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VOLUME[ VOLUME 1  ]  

CHAPTER[ XXXII. WHICH TREATS OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE'S PARTY AT THE INN

Their dainty repast being finished, they saddled at once, and without any

adventure worth mentioning they reached next day the inn, the object of

Sancho Panza's fear and dread; but though he would have rather not

entered it, there was no help for it. The landlady, the landlord, their

daughter, and Maritornes, when they saw Don Quixote and Sancho coming,

went out to welcome them with signs of hearty satisfaction, which Don

Quixote received with dignity and gravity, and bade them make up a better

bed for him than the last time: to which the landlady replied that if he

paid better than he did the last time she would give him one fit for a

prince. Don Quixote said he would, so they made up a tolerable one for

him in the same garret as before; and he lay down at once, being sorely

shaken and in want of sleep.

No sooner was the door shut upon him than the landlady made at the

barber, and seizing him by the beard, said:

"By my faith you are not going to make a beard of my tail any longer; you

must give me back tail, for it is a shame the way that thing of my

husband's goes tossing about on the floor; I mean the comb that I used to

stick in my good tail."

But for all she tugged at it the barber would not give it up until the

licentiate told him to let her have it, as there was now no further

occasion for that stratagem, because he might declare himself and appear

in his own character, and tell Don Quixote that he had fled to this inn

when those thieves the galley slaves robbed him; and should he ask for

the princess's squire, they could tell him that she had sent him on

before her to give notice to the people of her kingdom that she was

coming, and bringing with her the deliverer of them all. On this the

barber cheerfully restored the tail to the landlady, and at the same time

they returned all the accessories they had borrowed to effect Don

Quixote's deliverance. All the people of the inn were struck with

astonishment at the beauty of Dorothea, and even at the comely figure of

the shepherd Cardenio. The curate made them get ready such fare as there

was in the inn, and the landlord, in hope of better payment, served them

up a tolerably good dinner. All this time Don Quixote was asleep, and

they thought it best not to waken him, as sleeping would now do him more

good than eating.

While at dinner, the company consisting of the landlord, his wife, their

daughter, Maritornes, and all the travellers, they discussed the strange

craze of Don Quixote and the manner in which he had been found; and the

landlady told them what had taken place between him and the carrier; and

then, looking round to see if Sancho was there, when she saw he was not,

she gave them the whole story of his blanketing, which they received with

no little amusement. But on the curate observing that it was the books of

chivalry which Don Quixote had read that had turned his brain, the

landlord said:

"I cannot understand how that can be, for in truth to my mind there is no

better reading in the world, and I have here two or three of them, with

other writings that are the very life, not only of myself but of plenty

more; for when it is harvest-time, the reapers flock here on holidays,

and there is always one among them who can read and who takes up one of

these books, and we gather round him, thirty or more of us, and stay

listening to him with a delight that makes our grey hairs grow young

again. At least I can say for myself that when I hear of what furious and

terrible blows the knights deliver, I am seized with the longing to do

the same, and I would like to be hearing about them night and day."

"And I just as much," said the landlady, "because I never have a quiet

moment in my house except when you are listening to some one reading; for

then you are so taken up that for the time being you forget to scold."

"That is true," said Maritornes; "and, faith, I relish hearing these

things greatly too, for they are very pretty; especially when they

describe some lady or another in the arms of her knight under the orange

trees, and the duenna who is keeping watch for them half dead with envy

and fright; all this I say is as good as honey."

"And you, what do you think, young lady?" said the curate turning to the

landlord's daughter.

"I don't know indeed, senor," said she; "I listen too, and to tell the

truth, though I do not understand it, I like hearing it; but it is not

the blows that my father likes that I like, but the laments the knights

utter when they are separated from their ladies; and indeed they

sometimes make me weep with the pity I feel for them."

"Then you would console them if it was for you they wept, young lady?"

said Dorothea.

"I don't know what I should do," said the girl; "I only know that there

are some of those ladies so cruel that they call their knights tigers and

lions and a thousand other foul names: and Jesus! I don't know what sort

of folk they can be, so unfeeling and heartless, that rather than bestow

a glance upon a worthy man they leave him to die or go mad. I don't know

what is the good of such prudery; if it is for honour's sake, why not

marry them? That's all they want."

"Hush, child," said the landlady; "it seems to me thou knowest a great

deal about these things, and it is not fit for girls to know or talk so

much."

"As the gentleman asked me, I could not help answering him," said the

girl.

"Well then," said the curate, "bring me these books, senor landlord, for

I should like to see them."

"With all my heart," said he, and going into his own room he brought out

an old valise secured with a little chain, on opening which the curate

found in it three large books and some manuscripts written in a very good

hand. The first that he opened he found to be "Don Cirongilio of Thrace,"

and the second "Don Felixmarte of Hircania," and the other the "History

of the Great Captain Gonzalo Hernandez de Cordova, with the Life of Diego

Garcia de Paredes."

When the curate read the two first titles he looked over at the barber

and said, "We want my friend's housekeeper and niece here now."

"Nay," said the barber, "I can do just as well to carry them to the yard

or to the hearth, and there is a very good fire there."

"What! your worship would burn my books!" said the landlord.

"Only these two," said the curate, "Don Cirongilio, and Felixmarte."

"Are my books, then, heretics or phlegmaties that you want to burn them?"

said the landlord.

"Schismatics you mean, friend," said the barber, "not phlegmatics."

"That's it," said the landlord; "but if you want to burn any, let it be

that about the Great Captain and that Diego Garcia; for I would rather

have a child of mine burnt than either of the others."

"Brother," said the curate, "those two books are made up of lies, and are

full of folly and nonsense; but this of the Great Captain is a true

history, and contains the deeds of Gonzalo Hernandez of Cordova, who by

his many and great achievements earned the title all over the world of

the Great Captain, a famous and illustrious name, and deserved by him

alone; and this Diego Garcia de Paredes was a distinguished knight of the

city of Trujillo in Estremadura, a most gallant soldier, and of such

bodily strength that with one finger he stopped a mill-wheel in full

motion; and posted with a two-handed sword at the foot of a bridge he

kept the whole of an immense army from passing over it, and achieved such

other exploits that if, instead of his relating them himself with the

modesty of a knight and of one writing his own history, some free and

unbiassed writer had recorded them, they would have thrown into the shade

all the deeds of the Hectors, Achilleses, and Rolands."

"Tell that to my father," said the landlord. "There's a thing to be

astonished at! Stopping a mill-wheel! By God your worship should read

what I have read of Felixmarte of Hircania, how with one single

backstroke he cleft five giants asunder through the middle as if they had

been made of bean-pods like the little friars the children make; and

another time he attacked a very great and powerful army, in which there

were more than a million six hundred thousand soldiers, all armed from

head to foot, and he routed them all as if they had been flocks of sheep.

"And then, what do you say to the good Cirongilio of Thrace, that was so

stout and bold; as may be seen in the book, where it is related that as

he was sailing along a river there came up out of the midst of the water

against him a fiery serpent, and he, as soon as he saw it, flung himself

upon it and got astride of its scaly shoulders, and squeezed its throat

with both hands with such force that the serpent, finding he was

throttling it, had nothing for it but to let itself sink to the bottom of

the river, carrying with it the knight who would not let go his hold; and

when they got down there he found himself among palaces and gardens so

pretty that it was a wonder to see; and then the serpent changed itself

into an old ancient man, who told him such things as were never heard.

Hold your peace, senor; for if you were to hear this you would go mad

with delight. A couple of figs for your Great Captain and your Diego

Garcia!"

Hearing this Dorothea said in a whisper to Cardenio, "Our landlord is

almost fit to play a second part to Don Quixote."

"I think so," said Cardenio, "for, as he shows, he accepts it as a

certainty that everything those books relate took place exactly as it is

written down; and the barefooted friars themselves would not persuade him

to the contrary."

"But consider, brother," said the curate once more, "there never was any

Felixmarte of Hircania in the world, nor any Cirongilio of Thrace, or any

of the other knights of the same sort, that the books of chivalry talk

of; the whole thing is the fabrication and invention of idle wits,

devised by them for the purpose you describe of beguiling the time, as

your reapers do when they read; for I swear to you in all seriousness

there never were any such knights in the world, and no such exploits or

nonsense ever happened anywhere."

"Try that bone on another dog," said the landlord; "as if I did not know

how many make five, and where my shoe pinches me; don't think to feed me

with pap, for by God I am no fool. It is a good joke for your worship to

try and persuade me that everything these good books say is nonsense and

lies, and they printed by the license of the Lords of the Royal Council,

as if they were people who would allow such a lot of lies to be printed

all together, and so many battles and enchantments that they take away

one's senses."

"I have told you, friend," said the curate, "that this is done to divert

our idle thoughts; and as in well-ordered states games of chess, fives,

and billiards are allowed for the diversion of those who do not care, or

are not obliged, or are unable to work, so books of this kind are allowed

to be printed, on the supposition that, what indeed is the truth, there

can be nobody so ignorant as to take any of them for true stories; and if

it were permitted me now, and the present company desired it, I could say

something about the qualities books of chivalry should possess to be good

ones, that would be to the advantage and even to the taste of some; but I

hope the time will come when I can communicate my ideas to some one who

may be able to mend matters; and in the meantime, senor landlord, believe

what I have said, and take your books, and make up your mind about their

truth or falsehood, and much good may they do you; and God grant you may

not fall lame of the same foot your guest Don Quixote halts on."

"No fear of that," returned the landlord; "I shall not be so mad as to

make a knight-errant of myself; for I see well enough that things are not

now as they used to be in those days, when they say those famous knights

roamed about the world."

Sancho had made his appearance in the middle of this conversation, and he

was very much troubled and cast down by what he heard said about

knights-errant being now no longer in vogue, and all books of chivalry

being folly and lies; and he resolved in his heart to wait and see what

came of this journey of his master's, and if it did not turn out as

happily as his master expected, he determined to leave him and go back to

his wife and children and his ordinary labour.

The landlord was carrying away the valise and the books, but the curate

said to him, "Wait; I want to see what those papers are that are written

in such a good hand." The landlord taking them out handed them to him to

read, and he perceived they were a work of about eight sheets of

manuscript, with, in large letters at the beginning, the title of "Novel

of the Ill-advised Curiosity." The curate read three or four lines to

himself, and said, "I must say the title of this novel does not seem to

me a bad one, and I feel an inclination to read it all." To which the

landlord replied, "Then your reverence will do well to read it, for I can

tell you that some guests who have read it here have been much pleased

with it, and have begged it of me very earnestly; but I would not give

it, meaning to return it to the person who forgot the valise, books, and

papers here, for maybe he will return here some time or other; and though

I know I shall miss the books, faith I mean to return them; for though I

am an innkeeper, still I am a Christian."

"You are very right, friend," said the curate; "but for all that, if the

novel pleases me you must let me copy it."

"With all my heart," replied the host.

While they were talking Cardenio had taken up the novel and begun to read

it, and forming the same opinion of it as the curate, he begged him to

read it so that they might all hear it.

"I would read it," said the curate, "if the time would not be better

spent in sleeping."

"It will be rest enough for me," said Dorothea, "to while away the time

by listening to some tale, for my spirits are not yet tranquil enough to

let me sleep when it would be seasonable."

"Well then, in that case," said the curate, "I will read it, if it were

only out of curiosity; perhaps it may contain something pleasant."

Master Nicholas added his entreaties to the same effect, and Sancho too;

seeing which, and considering that he would give pleasure to all, and

receive it himself, the curate said, "Well then, attend to me everyone,

for the novel begins thus."

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