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VOLUME[ VOLUME 1  ]  

CHAPTER[ IV. OF WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR KNIGHT WHEN HE LEFT THE INN

Day was dawning when Don Quixote quitted the inn, so happy, so gay, so

exhilarated at finding himself now dubbed a knight, that his joy was like

to burst his horse-girths. However, recalling the advice of his host as

to the requisites he ought to carry with him, especially that referring

to money and shirts, he determined to go home and provide himself with

all, and also with a squire, for he reckoned upon securing a

farm-labourer, a neighbour of his, a poor man with a family, but very

well qualified for the office of squire to a knight. With this object he

turned his horse's head towards his village, and Rocinante, thus reminded

of his old quarters, stepped out so briskly that he hardly seemed to

tread the earth.

He had not gone far, when out of a thicket on his right there seemed to

come feeble cries as of some one in distress, and the instant he heard

them he exclaimed, "Thanks be to heaven for the favour it accords me,

that it so soon offers me an opportunity of fulfilling the obligation I

have undertaken, and gathering the fruit of my ambition. These cries, no

doubt, come from some man or woman in want of help, and needing my aid

and protection;" and wheeling, he turned Rocinante in the direction

whence the cries seemed to proceed. He had gone but a few paces into the

wood, when he saw a mare tied to an oak, and tied to another, and

stripped from the waist upwards, a youth of about fifteen years of age,

from whom the cries came. Nor were they without cause, for a lusty farmer

was flogging him with a belt and following up every blow with scoldings

and commands, repeating, "Your mouth shut and your eyes open!" while the

youth made answer, "I won't do it again, master mine; by God's passion I

won't do it again, and I'll take more care of the flock another time."

Seeing what was going on, Don Quixote said in an angry voice,

"Discourteous knight, it ill becomes you to assail one who cannot defend

himself; mount your steed and take your lance" (for there was a lance

leaning against the oak to which the mare was tied), "and I will make you

know that you are behaving as a coward." The farmer, seeing before him

this figure in full armour brandishing a lance over his head, gave

himself up for dead, and made answer meekly, "Sir Knight, this youth that

I am chastising is my servant, employed by me to watch a flock of sheep

that I have hard by, and he is so careless that I lose one every day, and

when I punish him for his carelessness and knavery he says I do it out of

niggardliness, to escape paying him the wages I owe him, and before God,

and on my soul, he lies."

"Lies before me, base clown!" said Don Quixote. "By the sun that shines

on us I have a mind to run you through with this lance. Pay him at once

without another word; if not, by the God that rules us I will make an end

of you, and annihilate you on the spot; release him instantly."

The farmer hung his head, and without a word untied his servant, of whom

Don Quixote asked how much his master owed him.

He replied, nine months at seven reals a month. Don Quixote added it up,

found that it came to sixty-three reals, and told the farmer to pay it

down immediately, if he did not want to die for it.

The trembling clown replied that as he lived and by the oath he had sworn

(though he had not sworn any) it was not so much; for there were to be

taken into account and deducted three pairs of shoes he had given him,

and a real for two blood-lettings when he was sick.

"All that is very well," said Don Quixote; "but let the shoes and the

blood-lettings stand as a setoff against the blows you have given him

without any cause; for if he spoiled the leather of the shoes you paid

for, you have damaged that of his body, and if the barber took blood from

him when he was sick, you have drawn it when he was sound; so on that

score he owes you nothing."

"The difficulty is, Sir Knight, that I have no money here; let Andres

come home with me, and I will pay him all, real by real."

"I go with him!" said the youth. "Nay, God forbid! No, senor, not for the

world; for once alone with me, he would ray me like a Saint Bartholomew."

"He will do nothing of the kind," said Don Quixote; "I have only to

command, and he will obey me; and as he has sworn to me by the order of

knighthood which he has received, I leave him free, and I guarantee the

payment."

"Consider what you are saying, senor," said the youth; "this master of

mine is not a knight, nor has he received any order of knighthood; for he

is Juan Haldudo the Rich, of Quintanar."

"That matters little," replied Don Quixote; "there may be Haldudos

knights; moreover, everyone is the son of his works."

"That is true," said Andres; "but this master of mine--of what works is

he the son, when he refuses me the wages of my sweat and labour?"

"I do not refuse, brother Andres," said the farmer, "be good enough to

come along with me, and I swear by all the orders of knighthood there are

in the world to pay you as I have agreed, real by real, and perfumed."

"For the perfumery I excuse you," said Don Quixote; "give it to him in

reals, and I shall be satisfied; and see that you do as you have sworn;

if not, by the same oath I swear to come back and hunt you out and punish

you; and I shall find you though you should lie closer than a lizard. And

if you desire to know who it is lays this command upon you, that you be

more firmly bound to obey it, know that I am the valorous Don Quixote of

La Mancha, the undoer of wrongs and injustices; and so, God be with you,

and keep in mind what you have promised and sworn under those penalties

that have been already declared to you."

So saying, he gave Rocinante the spur and was soon out of reach. The

farmer followed him with his eyes, and when he saw that he had cleared

the wood and was no longer in sight, he turned to his boy Andres, and

said, "Come here, my son, I want to pay you what I owe you, as that

undoer of wrongs has commanded me."

"My oath on it," said Andres, "your worship will be well advised to obey

the command of that good knight--may he live a thousand years--for, as he

is a valiant and just judge, by Roque, if you do not pay me, he will come

back and do as he said."

"My oath on it, too," said the farmer; "but as I have a strong affection

for you, I want to add to the debt in order to add to the payment;" and

seizing him by the arm, he tied him up again, and gave him such a

flogging that he left him for dead.

"Now, Master Andres," said the farmer, "call on the undoer of wrongs; you

will find he won't undo that, though I am not sure that I have quite done

with you, for I have a good mind to flay you alive." But at last he

untied him, and gave him leave to go look for his judge in order to put

the sentence pronounced into execution.

Andres went off rather down in the mouth, swearing he would go to look

for the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha and tell him exactly what had

happened, and that all would have to be repaid him sevenfold; but for all

that, he went off weeping, while his master stood laughing.

Thus did the valiant Don Quixote right that wrong, and, thoroughly

satisfied with what had taken place, as he considered he had made a very

happy and noble beginning with his knighthood, he took the road towards

his village in perfect self-content, saying in a low voice, "Well mayest

thou this day call thyself fortunate above all on earth, O Dulcinea del

Toboso, fairest of the fair! since it has fallen to thy lot to hold

subject and submissive to thy full will and pleasure a knight so renowned

as is and will be Don Quixote of La Mancha, who, as all the world knows,

yesterday received the order of knighthood, and hath to-day righted the

greatest wrong and grievance that ever injustice conceived and cruelty

perpetrated: who hath to-day plucked the rod from the hand of yonder

ruthless oppressor so wantonly lashing that tender child."

He now came to a road branching in four directions, and immediately he

was reminded of those cross-roads where knights-errant used to stop to

consider which road they should take. In imitation of them he halted for

a while, and after having deeply considered it, he gave Rocinante his

head, submitting his own will to that of his hack, who followed out his

first intention, which was to make straight for his own stable. After he

had gone about two miles Don Quixote perceived a large party of people,

who, as afterwards appeared, were some Toledo traders, on their way to

buy silk at Murcia. There were six of them coming along under their

sunshades, with four servants mounted, and three muleteers on foot.

Scarcely had Don Quixote descried them when the fancy possessed him that

this must be some new adventure; and to help him to imitate as far as he

could those passages he had read of in his books, here seemed to come one

made on purpose, which he resolved to attempt. So with a lofty bearing

and determination he fixed himself firmly in his stirrups, got his lance

ready, brought his buckler before his breast, and planting himself in the

middle of the road, stood waiting the approach of these knights-errant,

for such he now considered and held them to be; and when they had come

near enough to see and hear, he exclaimed with a haughty gesture, "All

the world stand, unless all the world confess that in all the world there

is no maiden fairer than the Empress of La Mancha, the peerless Dulcinea

del Toboso."

The traders halted at the sound of this language and the sight of the

strange figure that uttered it, and from both figure and language at once

guessed the craze of their owner; they wished, however, to learn quietly

what was the object of this confession that was demanded of them, and one

of them, who was rather fond of a joke and was very sharp-witted, said to

him, "Sir Knight, we do not know who this good lady is that you speak of;

show her to us, for, if she be of such beauty as you suggest, with all

our hearts and without any pressure we will confess the truth that is on

your part required of us."

"If I were to show her to you," replied Don Quixote, "what merit would

you have in confessing a truth so manifest? The essential point is that

without seeing her you must believe, confess, affirm, swear, and defend

it; else ye have to do with me in battle, ill-conditioned, arrogant

rabble that ye are; and come ye on, one by one as the order of knighthood

requires, or all together as is the custom and vile usage of your breed,

here do I bide and await you relying on the justice of the cause I

maintain."

"Sir Knight," replied the trader, "I entreat your worship in the name of

this present company of princes, that, to save us from charging our

consciences with the confession of a thing we have never seen or heard

of, and one moreover so much to the prejudice of the Empresses and Queens

of the Alcarria and Estremadura, your worship will be pleased to show us

some portrait of this lady, though it be no bigger than a grain of wheat;

for by the thread one gets at the ball, and in this way we shall be

satisfied and easy, and you will be content and pleased; nay, I believe

we are already so far agreed with you that even though her portrait

should show her blind of one eye, and distilling vermilion and sulphur

from the other, we would nevertheless, to gratify your worship, say all

in her favour that you desire."

"She distils nothing of the kind, vile rabble," said Don Quixote, burning

with rage, "nothing of the kind, I say, only ambergris and civet in

cotton; nor is she one-eyed or humpbacked, but straighter than a

Guadarrama spindle: but ye must pay for the blasphemy ye have uttered

against beauty like that of my lady."

And so saying, he charged with levelled lance against the one who had

spoken, with such fury and fierceness that, if luck had not contrived

that Rocinante should stumble midway and come down, it would have gone

hard with the rash trader. Down went Rocinante, and over went his master,

rolling along the ground for some distance; and when he tried to rise he

was unable, so encumbered was he with lance, buckler, spurs, helmet, and

the weight of his old armour; and all the while he was struggling to get

up he kept saying, "Fly not, cowards and caitiffs! stay, for not by my

fault, but my horse's, am I stretched here."

One of the muleteers in attendance, who could not have had much good

nature in him, hearing the poor prostrate man blustering in this style,

was unable to refrain from giving him an answer on his ribs; and coming

up to him he seized his lance, and having broken it in pieces, with one

of them he began so to belabour our Don Quixote that, notwithstanding and

in spite of his armour, he milled him like a measure of wheat. His

masters called out not to lay on so hard and to leave him alone, but the

muleteers blood was up, and he did not care to drop the game until he had

vented the rest of his wrath, and gathering up the remaining fragments of

the lance he finished with a discharge upon the unhappy victim, who all

through the storm of sticks that rained on him never ceased threatening

heaven, and earth, and the brigands, for such they seemed to him. At last

the muleteer was tired, and the traders continued their journey, taking

with them matter for talk about the poor fellow who had been cudgelled.

He when he found himself alone made another effort to rise; but if he was

unable when whole and sound, how was he to rise after having been

thrashed and well-nigh knocked to pieces? And yet he esteemed himself

fortunate, as it seemed to him that this was a regular knight-errant's

mishap, and entirely, he considered, the fault of his horse. However,

battered in body as he was, to rise was beyond his power.

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