy mother, and aU the rest of thy friends which doe live yet, and Grod hath been pleased to preserve their lives, that they may enjoy the pleasure to benold thee. Wee knew very well, that thou wast in Argiers, and by the signes and tokens of thy clothes, and that of all the rest here of thy com- panions, I surmise that your escape hath beene miraculous : it was so, replyed the Captive, and we shall have time, I hope, to recount unto you the manner. As soone as the horsemen had understood, that we were Christian Captives, they allighted off their Horses, and every one of them invited us to mount upon his owne, to carry us to the Citty of Velez Malaga, which was yet a league and a halfe from that place : and some of them went to the place where we had lert the boate, to brins it to the Citty ; whom wee informed first of the place where it lay ; others did mount us up a horsebacke behind themselves, and Zoraida rode behind the captives Uncle: all the people issued to receive us being premonished of our arrivall by some one that had ridden before. They did not wonder to see Cap- tives freed, nor Moores captived there, being an ordinary thing in those parts, but that whereat they wondred, was the surpassing beauty of Zoraid€^ which at that season and instant was in her prime, as well through the warmth shee had gotten by her travaile, as also through the joy shee con- ceived to see her selfe in Christian lands, secure from all feare of being surprised or lost : and these things called out to her face such colours, as if it be not that affection might then have deceived mee, I durst aver, that a more beauti- full then she was, the world could not affoord, at least among those which I had ever beheld. We went directly to the Church to give thanks unto almighty God, for the benefit received: and as soone as Zoraida entred into it, shee said there were faces in it, that resembled very much that of Lela Marien : we told her 184 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE that they were her images: and the renegate, as well as CHAPTER the brevitie of the time permitted, instructed her what they XIIII signified, to the end shee should doe them reverence, as if Wherein every one of them were truly that same Lela Marien, which the captive had spoken unto her. She who hath a very ffood under- prosecuteth . jT J . J , •!. "^ ^ u J J the pleasant standing, and an easie and cleare conceit, comprehended Q^jrotion of presently all that was told unto her concerning Images: from his life. thence they carryed us, and devided us among different houses of the Citty, but the Christian that came with us, carried the renegate, Zoraida and me to the house of his parents, which were indifferently accommodated, and stored with the goods of Fortime, and did entertaine me with as great love and kindnesse, as if I were their own sonne. We remayned sixe dayes in Velez, in which time the ren^ate having made an information of all that which might conceme him, hee went to the City of Granada to be reconciled, by the holy Inquisitions meanes, to the bosome of our holy Mother the Church. The rest of the freed captives tooke every one the way that he pleased, and Zoraida and I remained behinde, with thos^ Duckats only which the Frenchmans curtesie was r leased to bestow on Zoraida, and with part of that summe bought her this beast whereon shee rides: I my selfe serving her hitherto as her Father and her Squire, and not as her Spouse, we travaile with intention to see whether my father be yet living, or any of my brothers have had more pro- sperous hap then my selfe, although seeing that Heaven hath made mee Zoraidas consort, me thinks no other good Fortune could arrive, were it never so great, that I would hold in so high estimation. The patience wherewithall shee beares the incommodities usually annext unto poverty, and the desires shee shewes to become a Christian, is such and so great, as it strikes mee into an admiration, and doth move me to serve her all the dayes of my life : although that the delight which I take to see my selfe hers, and shee mine, is oft times interrupted and almost dissolved by the feare which I have, that I shall not finde in mine owne Countrey some little Corner, wherein I may entertayne her ; and that time and death have wrought such alteration in the goods and lives of my fathers and brothers, as I shall scarce finde 2: AA 185 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER any one at home that knowes mee. I have no more, good ^^U Sirs, to tell you of my Uvea Historie, then which whether it be pleasing, and rare, or no, your cleere conceipts are to j udge: as for my selfe I dare say, that if it had beene posaible, I would have told it with more brevitie ; fearing tt might bee tedious unto you, I purposely omitted many delightf uU circumstances thereof. Wherein the captive proeecuteth tlie pleasant tuiTBtioii of IiisUA. CHAPTER XV Which speakes of that which after befell in the Inne ; and of sundry other things worthy to be knowne. H£ Captive having said this, held his peace, and Don Fernando replyed to him thus. Truly Captaine, the manner wherewith- all you have recounted this marvailous successe, hath beene such, as it may be parrangond to the novelty and strange- nesae of the event it self, and so great is the delieht we have taken in the Eearing thereof, as I doe beleeve, Uiat although wee had spent the time from hence till to morrow, in listning to it, yet should we be glad to heare it told over once againe, and saying so, Caraenio, and all the rest did offer themselves and their meanes to his service, as much as lay in them, with so cor- dial! and friendly words, as the Captive remained throughly satisfied with their good wits : but specially Don Fernando ofiered, that if hee would retume witn him, hee would cause the Marquesse his brother to be Zoraida her Godfather in Baptisme, and that hee for his part, would so accommodate him with all things necessary, as he might enter into the towne, with the decency and authority due to his person. The Captive did gratine his large offers very courteously, IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE but would not accept any of them at that time : by this CHAPTER the night drew on, and about the fall thereof, there arrived ^^ at the Inne a coatch with some men a horsebacke, and asked Which for lodging : to whom the Hostesse answered, that in all the S^^.^^ Inne there was not a spanne free. The number of her guests ^f^,. i^efell was already so many : well, although that be so, quoth in the Inne ; one of the horsemen that had entred, yet must there be a and of sundry place found for Master lustice, who comes in this Coach. At ^^^*^"*?'l this name, the Hostesse was affraid, and said, Sir the misfor- ^^^^^^ tune is, that I have no beds, but if Master lustice brings one with him, as it is probable he doth, let him enter in boldly, and I and my husband will leave our owne chamber to accommodate his worship. So be it, quoth the Squire, and by this time allighted out of the Coach, a man whose att}rre did presently denote his dignity and office ; for his long gowne, and his great and large sleeves did shew that he was a ludge, as the Servingman affirmed. He led a young Maiden by the hand, of about some sixteene yeeres old, apparelled in riding attyre, but she was therewithall of so disposed, beautifuU, and, chearefuU a countenance, as her presence did strike them all into admiration : so as if they had not scene Dorotea, Luscinda, and Zoraid€^ which were then in the Inne, they would hardly have beleeved that this Damzels beauty might any where have beene matched. Don-Quixote was present at the ludgcs, and the Grentle- womans entry : and so, as soone as he had scene him, he said. Sir, you may boldly enter, and take your ease in this Castle, which although it be but little, and ill accommodated, et there is no narrownesse nor discommodity in the worid, ut makes place for armes, and learning, and specially if the armes and letters bring beauty for their guide and leader, as your learning doth, conducted by this lovely Dam/cll, to whom ought not only Castles to open and manifest them- selves, but also Rocks to part and devide their cliffes, and Mountaines to bow their ambitious crests, to give and make her a lodging. Enter therefore, I say, WorshipfuU Sir, into this Paradise, wherein you shall find Starrcs and Sunnes, to accompany this skie which you bring in your company. Here shall you finde armes in their height, and beauty m 187 t ( THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER her prime. The ludge marvailed greatly at Don-Quizots XV speech, whom he began to behold very eameBtly, aod woD- Wbich dred no lesse at his shape, then at his words, and knowing ■P™^."' not what answere he might return him, he was diverted on after befell ^^ other side, by the sudden approch of the three Ladies inthelnne; LuBcinda, Dorot^ and Zoraida, which stood before him, and of sundry for having heard of the arrival of new guests, and also *^|^ *•""¥" being informed by the Hostesse of the young Ladies beauty, knowne *^^y "*'* '^'"^ forth to see, and entertaine her. But Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the Curate, did give him more compleate and courtly entertainment then the rusty Knight. In effect the ludge was marvailously amazed at that wHich bee saw and beard in that Inne : and the foire guests thereof bade the be&utiful Maiden welcome. The ludge perceived very well, that the guests of the Inne were all men of account, but Don-Quixotes feature, visage, and behaviour, did set him out of all byas, being not able to conjecture what he mieht be : and after some courtlike intercourses passed, and the commodities of the Inne examined, they all agreed agsine, as they had done before, that all the women should enter into Don-Quixotes roome, and the men remaine without in their guarde. And so the ludge was content that the Damzell, who was his Daughter, should also goe with those Ladies, which shee did with a very good will : and with a part of the Inkeepeis narrow bed, and halfe of that which Uie ludge had brought with him, they made shift to passe over that night the best they could. The Captive, who from the instant that be had first seen the ludee, did greatly suspect that be was his Brother, and demaunded of one of his servants, how he was called, and where he was borne p The other answered, how he was called the Licenciat John Perez of Viedma, and as bee had heard, hee was borne in a Village of the Mountaines of Leon. With this relation, and the rest that he had noted, he finally confirmed his opinion that it was the brother, who following his fathers Etdvice, had dedicated himselfe to his studies : and full of joy and contentment, calling aside Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the Curate, he certified them of all that passed, and that the ludge was bis Brother. The IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE Serving-man told him likewise how he went towards the CHAPTER Indies, where he had his place and office in the Courts of ^^ Mexico: and also that the young Gentlewoman was his Which Daughter, of whose birth her mother had died, and he ever fPf^^.^f after remained a widdower, and very rich, by her dowry and ^^^ befell portion that shee had left to her daughter: he demanded of in the Inne; them advice how he might discover himselfe to his brother, andof suncUy or first know, whether after he had detected himselfe, he other thin« would receive him with a good countenance and affection, J^n^wne and not be ashamed to acknowledge him for his brother, seeing him in so poore an estate : leave the triall of that experience to mee, quoth the Curate, and the rather because there is no occasion why you Sir Captaine should not be kindly entertained by him : for the prudence, worths, and good countenance of your brother, give manifest tokens that he is nothing arrogant. For all that, said the Captaine, I would not make my selfe knowen on the suddaine, but would use some pretty ambages to bring him acauainted with me : I say unto you, quoth the Curate, that I will trace the matter in such sort, as we all wil rest satisfied. Supper was by this made ready, and all of them sate downe to the table, the Captive excepted and Ladies, which supped together within the roome : and about the midst of supper the Curate said. Master lustice, I have had in times past a Comrade of your very surname m Constantinople, where I was sometime Captive, who was one of the most valiant Souldiers and Captaines that might be found among all the Spanish foote : but he was as unfortunate as he was valorous and resolute. And how was that Captaine called good Sir ? quoth the ludge. His name was, replyed Master Curate, Ruy Perez of Viedma, and he was borne in a Village of the mountaines of Leon ; and he recounted unto me an occurrence hapned betweene his father, him, and his other brethren, which, if I had not beene told by a man of such credit and reputation as he was, I would have esteemed for one of these fables which old Wives are wont to rehearse by the fire side in winter: for hee said to me, that his father had devided his goods among his three sons, and gave them withall, certaine precepts, 189 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER better then those of Cato ; and I know well, that the choise ^^ which he made to follow the warre, had such happy suc- Which cesse, as withm a few yeares, through his forwardnesse and ■P®**^®? .^^ valour, without the helpe of any other arme, he was ad- f^r^fell ^&nced ^^ & company of foot, and made a Captain, and was inthelnne; ^^ ^^^ way and course of becomming one day a CoUonell, and of sundry but fortune was contrary to him, for even there, where he other thines was most to expect her favour, he lost it, with the losse worthy to be ^f j^jg Uberty, in that most happy journey wherein so many recovered it, to wit, in the battel! of Lepanto. I lost mine in Goleta, and after by different successe wee became com- panions in ConsUntinople, from whence we went to Argiers, where did befall him one of the most notable adventures that ever hapned in the world ; and there the Curate with succinct brevity recounted all that had hapned betweene the Captaine and Zoraida: to all which the ludge was so attentive, as in all his life he never listned to any cause so attentively, as then. And the Curate onely arrived to the Point wherein the Frenchmen spoyled the Christians that came in the Barke, and the necessitie wherein his com- panion and the beautifuU Zorayda remained : of whom he had not learned any thing after, nor knew not what became of them or whether they came into Spaine, or were caried away by the Frenchmen to Fraunce. The Captaine stood listening somewhat a loofe off to all the Curates words, and noted the while the motions and gestures of his brother; who seeing that the Curate had now made an end of his speech, breathing forth a great sigh, and his eyes bemg filled with teares, he said, O Sir, if you had known the newes which you have told me : and how neerely they touch me in some points, whereby I am constrained to manifest these teares, which violently breake forth in despight of my discretion, and calling, you would hold me excused for this excesse. That Captaine of whom you spoke, is my eldest brother, who, as one stronger, and of more noble thoughts then I or my younger brother, made election of the honourable military calling; one of the three estates which our father proposed to us, even as your Comrade informed you, when as you thought he related a 190 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE &ble. I followed my booke, by which God and my diligence CHAPTER raised me to the state you see: my younger brother is in XV Peru, and with that which he hath sent to my father and Which my self, hath bountifully recompenced the portion he caried, ^P^'^^.^f and given to him sufficient to satisfie his liberall disposition, aftep^feii and to mee, wherewithal! to continue my studies, with jq the Inne; the decensie and authority needfull to advance me to the and of sundry ranke which now I possesse. My father lives yet, but dying o*^®' *^°?^ through desire to leame somewhat of his eldest sonne, and ^^^^J^ "« doth daily importune Gk>d with incessant prayers, that death may not shut his eyes untill hee may once againe see him alive. I only marvell not a little, considering his discre- tion, that among all his labours, afflictions, or prosperous successes, he hath beene so carelesse in giving his father notice of his proceedings : for if eyther he, or any one of us had knowne of his captivity, he should not have needed to expect the miracle of the Cane for his ransome. But that which troubles me most of all, is, to thinke whether these Frenchmen have restored him againe to libertie, or else slaine him, that they might conceiQe their robberie the better : all which will be an occasion to mee to prosecute roy voyage, not with the joy wherewithall I beganne it, but rather with melancholy and sorrow. O deare brother, I would I might know now where thou art, that I my selfe might goe and search thee out, and free thee from thy pciines, although it were with the hazard of mine own. O who is he that could carrie newes to our old father, that thou wert but alive, although thou wert hidden in the most abstruse dungeons of Barbaric ; for his riches, my brothers and mine would fetch thee from thence. O beautiful! and liountiful! Zorayda, who might be able to recompence thee for the good thou has done to my brother ! How happy were he that mi^ht be present at thy spirituall birtn and baptisme, and at thy nuptials, which would he so grateful! to us al! ! These and many other such wordes did the ludge deliver, so full of compassion for the newes that he had received of his brother, as all that heard him kept him company, in shewing signes of compassion for his sorrow. The Curate therefore perceiving the happy successe where- 191 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER to his designe and the Captaines desire had sorted, would ^^ hold the company sad no longer, and therfore arising from Which the table, and entring into the roome wherin Zoraida was, JP®*^^ ®^ he tooke her by the hand, and after her followed Luscinda, after befell I^orotea, and the ludge his daughter. The Captaine stood in the Inne; ^lU to see what the Curate would doe; who taking him fast and of sundry by the other hand, marched over with them both towards other thinffs tne ludge and the other Gentlemen, and said: Suppresse knowne*^ y^*"" teares Master lustice, and ^lut your desire with all that good which it may desire, seeing you have here before you your good brother, and your lovinff sister in law : this man whom you view here, is the Captaine Viedma, and this the beautifull Moore, which hath done so much for him. The Frenchmen which I told you of, have reduced them to the poverty you see, to the end that you may shew the liberality of your noble brest. Then did the Captaine draw neere to embrace his brother, but he held him off a while with his arms, to note whether it was he or no ; but when he once knew him, he embraced him so lovingly, and with such abundance of teares, as did attract the like A*om all the beholders. The wordes that the brothers spoke one to another, or the feeling affection which they shewed, can hardly be conceived, and therfore much lesse written by any one whatsoever. There thev did briefly recount the one to the other their successes : there did they shew the true love and affection of brothers in his prime : there did the ludge embrace Zorayda : there he made her an offer of all that was his : there did hee also cause his daughter to embrace her : there the beautifull Christian, and the most beautifull Moore renewed the teares of them al : there Don- Quixote was attentive, without speaking a word, ponder- ing of these rare occurrences, and attributing them to the Chimeras, which he imagined to be incident to Chivalrie : and there they agreed that the Captaine and Zoraida should retume with their brother to Sivill, and thence advise their father of his finding and liberty, that he as well as he might, should come to Sivill to the baptisme and marriage of Zorayda, because the ludge could not possibly retume, or discontinue his journey, in respect that the Indian Fleete 19S IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE was to depart within a moneth from SiviU towards New CHAPTER Spaine. XV Every one in conclusion was joyfull and glad at the cap- Which tives ^ood successe ; and two parts of the night being ®P®*^^.^! welnigh spent, they all agreed to repose themselves awhile. ^^Ibefell Don-Quixote offered himselfe to watch and guard the Castle i^ the Inne; whilst they slept, lest they should be assaulted by some and of sundry Giant or other miscreant, desirous to rob the great ^asure other things of beautie that was therein immured and kept. Those that ^ q/*^ knew him rendred unto him infinite thankes: and withall informed the ludge of his extravagant humor, whereat he was not a little recreated: onely Sancho Panfa did fret, because they went so slowly to sleepe, and he alone was best accommodated of them aU, by lying downe on his beasts furniture, which cost him dearely, as shall be after recounted. The Ladies being withdrawne into their Cham- ber, and every one laying himselfe downe where best he might, Don-Quixote sallied out of the Inne, to be Centinell of the Castle as he had promised. And a little before day it hapned, that so sweet and tuneable a voyce touched the Ladies eares, as it obliged them all to listen unto it very attentively, but chiefly Dorotea, who first awaked, and by whose side the young Gentlewoman Donna Clara of Viedma (for so the ludges Daughter was called) slept. None of them could imagine who it was that sung so well without the helpe of any instrument: sometimes it seemed that he sung in the yard, others that it was in the Stable : and being thus in suspence, Cardenio came to the chamber dore, ana said, Whosoever is not asleepe, let them give eare, and they shall heare the voice of a Lsu^key that so chants, as it likewise inchants. Sir, quoth Dorotea, we heare him very well. With this Ceirdenio departed, and Dorotea using all the attention possible, heard that his song was this following. S : BB 19S THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER XVI Wherin is recounted the History of the Lackey, with other strange adventures befalne in the Inne. I AM a Mariner to love^ Wliicli in his depths profound Still sailes, and yet no hope can prove, Of comming aye to the ground. I following goe, a glistring starre, Which I aloofo descry. Much more resplendent, then those are That PaHnure aid spie : I know not where my course to bend. And so confusedly. To see it onely I pretend Carefiill and carelesly. Her too impertinent regard. And too much modestie, The clouds are which mine eyes have bard From their deserved fee. O cleere and soule reviving star. Whose sight doth trie my trust, If thou thy light from me debar, Instantly die I must The Singer arriving to this point of his song, Dorotea imagined that it would not be amisse to let Donna Clara heare so excellent a voyce, and therefore she jogged her a little on the one and other side, until! she had awaked her, and then said. Pardon me childe for thus interrupting your sweet repose, seeing I doe it to the end you may joy, by hearing one of the oest voyces that perhaps you ever heard in your Ufe. Clara awaked at the first drowsily, and did not well understand what Dorotea said, and therefore de- maunding of her what she said, she told it her againe; whereupon Donna Clara was also attentive : but scarce had she heard two verses repeated by the early Musitian, when a marvellous trembling invaded her, even as if she 194 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE had then su£Pered the grievous fit of a quartane Ague. CHAPTER Wherefore unbracing Dorotea very straigntly, she said, XVI Alas, deere Ladie, why did you awake me, seeing the Wherin is greatest happe that fortune could in this instant have recounted the F'ven me, was, to have mine eyes and eares so shut, as ^^ Lwkev might neither see, nor heare that unfortunate Musician ? ^th other What is that you say childe, quoth Dorotea, did you not strange heare one say tiat the Musitian is but a horse-boy ? Hee ff Y®,'^*'*.'®* is no hprse-Doy, quoth Clara, but a Lord of many townes ; Sj^f^^® ^ and he that hath such firme possession of my soule, as if hee himselfe will not reject it, he shall never be deprived of the dominion thereof; Dorotea greatly wondred at the passionate words of the young girle, whereby it seemed to her that she far surpassed the discretion which so tender yeares did promise : and therefore she replied to her, saying, Vou speake so obscurely. Lady Clara, as I cannot under- stand you : expound yoiur selfe more cleerly, and tel me what is that you say of soules, and townes, and of this Musitian, whose voyce hath altred you so much : but doe not say any thing to me now; for I would not lose, by listening to your disgusts, the pleasure I take to heare him sing; for me thinkes he resumes his musicke with new verses, and in another tune : in a good houre, auoth Donna Clara ; and then, because shee her selfe would not heare him, she stopt her eares with her fingers; whereat Dorotea did also marvell : but being attentive to the Musicke, she heard the Lackey prosecute his song in this manner : O Sweet and constant hope, That break'st impossibilities and bryars. And firmely ran st the scope Which thou thy selfe dost forge to thy desires. Be not dismaide to see At evr'y step thy selfe, nigh death to bee. Sliismrds doe not deserve The gloria of triumphs or victorie. Good hap doth never serve Those, which resist not Fortune manfully. But weakely fidl to ground : And in soft sloth their senses all confound. 195 CHAPTER XVI Wherinii recounted the History of the Lackey, with other Btrange adventures befidne in the Inne. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. That Love his glories hold At a high rate, it reason is and just : No precious stones nor g^ld May be at all compared with loves gust. And tis a thing most cleare : Nothing is worth esteeme that cost not deare. An amarous persistance Obtaineth oft-times things impossible And so though I resistance Finde of my soules desires, in her steme will ; I hope, time shall be given. When I from earth may rech her glorious heaven. Heere the Toyoe ended, and Donna Claras sighes b^an; all which infleuned Doroteas desire, to know the cause of so sweete a song, and so sad a pbunt. And therefore she eftsoones required her, to tell her now what she was about to have said before. Then Clara timorous, lest Luscinda should overheare her, imbradng Dorotea very neerly, laid her mouth so close to Doroteas eare, as she might speake securely without being understood by any other, and said ; he that sings, is, deere Ladie, a Gentlemans sonne of the Eingdome of Aragon, whose father is Lord of two townes, and dwelled right before my fathers house at the Court, and although the windowes of our house were in Winter covered with seare cloth, and in Sommer with lattice, I know not how it happened, but this Gentleman, who went to the schole espied me, and whether it was at the Church, or else where, I am not certaine. Finally, he fell in love with me, and did acquainte me with his affection from his owne windowes that were opposite to mine, with so many tokens and such abundance of teares, as I most forceably beleeved, and also affected him, without knowing how much he loved me: among the signes that he would make me, one was, to joyne the one hand to the other, giving me ther- by to understand that he would marry me : and although I would be very glad that it might be so ; yet as one alone, and without a mother, I knew not to whom I might com- municate the affaire, and did therfore let it rest without affording him any other favour, unlesse it were when my father and his were gone abroad, by lifting up the lattice or 196 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE Searecloth only a little, and permitting him to behold me ; CHAPTER for which favor he would shew such signes of ioy, as a man ^^^ would deeme him to be reft of his wits. The time of my Wherin is fathers departure arriving, and he hering of it, but not from 2^°*^r **^ me (for I could never tell it to him) he fell sicke, as farre ^^ liLcev, as I could understand, for griefe, and therefore I could never with other * see him all the day of our departure, to bid him farewell at strange least with mine eyes : but after we had travelled two dales fdvwitaws just as we entred into an Inne in a village, a daies journey SflSSi" from hence, I saw him at the lodging doore, apparrelled so properly like a Lacky, as if I had not borne about me his pur^ trature in my soule, it had bene impossible to know him. I knew him, and wondred, and was fflaid withall ; and he beheld me unwitting my father, fit)m wnose presence he stil hides himselfe when he crosses the waies before me as we travel, or after we arrive at any Inne. And because that I know what he is, and doe consider the paine hee takes by comming thus a foote for my sake, and that with so great toile, I die for sorrow, and where hee puts his feete 1 also put mine eyes. I know not with what intention he comes nor how he could possibly thus escape from his father, who loves him beyond measure, both because he hath none other hayre, and because the young Grentleman also deserves it, as you will perceive when you see him: and I dare affirme besides, that all that which he sales, he composes extempore, and without any studie ; for I have heard that hee is a fine Student, and a great Poet. And every time that I see him, or do heare him sing, I start and tremble like an Aspen leafe, for feare that my father should know him, and thereby come to have notice of our mutuall affections. I have never spoken one word to him in my life, and yet I doe neverthe- lesse love him so much, as without him 1 shall not be able to live. And this is all, deere Ladie, that I am able to say unto you of the Musician whose voyce hath pleased you so well, as by it alone you might conjecture, that he is not a horse-boy as you said, but rather a Lord of soules, and townes, as I affirmed. Speake no more Ladie Clara (quoth Dorotea, at that season, kissing her a thousand times): speake no more, I .197 CHAPTER XVI Wherinii recounted the History of the Lackey, with other Btrange adTentures be&lnein the Inne. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. That Love hia glories hold At a high rate, it reason is and just : No precious stones nor gold May be at all compared with loves gust. And tis a thing most cleare : Nothing is worth esteeme that cost not deare. An amarous persistance Obtaineth oft-times things impossible And so though I resistance Finde of my soules desires, in her steme will ; I hope, time shall be given. When I from earth may rech her glorious heaven. Heere the yoyoe ended, and Donna Claras sighes began; all which infleuned Doroteas desire, to know the cause of so sweete a song, and so sad a pbunt. And therefore she eftsoones required her, to tell her now what she was about to have said before. Then Clara timorous, lest Luscinda should overheare her, imbracing Dorotea very neerly, laid her mouth so close to Doroteas eare, as she might speake securely without being understood by any other, and said ; he that sings, is, deere Ladie, a Gentlemans sonne of the Eingdome of Aragon, whose father is Lord of two townes, and dwelled right before my fathers house at the Court, and although the windowes of our house were in Winter covered with seare cloth, and in Sommer with lattice, I know not how it happened, but this Grentleman, who went to the schole espied me, and whether it was at the Church, or else where, I am not certaine. Finally, he fell in love with me, and did acquainte me with his affection from his owne windowes that were opposite to mine, with so many tokens and such abundance of teares, as I most forceably beleeved, and also affected him, without knowing how much he loved me: among the signes that he would make me, one was, to joyne the one hand to the other, giving me ther- by to understand that he would marry me : and although I would be very glad that it might be so ; yet as one alone, and without a mother, I knew not to whom I might com- municate the affaire, and did therfore let it rest without affording him any other favour, unlesse it were when my father and his were gone abroad, by lifting up the lattice or 196 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE Searecloth only a little, and permitting him to behold me ; CHAPTER for which favor he would shew such signes of loy, as a man ^^1 would deeme him to be reft of his wits. The time of my Wherin is fathers departure arriving, and he hering of it, but not from S^^^^r*^® me (for I could never tell it to him) he fell sicke, as farre ^j^^ L^key, as I could understand, for griefe, and therefore I could never with other ' see him all the day of our departure, to bid him farewell at strange least with mine eyes : but after we had travelled two daies adventures just as we entred into an Inne in a village, a daies journey ^^^^ from hence, I saw him at the lodging doore, apparrelled so properly like a Lacky, as if I had not borne about me his puiv trature in my soule, it had bene impossible to know him. I knew him, and wondred, and was elad withall ; and he beheld me unwitting my father, frx)m whose presence he stil hides himselfe when he crosses the waies before me as we travel, or after we arrive at any Inne. And because that I know what he is, and doe consider the paine hee takes by comming thus a foote for my sake, and that with so great toile, I die for sorrow, and where hee puts his feete I also put mine eyes. I know not with what intention he comes nor how he could possibly thus escape from his father, who loves him beyond measure, both because he hath none other hayre, and because the young Grentleman also deserves it, as you will perceive when you see him: and I dare affirme besides, that all that which he saies, he composes extempore, and without any studie ; for I have heard that hee is a fine Student, and a great Poet. And every time that I see him, or do heare him sing, I start and tremble like an Aspen leafe, for feare that my father should know him, and thereby come to have notice of our mutuall affections. I have never spoken one word to him in my life, and yet I doe neverthe- lesse love him so much, as without him I shall not be able to live. And this is all, deere Ladie, that I am able to say unto you of the Musician whose voyce hath pleased you so well, as by it alone you might conjecture, that he is not a horse-boy as you said, but rather a Lord of soules, and townes, as I affirmed. Speake no more Ladie Clara (quoth Dorotea, at that season, kissing her a thousand times): speake no more, I 197 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAPTER say, but have patience iintill it be day-li^ht ; for I hope in X^I Grod so to direct your a£Paires, as that uiey shall have the Wherin is fortunate successe, that so honest beginning deserves. Alas mounted the Madam, quoth Donna Clara, what end may be expected, the L^key ^^^ig his father is so noble and rich, as he would scarce with other ' deeme me worthy to be his sonnes servant, how much lesse Btrange his spouse ? and for mee to marry my selfe unknowne to my f^^ntures father, I would not doe it for all the world. I desire no J^^^^^ other thing, but that the young Grentleman would retume home againe, and leave me alone; perhaps, by not seeing him, and the ereat distance of the way which we are to travd. my pain?^hich now so much piseth mee. wiU be somewhat attained, although I dare say, that this remedie which now I have imagineo, would availe me but little - for I know not whence with the vengeance, or by what way this a£Fection which I beare him got into me, seeing both I and he are so young as we be, for I beleeve we are much of an age, and I am not yet ftill sixteene; nor shall be as my father sales, untill Michaelmas next. Dorotea could not contain her laughter, hearing how childishly Donna Clara spoke, to whom she said. Lady let us repose againe, and sleepe that little part of the night which remaines, and when Grod sends day light, we will prosper, or my hands shall faile me: with this they held their peace, and all the Inne was drowned in profound silence; only the In- keepers Daughter, and Mmtomes were not asleepe, but knowing very wel Don-Quixotes peccant humour, and that he was armed and on horsebacke without the Inne keep- ing gard, both of them consorted together, and agreed to be some-way merry with him, or at least to passe over some time, in hearing him speake ravingly. It is therefore to be understood, that there was not in all the Inne any window, which looked out into the field, but one hole in a bame, out of which they were wont to cast their straw : to this hole came the two demy-damzels, and saw Don-Quixote mounted and leaning on his lavelin, and breathing forth, ever and anone, so dol^ull and deepe sighes, as it seemed his soule was plucked away by every one of them : and they noted besides how he said with a soft and 198 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE amorous voice : O my Ladie Dulcinea of Toboso, the somie ^CHAPTER of all beauty, the end and quintessence of discretion, the ^^I treasury of sweet countenance and carriage, the store-house Wherin is of honesty : and finaUy, the Idea of all that which is pro- recounted the fitable, modest, or delightfull in the world ! and what might ^^ Lwkey thy Ladiship be doing at this present ? Hast thou perhaps with other ' thy mind now upon tny captive knight, that most wittingly strange exposeth himselle to so many dangers for thy sake ? Give ?^][f?*"!** unto me tidings of her, O thou Luminary of the three faces, ^^q^ j^ Eeradventure thou dost now with envy enough behold er, either walking through some Gallery of her sumptuous Pallaces, or leaning on some bay window, and thinking how (saving her honour and greatnesse) she shall mitigate, and asswage the torture which this mine oppressed hart indures for her love, what glory she shall ^ve for my paines, what quiet to my cares, what life to my aeath, and wnat guerdon to my services. And thou sonne, which art as I beleeve, by this time saddling of thy horses to get away earely, and go out to see my Mistresse, I request thee as soone as thou shall see her, to salute her in my behalfe, but beware that when thou lookest on her, and dost greet her, that thou doe not kisse her on the face, for if thou dost, I wil become more jealous of thee, then ever thou wast of the swift ingrate, which made thee to run and sweat so much through the plaines of Thessalia, or the brinks of Peneo, for I have forgotten through which of them thou rannest so jealous and inamored. To this point arrived Don-Quixote, when the Inkeepers daughter began to cal him softly unto her and say; Sir Knight, approach a little hitherward if you please. At which voice Don-Quixote turned his head, and saw by the light of the Moone which shined then very clearely, that he was called too from the hole, which he accounted to be a faire window ful of yron barres, and those costly gylded with gold, wel befitting so rich a Castle as he imagined that Inne to be, and presently in a moment he forged to his own fancie, that once againe as shee had done be^re, the beautifull Damzell daughter to the Ladie of that Castle, overcome by his love, aid retume to sollicite him : and with this thought, because he would not shew 199 THE FIUST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER himselfe discourteous and ungratefully he turned Rozinante XVI about, and came over to the hole, and then having beheld Wherin is the two wenches hee said : I take pitie on you beautif ull racounted the Lady, that you have placed your amorous thoughts in a ^eL^key P^*^ whence it is not possible to have any correspondence with other answerable to the desert of your high worth and beauty, strange whereof you are in no sort to condemne this miserable adventures Knight Errant, whom Love hath wholy disabled to sur- befidne in render his will to be any other then to her, whom at the first sight he made absolute mistresse of his soule. Pardon me therefore, good Ladie, and retire your selfe to your chamber, and make me not, by any further insinuation of your desires, more unthankefull and discourteous then I would be : and if through the love that you beare me, you finde in me any other thing wherewithal! I may serve and pleasure you, so that it bee not love it selfe, demaund it Doldly, for I do swear unto you by mine absent yet sweetest enemy, to bestow it upon you incontinently, yea though it be a loke of Medusas haires, which are all of Snakes, or the venr Sunne beames inclosed in a violl ofglasse. My Ladie needs none of those things Sir Anight answered Mantomes : What doth shee then want, discreet Matron P quoth Don-Quixote; only one of your faire hands, said Maritomes, that therewithall shee may disburden her selfe of some part of those violent desires, which compelled her to come to this window, with so great danger of her honour : for if her Lord and Father knew of her comming, the least slice he would take off her, should bee at the least an eare. I would faine once see that, quoth Don-Quixote, but I am sure he will beware how hee doe it, if he have no list to make the most disastrous end that ever father made in this world, for having laied violent hands on the delicate limmes of his amorous aaughter. Maritomes verily perswaded her selfe, that Don-Quixote would give up his hand as he was requested ; and having already contrived in her mind what she would do, descended with all haste from the hole, and going into the Stable, fetched out Sancho Pan9as his Asses halt^, and returned againe with very great speed, iust as Don -Quixote (standing up on Roadnantes saadle that he aoo IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE might the better reach the barred windowes, whereat hee CHAPTER imagined the wounded Damzel remained) did, stretching ^^ up his hand, say unto her. Hold Lady the hand, or as I Wherin is may better say, the executioner of earthly miscreants : hold, rej^unted the I say, that hand, which no other woman ever touched before, ^^ L^key not even shee her selfe that hath intyre possession of my with other ' whole body, nor doe I give it to you, to the end you should strange kisse it ; but that you may behold the contexture of the ff Yf,^^!** sinnewes, the knitting of the muscles, and the spaciositie ^?]^^ and breadth of the veines, whereby you may collect, how great ought the force of that arme to be whereunto such a hand is knit. We shall see that presently, quoth Mari- tomes, and then making a running knot on ihe halter, shee cast it on the wrest of his hand, and then descending from the hole, shee tyed the other end of the halter very fast to the locke of the bame dore. Don-Quixote feeling the roughnesse of the halter about his wrest, said: It rather seemes that you grate my hand, then that you cherish it : but yet I pray you, not to handle it so roughly, seeing it is in no fault of the evill which my will doth unto you : nor is it comly that you should revenge or disburden the whole bulke of your indignation on so small a part: remember that those which love well, doe not take so cruell revenge. But no body gave eare to these words of Don-Quixote : lor as soone as Maritomes had tyed him, she and the other almost burst for laughter, ranne away, and left him tyed in such manner, as it was impossible for him to loose him- selfe. He stood, as we have recounted, on Rozinante his saddle, having all his arme thrust in at the hole, and fastned by the wrist to the locke, and was in very great doubt and feare, that if Rozinante budged never so little on any side hee should fall and hang by the arme; and therefore he durst not once use the least motion of the world, although he might well have expected from Rozinantes patience, and milde spirit, that if he were suffered, he would stand still a whole age without stirring himselfe. In fine, Don-Quixote seeing himselfe tyed, and that the Ladies were departed, began straight to imagine that all that had beene done by way of 2 : CC SOI CHAPTER XVI Wherinis recounted the History of the Lackey, with other strange adventures befidne in thelnne. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. inchauntment, as the last time, when in the very same Castle the inchanted Moore (the Carrier) had so fairely belaboured him: and then to himselfe did he execrate his owne want of discretion and discourse, seeing that having escaped out of that castle so evill dight the first time, hee would after adventure to enter into it the second : for it was generally observed by Knights Errant, that when they had once tried an adventure, and could not finish it, it was a token that it was not reserved for them, but for some other ; and there- fore would never prove it a^aine. Yet for all this he drew forward his arme, to see if ne might deliver himselfe ; but he was so well bound, as all his indeavours proved vaine. It is true,that he drew it very warily, lest Rozmante should stirre: and although he would faine have set, and settled himself in the sadole, yet could he doe no other but stand, or leave the arme behind. There was many a wish for Amadis his sword, against which no inchantment whatso- ever could prevaile : there succeeded the malediction of his fates ; there the exaggerating of the want that the world should have of his presence, all the while hee abode in- chaunted (as hee inndlibly beleeved hee was) in that place. There he anew remembred his beloved Lady, Dulcinea of Toboso : There did hee call oft enough on his good Squire Sancho Pan9a, who intombed in the bowels of sleepe, and stretched along on the pannell of his Asse, did dreame, at that instant, but little of the mother that bore him. There he invoked the wise men, Lirgandeo and Alquife, to helpe him : and finally, the morning did also there overtake him, so full of despaire and confusion, as hee roared like a Bull ; for he had no hope that by day light any cure could be found for his care, which he deemed would be everlasting, because he fully accounted himselfe inchaunted; and was the more induced to thinke so, because he saw that Rozi- nante did not move little nor much : and therefore he sup- posed, that both he and his horse should abide in that state without eating, drinking, or sleeping, untill that either the malignant influence of the Starres were passed, or some greater Inchanter had disenchaunted him. But he deceived himselfe much in his beleefe : for scarce S02 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE did the day begin to peepe, when there arrived foure horse- CHAPTER men to the Inne dore, very well appointed, and having XVI their snaphaunces hanging at the pomell of their saddles, Wherin is they called at the Inne dore (which yet stood shut) and J|founted the knocked very hard ; which being perceived by Don-Quixote ^^ i^kev from the place where he stood Centinell, he said with a very with other lowd and arrogant voice. Knights or Squires, or whatsoever strange else ye bee, you are not to knocke any more at the gates of ff y^,^*"r^ that Castle, seeing it is evident, that at such houres as this, ^I j ^ ^ either they which are within, doe repose them, or else are not wont to open Fortresses untill Phoebus hath spread his beames over the earth: therefore stand backe, and expect till it bee cleare day, and then we will see whether it be just or no, that they open their gates unto you. What a Divell, what Castle or Fortresse is this, quoth one of them, that it should bind us to use all those circumstances? if thou beest the Inkeeper, command that the dore be opened ; for we are travailers, that will tarry no longer then to bait our horses, and away, for we ride in post hast. Doth it seeme to you, Grentlemen, quoth Don-Quixote, that I looke like an Inne-keeperP I know not what thou lookest like, answered the other, but well I know that thou speakest madly, in calling this Inne a Castle. It is a Castle, replyed Don-Quixote, yea and that one of the best in this Province, and it hath people within it which have had a Scepter in hand, and a crown on their head : It were better said quite contrarie, replyed the traveller, the Scepter on the head, and the Crowne m the hand. But perhaps (and so it may well be) there is some company of Players within, who doe very usually hold the Scepters, and weare those crownes whereof thou talkest : for in such a paultry Inne as this is, and where I heare so little noise, I cannot beleeve any one to be lodged, worthy to weare a crowne, or beare a scepter. Thou knowest but little of the world, replied Don-Quixote, seeing thou dost so much ignore the chances that are wont to befall in Chivalry. The fellowes of him that entertained this prolixe dialogue with Don-Quixote, waxed weary to heare them speak idlely so long together, and therfore turned again to knocke with great fury at the doore, and that in such SOS ■drenturM be&Inein the Inns. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ue. CHAPTER Boit, as tbev not onlj waked the Inkeeper, but also all the XVI guests : ana so he arose to demaund their pleasure. Wherinis In the meane while it hapned, that one of the hones "?^^*«** *''" whereon they rode, drew neere to smell Bozinante, that irfv^i.'L melancholy and sadly with his eares cast downe, did sus- tayne without moving bis out-stretched Lord : and he beinff indeed of desh and bloud, although bee resembled a blocite of wood, could not choose but feele it, and tume to smell him againe, who had thus come to cherish and enter- taine him : and scarce had he stirred but a thought from thence, when Don-Quixotes feete, that were joyned, slipt asunder, and tumbling irom the saddle, had doubtlesly fahie to the ground, had he not remayned hanging by the arme : a thing that caused him to indure so much paine, as he verily oeleeved that either his wrist was a cutting, or his arme a tearing off from his body : and he bung so neare to the ground, as he touched it with the tops of his toes ; all which turned to his prejudice; for having felt the little which he wanted to the setting of his fee^ wholly on the earth, hee laboured and drew ^ that he might to reach it ; much like unto those that get the Strapado, with the condi- tion to touch or not to touch ; who are themselves a cause to increase their owne torture, by the earaestnesse wherewith they stretch themselves ; deceived by the hope they have to touch the ground if they can stretch themselves but a little further. IT] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE CHAPTER XVII Wherin are prosecuted the wonderfull adven- tures of the Inne. many were the outciyea wliich Don-Quixote mftde, u the Inne-keeper opened the dore very hastily and affrighted, to see who it was that so roared : and those that stood without did also the same. Maritomes, whom the cryes had also awaked, imagin- ing straight what it might he, went into the bame, and un perceived of any, loosed the halter that sustained Don-Quixote, and forthwith hee fell to the ground in the presence of the Inkeeper and the travellers ; who comming towardes him, demaunded the occasion why he did so unmeasurably roare? he without making any answere, tooke off the halter from his wrest, and getting up, he leaped upon Rozinante, imbraced his target, set his launce into the wrest, and wheeling about a good part of the field, returned with a halfe gallop, saying: whosoever shall dare to affirme that I have not beene with just title inchaunted : if my I^ady the Princesse Micomicona will give me leave to doe it, I say that he lies, and I doe presently challenge him to single combat. The new travailers were amazed at Don-Quixotes words, but the Host removed that wonder by informing them what hee was, and that they should make no account of his words, for the man was bereft of his wits : then they demanded of the Inkeeper, if there had arrived to his Inne, a young Stripling of some fifteene yeeres old or thereabouts, apparelled like a horsebov, and having such and such markes and tokens : and tnen gave the very signes of Donna Claras lover. The Host made answer that there were so many people in his Inne as hee had taken no notice of him for whom they demaunded. But one of them having seene 205 CHAPTER XVII Wherin are prosecuted the wonder- full adven- tures of the Inne. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. the Coach wherein the ludge came, said : questionlesly he must be here, for this is the Coach that they say, he hath followed: let therefore one of us remayne at the dore, and the rest enter to seeke him out. Yea and it will not be from the purpose, if one of us ride about without the Inne, lest he should make an escape from us by the wals of the yard. We will doe so, said another of them, and thus two of them entred into the house, one staied at the dore, and the other did compasse the Inne about. The In- keeper beheld all, but coula never judee aright the reason why they used all this diligence, although he easily beleeved that they sought for the youth whose markes they had told unto him. By this the day was growen deere, and as well by reason thereof, as through the outcries of Don -Quixote, all the strangers were awake, and did get up, especially both the Ladies Clara and Dorotea: for the one, through feare to have her lover so neere, and the other with desire to see him, could sleepe but very little all that night. Don- Quixote perceiving that none of the foure travellers made any account of him, or answered his challenge, was ready to burst with wrath and despite : and if he could any wise have found that it was tollerated by the statutes of Chivalry, that a Enieht Errant miffht have lawfully undertaken any enter- prize, having pUffhtfed] his word and faith, not to attempt any, until he nad finished that which he had first promised, he would have assailed them all, and made them maugre their teeth to have answered him. But because it seemed to him not so expedient nor honourable, to begin any new adventure, untill he had installed Micomicona in her King- dome, he was forced to be quiet, expecting to see wher- unto the indeavours and diligence of those foure travellers tended : the one whereof found out the youth that hee searched, asleepe by another Lackey, little dreaming that any bodie did looke for him ; and much lesse would finde him out thus. The man drew him by the arme, and said, truely, Don Lewis, the habit that you weare £uiswers very well your calling, and the bedde whereon you lie, the care and tendemesse wherewith your mother did nurse you: S06 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE the youth hereat rubM his drowsie eyes, and beheld very CHAPTER leisurely him that did hold him fast, and knew him forth- ^^H with to be one of his fathers servants ; wherat he was so Wherin are amazed as he could not speake a word for a great while : prosecuted and the Sendngman continuing his speech, said. Here fuU Idven^" is nothing else to be done, Lord Lewis, but that you be tures of the patient and depart againe with us towards home, if you Inne. be not pleased to have your father and my Lord depart out of this world to the other, for no lesse may be expected from the woe wherein he rests for your abisence. Why, how did my father know, said Don Liewis, that I came this way, and m this habit ? A Student, answered the other, to whom you bewrayed your intention, did discover it, moved through the compassion he tooke to heare your fathers lamentations when he found you missing: and so he dispatcht foure of his men in your search, and we are all at your service, more joyfull then may be imagined, for the good dispatch wherewithall we shall retume, and carie you to his sight, which doth love you so much. That shall be as I please, or heaven will dispose, said Don Lewis. What would you please, or what should heaven dispose of other, then that you agree to retume; for certainly you shall not do the contrary, nor is it possible you should P All these reasons that passed betweene them both, did the Lackey that lay by Don Lewis here, and arising from thence, he went and told all that passed to Don Fernando, Cardenio, and all the rest that were gotten up. To whom he tolde how the man gave the title of Don to the boy, and recounted the speech he used, and how he would have him retume to his fathers house : which the youth refused to doe. Whereupon, and knowing already what a good voyce the heavens had given him, they greatly desired to be more particularly informed what he was : and intended also to helpe him, if any violence were offered unto him, and therefore went unto the place where he was, and stood contending with his servant. Dorotea issued by this out of her chamber, and in her companie Donna Clara, all perplexed. Dorotea calling Cardenio aside, told unto him succinctly all the historie 807 CHAPTER XVII Wherin are prosecuted the wonder- fiill adven- tures of the Inne. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. of the Musitian, and Donna Clara: and he rehearsed to her againe all that passed of the Servingmens arrival that came in his pursuit, 'which he did not speake so low, but that Donna Clara over-heard him, whereat she indured such alteration, as she had falne to the ground, if Dorotea running towards her, had not held her up. Cardenio in- treated Dorotea to returne with the other to her chamber, and he would endeavour to bring the matter to some good passe, which they presently performed. The foure that were come in Don Lewis his search were by this all of them entred into the Inne, and had compassed him about, perswading him that he would, cutting off all delayes, returne to comfort his father. He answered that he could not doe it in any sort, untill he had finished an adventure, which imported him no lesse then his life, his honour, and his soule. The servants urged him then saying, that they would in no sort goe backe without him, and therefore would Carrie him home, whether he would or no. That shall not you doe, quoth Don Lewis, if it be not that you carrie me home dead: and in this season all the other Grentlemen were come into the contention, but chiefly Cardenio, Don Fernando and his Comaradas, the ludge, the Curate, and the Barber, and Don-Quixote; for now it seemed to him needlesse to guard the Castle any more. Cardenio, who knew already the History of the Youth, demaunded of those that would carie him away, what reason did move them to seeke to take that Ladde away against his will ? We are moved unto it, answered one of them, by this reason that we shall therby save his fathers life, who for the absence of this Grentleman is in danger to loose it. To this said Don Lewis, it is to no end to make relation of mine affaires here. I am free, and will returne if I please : and if not, no one shall constraine me to doe it perforce. Reason shall constraine you good Sir to doe it, QUoth the man, and when that cannot prevaile with you, it snail with us, to put that in execution for which we be come, and which [wej are bound to doe. Let us know this affaire from the beginning, said the ludge then to those men : Sir, quoth one of them, who knew him very well, as 808 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE his Masters next neighbour : Master lustice, doth not your CHAPTER worship know this Grentleman, who is your neighbours sonne, XVII and hath absented himselfe from his fathers house in an Wherinare habite so undecent and discrepant from his calling, as you prosecuted may perceive ? The ludge beheld him then somewhat more ?*?, TJ^^®*^" attentively, knew him, and imbracing of him, said. What ^^^^ ^^^^ toyes are these, Don Lewis, or what cause hath beene of inne. efncacie sufficient to move you to come away in this manner and attyre, which answers your calling so ill ? The teares stucke then in the«young Grentlemans eyes, and hee could not answere a word to the ludge, who bade the foure Servingmen appease themselves, for all things should bee done to their satisfaction, and then taking Don Lewis apart, hee intreated him to tell him the occasion of that his departure. Ana whilest hee made this £uid other demaunds to the Grentleman, they heard a great noise at the Inne doore; the cause whereof was, that two guests which had line there that night, seeing all the people busied to leame the cause of the foure horsemens comming, had thought to have made an escape soot-free, without defraying their ex- pences: but the Inkeeper who attended his owne affiures with more diligence then other mens did stay them at their going forth, and demaunded his money, upbraiding their dishonest resolution with such words, as moved them to retume him an answere with their fists, which they did so roundly, as the poore Host was compelled to raise the crie, and demaund succour. The Hostesse and her daughter could see no man so free from occupation as Don-Quixote, to whom the daughter said, I request you, Sir Knight, by the vertue that God hath given you to succour my poore father, whom two badde men are grinding like come. To this Don-Quixote answered very leisurely, and with great gravitie; BeautifuU damzell, your petition cannot prevaile at this time, for as much as I am hmdred from undertaking any other 6ulventure, untill I have finished one wherein my promise hath ingaged me ; and all that I can now doe in your Service, is, that which I shall say now unto you : run unto your father, and bid him continue and maintaine his S:DD a09 CHAPTER XVII Wherin are prosecuted the wonder- full adven- tures of the Inne. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. conflict manfully, the best that hee may, untill I demaund license of the Princesse Micomicona, to helpe him out of his distresse; for if she will give it unto me, you may make ful account that hee is delivered. Sinner that I am (quoth Maritomes, who was by and heard what he said) before you shall be able to obtaine that license, of which you speake, my Master will be departed to the other world. Worke you so. Lady, quoth Don-Quixote, that I may have the licence ; for so that I may have it, it will make no great matter, whether he bee in the other world or no : for even from thence would I bring him backe againe, in despight of the other world it selfe, if it durst contradict me: or at least wise I will take such a revenge of those that doe send him to the other world, as you shall remaine more then meanely contented : and so without replying any more, he went, and fell on his knees before Dorotea, demanding of her in Ejiiffhtly and errant Phrases, that she would deime to licence him to goe and succour the Constable of that Castle, who was then plunged in a deepe distresse : The Princesse did grknt him leave very willingly, and he pre- sently buckling on his Target, and laying hands on his Sword, ranne to the Inne dore, where yet the two guests stood handsomly tugging the Inkeeper. But as soone as he arrived, he stopt and stood still, although Maritomes and the Hostesse demaunded of him twice or thrice the cause of his restinesse, in not assisting her Lord and husband. I stay, quoth Don-Quixote, because according to the lawes of armes, it is not permitted to me to lay hand to my Sword against Squire-like men that are not dubbed Knights. But call to me here my Squire Sancho, for this defence and revenge conoemes him, as his duety. This passed at the Inne dore, where fists and blowes were interchangeably given and taken in the best sort, although to the Inkeepers cost, and to the rage and griefe of Maritomes, the Hostesse and her daughter, who were like to runne wood, beholding Don-Quixotes cowardise, and the mischiefe their Master, husband, and father endured. But here let us leave them ; for there shall not want one to succour him, or if not, let him su£Per; and all those that wittingly undertake things ftlO IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE beyond their power and force : and let us tume backward to CHAPTER heare that wmch Don-Lewis answered the ludge, whom we XVII left somewhat apart with him, demaunding the cause of his Wherin are comming a foot, and in so base array : to which the Youth Prosecuted wringing him hard by the hands, as an argument that some SuXen-'" extraordinary griefe pinched his heart, and shedding many turesof the teares, answered in this manner. Inne. I know not what else I may tell you deere Sir, but that from the instant that heaven made us neighbours, and that I saw Donna Clara, your daughter and my Ladie, I made her commaundresse of my will ; and if yours, my true Lord and Father, doe not hinder it, she snail be my Spouse this very day. For her sake have I abandoned my Fathers house, and for her I did on this attire, to follow her wheresoever she went, as the arrow doth the marke, or the marriner the north starre; she is, as yet, no further acquainted with my desires, then as much as she might understand some times, by the teares which she saw mme eyes distill a farre off. Now Sir, you know the riches and nobilitie of my discent, and how I am my fathers sole heire, and if it seeme unto you that these be conditions, whereupon you may venture to make mee throughly happy, accept of me presently for your sonne in law : for if my father, borne away by others his designes, shall not like so well of this good which I have sought out for niy selfe, yet time hath more force to undoe, and change the affaires, then mens wils : heere the amorous Gentleman held his peace, and the ludge remained astonied as well at the grace and discretion wherewith Don Lewis had discovered his affections unto him, as also to see himselfe in such a passe, that as he knew not what course he might best take in so sodaine, and unexpected a matter : and therefore hee answered no other thing at that time, but onely badde him to settle his minde, and entertaine the time with his servants, and deale with them, to expect that day, because he might have leasure to consider what might be most convenient for all. Don Lewis did kisse his hands perforce, and did bathe them with teares, a thing able to moove a heart of Marble, and much more the ludges, who (as a wise man) did presently perceive, «11 CHAPTER XVII Wherinare prosecuted the wonder- full adven- ture! of the Inne. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. how benefidall and honourable was that preferment for his daughter : although hee could have wished, if it had beene possible to effect it with the consent of Don Lewis his Father, who he knew did purpose to have his sonne made a Noble man of Title. By this time, the Inkeeper and his guests had aereed, having paid him all that they ought more by Don-Quixotes perswasion, and good reasons, then by any menaces. And Don Lewis his servants expected the end of the ludges discourse, and his resolution: when the divel (who never sleeps) would have it, at that very time entred into the Inne, the Barber from whom Don-Quixote tooke away the Helmet of Mambrino, and Sancho Panca the furniture of the Asse, wherof he made an exchange for his owne : which Barber leading his Beast to the stable, saw Sancho Panfa, who was menmng some part of the pannell : and as soone as he had eyed him, he knew him, and presently set upon Sancho, sajdng ; A Sir Theefe have I found you heere with all the furniture, whereof you robd mee ? Sancho that saw himselfe thus assaulted unexpectedly, and had heard the disgraceful termes which the other used, laying fast hold on the pannell with the one hand, gave the Barber such a buffet with the other, as he bathed all his teeth in bloud : but yet for all that, the Barber held fast his gripe of the pannell, and therewithall cried out so loud, as all those that were in the house came to the noyse, and conflict, and he said, I call for the King and lustioe, for this theefe and robber by the high w€Lies goeth about to kill me, because I seeke to recover mine owne goods. Thou liest, quoth Sancho, for I am not a robber by the hi^h waies ; for my Lord Don-Quixote wonne those spoyles m a good warre. By this time Don-Quixote himselfe was come thither, not a little proud to see how well his Sauire defended himselfe, and offended his adversary, and tnerefore hee accounted him from thenceforth to be a, man of valour, and purposed in his minde to dubbe him Knight, on the first occasion that should be offered, because hee thought that the Order of Elnighthood would be well imployed by him. Among other things that the Barber said in the dis- 812 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE course of his contention, this was one: Sirs, this pannell CHAPTER, is as certainly mine, as the death which I owe unto God, XWll and I know it as well as if I had bred it, and there is my ^Vlierin are Asse in the Stable, who will not permit me to tell a lie : or ST^"**^^^ otherwise do but trie the pannell on him, and if it fit him fufi^ye^ not justly, I am content to remaine infamous: and I can turesofthe say more, that the very day wherein they tooke my pannell Inne. from mee, they robbed mee likewise of a new brazen Baseu, which was never used, and cost mee a crowne. Here Don- Quixote could no longer containe himselfe from speaking, and so thrusting himselfe betweene them two, and putting them asunder, and causing the pannell to be laid publikely on the ground, untill the truth were decided, he said ; To the end that you may perceive the cleere and manifest error, wherein this good Squire lives, see how hee cals that a basen, which is, was, and shall bee the Helmet of Mambrino, which I tooke away perforce from him in faire warre, and made my selfe Lord therof, in a lawfiill and warlike manner. Alxiut the pannell I will not contend, for that which I can say therein is, that my Squire Sancho demaunded leave of me, to take away the furniture of this vanquished cowards horse, that he miffht adome his own withall : I gave him authoritie to doe it, and he tooke them : and for his con- verting thereof from a Horses furniture into a pannell, I can give none other reason then the ordinarie one, to wit, that such transformations are usually seene in the successes of chivalry : for confirmation whereof, friend Sancho, runne speedily, and bring mee out the helmet, which this good man avoucheth to be a basen: by my faith Sir, quoth Sancho, if we have no better proofe of our intention, then that which you say, I say that the helmet of Mambrino, is as arrant a l)ason, as this TOodmans furniture is a pannell. Doe what I commaund, said Don-Quixote : I cannot beleeve that all the things in this Castle will be guided by enchant- ment. Sancho went for the basen, and broueht it : and as soone as Don-Quixote saw it, he tooke it in his hands and said: See Sirs, with what face can this impudent Squire aflirme, that this is a basen, and not the nelmet that I have mentioned : and I sweare to you all by the order of 21S THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER Knighthood which I professe, that this is the veir same ^^n helmet whidi I wonne from him, without having added or Wherin tn taken any thing from it That it is questioolesse, quoth ^owcutod Sancho : for since the time that my Lord wonne it until! fiiUadven-' °°^* ^^ never fought but one battell with it, when he tnrMoftlie delivered the unlucky chained men; and but for thb Inne. Basen-Helmet, he had not escaped so free as hee did, so thicke a showre of stones rained all the time of that conflict. CHAPTER XVIII Wherdn are decided the controverses of the Helmet of Mambrinus, and of the pan- nell, with other strange and most true adventures. nIOOD Sirs quoth the Barber, what do vou '' thinke of that which is affirmed by these Gentlemen, who yet contend that this is not a basen, but a helmet? He that shall say the contrary, quoth Don- Quixote, I will make him know that hee lies, if he be a Knight; and if he be but a Squire, that he lies and lies ogaine a thousand times. Our Barber, who was also present as one that knew Don-Quixotes humour very wel, would fortifie his folly, and make the jest passe yet a little farther, to the end that they all mignt laugh : and therefore speaking to the other Barher, he said. Sir Barber, or what else you please, know that I am also of your occupation, and have nad my writ of examination and approbation in that trade more then these thirty yeares, and am one that knowes very well all the Instruments of Barbery whatsoever ; and have beene besides in my youthful! daies, a souldier, and doe 814 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE therefore likewies know what is a helmet, and what a mor- CHAPTER rion, and what a close Castle, and other things touching XVIII warfare, I meane, all the kind of armes that a souldier MHierin ought to have : and therefore I say, (still submitting my *f ® decided selfe to the better opinion) that this peece, which is laid verei'^S^e heere before us, and which this good Knight holdes in his Helmet of hand, not onely is not ^ Barbars basan, but also is so farre Mambrinus, from being one, as is white fit)m blacke, or veritie from *°^ ®^,^®. , untruth, yet doe I withall affirme, that although it is an E su^ helmet, ^et it is not a compleate helmet. No truly, quoth hq^ mwt^iie Don-Quixote, for it wants the halfe, to wit, the neather part, adventures, and the beaver. It is very true, quoth the Curate, who very well understood his friend the Barber his intention ; and the same did Cardenio, Don Fernando, and his fellowes confirme : yea and even the ludge himselfe, had not Don Lewis his affaire perplexed his thoughts, would for his part have holpen the lest well forward. But the eamestnesse of that affaire held his minde so busied, as he little or nothing attended the pastime. Lord have mercy upon me, quoth the other Barber, then halfe beside himselfe, and is it pos- sible that so many Honourable men should say that this is no bason, but a helmet ? this is a thing able to strike admiration into a whole Vniversitie, how cnscreet soever it were : tis enough, if this basen must needes be a helmet, the pannell must also bee a horses Furniture, as this Grentle- man sayes. To mee it seemes a pannell, quoth Don-Quixote, but as I have said, I will not meddle with it, nor deter- mine whether it be a pannell or the capparison of a horse. Therein is nothing else to be done, said the Curate, but that Sir Don-Quixote say it once ; for in these matters of Chivalrie, all these Noblemen, and my selfe, doe give unto him the pricke, and the price. I sweare unto you by love, good Sirs, quoth Don-Quixote, that so many and so strange are the things which have befallen me in tiiis Castle, these two times that I have lodged therein, as I dare avouch nothing affirmatively of any thing that shall be demaunded of me concerning the things contayned in it, for I doe in&llibly imagine, that all the adventures which passe in it, are guided by inchauntment : the first time, I was very much 816 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["«. CHAPTER vexed by an inchaunted Moore, that ia in it : and Sancho 3^111 himaelfe sped not very well with the Mooree followeiB : and WleriD yesternight I stood haneing almost two houres apace by this ur* decided arme, without knowing now, or how that disgrace befell me ; vudMofthe '° ^B,t for me to medle now in so confused and difficult Helmet of ^ matter, aa to deliver mine opinion, were to passe a rash Hambiinusj judgement: So that they which say that this is a bason, ind of the and no helmet, I have already made answere ; but whether oQiH (tamnoe ^^'* ^'^^ * pannell, or furniture, I dare pronounce no defini- Bodmocttrue ^^^ sentence, but only remit it to your discreet opinions: adventures, perhaps, because you are not dubbra Knights as I am, the mcfaauntments of this place will have no power over you, and your understandings snail be free, and able to judge of the things in this Castle really, and truly, and not as uey seem unto me. Doubtlesse, quoth Don Fernando, Don-Quixote saies very well, that the definition of this case belongs unto us; and therefore, and because wee may proceede in it upon the better and more solid grounds, I will secretly take the suffrages of all those Gentlemen, and afterwards make a cleare and full relation of what shall come of them. To those that knew Don-Quixote his humour, this was a matter of marvailous laughter, and sport ; but to such as were not acquainted therewithal!, it seemed the greatest folly of the World, especially to Don Lewis, and bis foure servants, and with other three passengers that had arrived by chance to the Inne, and seemed to be troupers of the holy Brotherhood, as indeede they were : but he that was most of all beside himselfe for wrath, was the Barber, whose basen th^ had transformed before his owne face into the helmet of Mambrino, and whose pannell he made full account should likewise be turned into the rich furniture, and eqiupage of a great horse. All of them laughed hartily, to see Don Fernando goe up and downe, taking the suffrages of this man and that, and rounding eveiy one of them in the care, that thev might declare in secret whether that was a pannell or a furniture, for which such deadly conten- tion had passed. After that bee had taken the suffragea of so many as knew Don-Quixote, he said very lowdly, 'Hie truth is, good fellow, that I grow weary of demaunding so S16 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE many opinions ; for I can no sooner demaund of any man CHAPTER what I desire to know, but they forthwith answere me, XVIII how it is meere madnesse to affirme, that this is the pannell Wherein of an Asse, but rather the furniture of a Horse, yea and of ?f® ^^^^ a chiefs horse of service ; and therefore you must have ver8i«rof the patience : for in despite both of you and of your Asse, and Helmet of notwithstanding your weake allegations and worse prooves, Mambrinus, it is, and will continue the furniture of a great horse. Let *°^ of the me never injoy a place in heaven, quoth the Barber, if you oSw^atoanw all be not deceived; and so may my soule appeare before and most true Grod, as it appeares to mee to be a pannell, and no horse- adventures, furniture : but the law carries it away, and so fare well it : and vet surely I am not drunke ; for unlesse it be by sinning, my last hath not beene broken this day. The follies which the Barber uttered, stirred no lesse laughter among them, then did the rorings of Don-Quixote, who then spoke in this manner : here is now no more to be done, but that every man take up his owne goods, and to whom Grod hath given them, let S! Peter give his blessing. Then said one of the foure Servingmen, if this were not a jest premeditated, and made of purpose, I could not per- swade my selfe, that men of so good understanding as al these are, or seeme to be, should dare to say, and affirme, that this is not a basen, nor that a pannell : but seeing that they averre it so constantly, I have cause to suspect, that it cannot bee without mystery to affirme a thing so contrary to that which very truth it selfe and experience demonstrate unto us : for I doe vow (and saying so he rapt out a round oath or two) that as many as are in the world, should never make me beleeve that this is no basen, nor that no pannell of a hee Asse : it might as well bee of a shee Asse, quoth the Curate : that comes all but to one, replied the other ; for the question consists not therein, but whether it be a pannell or not, as you doe avouch ? Then one of the Troupers of the holy Brotherhood (who had listned to their disputation, and was growne full of choler to heare such an errour maintayned) said : it is as very a pannell, as my father is my father ; and hee that hath said, or shall say the con- trary, is, I beleeve, turned into a grape. Thou lyest like 8 : EE 817 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAPTER a clownish knave, quoth Don-Quixote, and lifting up his ^^^11 lavelin, which he alwayes held in his hand, hee discharged Wherein such a blow at the Troupers pate, as if hee had not avoiaed, are decided j^ would have throwen him to the ground: the laveline ^raies^oftiie ^^ broken by the force of the fall into splinters ; and the Helmet of other Troupers, seeing their fellow so misused, cried out for Mambrinus^ helpe, and assistance for that holy Brotherhood: the In- and of the keeper, who also was one of the same fraternity, ranne in and most^^ ^^^ fellowes. Don Lewis his foure servants compassed him adventores. about, lest he should attempt to escape whilst the tumult indured. The Barber seeing all the house turned upside- downe, laid hand againe upon his pannell, and the same did Sancho. Don-Quixote set hand to his Sword, and assaulted the Troupers : Don Lewis cryed to his Servingmen, that they should leave him, and goe to helpe Don-Quixote, Cardenio, and Don Fernando ; for all of them tooke Don-Quixotes Sart. The Curate cryed out, the Hostesse shrieked, her aughter squeaked, Maritomes howled, Dorotea stood con- fused, Luscinda amazed, and Donna Clara dismayed : the Barber battered Sancho, and Sancho pounded him againe. Don Lewis, on whom one of his Servingmen had presumed to lay hands, and hold him by the arme, gave him such a pash on the mouth, as hee broke his teetn, and then the ludge tooke him into his owne protection. Don Fernando had gotten one of the Troupers under his feete, where he stood belabouring him at his pleasure. The Inkeeper re- newed his outcry, and reinforced his voice, demaunding aide for the holy Brotherhood: So that all the Inne seemed nothing else but plaints, cryes, schritches, confusions, feares, dreades, disgraces, slashes, buffets, blowes, spumings, and effusion of bloud. In the midst of this Chaos, and Labyrinth of things, Don- Quixote beganne to imagine, and fancie to himselfe, that he was at that very time plunged up to the eares in the discord, and conflict of Kmg Agramante his camp; and therefore he said with a voice that made all the Inne to tremble. All of you hold your hands, all of you put up 218 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE your swords, all of you be quiet, and listen to mee if any CHAPTER of you desire to continue alive : That great and monstrous XVIII voice made them all stand still : thereupon he thus pro- Wherein ceeded ; did not I tell you, Sirs, that this Castle was in- Jf ® decided chaunted, and that some legion of Divels did inhabit it? ver8i(M°of the in confirmation whereof I would have you but to note with Helmet of your owne eyes, how the very discord of King Agramants Mambrinus, camp is transferred hither, and passed ever among us: '"^^^^f^® looke how there they fight for the sword, here for the JSIS-^^^ horse, yonder for the Ea^le, beyond for the helmet ; and and mo^^Le all of us fight, and none of us know for what. Come there- adventures, fore you Master lustice, and you Master Curate, and let the one represent King Agramant, and the other King Sobrino, and make peace and atonement among us : for I sweare by almighty love, that it is great wrong and pitty, that so many Noblemen, as we are here, should be slaine for so slight causes. The Troupers, which did not understand Don-Quixotes manner of speech, and saw themselves very ill handled by Don Femanao and Cardenio, would in no wise be pacified ; But the Barber was content, by reason that in the conflict both his beard and his pannell had beene tome in pieces. Sancho to his Masters voyce was quickly obedient, as became a dutifull servant. Don Lewis his foure Servingmen stood also quiet, seeing how litle was gained in being other: onely the Inkeeper persisted as before, afiirming that punish- ment was due unto the insolencies of that mad man, who every foot confounded and disquieted his Inne. Finally, the rumor was pacified for that time ; the pannell remained for a horse furniture untill the day of judgment ; the bason for a helmet, and the Inne for a Castle in Don- Quixotes imagination. All the broiles being now appeased, and all men accorded by the ludges and Curates perswa- sions ; Then began Don Lewis his servants againe to urge him to depart with them : and whilest he and they debated the matter together, the ludge communicated the whole to Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the Curate desiring to know their opinions concerning that affaire, and telling them all that Don Lewis had said unto him ; whereupon they agreed, 219 i • i I THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAPTER that Don Fernando should tell the Servingmen what he XVin himselfe was, and how it was his pleasure that Don Lewis Wherem should eoe with him to Andaluzia, where he should be are decided cherished, and accounted of by the Marquesse his brother, wsiM^of the fi^ccordinff unto his calling and deserts : for he knew well Don Helmet of Lewis his resolution to be such, as he would not retume Mambrinus^ into his fathers presence at that time, although they tore and of the jjim into pieces. Don Fernando his quality, and Don Lewis ^OT stan^ ^^^ intention beeing understood by the foure, they agreed ' and most true ftmong themselves, that three of them should eoe backe, to adventures, beare the tidines of all that had passed to his father, and the other should abide there to attend on him, and never to > leave him untill they returned to fetch him home, or knew what else his father would commaund. And in this sort was that monstrous bulke of division and contention, reduced to some forme by the authoritie of Agramant, and the wise- « dome of King Sobrino. But the enemy of concord, and the adversary of peace, finding his projects to be thus illuded, and condemnea, and I ' seeing the little fruite he had gotten by setting them all by i - the eares, resolved once againe to trie his wits, and stirre ! ' up new discords and troubles, which befell in this manner : The Troupers were quieted, having understood the calling of those with whom they had contended, and retyred them- selves from the brawle, knowing that howsoever the cause , succeeded, they themselves should have still the worst end of the staiFe: but one of them, who was the very same whom Don Fernando had buffeted so well, remembred, how among many other warrants which hee had to apprehend malefactors, he had one for Don-Quixote, whom the Holy brotherhood had commaunded to be apprehended for free- ing of the Gally-slaves (a disaster whicn Sancho had before hand with very great reason feared.) As soone as he re- membred it, hee would needes trie whether the signes that were given him of Don-Quixote, did agree with his person : and so taking out of his bosome a scroule of Parchment, hee presently found out that which he looked for ; and reading it a while very leisurely, as one that was himselfe no great Clerk, at every other word he looked on Don-Quixote, and «20 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE confronted the markes of his warrant with those of Don- CHAPTER Quixotes face, and found that he was infallibly the man XVIII that was therein mentioned : and scarce was he perswaded Wherein that it was hee, when folding up his parchment, and holding ^ decided the warrant in his left hand, he laid nolde on Don-Quixotes vereiw^oftiie choUer with the riffht so strongly, as he could hardly breath : Helmet of and cried out aloude, saying, Aide for the Holy Brotherhood : Mambrinus^ and that you may perceive how I am in good earnest, reade *^^ of the that warrant, wherein you shall finde, that this robber by the Pfj^^,^^ high way side is to be apprehended. The Curate tooke the and most true warrant, and perceived very well that the Trouper said true, adventurw. and that the markes agreed very neere with Don-Quixotes ; who seeing himselfe so abused by that base rascall, as he ac- counted him, his choler being mounted to her height, and all the bones of his body crashing for wrath, he seised as well as he could, with both his hands on the Troupers throate, and that in such sort, as if he had not beene speedily succoured by his fellowes, he had there left his life, ere Don- Quixote would have abandoned his gripe. The Inkeeper who of force was to assist his fellow in office, forthwith repayred unto his ayde. The Hostesse seeing her husband re-enter into contentions and brabbles, raysed a new cry, whose burden was borne by her daughter and Maritomes, asking succour of heaven and those that were present. Sancho seeing all that passed, said ; By the Lord, all that my Master hath said of the inchantments of this Castle is true ; for it is not possible for a man to live quietly in it one houre together. Don Fernando parted tne Trouper, and Don-Quixote, and with the good will of both, unrastned their holds : but yet the Troupers for all this desisted not to require their prisoner, and withall, that they should helpe to get him tyed, and absolutely rendred unto their wils; for so it was requisite for the King and the Holy Brotherhood, in whose name they did againe demand their helpe and assistance for the arresting of that publik robber and spoyler of people in common pathes and high wayes. Don-Quixote laughed to heare them speake so idlely, as he imagined, and siud with very great gravity, Come hither, %X1 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAPTER you filthie base extractions of the dunghill, dare you terme XVIII the loosing of the inchained, the freeing of prisoners, the Wherein assisting of the wretched, the raising of such as are falne, Me decided ^nj ^he supplying of those that are in want ? Dare you ▼eraiM^ofUie ^^ ^^^ terme these things robbing on the high way? O Helmet of infamous brood, worthy for your base and vile conceipt, Mambrinus^ that heaven should never communicate with you the vallour and of the included in the exercise of Chivalry, wee give you to under- oShOT stlranM ***°^ ^^^ sinne and errour whenn you arc, oy not ador- and mosV^ie ^^ ^^^ ^^^ shadow, how much more the assistance of a adventures. Knight errant ? Come hither O you that be no Troupers, but theeves in troupe, and robbers of high waves by permis- sion of the Holy brotherhood : Come hither I say, and tell me, who was that jolthead that did subscribe or ratifie a warrant for the attaching of such a knight as I am ? Who was he that knowes not how Knights errant are exempted from all Tribunals ? and how that their sword is the law, their valour the Bench, and their wils the statutes of their Courts ? I say againe, what madman was he that knowes not how that no priviledge of Glentry enjoyes so many preemi- nences, immunities, and exemptions, as that which a Knight errant acquires the day whereip he is dubd, and undertakes the rigorous exercise of armes ? What Knight errant did ever pay tribute, subsidie, tallage, carriage, or passage over water ? what Taylor ever had money for making nis clothes ? What Constable ever lodged him in Castle, that made him after to pay for the shot ? What King hath not placed him at his owne Table ? what Damzell hath not falne in love with him, and permitted him to use her as hee liked ? and finally, what Knieht errant was there ever, is, or ever shall be m the world, which hath not the courage himselfe alone to give foure hundred blowes with a cudgell to foure hundred troupers, that shall presume to stand before him in hostile manner P 822 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE CHAPTER XIX In which is finished the notable adventure of the troupers, and the great ferocitie of our good Knight Don-Quixote, and how he was inchanted. HILEST Don-Quixote «ud this, the Curate laboured to perswade the troupers, how the Knight wa^ distracted, as thev them- selves might collect by bis worlces and words, and therefore it would be to no end to prosecute their designe any further, seeing that although they did apprehend and cany him away, hee would oe pre- seotly delivered againe, as a madman. To this, he that bad the warrant made answer, that it concerned him not to determine whether be was mad or no, but onely to obey and execute his superiours commaund; and that he being once prisoner, the; might deliver him three hundred times, and if it were their good pleasure : for all that quoth the Curate, you may not carry him with you at this time nor, as I suppose will he sufier himselfe to be taken. To be briefe, the Curate said so much, and Don-Quixote plaid so many mad prankes, as the troupers themselves would have proved greater fooles then be, if they had not manifestly discerned his defect of judgement: and therefore they held it to be the best course to let him alone, yea and to be com- pounders of peace and amitie betweene Sancho Pan^ and the Barber, which still continued their most rancorous and deadly contention. Finally they as the officers of lustice, did mediate the cause, and were arbiters thereof id such sort, as both the parties remained, though not wholy con- tented, yet in some sort satisfied, for they onely made them exdunge their pannels, but not their gyrts or beadstals. ass CHAPTER XIX In wliich is finuhed the notable ad- vsnture of the troupen, tod thegreit ArocHieof Onr good Kni^t Don- Quixote, and h«v he WH Inchanted. THE FIRST PART OF THE ["k As touching Mambrinos helmet, the Curate did unawarea to Don-Quixote, give to tha Barber eight reals by it, and the Barber gave baclce unto him an acquittance of the receit thereof! and an everlasting release of all actions con- cerning it. These two diicords which were the most prin- cipall, and of most consequraice, being thus accordol, it onely rested, that three of Don Lewis his servingmen would be content to retume home, and leave the fourth to accom- panie his Master whither Don Fernando pleased to carry nim. And as good hap and better fortune had already begun to breake Lances, and facilitate difficulties, in the favour of the Lovers, and worthie persons of the Inne, so did it resolve to proceede forward, and give a prosperous successe unto all : for the servingmen were content to doe whatsoever their master would have them : whereat Donna Clara was so cheerfull, as no one beheld her face in that season, but might read therein the inward contentment of her mind. Zorayda, although she did not verie well under- stand all the successes of the things she had teene, yet was she interchangeably grieved and cheered according to the shewes made oy the rest, but chiefly by her Spanyard ; on whom her eyes were alwaies fixed, and ail the aiFects of her mind depended. The Inkceper, who did not forget the re- compence made by the Curate to the Barber, demaunded of him Don-Quixotra expences, and satisfaction for the dam- mage he had done to his wine bags, and the losse of his wine, swearing that neither Rozinante, nor Sancho his Asse should depart out of the Inne, untill he were payed the very last farthing. All was quietly ended by the Curate, am Don Fernando paid the whole summe; although the judge had also most liberally offered to doc it; ana all of them remained afterwards in such quietnesge and peace, as the Inne did no longer resemble the discorded campe of Agra- mante, (as Don-Quixote termed it) but rather enjoyed the very peace and tranquility of the Emperour Octavians time : for all which, the common opinion was, that thanks were justly due to the sincere proceeding and great eloquence of Auster Curate, and to the incomparable liberality, and goodnesse of Don Fernando. Don-Quixote, perceiving him- IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE selfe free, and delivered from so maxiy difficulties, and CHAPTER brabbles, (wherewith as well he, as his Esquire had beene ^^ perplexed) held it high time to prosecute his commenced In which is voyage, and bring to an end the great adventure unto which ^"^v?^^® he was called and chosen. Therefore with resolute deter- venture of" mination to depart, he went and cast himselfe on his knees the troupers^ before Dorotea, who not permitting him to speake untill he and the great arose, he to obey her, stood up, and said, it is a common ^®''^]^®^ proverbe, beautifuU Ladie, * That diligence is the Mother of Knif^tDon- good hap ^ : and in many and grave affaires, experience hath Quixote^ and shewed, that the soUicitude and sore of the suiter oft brings how he was a doubtfull matter to a certaine and happy end. But this inchanted. truth appeares in nothing more cleerely, then in matters of warre ; wherein celerity and expedition prevent the enemies dessimes, and obtaine the victory before an adversary can put himselfe in defence: all this I say, high and worthy Ladie, because it seemes to me, that our abooe in this Castle is nothing profitable, and many therewithall tume so farre to our hinderance, as we may psdpably feele it one day. For who knowes but that your enemie, the Giant hath learned by spies, or other secret intelligence and meanes, how I meane to come and destroy him, and (oportunitie favour- ing his dissignes) that he may have fortified himselfe in some inexpugnable Castle or Fortresse, against the strength whereof neither mine industrie, nor the force of mine in- vincible arme can much prevaile; wherefore, deare Ladie, let us prevent (as I have sayde) by our diligence, and let us presently depart unto the place whereunto we are caUed by our good fortune, which shall be deferred no longer then I am absent from your highnesse foe. Here he held his peace, and did expect, with great gravitie, the beautifuU Princesse answere : who with debonary countenance, and a stile accommodated unto Don -Quixote, returned him this answere. I do gratifie and thanke. Sir Knight, the desire you shew to assist me in this my great neede : which denotes very cleerely the great care you have to favour orphanes and distressed wightes : and I beseech God, that your good desires and mine may bee accomplished, to the end that you may see how there are some thankfull women on earth: as touching S:FF 2S5 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER my departure, let it be forthwith, for I have none other ^^ will, then that which is yours ; therefore you may dispose of In which is me at your owne pleasure, for she that hath once committed ^^tlhf^^Jr^ the defence of her person unto you, and hath put into your venture of' hands the restitution of her estate, ought not to seeke to do the troupers^ any other thing then that which your wisedome shall ordaine. and tiie great In the name of God (quoth Don-Quixote) seeing that your ^^'^^^l^®^ Highnesse doth so humble your selfe unto mee, I will not Kni^^tDon- ^^^ ^^® occasion of exalting it, and installing it againe in Quixote^ and the throne of your inheritance. Let our departure be incon- how he was tinent for my desires, and the way, and that which they call inchanted. the danger that is in delay, doe spurre me on. And seeing that heaven never created, nor hell ever beheld any man that could afiright me, or make a coward of me, go therefore Sancho, and saddle Rozinante, and empannell thine Asse, and make readie the Queenes Palfrey, and let us take leave of the Constable and these other Lords, and depart away from hence instantly. Then Sancho (who was present at all this) wagging of his head, said : O my Lord, my Lord, how much more ^averie (be it spoken with the pardon of all honest kerchefes) is there in the little village then is talked of? what ill can there be in any village, or in all the Cities of the world, able to impaire my credit, thou villainep If thou be angrie, quoth Sancho, I will hold my tongue, and omit to say that which by the dutie of a good Squire, and of an honest servant I am bound to tell you. Say what thou wilt, quoth Don- Quixote, so thy words be not addrest to make me afraid ; for if thou beest frighted, thou doest onely like thy selfe ; and if I bee devoid of terrour, I also doe that which I ought. It is not that which I meane, quoth Sancho, but that I doe hold for most sure and certaine that this Ladie which cals her selfe Queene of the great Kingdome of Micomicon, is no more a Queene then my mother ; for if she were what she saies, she would not at every comer, and at every turning of a hand be billing as shee is, with one that is in this good company. Dorotea blushed at Sanchos words ; for it was true indeede, that her spouse Don Fernando would now and then privately steale from her lips some part of the reward 286 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE which his desires did merit, (which Sancho espying, it seemed CHAPTER to him, that that kinde of wanton familiarity was more XIX proper to curtesans, then becomming the Queene of so great In which is a Eingdome) and yet she neither could, nor would reply fini«^ed ^« unto him, but let him continue his speech, as followeth : yeSure^' This I doe say, good my Lord, quoth he, to this end, that if the troupers, eifter wee have runne many waies and courses, and indured bad and the great nights and worse daies, he that is in this Inne, sporting ferocitie of himselfe, shall come to gather the fruit of our labours, there SJ^'^-^t^Ptw. is no reason to hasten me thus to saddle Rozinante, or em- Qu^ote and Cnell the Asse, or make ready the Palfrey, seeing it would how he was better that we stayed still, and that every whoore spunne, inchanted. and we fell to our victuals. O Gk>d, how great was the fury that inflamed Don- Quixote, when he heard his Squire speake so respectlesly ! I say it was so great, that with a shaking voyce, a faultering tongue, and the fire sparking out of his eyes, he said, O villanous peasant, rash, immanerly, ignorant, rude, blasphem- ous, bold murmurer, and detractor, hast thou presumed to speake such words in my presence, and in that or these noble Ladies ? and hast thou oared to entertaine such rash and dishonest surmises into thy confused imagination? depart out of my sight thou monster of nature, store-house of un- truthes, armorie of falshood, sincke of roguerie, inventor of villanie, publisher of ravings, and the enemie of that decencie which is to be used towards royall persons. Away villaine, and never appeare before mee, under paine of mme indig- nation : Ana saying so, he bended his browes, fild up his cheekes, looked about him on every side, and strucke a great blow with his right foote on the ground ; all manifest tokens of the rage which inwardly fretted him : at which words and furious gestures poore Sancho remained so greatly afirighted, as ne could have wished in that instant, that the earth opening under his feete would swallow him up. And knew not what to doe, but tume his backe, and set him out of his Lords most furious presence : but the discreete Dorotea (who was now so well schooled in Don-Quixotes humour) to mitigate his yre, said unto him ; be not ofiended, good Sir Knight of the sad face, at the idle words which 8«7 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER your good Squire hath spoken : for perhaps he hath not ^^K said them witnout some ground, nor of his good understand- In which is ing and Christian minde can it be suspect^, that he would ^""^kf^ ^® wittingly slaunder or accuse any body falsely : And therefore vOTitore of ^^ must beleeve, without all doubt, that as in this Castle, as the troupers^ y^u your selfe have said, Sir Knight, all things are repre- and the great sented, and succeed by maner of inchantment, I say, it ferocitieof might befall, that Sancho may have scene by diaboUcall ^^^°?jv illusion, that which he sales, he beheld so much to the jpre- Q^ote, and judice of my reputation. I vow by the omnipotent love, how he was quoth Don-Quixote, that your highnes hath hit the veiy inchanted. pricke, and that some wicked vision appeared to this sinner, my man Sancho, that made him to see that which otherwise were impossible to be scene by any other way, then that of inchantment : for I know very well, the great goodnesse, and simplicitie of that poore wretch is such, as hee knowes not how to invent a lye on any bodie living. It is even so, and so it shall be quoth Don Fernando : and therefore, good Sir Don-Quixote, you must pai^n him, and reduce him againe to the bosome of your good grace : Sicut erat inprincipio^ and before the lixe visions aid distract his sense. Don- Quixote answered, that he did willingly pardon him: and therefore the Curate went for Sancho, who returned very humbly, and kneeling downe on his knees, demaunded his Lords hand, which he gave unto him, and after that hee had permitted him to kisse it, he gave him his blessing, saying. Now thou shalt finally know Sancho, that which I have told thee divers times, how that all the things of this Castle are made by way of inchauntment. So doe I verily beleeve, said Sancho, except that of the Canvassing in the blanquet, which really succeeded by an ordinary and naturall way: doe not beleeve that, said Don-Quixote; for if it were so, I would both then, and also now have taken a dire revenge : but neither then, nor now could I ever see £uiy, on whom I might revenge that thine injurie. All of them de- sired greatly to know what that accident of the blanquet was : And then the Inne-keeper recounted it point by point, the flights that Sancho Pan9a made : whereat they all did laugh not a little, and Sancho would have beene ashamed no lesse, 828 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE if his Lord had not €Uiew perswaded him, that it was a CHAPTER meere inchauntment : And yet Sanchos madnesse was never ^^ so great, as to beleeve that it was not a reall truth, verily In which is befallen him, without any colour, or mixture of fraude, or ^°j?u|^ *^® illusion : but that hee was tossed by persons of flesh, bloud, y^Q^ure of" £Uid bone, and not by dreamed and imagined shadowes or the troupers, spirits, as his Lord beleeved, and so constantly affirmed. and the great Two dayes were now expired, when all that Noble com- ^erocitie of pany had sojourned in the Inne, and then it seeming unto j^jSJi. x)on- them high time to depart, they devised how (without put- Quixote^ and ting Dorotea and Don Fernando to the paines, to tume how he was back with Don-Quixote to his Village, imder pretence of inchanted. restoring^ the Queene Micomicona) the Curate and Barber might carry him backe as they desired, and indeavour to have him cured of his folly in his own house. And their invention was this ; they agreed with one, who by chaunce passed by that way with a Teame of Oxen, to carry him in this order following: They made a thins like a Cage of timber, so bigge, as that Don-Quixote might sit, or lye in it at his ease: £uid presently after, Don Fernando, and his fellowes, with Don Lewis his servants, the Troupers, and the Inkeeper, did all of them, by Master Curates direction cover their faces and disguise themselves, every one as he might best, so that they might sceme to Don-Quixote other people then such as he had scene in the Castle. And this oeing done, they entred with very great silence into the place where hee slept, and tooke his rest after the related conflicts : and approching him, who slept securely, not fear- ing any such accident, and laying hold on him very strongly, they tyed his hands and his leete very strongly, so that when nee started out of his sleepe, hee could not stirre him- selfe, nor doe any other thing, then admire, and wonder at those strange shapes which ne saw stcuiding before him : and presently he fel into the conceipt, which his continuall and distracted imagination had already suggested unto him, beleeving that all those strange figures were the spirits and shaddowes of that inchaunted Castle, and that he himselfe was now without doubt inchaunted, seeing he could neither move nor defend himselfe. All this succeeded just as the S29 CHAPTER XIX In which is finiihed the notable ad- venture of the troupers^ and the great ferocitie of our good Knight Don- Quixote^ and how he wag inchanted. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. Curate (who plotted the jest) made full account it would. Only Sancho, among all those that were present, was in his right sense and shape ; and although hee wanted but little to be sicke of his Lords disease, yet for all that, he knew all those counterfait ghosts : but nee would not once unfold his lips, untill he might see the end of that surprisall and imprisonment of his Master. Who likewise spoke never a word, but only looked to see what would be the period of his disgrace. Which was, that bringing him to the Cage, they shut him within, and afterwards nailed the barres therof so well, as they could not be easily broken. They presently mounted him upon their shoulders, and as he issued out at the chamber doore, they heard asedreadfiill a voice as the Barber could devise, (not he of the pannell, but the other) which said : ^ O Knight of the sadde counten- ance bee not ^eved at the imprisonment whereinto thou art led, for so it must bee, that thereby the adventure into which thy great force and valour have thrust thee, may be the more speedily ended ; and ended it will be, when the furious Manchegal Lyon, and the white Tobosian Dove shall be united in one, and after they have humbled their lofty Crest unto the soft yoke of wedlocke : from whose wonderfull consort, shall issue to the light of the Orbe, fierce whelps, which shall imitate the munching pawes of their valorous father, and this shall bee, before the pur- suer of the fugitive nymphe doe with his swift and naturall course make two tumes, in visitation of the glistring Images; And thou, O the most noble, and obedient Squire, that ever had sword at a gyrdle, beard on a face, or dent in a nose, let it not dismay, or discontent thee to see carried away before thy eyes the flower of all Chivalrie errant. For very speedily, if it please the framer of the world, thou shalt see thy selfe so exalted and ennobled, as thou shalt scarce knowe thy selfe : Nor shalt thou bee defrauded of the promises made imto thee by thy noble Lord : and I do assure thee, from the wise Mentironiana, that thy wages shall be payed thee, as thou shalt quickly see in effect : and therefore follow the steps of the valorous and inchaunted Enight; for it is necessary, that thou goe to 230 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE ^ the place where you both shall stay : and because I am not CHAPTER ' permitted to say any more, farewell ; for I doe retume I XIX ' well know whither/ Towards the end of this prophecie, he In which is lifted up his voyce, and afterwards lesned it with so slender ^°|^f^^® an accent, that even those which were acquainted with the y^nture of" jest, almost beleeved what they had heard. the troupers^ Don-Quixote was very much comforted by the prophecie ; and the great for hee presently apprehended the whole sense tnereof, and ferocitie of perceived how nee was promised in marriage his beloved KniStDon- Dulcinea of Toboso, from whose happy wombe should sally Quixote, and the Whelps (which were his sonnes) to the etemall glory how he was of the Mancha. And beleeving all this most firmely, hee inchanted. elevated his voice, and breathing forth a great sigh, thus said, ^ O thou, whatsoever thou beest, which hast prognosti- cated so great good to me, I desire thee to request in my name, the wiseman who hath charge to recora mine acts, that he permit me not to perish in this prison (to which they now do carry me) before the accomplishment of so joy full and incomparable promises, as now have beene made unto me. For so that this may befall, I will account the paines of my prison a glory, and the chaines that inviron me an ease : and will not esteeme this bed whereon I am laid, a hard field of battaile, but a soft ticke, and a most fortunate lodging. And as concern- ing the consolation of my Squire Sancho Pan^a, I trust in his goodnesse, and honest proceeding, that he will not abandon me in good or bad fortune: for though it should fall out through his, or my hard hap, that I shall not be able to bestow on him an Hand, or other equi- valent thing, as I have promised, his wages at least can- not be lost, for in my Testament, which is made already, I have set downe what he is to have, though not conformably to his many good services, yet according to my possibility.'* Sancho Pan^ bowed his head with great reverence, and kissed both his hands (for one alone he could not, by reason they were bound together) and presently those visions did lift up the cage, and accommo- date it on the Teame of Oxen. SSI THE FIRST PART OF THE [ubl CHAPTER XX Wherein is prosecuted the manner of Don- Quixotes tnchauntment, with other famous occurrences. S HEN Don-Quixote saw himselfe to be in- caged after that raaner, and placed in the Cart he said, I have read many and very grave histories of Knighta errant, but I never read, law, nor heard, that they were wont to carry Knights errant inchaunted after this manner, and with the leisure that those slothfull and heavy beasts doe threaten : for they were ever accustomed to be carried in the ayre with wonderfull speed, shut in some duskie and obscure clowd ; or in some fiery chariot ; or on aom Hippo- grifus, or some other such like beast : but that they cary me now on a Teame of Oxen, I protest it drives me into a great amazement, hut perhaps both Chivalrie, and the Jn- chauntmeuts of these our times, doe follow a course different from those of former ages : and peradventure it may also bee, that as I am a new Knight in the world, and the 6rst that hath agtune revived the now-neglected, and forgotten exercise of armes, so have they also newly invented other kinds of inchauntments, and other manners of carrying away inchaunted Knights. What doest thou thinke of this Sonne SanchoP I know not, quoth Sancho, what to thinke, be- cause I am not so well aeene in Scriptures errant as you are ; but for all this I durst afiirme and sweare, that these visions which goe up and downe in this place, are not altogether CaUiolike. Catholikes, my father, quoth Don- Quixote, how can they be Catholikes, when they be all Divels, which have assumed phantasticall bodies to come and put me into this state P And if thou wilt prove the truth hereof, doe but touch and feele them, and uou shalt finde 232 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE them to have no bodies, but of aire, and that they consist CHAPTER of nothing but an outward appearance. Now by my faith ^^ Sir, quoth Sancho, I have already touched them, and finde Wherein is this Divell that jgoeth there so busily up €Uid downe, both prosecuted plump and soft fleshed ; and that hee hath besides another of j^n^^^ property very difierent from that which I have heard say Quixotes in- Divels have : for it is said, that they smell all of brimstone chauntment, and other filthy things ; but one may feele at least halfe a jj^ ^^^^ league off; the ambar that this Divell smels off. Sancho oc^^n^g^ spoke this of Don Fernando, who belike (as Lords of his ranke are wont) had his attyre perfumed with Ambar. Marvell not thereat friend Sancho, auoth Don-Quixote, for the divels are very craftie; and although they bring smels or perfumes about them, yet they themselves smell nothing (because they are spirits) or if they doe smel ought it is not good, but evill and stinking savors : the reason is, for that as they doe alwayes beare wheresoever they be, their hell about them, and can receive no kind of ease of their torments, and good smels bee things that delight and please; it is not possible that they can smell any good thing: and if it seeme to thee, that that divell whom thou dost mention, smels of Amber, either thou art deceived, or he that would deceive thee, by making thee to thinke that he is no divell. All these discourses passed betweene the Master and the man ; the whilst Don Fernando and Cardenio (fearing lest Sancho should finde out the deceit whereto he was already come very neere) resolved to hasten the Knights departure; and therefore calling the Inkeeper aside, they commaunded him to saddle Rozinante, and empannell Sancho his beast ; which he did with all expedition : and the Curate agreed with the Troupers for so much a day to accompany him unto his Village. Cardenio hanged at the pommell of Rozinantes saddle, the Target on the one side, and on the other the Bason, and by signes commaunded Sancho to get up on his Asse, and leade Rozinante by the bridle; and afterwards placed on either side of the Cart two Troupers with their firelockes. But before the Cart departed, the Hostesse, her daughter, and Maritomes came out to bid Don-Quixote farewel, fayn« 2:66 888 CHAPTER XX Wherein if prosecuted the manner of Don- Quixotes in- cnauntment, with other fiimous occurrences. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. ing that they wept for sorrow of his disaster; to whom Don-Quixote said : My good Ladies doe not weepe : for all these mischances are incident to those which professe that which I doe : and if these calamities had not oefalne mee, I would never have accounted my selfe for a famous Knight Errant: for the like chances never happen to Knights of little name or renoune, because there are none in the world that makes any mention of them. But they often befall to the valorous, who have emulators of their vertue and valour, both many Princes and many other Knights that strive by indirect meanes to destroy them. But for all that, vertue is so potent, as by her selfe alone (in despite of all the Nigromancy that ever the first inventer thereof Zoroastes knew) she will come off victorious from every danger, and will shine in the world as the Sunne dotn in heaven. Pardon me faire Ladies, if by any carelesnesse I have done you any displeasure, for with my will and know- ledge I never wronged any. And pray unto God for me, that hee will please to deliver mee out of this prison, where- into some ill meaning inchanter hath thrust me ; for if I once may see my selfe at liberty againe, I will never forget the favours which you have done me in this Castle, but greatly acknowledge and recompence them as they deserve. Whilest the Ladies of the Castle were thus intertained by Don-Quixote, the Curate and Barber tooke leave of Don Fer- nando and his companions, of the Captaine and his brother, and of all the contented Ladies, specially of Dorotea and Luscinda ; all of them embraced and promised to acquaint one another with their succeeding fortunes : Don Fernando intreating the Curate to write unto him what became of Don-Quixote, assuring him that no affaire he could informe him of should please him better then that, and that he would in lieu thereot acquaint him with all occurrences which he thought would delight him, eyther concerning his owne mar- riage or Zoraydas baptisme, or the successe of Don Lewis, ana Luscindas retume into her house. The Curate offered willingly to accomplish to a haire all that he had commaunded him : and so they returned once againe to embrace one another, and to renew their mutuall S84 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE and oomplementall offers: the Inkeeper came also to the CHAPTER Curate, and gave him certaine papers, saying, that he had XX found them within one of the linings of tne wallet, wherein Wherein if the Tale of the curious impertinent was had ; and that since prosecuted the owner did not returne to fetch it, he bad him take them ^^J^^^*' all with him : for seeing he could not reade, hee would keepe Quixotes in- them no longer. Master Curate yeelded him many thanks ; chauntment^ and then opening them, found in the beginning thereof ^^ other these words : * The Tale of Riconnette and Cortadillo,' by ^^^ which he understood that it was some History, and collected that it must be a good one, seeing that of the curious Impertinent, contrived perhaps by the same Authour, had proved so well, and therefore he laid it up, with an in- tention to reade it as soone as he had oportunity. Then hee mounted on horse-backe with his fnend the Barber; and both of them putting on their maskes that they might not quickly be knowne by Don-Quixote, they travelled after the teame, which held on in this order ; first went the Cart, guided by the Carter : on both sides therof the Troupers rode with their firelockes : then followed Sancho upon his Asse, leading Rozinante by the bridle; and last of all came the Curate and Barber upon their mighty Mules, and with their faces covered : all in a grave gesture, and with an Alderman-like pace, and travelling no faster then the slow steps of the heavie Oxen permitted them. Don- Quixote sate with his hands tyed, nis leg^ stretched out, and leaning against the barre of the Cage, with such a silence, ana patience, as he rather seemed a statue then a man. In this quiet and leisurely manner they travelled for the space of two leagues, when arriving to a valley, it seemed to their Conductor a fit place to repose and bait his Oxen. And acquainting the Curate with his purpose, the Barber was of opinion that they should yet goe on a little further, because he knew that there lay behinoe a little mountaine, which was within their view, a certaine vale, much better furnished with grasse then that wherein hee meant to abide. The barbers opinion was allowed, and therefore they continued on their travell, when the Curate looking by chance behinde him, saw comming after them SS5 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER sixe or seven men on horse-backe, and very well appointed, XX who quickly got ground of them ; for they came not the Wherein is lazie and negmaticke pace of Oxen, but as men that were prosecuted mounted on Canons Mules, and pricked forward with a de- ^ Don^*' sire to passe over the heat of tne day in their Inne, which Quixotes in- ^^ not much more then a league from thence. Finally, diauntment, those diligent travellers overtooke our slouthfuU ones, and with other saluted them courteously, and one of them that was a Canon ^i^nces. ®^ Toledo, and Master of the rest, noting the orderly procession of the Cart, Troupers, Sancho, Rozinante, the Curate and Barber, but chiefly the incaged Don-Quixote, hee could not forbeare to demand what meaned the car- ria^ of that man, in so strange a manner, although he did already conjecture by observation of the Troupers, that hee was some notable robber or other delinquent, the punishment of whom belonged to the Holy Brotherhood. One of the Troupers, to whom the demaund was made, did answere in this manner: Sir we know not wherefore this Knight is carried in this forme, and therefore let he him- selfe, who best may, tell you the reason thereof. Don-Quixote had over-heard their discourse, and said, if, Grentlemen, you be conversant and skilfull in matters of Chivalry, I will communicate my misfortunes with you : but if you be not, I have no reason to trouble my selfe to recount them. The Curate and Barber seeing the travellers in talke with Don-Quixote, drew neere to make answere for him in such sort, that their invention might not be discovered ; the whilest the Canon replied to the Knight, and said, Truely brother, I am better acquainted with bookes of Knighthood, then with Villapandas Logicke : and therefore if all the diflicultie rest onely in that, you may safely communicate whatsoever you will with me. A Gods name be it, quoth Don-Quixote: You shall therefore understand Sir Knight, that I am carried away inchanted in this Cage, through the envie and fraud of wicked Magicians, * For vertue is much more persecuted of the wicked, then honoured of the good/ I am a Knight Errant, but none of those whose names are not recorded in the bookes of fame, but one of those who in despite of envie it selfe, and of all the Magicians of Persia, 9SQ IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE the Bracmanes of India, or of the Gymnosophists of iEthi- CHAPTER opia shall hang his name in the Temple of Eternity, that it ^^ may serve as a modell and patteme to insuing ages ; wherein Wherein is Knights Errant may view the steps which they are to follow, prosecuted if they meane to aspire to the toppe and honourable height of rSn^^ of armes. The Knight Sir Don-Quixote saith true, quoth Quixotes in- the Curate, speaking to the travellers, that he is carried chauntment^ away in this Cnariot mchanted, not through his owne default ^^^ ^^^ or sinnes, but through the malignant treacherie of those, ^"^'l*^ to whom vertue is loathsome, and valour odious. This is good Sir, the Knight of the sad countenance (if you have at any time heard speake of him) whose valorous acts shall remaine insculped in stubbome Brasse, and time-surviving Marble, though Envie and Malice doe labour never so much to obscure them. When the Canon heard the imprisoned man and the three speake thus in one tenour, hee was about to blesse himselfe for wonder, and could not conjecture what had befallen him, and into no lesse admiration were they brought that came with him. But Sancho Panf a having in the meane time approched to heare their speech, to plaister up the matter, added : now Sirs, whether you will love me well or ill, for what I shall say, the very truth of the matter is, that my Lord Don- Quixote is as much inchaunted as my mother, and no more. For his judgement is yet whole and sound ; he eates, and drinkes, and doth his necessities as other men doe, and as he himselfe did yesterday, and other daies before they incaged him : all which being so, how can you make me beleeve that he goeth inchaunted P for I have heard many persons avouch, that inchaunted persons neither eate, nor drinke, nor speake, and yet my Lord, if hee be not thwarted, will talke more then twentie barresters : and then turning towards the Curate, he said : O Mr. Curate, Mr. Curate, doe you thinke that I doe not know you ? And thinke you that I doe not suppose, yea and presage whereto these new inchaunt- ments are addressed? well know then, that I know you well, although you cover your face never so much, and tiiat I understand your meaning, how deepely soever you smother your drifts : but in fine, where emulation and envy raignes, 9S7 CHAPTER XX Wherein is prosecuted the manner of Don- auizotes in- launtment, with other fiunous occurrences. THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. vertue cannot live ; where pinching swayes, liberalitie goes by. A pox take the Divell : for but for your reverence my Lord had ere this time beene wedded to the Princesse Micomicona, and I my selfe had beene created an earle at least, for no lesse might be expected either from the bountie of my Lord, or the greatnesse of my deserts : but now I per- ceive that to bee true, which is commonly said, ' That the wheele of Fortune tumes about more swifUy, then that of a mil : and that they which were yesterday on the top therof, lye to day all along on the groimd.*^ I am chiefly grieved for my wife and child^n ; for whereas they ought and might hope to see their father come in at his gates, made a Grover- nour, or Viceroy of some He, or Eingdome, they shall now see him retume unto them no better then a poore horse- boy. All which I have urged so much, Mr. Curate, onely to intimate to your patemitie, how you ought to have remorse, and make a scruple of conscience, of treating my deare Lord as you do, and looke to it well, that Gk>d doe not one day demaund at your hands, in the other life, amends for the prison whereinto you carry him; and that you bee not answer- able for all the succours and good deedes, which hee would have afibrded the world in this time of his captivitie. Snuffe me those candles, quoth the Barber, hearing him speake so : what Sancho, art thou also of thy Masters confratemitie P I sweare by the Lord, I beginne to see that thou art very like to keepe him company in the Cage, and that thou shalt bee as deepely inchaunted as hee, for the portion which thou hast of his humour, and Chivalrie. Thou wast in an ill houre be- gotten with child by his promises, and in a worse did the Isle, which thou so greatly longest for, sinke into thy pate : I am not with childe by any body, said Sancho, nor am I a man of humour to let any oody get me with child, no though it were the King himselfe : and although I be poore, yet am I a Christian, and owe nothing to any one; £uid ill desire Hands, others there are that desire worse things, ^ and every one is the sonne of his owne workes ^ : and under the name of a man, I may become Pope, how much more the Grover- nour of an Hand ; and chiefly seeing my Lord may gaine so many as hee may want men to bestow them on, and there- IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE fore, Mr. Barber, you should take heede how you q>eake ; CHAPTER for all consists not in trimming of beards : and there is some ^^ difference betweene Peter and Peter. I say it because all of Wherein is us know one another, and no man shall unperceived put a P5<>««<^'**«" r 1 Tk* A T J • 1. A. J. the manner false Die upon mee. As concerning my Lords inchantment, ^f d^j^. Grod knowes the truth, and therefore let it rest as it is, see- Quixotes in- ing it is the worse for the stirring in. The Barber would chauntment^ not reply unto Sancho, lest that with his simplicities, hee Y^^ ^^^^ should diiscover what the Curate and himselfe aid labour so occuninces. much to conceale, £uid the Curate doubting the same, had intreated the Canon to prick on a little forward, and he would unfold to him the mvsterie of the encaged Knight, with other matters of delight The Canon did so, and taking his men along with them, was very attentive to all that he rehearsed, of the condition, life, madnesse, and fashions of Don-Quixote. There did he briefly acquaint him with the originall cause of his distraction, and all the pro- gresse of his adventures, untill his shutting up in that cage : and their owne designe in carrying home to his Countrey, to trie whether they might by any meanes finde out a remedy for his frensie. The Canon and his men againe admired to heare so strange a Historic as that of Don-Quixote, and as soone as the Curate had ended his relation, the Canon said. Verily Master Curate I doe finde by experience, that those l)ookes which are instituted of Chivalrie, or Knight- hood, are very prejudiciall to welgovemed commonwealths : and although (borne away by an idle and curious desire) I have read the be^nning of almost as many as are im- printed, of that subject, yet could I never indure my selfe to finish and reade any one of them through : for me thinks that somewhat more or lesse, they all import one thing, and this hath no more then that, nor the other more then his fellow. And in mine opinion this kinde of writing and invention fals within the compasse of the fables called MilesicPj which are wandring and idle tales, whose onely scope is delight, and not instruction; quite contrary to the project of tiiose called Fabulce ApoU^ce^ which delight and instruct together. And though that the principall ende of such brokes be recreation, yet cannot I perceive S89 CHAPTER XX Wherein is prosecuted the manner of Don- Quixotes in- chauntment, with other famous occurrences. THE FIRST PART OF THE ["«• how they can yeeld it, seeing they bee forced with so many, and so proportionlesse untruthes. For the delight that the mind conceives, must proceed from the beautie, and conformitie which it sees or contemplates in such things as the sight, or imagination represents unto it; and all things that are deformed or discordant, must produce the contrary effect. Now then what beautie can there be, or what proportion betweene the parts and the whole, or the whole ana the parts, in a booke or fable, wherein a youth of sixteene yeares of age gives a blow to a Giant as great as a lewes, and with that blow devides him in two as easily as if he were a pellet of Sugar? And when they describe a battel!, after that they have tolde us how there were at least a million of men on the adverse side, yet if the Knieht of the booke be against them, wee must of force, and whether we will or no, understand, that the said Knight obtained the victory through the invincible strength of his arme? what then shall we say of the facilitie wherewithal! the Inheritrix of a Eingdome, or Empyre falls betweene the armes of one of those errant and unknowne knights? what understanding, if it be not altogether barren or bar- barous, can delight it selfe, reading how a great tower full of knights doth passe through the Sea as fast as a ship with the most prosperous wind ? And that going to bed a man is in Lombaraie, and the next morning findes himselfe in Prester lohns countrey, among the Indians, or in some other Region which never was discovered by Ptolomeus, nor seene by Mfiut^us Polus? and if I should be answered, that the inventors of such bookes do write them as fables: and therefore are not bound unto any respect of circumstances, or observation of truth, I would reply, that an untruth is so much the more pleasing, by how much the neerer it resembles a truth ; and so much the more grateful!, by how much the more it is doubtful! and possible : for lying fables must bee suited unto the readers imderstanding, and so written, as that facilitating impossible things, levelling untrue things, and holding the mind in suspence, they may ravish a more delight, and entertaine such manners, as pleasure and wonder may step by step walke together : all which things hee that 240 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE writes not likelihoods, shall never be able to performe. And CHAPTER as touching Imitation (wherein consistes the perfection of ^^ that which is written) I have not seene in any bookes of Wherein ia Knighthoode, an entire bulke of a fable, so proportioned in prosecuted all the members thereof, as that the middle may answere ^ jj^^^*' the b^inning, and the end the beginning and middle. But Quixotes in- rather they have composed them of so many members, as it chauntment^ more proliably seems, that the authors intended to frame ^'^^ other Chimeraes or monsters, then to deliver proportionate figures, **™®'** most harsh in their stile, incredible in exploits, impudent in love matters, absurd in complements, pronxe in battels, fond in discourses, uncertaine and senselesse in voyages, and finally, devoide of all discretion, art and ingenious aisposition. And therefore they deserve (as most idle and frivolous things) to be banished out of all Christian commonwealthes. Master Curate did listen to the Canon with very great attention ; and he seemed unto him to be a man of good understanding, and that he had great reason for what hee had alled^ed : and therefore said, that in respect they did concurre m opinions, and that he had an old grudge to the vanity of such Bookes, he had likewise fired all Don- Quixotes library, consisting of many bookes of that subject : And then he recounted to him the search and inquisition hee had made of them ; and which he had condemned, and which reserved : whereat the Canon lauehed heartily, and said, that notwithstanding all the evill ne had spoken of such bookes, yet did he find one good in them, to wit, the subject they offered a good wit to worke upon, and shew it selfe in them ; for they displayed a large and open plaine, thorow which the Pen might runne without let or incumbrances ; describing of shipwracks, tempests, in- counters, and battels : delineating a valorous Captaine, with aU the properties required in him ; as wisedome to frustrate the designes of his enemie ; eloquence to perswade or dis- swade his souldiers; ripenesse in advice; promptnesse in execution ; as much valour in attending, as in assaulting of an enemie. Deciphering now a lamentable and tragicall successe, then a joyfuU and unexpected event; there a most beautifuU, honest, and discreete Ladie, heere a valiant^ S : HH S41 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAPTER courteous, and Christian Knight, there an unmeasurable XX barbarous braggard; heere a gentle, valorous, and wise Wlierein is Prince : Representing the goodnesse and loyalty of sub- prosecuted jects, the magnificence and bountie of Lords: Sometimes cJ*Don^°^' he may shew himselfe an Astrologian, sometimes a Cosmo- Quixotes in- graph^^) sometimes a Musitian, sometimes a Statist, and ^auntment^ sometimes, if he please, he may have occasion to shew him- with other gelfe a Nigromancer : There may he demonstrate the sub- ^*°^®^' tiltie of Vlisses, the pietie of iGneas, the valour of Achilles, the misfortunes of Hector, the trechery of Sinon, the amitie of Eurialus, the liberality of Alexanaer, the resolution of Caesar, the clemency and truth of Trajanus, the fidelitie of Zopirus, the prudence of Cato ; and nnally, all those parts that make a worthy man perfect : one whiles by placing them all in one subject; another by distributing them among many : and this being done, and set out in a pleas- ing stile, and a wittie fashion that approacheth as neere as is possible unto the truth, will questiomesse remaine a worke of many faire draughts, whicn being accomplished, will represent such beauty and perfection, as shall fiilly attaine to the best end aymed at m all writing, that is, as I have said, joyntly to instruct, and delight : for the irregularity, and hberality of those bookes gives to the Author, tine meanes to shew himselfe an Epicke, Lyricke, Tragedian, and Comedian ; with all other things which the most graoefiill and pleasant sciences of Poetry and Oratorie include in themselves. For the Epickes may be as well written in prose as in verse. S4S IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE CHAPTER XXI Wherein the Canon prosecutes his discourse upon bookes of Chivalrie, and many other thinges worthy of his wit OU say Tery true, quoth the Curate; and for this veiy reason are they, whic^ iiave hitherto invented luch boolces, the more worthy of reprehension, because they neither heeded the good discourse, the arte, nor the rules, hy which they might have niided themselves, and l^ that meanes have growne as famous for their prose, as be the two Princes of the Greeke and Latin Poetne for their verse. I have for my part, quoth the Canon, at least attempted to write a moke of Chivalrie, observiiw therein all the points by me mentioned ; and in truth I have written above a hundred sheetes thereof : and to the end that I might trie whether they were corre- spondent to my estimation, I did communicate them, both with certaine sliilfull and wise men, that are marvailously affected to that subject, and with some ignorant persons that only delight to neare fonaticall inventions ; and I have found in them all a gratefull approbation of my labours : yet would I not for all that, prosecute the wortie, as well Mcause it seemed unfit for my profession, as also because I finde the number of the ignorant to exceede that of the judicious: and though more good come to a man by the pnuse of a few wisemen, then hurt by the acoffes of a number of fooles, yet would I not willingly subject my selfe to the confused judgement of the senselesse vulgar, who commonly give themselves most unto the reading of such bookes. But that which most of all rid my hands, yea and my memorie, of all desire to end it, was this argument, drawne from our modeme Comedies, and thus made to my selfe : If those, S43 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["»• CHAPTER (as well the fictions, as historical ones) are all or the XXI most part of them notorious fopperies, and things without Wherein the either head or foote, and yet are by the vulgar heard with Canon pro- gych delight, and held and approved for good : and both dUcourJe" ^^^ Authors that compose them, and actors that represent upon bookes them, say, that they must be such as they be for to please ofchivalrie^ the peoples humors, and not more conformable to reason and many or truth, and that, because those wherein Decorum is ob- TOrtb*^?^ served, and the fable followed according to the rules of l,^^^^ Art, serve onely for three or foure discreete men (If so many may be found at a Play) which doe attend unto them, and all the rest of the Auditours remaine fasting, by reason they cannot conceive the artificiall contexture thereof; thereiore is it better for them to gaine good money and meanes by many, then bare opinion or applause by a few. The very same would be the end of my Booke after I had used all possible industrie to observe tne afore- said precept; and I should remaine onely for a neede, and as the Taylour that dwels in a comer, without trade or estimation. And although I have sundry times indevoured to per- swade the Players, that their opinion was erronious herein, and that they would attract more people and acquire greater fame by acting artificiall Comedies then those irregular, and methodicall Playes then used : yet are they so wedded to their opinion, as no reason can wooe, nor demonstration winne them from it. I remember how dealing upon a day with one of those obstinate fellowes, I said unto him : aoe not you remember how a few yeeres agoe were represented in Spaine three Tragedies, written by a famous Poet of our Kingdome, which were such as delighted, yea and amazed all the auditours, as well the learned as the simple, the exact as the sleight ones ; and that the Players got more by those three alone, then by thirtie of the best that were penned, or Acted since that time? You meane without question, quoth the Actor answering me, Isabella^ Fiiis, and AUxcmdra. The very same quoth I ; and note whether in them were not rightly observed all the rules and precepts of Art : and yet thereby IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE they neither wanted any part of their dignitie, nor the CHAPTER approbation of all the world. So that I inferre, the fault ^^^ not to be in the vulgar that covets idle toyes, but rather Wherein the in those which know not how to penne or act any other ^^^P/?" thing, for no such fond stuffe was in the Comedie of Ji^urie"* Ingratitvde revenged^ nor found in Nvmantia^ nor perceived upon booket in that of the Amorous Merchant^ and much lesse in the of Chivalrie^ Favourable enemy y nor in some others made by Judicious *^^ mwiy Poets, which both redounded to their infinite fame and ^^^^^ renowne, and yeelded unto these Actors aboundant gaine. \^\^ ^ To these I aaded other reasons, wherewith I left him, in mine opinion, somewhat perplexed, but not satisfied, or desirous to forgoe his erronious opinion. Truely, M. Canon, quoth the Curate, you have touched a matter that hath rowsed an ancient rancour and heart- burning of mine against the Comedies now in request ; the which IS equall to the grudge that I beare to Bookes of Knight-hood. For seeing the Comedie as Tully afiirmes, ought to be a mirrour of mans life, a patteme of manners, and an Image of truth : Those that are now exhibited, are mirrours of vanitie, pattemes of folly, and Images of voluptuousnesse. For what greater absurditie can be in such a subject, then to see a child come out, in the first Scene of the first Act, in his swadling cloutes, and issue in the second already growne a man, yea a bearded man ? And what greater vanitie then to present before us, a valiant old man, and a young cowara? A Lay man become a Divine ? a P^ige a Counsellor, a King a Scoundrell, and a Princesse, a scowre-kettle ? What should I say, of the little care had of the due observation of time, for the succeeding of that they represent, other then that I my selfe have scene Comedies, whose first Act began in Europe, the second in Asia, and the third ended in Africa, and truely if there had beene a fourth it would questionlesse have finished in America, and by consequence we should have scene a round walke about the foure parts of the world. And fayning an explojrt performed in the time of King Pepin, or of Charlemaine, they make the principall Actors thereof, either Heraclius the Emperour 9A» THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER that entred into Hierusalem bearing of the holy Crosse; ^^^ or Godfrey of Bulloin that recovered the Holy -land; Wherein the Many yeeres, yea and a^ having occurred betweene Canon pro- ^hg times of the one and uit other : yea and the Comedie dlftcourae'' being grounded on a fiction, to attribute unto it the uponbooket verities of a Historie, and mingle it and patch it up, of Chivalrie^ with peeces of others, havine relation to different per- ^h ^T-^ ^°^ ^^^ times ; and this with no plausible invention, or wwihv of*** draught resembling the truth, but rather with palpable, his wit grosse, and inexcusable errours. And which is worse, some guls are found to affirme, that all perfection consists herein, and that they are too daintie that look for any other. Now, if wee would passe further to examine the divine Comedies that treate of Grod, or the lives of Saints, what a multitude of false miracles doe the composers devise ? what a bulke of matters Apocriphall, and ill-understood ? attri- buting to one Saint the miracles done by another: yea and in humane Comedies they presume to doe miracles (without fiuther respect, or consideration, but that such a miracle or shew, as they terme it, would doe well in such a place) to the end that the ignorant folke may admire them, and come the more willing^ to them : all which doth prejudice truth, discredit histories, and tume to the dis- grace of our Spanish wits : for strangers, which doe with much punctuahtie observe the method of Comedies, bold us to be rude and ignorant, when they see such follies, and absurdities escape us: and it will be no sufficient excuse for this errour, to say, that the principall end of well- eovemed Commonwealths, in the permitting of Comedies, IS only to entertain the Comunaltie with some honest pastime, and thereby divert the exorbitant and vicious numours which idlenesse is wont to ingender: and seeing that this end is attained to by whatsoever Comedies good or bad, it were to no purpose to appoint any lawes, or limits unto them; or to ue the composers to frame, or Actors to play them, as they should doe: For hereunto I answere, that this end would without all comparison be compassed, better by good Comedies then by evill ie46 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE ones: for the auditour, having heard an artificiall and CHAPTER well ordered Comedie, would come away delighted with XXI the iests, and instructed by the truths thereof: wondering Wherein the at the successes, grow discreeter by the reasons, wamea ^"*?^?J1?" by the deceits, become wise by others example, incensed Sj^u^g^ against vice, and enamoured of vertue ; al which affects upon bookes a good Comedie should stirre up in the hearers minde, or Chivahriej were hee never so grosse or clownish : And it is of all ^ vMoy impossibilities the most impossible, that a Comedie con- ^,^y^f*^ sisting of all these parts, should not entertaine, delight, y^ig ^ satisfie, and content the mind much more, then another that should be defective in any of them, as most of our now-a-day Comedies bee. Nor are the Poets that pen them chiefly to be blamed for this abuse : for some of them know very well where the errour lurkes, and know also as well how to redresse it. But because that Comedies are become a vendible merchandize, they aiBrme, and there- in tell the plaine truth, that the players would not buy them, if they were of any other, then the accustomed kinde; and therefore the roet indeavours to accomodate himselfe to the humor of the Player, who is to pay him for his labour, and that this is the truth, may be gathered by an infinite number of Comedies, which a most happy wit of this Eincdome hath composed with such delicacy, so many good jests, so elesant a verse, so excellent reasons, so grave sentences, and finally with so much eloquence, and such a loftinesse of stile, as hee hath filled the world with his fame : and vet by reason that hee was forced to accomodate himself to the Actors, all of them have not arrived to the height of perfection which Arte requires. Others there are that write without any judge- ment, and with so little heed of what they do, as after their workes have once beene acted, the Players are constrained to run away and hide themselves, fearing to be punished, as often they have beene, for acting thin^ obnoxious to the Prince, or scandalous to some Families. All which inconveniences mieht be redressed, if there were some understanding and £screet person ordained at THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER the Court, to examine all Comedies before they were acted, ^^^ and that not only such as were played at the Court it Wherein the selfe, but also all others that were to be acted throughout ^*°?°^P^?" Spaine, without whose allowance, under his hand and seale, discourse ^^ Magistrate of no Towne should permit any Comedie to upon bookes bee played : Bj^ which meanes the players would diligently orChivalrie, send their plaies to the Court, and might boldly after- ^ "th**^ wards act them, and the composers would with more care worthy of^^ ^^^ studie examine their labours, knowing that they should his wit passe the strict censure of him that could understand them : and by this meanes would good Comedies be written, and the thing intended by them, most easily attained to, viz. the entertainement of the people, the good opinion of Spanish wits, the profit and secuntie of the Players, and the saving of the care that is now imployed in chastis- ing their rashnesse. And if the same charge were given to this man, or to some other, to examine the bookes of Knighthood, which should bee made hereafter, some of them aoubtlesse would be put forth adorned with that perfection whereof you spoke but now : inriching our lan- guage with the pleasing and pretious treasure of eloquence, and being an occasion that the old bookes would become obscure in the bright presence of those new ones published, for the honest recreation, not only of the idler sort, but also of those that have more serious occupations. For it is not possible for the bow to continue still bent: nor can our numane and fraile nature sustaine it selfe long, without some helpe of lawfull recreation. The Canon and Curate had arrived to this point of their discourse, when the Barber spurring on, and overtaking them, said to the Curate, this is the place I lately tola you, was fit to passe over the heate or the day in, while the Oxen baited amidst the fresh and aboundant Pastures : it likes me very well, quoth the Curate: and telling the Canon what he meant to doe, he also was pleased to remaine with them, as well invited by the prospect of a beautifull valley, which offered it selfe to their view, as also to injoy the Curates conversation, towards whom he began to beare marvailous affection : and lastly with S48 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE the desire hee had to bee throughly acquainted with Don- CHAPTER Quixotes adventures, therefore he gave order to some of ^^XI his men, that they should ride to the Inne, which was Wherein the hard by, and bring from thence what meate they could ^^^ ?J^ finde sufficient to satisfie them all, because he likewise S^|^ meant to passe the hot time of the day in that place: uponbookes to which one of his men did answere, that their sumpture of Chivalrie, Mule was by that time, as he thought, in the Inne, so ^ ™j^7 copiously furnished with provision of meate, that as he J[^^y^ supposea, they needed not buy any thing there, but barly )||g ^ for their Mules : if it bee so,] quoth the Canon, let our Mules be carryed thither, and the sumpture one returned hither. Whilest this passed, Sancho being free from the continuall presence of the Curate and Barber, whom he held as sus- pected persons, thought it a fit time to speake with his Lord, and therefore drew neere to the cage wherein he sate, and said to him in this manner. Sir, that I may discharge my conscience, I will reveale unto you all that hath past m this affaire of your inchauntment : which briefly is, that those two which ride with their faces covered, are the Curate of our Village and the Barber, and as I imagine they both are the plotters of this your kinde of carrying away, for meere emulation that they see you surpasse them both in atchieving of famous acts. This truth being pre- supposed, it followes, that you are not inchaunted, but bee fulled and made a foole. For the proofe whereof I will but emaund of you one question, ana if you doe answere me according to mine expectation, as I beleeve you will, you shall feele the deceipt with your owne hands, and perceive how you are not inchaunted, but rather have your wits turned upside-downe. Sonn Sancho demaund what thou wilt, quoth Don-Quixote, and I will satisfie thee, and answere directly to thy desire : But as touching thy averment, that those which goe alone with us, be the Curate and Barber, our Grossips, and old acquaintance; it may well befall that they seeme to bee such ; but that they are so really, and in effect, I would not have thee beleeve in any manner. For that which thou art to beleeve, and shouldest under- 2:11 240 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["». CHAPTER stand in this matter is, that if they be like those our ^^^ friends as thou sayest, it must needs be that those which Wherein the have inchaunted mee, have assumed their semblance and like- Canon pro- nesse (for it is an easie thing for Magicians to put on any di»w)urge^ shape they please) thereby to give thee occasion to thinke upon bookes ^^^ which thou doest, to drive thee into such a labyrinth or Chivalrie^ of imaginations, as thou shalt not afterw£u^s know how to "if ""v*^ sallie out, although thou hadst the assistance of Theseus woiS IT***' clew : and withall to make me waver in mine understanding, his wit ^ ^^ ^^^ ^ '^^^y ^^^ conjecture from whence this charme is derived unto me : for if thou on the one side doest affirme, that the Barber, and Curate of our Village doe accompany me; and I on the other side finde my selfe incaged, and am so assured of mine owne force, that no humane strength bee it not supematurall, is able thus to incage me, what wouldest thou have mee say, or thinke, but that the manner of mine inchantment exceeds as many as ever I read throughout all the Histories, in- treating of Knights Errant, which have beene inchaunted. Wherefore thou maiest very well appease, and quiet thy selfe in that point of beleeving them to bee those thou saist; for they are those as much, as I am a Turke: and as touching thy desire to demaund somewhat of me, speake, for I will answere thee, although thou puttest mee questions untill to morrow morning. Our Ladie assist me quoth Sancho (as loude as he could) and is it possible that you are so brainsicke, and hard headed, as you cannot perceive that I affirme the very pure truth, and that malice hath a greater stroake in this your disgrace, and imployment, then any inchant- ments? But seeing it is so, I will proove evidently that iron are not inchanted : if not, tell me, as God shall de- iver you out of this tempest, and as you shall see your selfe, when you least thinice of it, in my Ladie Dulcmeas armes : make an end of conjuring mee, said Don-Quixote, and aske me what question thou wilt ; for I have already told thee that I will answere with all punctuality : that is it I demaund quoth Sancho ; and the thins I would know is, that you tell me without adding or dimmishing ought, 260 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE but with all truth used or looked for of all those which CHAPTER professe the exercise of armes as you do, under the title of XXI kniehts Errants ? I say answered Don-Quixote, that I will Wherein the not lie a jot : make therefore a beginning, or an ende of these ^*°?^1??' demaunas, for in good sooth thou dost weary me with Jj^u^ge so many salutations, petitions and preventions. Sancho upon bookes replied, I say that I am secure of the bountie and truth of Chivalrie, of my Lord : and therefore, because it makes to the purpose ^ ™"*y in our afiaire, I doe with all respect demaund, whether your JJ^J^y ©f*^ worship, since your incagement, and as you imagine in- }^{^ ^ chantment in that coope, have not had a desire to make greater or lesse water, as men are wont to say. I doe not understand good Sancho, that phrase of making water: and therefore explicate thy selte if thou wouldest have me to answere thee directly; and is it possible, replied he, that your worship understands not what it is to make great or little waters ? then goe to some schoole, and leame it of the boyes, and know that I would say, have you had a desire to doe that which cannot be un- done? O, now, now, I understand thee Sancho; yes, verie many times, yea and even now I have, where- fore, I pray thee, deliver mee from the extremitie thereof; for I promise thee I am not alto- gether so cleane as I would be. S51 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lh. w CHAPTER XXII Wherein the discreete discourse that passed betweene Sancho Pan^a, and his Lord Don-Quixote, is expressed. \, quoth Sancbo, have I caught you at last P thii is that which I desired to know, as much as my soule or lifa Come now. Sir, and tell me, can vou denie that which is wont to be saia, when a bodie is ill disposed, I know not what aylea such a one ; for hee neither eates nor drinkes, nor aleepes, nor answeres directly to that which is demounded him, so as it seemes that he is inchanted f by which may be collected, that such as neither eate, drinke, sleepe, nor do the other naturall thin^ you wote of are incnanted : hut not those which have a aesire as you have, and eate meate, when they get it, and drinke dnnke when it is given them, and answere to all that is propounded unto them. Thou sayest true Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote : but I have told thee alreadie, that there are divers sorts of in- chantments, and perhaps they change with the times from one kinde into another ; and that now the inchanted use to doe all that which I doe, although they did not so in times past ; and therefore there is no disputing, or drawing of conclusions against the customes of tne time. I know, and doe verily perswade my selfe, that I am inchanted, and that is sufficient for the discharge of my conscience, which would be greatly burdened if I thought that I were not inchanted, and yet permitted my selfe to be borne away in this Cage idlely, and like a coward withholding the succour I might give to many distressed and needie persons, which even at this houre be like enough to have extreme want of mine aide, and assistance. Yet say I notwithstanding replied Sancho, that for more abundant Batisfaction, your worship IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE might doe wel to attempt the getting out of this prison, CHAPTER the which I do oblige my selfe with all my power to ^Oill facilitate, yea and to get you out, and then you may re- Wherein count eftsoons on the good Rozinante, who also seemes *^® ^^^J^T*^ inchanted, so sad and melancholy he goes : And this being ^^^ muned done, we may againe assay the fortune of seeking adventures, betweene which if it have no gooa successe, we have time enough to Sancho retume to our Cage ; wherein I promise, by the faith of a F?"Y*Vd^^ good and loyall Squire, to shut up my selfe together with iJ^n-Quixote, you, if you shall prove so unfortunate, or I so foolish, as not ig expressed, to bring our designes to a good issue. I am content to doe what thou sayest, brother Sancho, replied Don-Quixote, and when thou seest oportunity offered to free me, I will be rated by thee in every thing, but yet thou shalt see, how far thou art overwrought in the knowledge thou wilt seeme to have of my disgrace. The Knight Errant, and the ill errant S(}uire beguiled the time in these discourses, untill they arrived unto the place where the Canon, Curate, and Barber expected them : and then Sancho allighting, and helping to talce downe the Cage, the waineman unyoaked his Oxen, permitting them to take the benefit of pasture in that greene and pleasant valley, whose verder invited not such to inioy it as were inchanted like Don-Quixote, but rather such heedfull and discreete persons as was his man, who intreated the Curate to licence nis Lord to come out but a little while, for other- wise the prison would not be so cleanly as the presence of so worthie a Knight as his Lord was required. The Curate understood his meaning, and answered tnat he would satisfie his request very willingly, but that hee feared that when he saw himselfe at liberty, ne would play then some pranke or other, and goe whither no bodie should ever set eye on him after : I will be his surety that he shall not flie away, quoth Sancho : and I also, quoth the Canon, if he wil but pro- mise mee, as he is a knight, that he will not depart from us without our consent. I give my word that I will not, said Don-Quixote (who heard all that they had said) and the rather, because that inchanted bodies have not freewill to dispose of themselves as they list; for he that inchanted 258 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER them, may make them unable to stirre from one place in ^^^^ three dales : and if they make an escape, he can compell Wherein them to retume flying : and therefore smce it was so, they the discreete might securely set him at liberty, especially seeing that it llM^^passed would redound so much to all their benefits : for if they did betweeue not free him, or get further off, he protested that he could Sancho not forbeare to offend their noses. The Canon tooke his Pj"*?** *^*^ hand (although it were bound) and by his &ith, and word, Don^uixote, ^^^ ^^ would not depart, and then they gave him liberty ; is expressed, whereat he infinitely rejoyced, especially seeing himsdfe out of the Cage. The first thing tnat he did after was to stretch all his bodie, and then he went towards Rozinante, and striking him twice or thrice on the buttocks, he said : I hope yet in God, and his blessed mother, O flower and mirrour of horses, that wee two shall see our selves very soone in that state which our hearts desire ; thou with thy Lord on thy backe, and I mounted on thee, and exercisinff the function for which God sent mee into this world. Ana saying so, Don-Quixote with his Squire Sancho, retired him- selfe somewhat from the companie, and came backe soone after a little more lightned, but greatly desiring to execute his Squires designes. The Canon beheld him very earnestly, and with admira- tion wondering to see the strangenesse of his fond humour, and how that he shewed, in whatsoever he uttered, a very good understanding, and onely left the stirrops (as is said before) when any mention was made of Chivalrie; and therefore mooved to compassion, after they were all laide downe along upon the grasse, expecting their dinner, hee said unto him : Gentleman, is it possible that the idle and unsavourie lecture of Bookes of Knighthood, hath so much distracted your wit, as thus to beleeve, that you are caned away inchanted, with other things of that Kind, as much wide from truth, as untruths can be from veritie it selfe ? Or how is it possible that any humaine understanding can frame it selfe to beleeve, that in this world there have beene such an infinitie of Amadises, such a crew of famous Knights, so many Emperours of Trapisonda, such a number of Felix- martes of Hyrcania; so many Palfrayes, Damzels Errant, S54 V IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE Serpents, Robbers, Giants, Battailes, unheard of adventures, CHAPTER sundrie kinds of inchantments, such unmeasurable incounters, XXll such braverie of apparell, such a multitude of enamoured Wherein and valiant Princesses, so many Squires, Earles, wittie ^® discreete Dwarfes, Viragoes, Love letters, amorous dalliances; and that^passed finally, so many, so unreasonable, and impossible adventures, betweene as are containea in the Bookes of Knighthood. Thus much Sancho I dare avouch of my selfe, that when I read them as long F^°^^?°^ as I doe not thinke that they are all but toyes and untruthes, i)^ii4juixote, they delight me : but when I ponder seriously, what they jg expressed, are, I throw the very best of them against the wals, yea, and would throw them into the fire if they were neere me, or in my hands. Having well deserved that severitie, as false Impostures, and seducers of common sence ; as broachers of new Sects, and of uncouth courses of life ; as those that give occasion to the ignorant vulgar to beleeve in such exor- bitant untruthes as are contained in them. Yea, and are withall so presumptuous, as to dare to confound the wits of the most discreete, and best discended Gentlemen ; as we may clearely perceive by that they have done to your selfe, whom they have brought to such termes as it is necessarie to shut you up in a Cage, and carie you on a Teame of Oxen, even as one carries a Lion or Tygre from place to place, to gaine a living by the shewing of him. Therefore, good Don -Quixote, take compassion of your selfe, and retume into the bosome of discretion; and learne to im- ploy the most happie talent of understanding, and abun- dance of wit, wherewith bountifull heaven hath inriched you, [in] yet some other course of studie, which may redound to the profit of your soule, and advancement of your credit and estate. And if, borne away by your naturall dis- position, you will yet persist in the reading of warlike, and Knightly discourses ; Reade in the holy Scripture the Acts of ludges : for there you shall finde surpassing feates and deedes, as true, as valorous. Portugall had a Viriate. Rome a Caesar. Carthage an Hannibal, Greece an Alex- ander, Castile an Earl Feman Goncalez, Valencia a Cid, Andaluzia a Gon9alo Fernandez, Estremadura a Dieffo Garcia de Paredes, Xerez a Garci Perez de Vargas, Toleao 255 THE FIRST PART OF THE [lib. CHAPTER a Garci Lasso : Sivil a Don Manuel de Leon. The discourses XXII of whose valorous Actes, may entertaine, teach, delight, and Wherein make wonder, the most sublime wit that shall reaae them, the discreete Yea, this were indeed a studie fit for your sharpe under- ths^^BasLd standing, my deere Sir Don-Quixote,« for by this you should betwLne become learned in Histories, enamoured of vertue, instructed Sancho in goodnesse, bettered in manners, valiant without rashnesse, Panca, and bold without cowardice : and all this to Gods honour, your his L^rd owne profit, and renowme of the Mancha, from whence, as I Don-Quixote, v i*^ j j j v • ^ j • is expressed. "^^^ learned, you deduce your begmmng and progenie. Don-Quixote listned with all attention unto tne Canons admonition, and perceiving that he was come to an end of them, after he had looked upon him a good while, he said, me thinkes Gentleman, that the scope of your discourse hath beene addrest to perswade me, ttiat there never were any Knights Errant in the world ; and that all the bookes of Chivalrie are false, lying, hurtfuU, and unprofitable to the Common -wealth; and that I have done ill to reade them, worse to beleeve in them, and worst of all to foUow them, by having thus taken on mee the most austere pro- fession of wandring Knighthood, whereof they intreate: denying moreover that there were ever any Amadises, either of GauTe or Greece ; or any of all the other Knights, where- with such Bookes are stufred ; All is just as you have said, quoth the Canon : whereto Don-Quixote replied thus, You also added, that such Bookes had done me much hurt, seeing they had turned my judgement, and immured me up in this Cage ; and that it were better for me, to make some amendment, and alter my studie, reading other that are more authenticall, and delight and instruct much better. It is very true answered the Canon. Why then, quoth Don-Quixote, I finde by mine accounts, that the inchanted, and senslesse man is your selfe ; seeing you have bent your selfe to speake so many blasphemies against a thing so tnie, so currant, and of such request in the world, as hee that should denie it, as you doe, merites the same punishment, which as you say you give to those Bookes, when the reading thereof ofiends you : For to goe about to make men beleeve, that Amadis never lived, nor 256 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE any other of those Knights, wherewith Histories are fully CHAPTER replenished, would bee none other then to perswade them, XXII that the Sunne lightens not, the Earth sustaines not, nor Wherein the Ice makes any thing cold. See what witte is there in the ^® discreete world so profound, that can induce another to beleeve, that that^passed the Historic of Guy of Burgundy, and the Princes Floripes, betweene was not true ? Nor that of Fierabras, with the Bridge of Sancho Mantible, which befell in Charlcmaines time, and is, I sweare, v ?°^1?°^ as true, as that it is day at this instant ; and if it be a lie, iJ^n-Quixote, so must it bee also, that ever there was an Hector, Achilles, ig expressed, or the warre of Troy ; The Twelve Peeres of France, or King Arthur of Brittaine, who goes yet about the world in the shape of a Crow, and is every foote expected in his King- dome. And they will as well presume to say, that the Historic of Guanno M ezquino, and of the quest of the holy Sangriall be lies ; and that for the love betweene Sir Tristram and La Belle Ysonde, and betweene Queene Guenevor and Sir Launcelot Dulak, we have no sufficient Authoritie, and yet there bee certaine persons alive, which almost remember, that they have seene the Ladie Quintaniona, who was one of the bc^t skinkers of Wine that ever Great Brittaine had ; and this is so certaine, as I remember, that one of my Grandmothers of my Fathers side, was wont to say unto me, when shee saw any matrone, with a long and reverend kerchiefe or vaile, my boy, that woman resembles very much Lady Quintaniona, from which I ai^ue, that either she knew her her selfe, or at the least, had scene isome por- traiture of hers. Who can moreover denie the certaintie of the Historic of Peter of Provaunce, and the beautifuU M a^lona, seeing that untill this very day one may behold in the Kings Armorie, the Pinne wherewith he guided, and turned any way he listed, the Horse of wood, whereupon he rode thorow the Ayre ; which Pinne, is a little bigger then the Thill of a Cart, and neere unto it is also seene Babieca his saddle : and in Roncesvals there yet hangs Rowlands home, which is as bigge as a very great loyst, whence is inferred, that there were twelve Peeres, that there was a Pierres of Provance, that also there were Cides, and other such Knights as those which the world termes adventurers ; 8 : KK 267 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["». CHAPTER if not, let them also tell me, that the valiant Lusitanian, ^^^^ lohn de Melo, was no Knight Errant, who went to Bur- Wherein gundie, and in the Citie of Ras fought with the fieunous ^e discreete jj^^d of Chami called M osen Pierres, and after with Mosen thM^pasMd Henry of Ramestan in the Citie of Basilea, and bore away betweene the victorie in both the conflicts, to his etemall £Bune : and Sancho that there were no such curres as the adventures, and single ?^?*V3°^ combats b^un, and ended in Burgundie, by the valiant Don^Ouizote. Spaniards Pedro Barba, and Guttierre Quixada (fix>m whom is ex^BMe^ ^ ™7 ^^^ ^"^ lineally discended) who overcame the Earle of Saint Pauls sonnes. They may also averre unto me, that Don Fernando de Guevarra went not to seeke adventures in Germanic, where he fought with Micer Greorge a Knight of the Duke of Austria his house : Let them likewise aflBrme, that Suero de Quinonnes of the passage, his lustes were but lests ; as also the enterprize of Mosen Lewis de falses, against Don Gk)n9alo de Guzman, a Grentleman of Castile, with many other renouned Acts, done as well by Christian Knights of this Kingdome, as of other forraine lands, and so autiien- ticall and true, as that I am compelled to reiterate what I said before, that whosoever denies them, is defective of reason and good discourse. Full of admiration remained the good Canon, to heare the composition, and medly, that Don -Quixote made of truths and fictions together; and at the great notice he had of all things that might any way conceme his Knight- hood Errant : and therefore he shaped him this answere : I cannot denie Sir Don-Quixote, but that some part of that which you have said is true, specially touching tnose Spanish adventurers of whome you have spoken ; and will likewise graunt you, that there were twelve Peeres of France, but I will not beleeve that they have accomplished all that which the Archbishop Turpine hath left written of them : for the bare truth of tne afiaire is, that they were certaine Noblemen chosen out by the Kings of France, whom they called Peeres, because they were all equall in valour, qualitie, and worth ; or if they were not, it was at least presumed that they were ; and they were not much unlike the militarie orders of Saint lames, or Calatrava, were in request, wherein it is 258 s IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE presupposed that such as are of tiie profession, are, or ought CHAPTER to be valorous, and well descended, Gentlemen : and as now XXII they say, a Knieht of Saint lohn, or Alcantara, so in those Wherein times they said, a Knight of the twelve Peeres ; because ^® discreete they were twelve ecjuals, chosen to be of that military order. thirt^pMsed That there was a Cid, and a Bernard of Carpio, is also doubt- betweene lesse ; that they have done the acts recounted of them, I Sancho beleeve there is very great cause to doubt. As touching tie Tf^J*' ?^^ pinne of the irood Earle Pierres, and that it is by Babieca SJ^^S-.^ L saddle in the Kings Armourie, I confesse thkt my sin £°^^' hath made me so ignorant, or blind, tiiat although I nave [viewed] the saddle very well, yet could I never get a sight of that Pinne, how great soever you aflirme it to bee. Well, it is there without question, said Don-Quixote, and for the greater confirmation thereof, they say it is laid up in a case of Neates leatiier, to keepe it from rusting. That may very well so be, said tiie Canon, yet by the orders that I have received, I doe not remember tiiat ever I saw it : and although I should graunt it to be there, yet doe I not therefore oblige my selfe to beleeve the His- tories of all the Amadises, nor those of tiie other rabble- ment of Knights, which bookes doe mention unto us : nor is it reason that so Honorable a man, adorned with so many good parts, and indowed with such a wit, as you are, should beleeve, that so many, and so strange follies, as are written in the raving bookes of Chivalrie, can be true. ft59 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER XXIII Of the discreet contention betweene Don-Quixote and the Canon, with other accidents. HATwereajest indeed, quoth Don-Quixot^ ' that bookea which are printed with the Kings licence, and approbation of those to whom their examination was com- mitted, and that are read with luiiversall delight and acceptance ; and celebrated by great and little, rich, and poore, teamed and ignorant, Plebeans and Grentlemen, and finally bv all kinde of personi of what itate or condi- tion soever, snould be so lying and fabulous ; speciallj seeing they have such probabilitie of truth ; seeing they describe unto us the fkther, Mother, Countrey, Knsfolke, Age, Towne, and Acta of such a Knight, or luiights, and that ao exactly, point by point, and day by day : Hold your peace, and never speake againe such a blasphemie, and neleeve me, for I doe sincerely counsetile you what vou, as a discreet man, ought to doe herein ; and if not, reaae them but once, and you shall see what delight you shall receive thereby ; if not, tell me what greater pleasure can there be, then to behold (as one would say) even here and before our eyes, a great lake of pitch boiling hot, and many Serpents, Snakes, Lizarts, and other kinds of cruell and dreadtull beasts swimming a thwart it, and in every part of it, and that there issues out ofthe lake a most lamentable voyce, saying. 'Othou Knight, * whatsoever thou art, which doest behold the fearefull lake, ' if thou desirest to obtaine the good concealed under these ' horrid and blacke waters, shew the valour of thy strong * brest, and throw thy selfe into the midst of this sable, ' and inflamed licour ; for if thou doest not so, thou shalt ' not be worthy to discover the great wonders hidden in the IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE ' seven Casties of the seven Fates, which are seated under CHAPTER ^ these gloomie waves ' : and that scarce hath the Knight XXIII heard the fearefull voice, when without entrine into any Ofthedis- new discourses, or once considering the daneer wnereinto he cj^eet oonten- tiirusts himselfe, yea or easing himselfe of Sie waight of his Don-Quij^te* ponderous armour, but only commending himselfe unto and the Grod, and his Ladie Mistris, nee plunges into the midst of Canon^ that burning puddle, and when he neither cares nor knowes with other what may befall him, hee finds himselfe in the midst of ■*^^***®°*'« flourishing fields, with which the very Elisean plaines can in no sort be compared; There it seemes to him that the element is more transparent, and that the Sunne shines with a cleerer light then in our Orbe : there ofiers it selfe to his greedie and curious eye, a most pleasing forrest replen- ished with so ereene, andf well-sprea trees, as the verdure thereof both joyes and quickens the sight ; whilest the eares are entertained by the harmonious, though artlesse songs of infinite and enamelled birds, which traverse the intricate boughes of that shadie habitation : Here hee dis- covers a small streame, whose fresh waters resembling liquid Cristall, slides over the small sands, and white litle stones, which resemble sifted gold wherein Orientall Pearles are in- chaced : there he discemes an artificiall Fountaine wrought of motly lasper and smooth Marble : and hard by it an other, rudely and negligently framed, wherein the sundry Cockle shels with the wreathed white and yellow houses of the Pervincle, and Snaile intermingled, and placed after a dis- orderly order (having now and then pieces of cleere Cristall, and counterfeit Emeralds mingled among them) doe make a worke of so gracefull varietie, as Art imitating Nature, doth herein seeme to surpasse her. Suddainely he discovers a strong Castle or goodly Palace, whose walles are of beaten Sid, the pinacles of Diamonds, the gates of lacints; ally, it is of so exquisite workemanship, as although the materials whereof it is built, are no worse then Diamonds, Carbuncles, Rubies, Emeralds, Pearles, and Gk)ld, yet is the Architecture therof of more estimation and value then they, and is there anv more to be scene, after tiie seeing hereof, then to see sallie out at the Castle gates, a goodly troupe of 861 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ijb. CHAPTER lovely Damzels, whose brave and costiy attjrre, if I should ^^^11 attempt to describe as it is laid downe in Histories, wee Of the dig- shoula never make an end ? and shee that seemes the chiefest creet «)nteii. of aU, to take presently our bold Knieht, that threw him- Don-Quix^^ selfe into the boyling lake, by the hand, and carry him into and the the rich Castle or Palace without speaking a word, and Canon^ cause him to strip himselfe as naked, as he was when his with other Mother bore him, and bathe him in very temperate waters, accidents. ^^ j afterward annoint him all over with precious ointments, and put on him a shirt of most fine, oooriferous, and per- fumed Sendall ; and then anotiier Damzell to come suddainely, and casts on his backe a rich mantel, which they say is wont to bee worth, at the very least a ridi Citie, yea and more P then what a sport it is, when thev tell us after, that after this he is carried into another Hall, where he finds tike tables covered so orderly as he rests amazed ? what, to see cast on his hands water distilled all of Ambar, and most fragrant flowers? what, to see him seated in a chaire of Yvorie ? what, to see him served by all the Damzels witii marvailous silence ? what, the setting before him such varietie of accates, and those so excellently dressed, as his appetite knowes not to which of them it shall first addresse his hand ? what, to heare the Musicke which sounds whilst he is at dinner, without knowing who makes it, or whence it comes ? and after that dinner is ended, and the tables taken away, the Knight to remaine leaning on a chaire, and perhaps picking of his teeth, as the custome is, and on a suddaine to enter at the Hal-dore another much more beautifull Damzell then any of the former, and to sit by his side, and begin to recount unto him what Castle that is, and how shee is inchaunted therein, with many other thinn that amazed the Knight, and amazed the Readers. I will not enlarge my selfe any more in this matter, seeing that you may collect out of that which I have said, that any Sart that is read of any booke of a Knight Errant, wiU elight, and astonish him, that shall peruse it with atten- tion : and therefore I pray you beleeve me, and as I have said already, reade those kinde of bookes, and you shall finde, that they will exile all the melancholic that shall S62 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE trouble you, and rectifie your disposition, if by fortune it be CHAPTER depraved : for I dare affirme of my selfe, that since I am be- XXIII come a Knight Errant, I am valiant, curteous, liberall, well Of the dis- mannered, generous, gentle, bold, mild, patient, an indurer of ^'®®\^°^®°" labours, imprisonments, and inchauntments : and although it i^.Qj^qi^ be but so little a while since I was shut up in a Cage like a and the mad man, yet doe I hope by the valour of mine arme (heaven Canon^ concurring, and fortune not crossing me) to see my selfe with other within a few daves, the King of some Eingdome, wherein I ■*^<5*^®^**- may shew the lx)untie and liberalise included within my brest. For in good truth. Sir, a poore man is made unable to manifest the vertue of liberalise towards any other, although he virtually possesse it himselfe in a most eminent degree : and the will to gratifie, which only consists of will, is as dead a thing, as Faith without Workes. For which cause I doe wish, that fortune would quickly present me some occasion whereby I might make my selfe an Emperour; that I may discover the desire I have to doe good unto my friends, but especially to this my poore Squire Sancho Pan^a, who is one of the honestest men in the world, on whome I would faine bestow the Earledome which I promised him many daies past, but that I feare mee he will not be able to goveme his estate. Sancho overhearing those last words of his masters, said, labour you. Sir Don-Quixote, to get me that Earledome as often promised by you, as much longed for by me, and I promise you that I will not want sufficiency to goveme it, and though I should, yet have I heard say, that there are men in the world, who take Lordships to farme, paying the Lord so much 'by the yeere, and undertaking the care of the government thereof, whilst the Lord himselfe with out- stretched 1^ doth live at his ease ; enjoying the rents they bring him, and caring for nothing else : and so will I doe, and will not stand racking it to the utmost, but presently desist from all administration, and live merrily upon my rent like a younff Duke; and so let the world wagge, and goe how it wiU. That, friend Sancho, is to bee under- stooo, quoth the Canon, of enjoying the revenewes; but as concerning the administration of justice, the Lord of 26S accidents. THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER the Seigniory is bound to looke to it, in that is required ^^^^^ a sufficiency and ability to goreme, and above all, a Ofthedis- good intention to deale justly, and determine rightly: for creet conten- jf ^|jjg [,g wanting when we beginne, our meanes and Dmi'Q^Tote ^"^® ^^ alwaies be subject to errour. And therefore is and the Crod wont as well to further the good designes of the Canon^ simple, as to disfavour the bad ones of those that be ^th other wittily wicked. I understand not those Philosophies, auoth Sancho Panca, but this I know well, that I would I nad as speedily tne Earldome, as I could tell how to coveme it, for I have as much soule as another, and as much bodie as hee that hath most ; and I would be as absolute a King in my estate, as any one would be in his ; and being such, I would doe what I Uked, and doing what I liked, I would take my pleasure, and taking my pleasure, I would be content ; ana when one is content, he hath no more to desire, and having no more to desire, the matter were ended : and then come the state when it will, or farewell it, and let us behold our selves, as one blinde man said to another. They are no bad Philo- sophies which thou comest out with Kind Sancho, quoth the Canon, but yet for all that, there is much to be said oon« cerning this matter of Earledomes. To that Don-Quixote replied : I know not what more may be said, onely I goveme my selfe by the example of Amadis de Gaule, who made his Squire Earle of the firme Island : and therefore I may without scruple of conscience make Sancho Pan^a an Earle ; for he is one of the best Squires that ever Knight Errant had. The Canon abode amazed at the well-compacted and orderly ravings of Don-Quixote ; at the manner wherewith he had deciphered the adventure of the Knight of the Lake ; at the impression which his lying bookes had made into him : and finally he wondrea at the simplicitie of Sancho Pan^a, who so earnestly desired to be made Earle of the county his Lord had promised him. By this time the Canons servingmen, which had gone to the Inne for the sumpture Mule, were returned, and making their table of a carpet, and of the greene grasse of that 264 k IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE meadow, they sate down under the shadow of the trees, CHAPTER and did eate there, to the end that the waineman might XXIII not lose the commoditie of the pasture, as we have said Ofthedis- before, and as they sate at dinner, they sodainly heard the ^*^i^°**°" sound of a little bell issuing from among the briars and i^jq,^^^ brambles that were at hand, and instantly after, they saw ^^^ the come out of the thicket a very faire she-Groate, whose hide Canon, was poudred all over with blacke, white, and browne spots : with other after her followed a Goatheard crying unto her, and in his ■^*®^*'* language bidding her stay, or retume againe to the fould : but the fugitive Goate all afl&ighted and feareful ranne towards the company, and as it were seeking in her dumbe manner to be protected, strayed neere unto them: then did the Goatheard arrive, ana laying hold of her homes (as if shee had beene capable of his reprehension) said unto her. O yee wanton Ape, ye spotted Elfe, how come you to halt with me a late aaies ? what Wolves do skarre your daughter ? will you not tell me, faire, what the matter 18 ? But what can it be other then that you are a female, and therefore can never be quiet ? a fouie evill take your conditions, and all theirs, whom you so much resemble: tume backe, love, tume backe, and though you be not so content withall, yet shall you at least be more safe in your fold, and among the rest of your fellowes : for if you that shall guide and direct them, go thus distracted, and wandering, what then must they doe, what will become of them ? The Goatheards words did not a little delight the hearers, but principally the Canon, who said unto him, I pray thee, good fellow, take thy rest heere awhile, and doe not hasten that Goate so much to her fould, for seeing she is a female, as thou sayest, she will follow her naturall instinct, how much soever thou opposest thy selfe unto it : take therefore that bit, and driuKe a draught wherewithal! thou maist temper thy choUer, and the Goate will, rest her the whilst : and saying so, hee gave him the hinder quarter of a cold Rabbet, which he receiving, rendred him many thankes, and drinking a draught of wine, did pacifie him- selfe, and said presently after: I would not have you, my masters, account me simple, although I spoke to this beast S:LL S65 CHAPTER XXIII Of the dis- creet conten- tion betweene Don-Quizote and the Canon^ with other accidents. THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. in SO earnest a fashion ; for in truth the words which I used unto her, were not without some mysterie. I am indeed rustick, and yet not so much, but that I know how to converse with men, and with beasts. I beleeve that easily auoth the Curate, for I know alreadie by experience, that le woods breede learned men, and sheepe coats containe Philosophers. At the least. Sir, replied the Groatheaid, they have among them experienced men : and that you may give the more credite to this truth, and as it were, touch it with your owne hands (although till I be bidden, I may seeme to invite my selfe) I will, if you please to heare me but awhile, relate unto you a very true accident, which shall make good what this Gentleman (pointing to the Curate) and my selfe have affirmed. To this Don-Quixote answered, because the Case doth seeme to have in it some shadow of Knightly adventures, I will for my part listen unto thee with a very good will, and I presume that all these Grentle- men will doe the like, so great is their discretion, and desire to know curious novelty which amaze, delight, and enter- taine the senses, as I doe certainely beleeve thy history wilL Therefore begin it, friend, and all of us will lend our eares unto it. I except mine quoth Sancho, for I will goe with this pastie unto that little streame, where I meane to fill my selfe for three daies ; for I have heard my Lord Don- Quixote say, that a Knight Errants Squire must eate when he can, and alwaies as much as he can, because that often- times they enter by chance into some wood so intricate, as they cannot get out of it againe in five or sixe daies : and if a mans panch be not then well stuffed, or his wallet well stored, he may there remaine, and be turned as many times it happens, into mummie. Thou art in the right of it, Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, goe therefore where thou wilt, and eate what thou maist, for I am alreadie satisfied, and onely want refection for my minde, which now I will give it by listening to this good fellow. The same will wee also give unto ours quoth the Qinon, who therewithal! intreated the Groatheard to keepe promise, and beginne his tale Then he stroking once or twice his prettie Goate, (which he yet held fast by the homes) said tnus : Lye downe pide 266 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE foole, by mee, for we shall have time enough to retume CHAPTER home agaioe. It seemed that the Goat understood him; XXIII for OS soone as her master sate downe, she quietly stretched Of the dit- her selfe aloug by him, and looking him in the face, "'^^ cont«n- did five to understand, that she was attentive to what hee was saying. And then he began his history in this manner. tion betwem* Don-Quixote, CHAPTER XXIIII Relating that which the Goatheard told to those that carried away Don-Quixote. HJHEERE is a Village distant some three leagues from this valley, which albeit it be little, is one of the richest of this commork : therein sometime did dwell a nealthie fanner of good respect, and so good, as although reputation and riches are commonly joynea together, yet that which he had, was rather got him by his ▼ertue, then by any wealth he possessed : But that which did most accumulate his happinesse (as he himselfe was wont to say) was, that he had a daughter of so accomplished beauty, so rare discretion, comelinesse, and vertue, that as many as knew and beheld her, admired to see the passing indowments wherewith heaven and nature had inricbed her. Being a child, she was fayre, and increasing daily in feature, she was at the age of sixteene most beautiful The fame whereof extended it selfe over all the bordering villages, but why say I the bordring villages alone, if it spread it- ■elfe over the farthest cities, yea and entred into the kings Palace, and into the eares of all kinde of people p so that they came from all parts to behold her as a rare thing, and patteme of miracles P her father did carefully keepe her, 867 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ua CHAPTER and she likewise heeded her selfe : for there is neither guard XXIUI locke, nor bolt able to keepe a mayden better, then ii hei Rdatinr thit owne wariness^, and care. The wealth of the father, and r'"tii tence, and put his will in the ballance, deeming as he dia, that shi might be bestowed on either of us two : and that he mighl be rid of his doubt, he resolved to tell it to Leandra, {foi so do they call the rich maide which hath brought mee fa extreme misery) noting discreetly, that seeing we both wen equals, it would not be amisse to leave in his deere daughter power the making choyce of whether she liked beat. A thinj worthy to be noted by all those parents that would havi their children marry. Wherein my meaning is not, tha< they should permit them to make a bad or a base cfioyce but that they propound certaine good ones, and referre fa , . their likinz which of them they will take. I know no' ' ' I what was the liking of Leandra, but only know this, tha< . ^.t the father pasted us off, by alleaging the over greene yeare !_ * of his daughter, and using general! termes, which neitbei . I obliged him, nor discharged us. My rivall was called An ' selroo, and my selfe Eugenic : that you may also have bodw ^ jl justice of the persons which were actors in this tragedie ' ; whose conclusion is yet depending, but threatens muct _, ^i' future disaster. 'Ijr About the very same time arrived to our village oni U Vincente of the Rose, sonne to a poore labourer of the sami '■4 pUce, which Vincente returned as then from Italy, ant L " IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE divers other countries, wherein he had beene a souldier, CHAPTER for being of some twelve yeeres of age, a certaine Captaine, XXIIII that with his company passed along by our village, did Relating that carry him away with him, and the Youth, after a dozen J^^jj^^ yeares more, came backe againe attired like a soldier, and ^|^ ^ \ho8e painted with a hundred colours, full of a thousand devises that carried of Cristall, five Steele chaines : to day he would put on away Don- some gay thing, the next day some other, but all of them Q'^^cote. slight painted, and of little waight, lesse worth. The clownisn people, which are naturally malicious, and if they have but ever so little idlenesse or leasure become malice it selfe, did note and reckon up all his braveries, and jewels, and found that he had but three suits of apparrell of different colours, with garters and stockings answerable to them ; but he used so many dis^isements, varieties, trans- formations, and inventions, whicn they, as if they had not counted them all, some one would have swome that he had made shew of more then tenne suits of apparrell, and more then twenty plumes of feathers : and let not that which I tell you of tne apparrell be counted impertinent, or from the matter; for it makes a principall part in the history. He would sit on a bench that stood under a great Poplar tree in the midst of the market place, and there would hold us all, with gaping mouthes, listening to the gallant adven- tures, and resolute acts he recounted unto us, there was no Land in all the world, whose soile he had not trodden on, no battell wherein he had not beene present, he had slaine more Moores, then the kingdomes of Morocco, and Tuney contained, and undertaken more single combats, as he saia, then ever did either Gant, Luna, or Diego Garcia de Paredes, and a thousand others whom he named, and yet hee still came away with the victory, without having ever left one drop of blood. On the other side he would shew us signes of wounds, which although they could not be discerned, yet would he perswade us, that they were the markes of bullets, which ne received in divers skirmishes, and warres. Finally he would thou his equals, and those which knew him very well, with marvellous arrogancy : and said, that his arme was his father, his works his linage, and that beside his 269 Goat-heard thttOHTied aw*r DoD- (Jiiixote. THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAPTER being a Souldier, hee ought not a whit to the King. To XXIIII the§e his arrogancieB was annezt some ■uperfidall siull io Rektiiw thmt muaicke, for he could scratch a little on a Gytteme, and ■hich tie tome would say that hee made it speake : but his many tolSoM S""'^ made not a stop there ; for hee had likewise some shadowes of Poetry, and so would make a ballad of a league and a halfe long, upon every toy that hapned in the Village. This souldier therefore, whom I have deciphered, thii Vincente of the Hose, this braggard, this Musician, thit Poet, eyed and beheld many times by Leandra from a cer- taine window of her house that looked into the Market place ; and the golden shew of his attire enamoured her : and his Ditties inchanted her ; for hee would give twentie Copies of every one he composed: The report of his worthy acts, beautified by himselfe, came also unto her eares, and finally (for so it is likely the Divell had ordered the matter) she became in Love with him, before he presumed to think once of soliciting her. And as in Love adventures no one is accomplished with more facilitie, then that which is favoured by the womans desire ; Leandra and Vincente mode a short ana easie agreement : and ere any one of her suiters could once suspect ner desires, shee had fully satisfied them, abandoned her deere and loving Fathers house, (for her mother lives not) and running away from the Village with the Souldier, who departed with more triumph from that enterprise, then from all the others which he had arrogated to himselfe. The accident amazed all the Towne, yea and all those to whome the rumour thereof arrived, were astonished, Anselmo amazed, her father sorrowfull, her k in sfolke ashamed. The ministers of lustice carefull, and the Troupers readie to make pursuit ; all the wayes were laide, and the woods, and every other place meerely searched ; and at the end of three dayes, they found the lustfiill Leandra hidden in a Cave within a wood, naked in her smocke, and dispoyled of a great summe of money, and many precious lewels, which shee had brought away with her : they returned her to her dolefull fathers presence, where asking how shee became so dispoyled, shee presently confessed, that Viooent 870 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE of the Rose had deceived her : for having passed his word to CHAPTER make her his wife, he perswaded her to leave her fathers XXIIII house, and made her beleeve that hee would carrie her to Relatinff that the richest, and most delightfull Citie of the world, which p^*®\™j was Naples. And that shee through indiscretion, and his ^Id to^oss fraude, nad given credit to his words, and robbing her father, that carried stole away with him the very same night that shee was away Don- missed ; and that he caried her to a very rough Thicket, Quixote, and shut her up in that Cave wherein they found her: She also recounted how the Souldier, without touching her honour, had robd her of all that shee carried, and leaving her in that Cave, was fled away; which sucoesse stroke us into greater admiration then all the rest : for wee could hardly be induced to beleeve the yong gallants continencie, but shee did so earnestly protest it, as it did not a little comfort her comfortlesse tather, who made no reckoning of the riches hee had lost, seeing his daughter had yet re- served that leweU, which beins once gone, could never againe be recovered. The same aay that L' bound by my profession, which chiefly consists j Knight gave ssisting the weake ana distressed. end to his cost The Groateheard beheld him, and seeing the Knight so i arrayed, and of so evill-favoured a countenance, hee woudret and questioned the Barber, who sate neare to him, thus : pray you Sir, who is this man, of so strange a figure, an that speakes so od^ P who else should he be, answers the Barber, but the famous Don-Quixote of the Mancha, ti rigbter of wrongs, the redresser of injuries, the protector ( Damzels, the affrighter of Giants, and the overcommear i battails? that which you say of this man, answered tl Goateheard, is very like that which in bookes of Chivalrie written of Knights Errant ; who did all those things whic you apply to this man : and yet I beleeve that either ya jest, or else that this Gentlemans head is voide of braine Thou art a great villaine, said Don-Quixote, and tho art hee whose pate wants braines ; for mine is fuller the the very, very whoores that bore thee ; and saying so, an snatching up a loafe of bread that stoode by him, he raugl: the Goateheard so furious a blow withall, as it beate his not flat to his face : but the other, who was not acquainted wit such jests, and saw how ill be was handled, without bavin respect to the Carpet, Napkins, or those that were eatinj he leaped upon Don-Quixote, and taking hold of bis colls with both tne hands, would certainely nave strangled bin if Sancho Pan^a had not arrived at that very instant, an taking him fast behinde, had not throwen him backe on th Table, crushing dishes, breaking glasses, and shedding, an i-'l overthrowing all that did lie upon it. Don-Quixote seein himselfe free, returned to get upon the Goateheard, wh all besmeered with blood, and trampled to pieces undi 274 .t> IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE Sancho's feete, groped here and there groveling as hee was CHAPTER for some knife or other to take a bloudy revenge withall, ^^^^ but the Canon and Curate prevented his purpose; and yet, Of the fklling by the Barbers assistance, he got under him Don-Quixote, out of Don- on whome hee rained such a shower of buffets, as hee powred Sl^t^ as much bloud from the poore Knights face, as had done heard: with from his owne : The Canon and Curate were ready to burst the adven- for laughter: The Troupers danced for sport; every one tureofthe hissed, as men use to do when Dogges fall out, and quarrell f^jS^J^^' together : onely Sancho Panfa was wood, because he could Knight gave not get from one of the Canons Servingmen, who withheld endtohiscott him from going to helpe his Master. In conclusion, all being verie menr* save the two buffetants, that tugged one another extremely, they heard the sound of a trumpet so dolefull, as it made them tume their faces towards that part from whence it seemed to come: but hee that was most troubled at the noyse thereof, was Don-Quixote ; who although he wasr under the Groatheard, full sore against his will, and by him exceedingly bruised and battered, yet said unto him : brother divelT (for it is impossible that thou canst be any other, seeing that thou hast had valour and strength to subject my forces) I pray thee let us make truce for one onely houre ; for the dolorous sound of that trumpet which toucheth our eares, doth mee thinks, invite me to some new adventure. The Goatheard, who was weary of buffeting, and being beaten, left him off incontinently, and Don -Quixote stood up, and turned himselfe towards the place from whence he imagined the noyse to prooeede, and presently he espyed descending from a certaine height many men apparelled in white like disciplinants. The matter indeed was, that the clowdes had that yeere denyed to bestow their due on the earth, and therefore they did institute Rogations, Processions, and Disciplines, through- out all that Countrey, to desire almighty Grod to open the hands of his mercy, and to bestow some raine upon them : and to this effect, the people of a Village, neere unto that place, came in Procession to a devout Eremi- tage builded upon one of the hilles that invironed that ViUly. 275 Of the falling out of Don- Quixote and theGoate- heud: with the adven- ture of the diadplinanta, to which the Knight gave •ndtohlicott. ;|i L THE FIRST PART OF THE [uk Don-Quixote noting the strange attyre of the Disciplin' ants, without any calling to memorie how bee had often seei the like before, did forthwith imagine that it waa some nei adventure, and that the triall thereof only appertained tc him, as to a Knight errant: and this bis preBumption ww fortilied the more, by beleeving that an Image which thq carried all covered over with blacke, was some principal Lady whom those miscreants and discourteous KniKbts diiJ beare away perforce. And as soone as this fell into bis brain, he leaped lightly towards Sozinante, that went feeding uc and downe the Flaines, and dismounting ^m bis pomell the bridle, and his target that hanged tiiereat, he bridlec him in a trice; and taking his sword from Sancho, go1 instantly upon his horse, and then imbracing bis target said in a loud voyce to all those that were present: you shall now see, O valorous companv, bow important a tlunj it is to have in the world such Enights as professe the ordei of Chivalrie errant : now I say, you shall disceme by tht freeing of that good Ladie, who is there canyed captivt away, whether Knights adventurous are to be held in price and saying so, be strucke Rozinante with bis heeles (foi spurres he had none) and making him to gallop (for it ii not read in any part of this true Historic, that Rozinanti did ever passe one formall or full career) be posted tc incounter the disciplinants, although the Curate, Canon and Barber, did what they might to withhold him, but al! was not possible ; and much Icsse could he be detained b3 these outcries of Sancho, saying, whether do you goe, Sii Don-Quixote? what Divels doe you beare in your bresi that incite you to runnc thus against the Catholike fiiith i see Sir, unfortunate that I am, how that is a Procession ol disci plinants, and that the Lady wham they beare, is th( blessed Image of the immaculate Virgin, looks Sir, wha1 you doe, for at this time it may well be said, that you art not you know what. But Sancho laboured in vaine, for hii Lord rode with so greedie a desire to encounter the wbiti men, and deliver the morning Ladie, as he heard not ( word, and although he bad, yet would be not then havi returned back at the Kings commandement. Being comi 876 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE at last, neere to the Procession, and stopping Rozinante CHAPTER (who had already a sreat desire to rest himselfe a while) he ^^^^ said with a troubled and hoarse voice: O you that cover Of the foiling your faces, perhaps because you are not good men, give eare S^*.^^J?^°'j and listen to what I shall say : the first that stood at this the^oate- alarme, were those which carried the Image ; and one of the heard : with foure Priests which sung the Litanies, beholding the strange the adven- shape of Don-Quixote, the leannesse of Rozinante, and other V?**.®/^® circumstances worthy of laughter, which he noted in our ^ wf iS*the' Knight, returned him quickly this answere Good Sir, if you Knight gave would say any thing to us, say it instantly; for these honest endtohisoost men, as you see, are toiled extremely; and therefore wee cannot, nor is it reason wee should stand lingring to heare any thing, if it be not so brief, as it may be delivered in two words ; I will say it in one, said Don-Quixote, and it is this, that you doe forthwith give libertie to that beautifuU Lady, whose teares and pittifuU semblance cleerely denote, that you carrie her away against her will, and have done her some notable injurie ; and I, who was borne to right such wrongs, will not permit her to passe one step forward, untill shee be wholly possessed of the freedome shee doth so much desire and deserve. All those that over-heard Don-Quixote, gathered by his words that he was some distracted man; and therefore beganne to laugh vei^ hartily, which laughing seemed to adde gun-powder to his choler; for laying his hand on his sword without any more words, he presently assaulted the Image-carriers ; one whereof leaving the charge of the burden to his fellowes, came out to encounter the Knight with a wooden forke (whereon he supported the beere whensoever they made a stand) and receyving upon it a great blow which Don-Quixote discharged at him, it parted the forke in two ; and yet hee with the peece that remained in his hand, returned the Knight such a thwacke upon the shoulder, on the sword side, as nis target not being able to make resistance against that rusticall force, poore Don-Quixote was overthrowen to the ground, and extremely bruised. Sancho Pan9a (who had followed him, puffing and blowing as fast as he could) seeing him overthrowne, ciyed to his 277 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["= CHAPUR adversary that hee should strike him no more : for he wa ^^^ a poore inchaunted Knight, that had never all the daies a Of the ftlling his life done any man harme : but that which detajmed thi *?**''[^''' swaine, was not Sanchos outcries, but to see that Don tbeGMto- Quixote stirred neither hand nor foote, and therefore be hwrd : with leeving that he had slaine him, hee tucked up his coate ti the adven- his girdle aa soone as be could, and ded away through tb dtad'u^to ^^^^ ^^^ * Deere. In the meane while, Don-Quixote to wEich the' Cojopanions did hasten to the place where hee lay, wtei Knight gave those of the Procession teeing them (but prindpally tb •ndtohiscoat troupers of the holy Brotherhood with their Crosae-bowea ninne towards them, did feare some disastrous successe ; am therefore, they gathered together in a troupe about tin Image, and lifting up their hoods, and laying fast bold oi their whips, and tbe Priests on their Tapers, they attendet the assault, with resolution both to defend themselves, an< offend the assaylants if they might : but Fortune dispoaei the matter better then they expected ; for Sancho did no thing else then throw himselfe on his Lords body, making over him the most dolorous and ridiculous lamentation a the world, and beleeving that hee was dead. The Curat was knowen by the other Curate that came in the proces sion ; and their acquaintance appeased the conceived fear of the two squadrons. The first Curate, in two words, [told the other what Don-Quixote was, and therefore he, and al the crue of the Disciplinants went over to see, whether tin I poore Knight were dead or alive; and then might hear Sancho Pan^a, with the teares in his eyes, bewayling him ii this manner. O flower of Chivalrie, who hast with one bloi alone ended the Carreere of thy so well bestowed Peeres P ( renowme of this linage, the honour and glorie of all thi I Mancha, yea and of all the world beside ; which seeing i ' . wanteth thee, shall remaine full of miscreants, secure fron I beeing not punished for their misdeedes. O liberall beyoni \ ■ all Alexanders, seeing thou hast given mee, for onely for eigh moneths service, the best Iland that the Sea doeth compaas I or ingirt. O humble to the proud, and stately to th I humbled, undertaker of perils, indurer of afironts, enamouret without cause, imitator of good men, whip of the evill 278 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE enemie of the wicked, and in conclusion, Knight Errant, CHAPTER then which no greater thing may be. said. ^^^ Don-Quixote was called againe to himselfe by Sancho his Of the fmlling out-cries, and then the first word that ever he spake was ; ?{J^^^°"j he that lives absented from thee most sweet Duldnea, is ^ble^mte^ subject to greater miseries then this : helpe me friend heard : with Sancho, to get up into the inchanted Chariote againe, for the adven- I am not in plight to oppresse Rozinantes Saddle, having J?'*.*!^*^*^ this shoulder broken all into peeces that I will doe with a ^ ^^^h tl^ very good wil, my deere Lord, replied the Squire ; and let Knight gave us retume to my village, in company of those Gentlemen, eodtohlscott which desire your welfare so much ; and there we will take order for some other voyage, which may bee more profitable, and famous then this hath beene. Thou speakest reasonably, Sancho, replied Don-Quixote, and it will bee a neat wise- dome to let overpasse the crosse aspect of those Planets that raigne at this present. The Canon, Curate, and Barbour commended his resolution: and so having taken delight enough in Sancho Pancas simplicitie, they placed Don- Quixote as before in the Teame. The Prooessioners return- ing into their former order, did prosecute their way; the goateheard tooke leave of them all. The troupers would not ride anv farther, and therefore the Curate satisfied them for the pames they had taken: The Canon intreated the Curate to let him understand all that succeeded of Don- Quixote ; to wit, whether he amended of his firenzie, or grew more distracted, and then he tooke leave, to continue his journey. Lastly, all of them departed, the Curate, Barber, Don-Quixote, Sancho Panfa, and the good Rozinante onely remaining behind. Then the waineman yoked his Oxen, and accommodated the Knight on a bottle of Hay; and afterward followed on in his wonted low maner, tliat way which the Curate directed. At the end of two dayes they arrived to Don-Quixotes Village, into which they entred about noone ; this befell on a Sunday, when all the people were in the Market stead, through the middle whereot Don- Quixotes Cart did passe : all of them drew neere to see what came in it, and wnen they knew their Countrie man, they were marvellously astonished : the whilst a little boy ranne S79 THE FIRST PART OF THE ["b. CHAPTER home before, to tell the old Wife and the Knights niese^ ^^V that their Lord and uncle was returned, very leane, pale. Of the falling disfigured, and stretcht all along on a bundell of Hay. out of Don It would have moved one to compassion, to have heard the^Smte^ the lamentations, and out-cries, then raisd by the two good heard : with ^omen, the blowes they gave themselves, and the curses and theadven- execrations which they powred out against all Bookes of tureofthe Knighthood, all which was againe renewed, when they saw KfccrSS' Don-Quixote himselfe entred m at their doores. At the Knight gave ^'^^^ ^^ this his arrival, Sancho Pan9as wife repaired also endtohiscost to get some tidings of her goodman ; for shee had learned that hee was gone away with the Knight, to serve him as his Squire, ana as soon as ever shee saw her husband, the question shee asked him was, whether the Asse were in health or no. Sancho answered that he was come in better health then his Master : God be thanked, quoth she, who hath done me so great a favour : but tell mee now friend, what profit hast thou reaped by this thy Squireship ? What Peticote hast thou brought me home? What siiooes for thy little boyes ? I bring none of these things, good wife, quoth Sancho, although I bring other things of more mo- ment [and] estimation : I am very glad of that, quoth bis wife; shew me those things of more moment and estima- tion good friend : for I would faine see them, to the end that this heart of mine may be cheered, which hath beene so swolne and sorrowfull, all the time of thine absence. Thou shalt see them at home quoth Sancho, and therefore rest satisfied for this time ; for and it please Grod, that we travaile once againe to seeke adventures, thou shalt see me shortly after an Earle, or Govemour of an Hand, and that not every ordinarie one neither, but of one of the best in the World. I pray God, Husband, it may be so, (replied she) for wee have very great need of it. But what means that Hand ? for I understand not the word. Honny is not made for the Asses mouth, quoth Sancho : wife thou shalt know it in good time, yea, and shalt wonder, to heare the title of Ladiship given thee by all thy vassalles. What is that thou speakest, Sancho, of Lordships, Ilands, and vassalles ? Answered loan Panca (for so was shee called, although her 280 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE husband and shee were not kinsfolke ; but by reason that CHAPTER in the Mancha, the wives are usually called after their ^^^^ husbands surname) Doe not busie thy selfe loan, quoth OfthefaUing Sancho, to know those things on such a suddaine ; let it q^*.^^^% suffice that I tell thee the truth, and therewithall sow up the^Goste^ thy mouth. I will onely say thus much unto thee, as it heard: with were by the way, that there is nothing in the world so the adven- pleasant, as for an honest man to be the Squire of a Knight *?'*, ^f *^*t- Errant, that seekes Adventures. It is very true, that the towfcch^e' greatest number of Adventures found out, succeeded not to Kuight gave a mans satisfaction so much as he would desire: for of a endtohiscost hundred tha.t are incountred, the ninetie and nine are wont to be crosse and untoward ones ; I know it by experience, for I have come away my selfe out of some of them well can- vassed, and out of others well beaten. But yet for all that, it is a fine thing to expect events, traverse groves, search woods, tread on rockes, visit Castles, and lodge in Innes at a mans pleasure, without paying the divell a crosse. All these discourses passed betweenc Sancho Panfa, and his Wife loan Panfa, whilst the old woman and Don- Quixotes Niece did receive him, put off his clothes, and lay him downe in his ancient bed : nee looked upon them very earnestly, and could not conjecture where he was. The Curate charged the Niece to cherish her Vncle very care- fully, and that they should lookc wel that he made not the third escape ; relating at large all the adoe that they had to bring him home. Here TOth the women renewed their exclamations : their execrations of all bookes of Knight- hood here came to be reiterated : here they besought heaven to throw downe into the very Center of the bottomlesse Pit, the outcries of so many lies and ravings. Finally, they remained perplexed and timerous, that iJiey should lose agfdn their Master and Vncle, as soon as he was any thing recovered; and it befell just as they suspected: but the Authour of this Historic, although he have with all diligence and curiositie inauired after Uie Acts atchieved by Don-Quixote in his thira sally to seeke Adventures, yet could he never attaine (at least by authenticall Writing) to any notice of them : Only Fame hath left in the memories 2 : NN S81 THE FIRST PART OF THE [ub. CHAPTER of the Mancha, that Don-Quixote, after his third escape, ^^^ at Qaragofa ; and present at certaine fiunous justs made in Of the felling that Cittie ; and that therein befell him events most worthy Chdx^to^'^d ^^ ^^^ valour and good wit. But of his end hee could findle J][]^^^^ nothing, nor ever should have knowne ou^ht, if good for- heard : with tune had not offered to his view an old Phisition, who had theadven- in his custodie a leaden Box, which, as he a£Srmed, was VJ'®.®,^^® found in the ruines of an old Eremitage, as it was a re- tow?ichthe' P*i""gi ^^ which box were certaine scrolles of Parchment Knight gave written with Grothicall Characters, but containing Castilian endtohiscost verses, which comprehended many of his Acts, and specified Dulcinea of Toboso her beautie, decyphered Rozinante, and intreated of Sancho Pan9as fidelity ; as also of Don-Quixotes Sepulchre, with sundry Epitaphes, and Elogies, of his life and manners, and those that could bee read and copied out throughly, were those that are here set downe by the faith- full Authour of this new and unmatched relation. Which Authour demaunds of the Readers no other guerdon, in regard of his huge travaile spent in the search of all the old records of the Mancha, for the bringing thereof unto light, but that they will deigne to afford it as much credit as dis- creet men are wont to give unto bookes of Eiiighthood, which are of so ^at reputation now a daies in the world ; for here- with he will rest most fully contented, and satisfied; and with- all incouraged to publish and seeke out for other discourses, if not altogether so true as this, at least of as great, both invention, and recreation. The first words written in the Scrowle of Parchement, that was found in the leaden box, were these. ^ 282 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE THE ACADEMIKES OF ARGAMASILLA, a Towne of the Mancha, on the life and death of the valorous Don-Quixote of the Mancha, hoc scripserunt. AN EPITAPHE OF MONICONGO THE ACADEMIKE OF ARGAMASILLA, TO DON-QUIXOTES SEPULCHER The claUrinff Thunderbolt that did adorne The M anena, with more spoiles then lason, Creete : The wit, whose wether-cocke, was sharpe as Thome, When somewhat flatter it to be was meete. The arme which did his power so much dilate. As it Gaeta and Cathay did retch. The dreadfulst Muse, and eke discreetest, that In brazen sheetes, did praises ever stretch. He that the Amadises left behinde, And held the Galaors but in small esteeme : Both for his braverie and his loving minde. He dumbe that made Don Belianis to seeme : And he that farre on Rozinante erde. Under this frozen stone doth lye interde. PANIAGUADO AN ACADEMIKE OF ARGA- MASILLA, IN PRAISE OF DULCINEA OF TOBOSO SONNET She which you view with triple face and sheene, High brested and couragious like a man. Is tall Dulcinea of Toboso Queene, Of great Quixote welbeloved than. S88 THE FIR3T PART OF THE [lib. He for her sake, treads th^ one and th^ other side Of the browne mountaine, and the fisunous fields Of Montiel and Aran luez so wide, On foote all tyrde, loaden with speare and shield. (The fault was Rozinantes :) O hard starre ! That this M anch^an Dame and Worthy Ejiight, . In tender yeeres when people strongest are, She lost by death the glimpse of beautie bright : And he although in Marble richly done : Yet Loves wrath and deceits, she could not shunne. CAPRICHIOSO THE MOST INGENIOUS ACADEMICKE OF ARGAMASILLA, IN PRAISE OF ROZINANTE, DON-QUIXOTE HIS STEEDE SONNET Into the proud erected Diamond stocke. Which Mars with bloudie plants so often boared, Halfe wood with valour, the Manchegan stucke His wavMng Standard : and his Armes restored. For them thereon he hung, and his bright sword. Wherewith he hacks, rents, parts, and overthrowes ; (New prowesses,) to which Art must affoord New stiles on this new Palatine to gloze. And if Gaule, much her Amadis does prize Whose brave discendants have illustred Greece, And fild it fiiU of Tropheis and of Fame : Much more Bellonas Court doth solemnize Quixote : whose like in Gaule, nor Grecia is. So honourd^s none, as in Mancha, his name. Let no oblivion his glory staine. Seeing in swiftnesse Kozinant his steede Even Bayard doth, and Briliador exoeede. 884 IV] HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE BURLADOR ACADEMICKE OF AR6AMASILLA, TO SANCHO PANgA SONNET Thi8 Sancho Pan9a is of body little, But yet, O miracle ! in valour great, The simplest Squire, and sooth to say, lest suttle That in this world I sweare, lived ever yet. From being an Earle, he scarce was a threeds bread, Had not at once conspirM to crosse his euerdon. The malice of the times, and men misled. Which scarce an Asse incountring, would him pardon. Upon the like he rode, O give me leave To tell how this meeke Squire after the horse Mild Rozinante, and his Liord did drive ! O ! then vaine hopes of men, what thing is worse ? Which prooves us, desired ease to lend, Yet doe at last in smokes our glories end. CACHIDIABLO ACADEMICKE OF ARGAMASBLLA, ON DONQUIXOTE HIS TOMBE AN EPrr APH The worthy Knight lies there Well bruised, but evil-andant Who borne on Rozinante Rode waies both farre and neere. Sancho his faithfull Squire Panca ycleep^d also Lietn besides him too : In his trade without peere. S85 HISTORIE OF DON QUIXOTE TIQUrrOC ACADEMICKE OF AR6AMASILLA, ON DULCINEA OF TOBOSOS SEPULCHER AN EFTCAPH DuLCiNEA here beneath lies, though of flesh so round, To dust and ashes ground. By fowle and ou^ly Death. Shee was of genUe breath, And somewhat like a Dame, Bein^ great Quixotes flame, And ner Townes glorie, eatii. These were the Verses that could be read, as for the rest, in respect that they were halfe consumed and eaten away by time, they were delivered to a SchoUer, that hee mig^t by conjectures declare their meaning : and we have had intel- ligence that he hath done it witib the cost of many nights watching, and other great paines, and that he meanes to publish them, and also gives hope of a third sallie made by Don-Quixote. FINIS S86 s