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<title>THE HISTORY OF DON QUIXOTE, By Cervantes, Vol. I., Part 12.</title>
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<br><br>
<center>
<h1>DON QUIXOTE</h1>
<br>
<h2>by Miguel de Cervantes</h2>
<br>
<h3>Translated by John Ormsby</h3>
</center>
<br><br>
<center><h3>
Volume I., Part 12.
<br><br>
Chapters 30-32
</h3></center>
<br><br>
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<br><br><br><br>
<h3>Ebook Editor's Note</h3>
<blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
<p>The book cover and spine above and the images which follow were not part of the original Ormsby
translation--they are taken from the 1880 edition of J. W. Clark, illustrated by
Gustave Dore. Clark in his edition states that, "The English text of 'Don Quixote'
adopted in this edition is that of Jarvis, with occasional corrections from Motteaux."
See in the introduction below John Ormsby's critique of
both the Jarvis and Motteaux translations. It has been elected in the present Project Gutenberg edition
to attach the famous engravings of Gustave Dore to the Ormsby translation instead
of the Jarvis/Motteaux. The detail of many of the Dore engravings can be fully appreciated only
by utilizing the "Enlarge" button to expand them to their original dimensions. Ormsby
in his Preface has criticized the fanciful nature of Dore's illustrations; others feel
these woodcuts and steel engravings well match Quixote's dreams.
D.W.</p>
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
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<br><br><br><br>
<center><h2>CONTENTS</h2></center>
<pre>
<a href="#ch30">CHAPTER XXX</a>
WHICH TREATS OF ADDRESS DISPLAYED BY THE FAIR DOROTHEA,
WITH OTHER MATTERS PLEASANT AND AMUSING
<a href="#ch31">CHAPTER XXXI</a>
OF THE DELECTABLE DISCUSSION BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND
SANCHO PANZA, HIS SQUIRE, TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS
<a href="#ch32">CHAPTER XXXII</a>
WHICH TREATS OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE'S PARTY AT THE INN
</pre>
<br><br><br><br>
<br><br>
<center><h2><a name="ch30"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2></center>
<br>
<center><h3>WHICH TREATS OF ADDRESS DISPLAYED BY THE FAIR DOROTHEA, WITH OTHER
MATTERS PLEASANT AND AMUSING
</h3></center>
<br>
<br>
<center><a name="c30a"></a><img alt="c30a.jpg (147K)" src="images/c30a.jpg" height="408" width="650">
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<br><br><br><br>
<p>The curate had hardly ceased speaking, when Sancho said, "In
faith, then, senor licentiate, he who did that deed was my master; and
it was not for want of my telling him beforehand and warning him to
mind what he was about, and that it was a sin to set them at
liberty, as they were all on the march there because they were special
scoundrels."</p>
<p>"Blockhead!" said Don Quixote at this, "it is no business or concern
of knights-errant to inquire whether any persons in affliction, in
chains, or oppressed that they may meet on the high roads go that
way and suffer as they do because of their faults or because of
their misfortunes. It only concerns them to aid them as persons in
need of help, having regard to their sufferings and not to their
rascalities. I encountered a chaplet or string of miserable and
unfortunate people, and did for them what my sense of duty demands
of me, and as for the rest be that as it may; and whoever takes
objection to it, saving the sacred dignity of the senor licentiate and
his honoured person, I say he knows little about chivalry and lies
like a whoreson villain, and this I will give him to know to the
fullest extent with my sword;" and so saying he settled himself in his
stirrups and pressed down his morion; for the barber's basin, which
according to him was Mambrino's helmet, he carried hanging at the
saddle-bow until he could repair the damage done to it by the galley
slaves.</p>
<p>Dorothea, who was shrewd and sprightly, and by this time
thoroughly understood Don Quixote's crazy turn, and that all except
Sancho Panza were making game of him, not to be behind the rest said
to him, on observing his irritation, "Sir Knight, remember the boon
you have promised me, and that in accordance with it you must not
engage in any other adventure, be it ever so pressing; calm
yourself, for if the licentiate had known that the galley slaves had
been set free by that unconquered arm he would have stopped his
mouth thrice over, or even bitten his tongue three times before he
would have said a word that tended towards disrespect of your
worship."</p>
<p>"That I swear heartily," said the curate, "and I would have even
plucked off a moustache."</p>
<p>"I will hold my peace, senora," said Don Quixote, "and I will curb
the natural anger that had arisen in my breast, and will proceed in
peace and quietness until I have fulfilled my promise; but in return
for this consideration I entreat you to tell me, if you have no
objection to do so, what is the nature of your trouble, and how
many, who, and what are the persons of whom I am to require due
satisfaction, and on whom I am to take vengeance on your behalf?"</p>
<p>"That I will do with all my heart," replied Dorothea, "if it will
not be wearisome to you to hear of miseries and misfortunes."</p>
<p>"It will not be wearisome, senora," said Don Quixote; to which
Dorothea replied, "Well, if that be so, give me your attention." As
soon as she said this, Cardenio and the barber drew close to her side,
eager to hear what sort of story the quick-witted Dorothea would
invent for herself; and Sancho did the same, for he was as much
taken in by her as his master; and she having settled herself
comfortably in the saddle, and with the help of coughing and other
preliminaries taken time to think, began with great sprightliness of
manner in this fashion.</p>
<p>"First of all, I would have you know, sirs, that my name is-" and
here she stopped for a moment, for she forgot the name the curate
had given her; but he came to her relief, seeing what her difficulty
was, and said, "It is no wonder, senora, that your highness should
be confused and embarrassed in telling the tale of your misfortunes;
for such afflictions often have the effect of depriving the
sufferers of memory, so that they do not even remember their own
names, as is the case now with your ladyship, who has forgotten that
she is called the Princess Micomicona, lawful heiress of the great
kingdom of Micomicon; and with this cue your highness may now recall
to your sorrowful recollection all you may wish to tell us."</p>
<p>"That is the truth," said the damsel; "but I think from this on I
shall have no need of any prompting, and I shall bring my true story
safe into port, and here it is. The king my father, who was called
Tinacrio the Sapient, was very learned in what they call magic arts,
and became aware by his craft that my mother, who was called Queen
Jaramilla, was to die before he did, and that soon after he too was to
depart this life, and I was to be left an orphan without father or
mother. But all this, he declared, did not so much grieve or
distress him as his certain knowledge that a prodigious giant, the
lord of a great island close to our kingdom, Pandafilando of the Scowl
by name--for it is averred that, though his eyes are properly placed
and straight, he always looks askew as if he squinted, and this he
does out of malignity, to strike fear and terror into those he looks
at--that he knew, I say, that this giant on becoming aware of my
orphan condition would overrun my kingdom with a mighty force and
strip me of all, not leaving me even a small village to shelter me;
but that I could avoid all this ruin and misfortune if I were
willing to marry him; however, as far as he could see, he never
expected that I would consent to a marriage so unequal; and he said no
more than the truth in this, for it has never entered my mind to marry
that giant, or any other, let him be ever so great or enormous. My
father said, too, that when he was dead, and I saw Pandafilando
about to invade my kingdom, I was not to wait and attempt to defend
myself, for that would be destructive to me, but that I should leave
the kingdom entirely open to him if I wished to avoid the death and
total destruction of my good and loyal vassals, for there would be
no possibility of defending myself against the giant's devilish power;
and that I should at once with some of my followers set out for Spain,
where I should obtain relief in my distress on finding a certain
knight-errant whose fame by that time would extend over the whole
kingdom, and who would be called, if I remember rightly, Don Azote
or Don Gigote."</p>
<p>"'Don Quixote,' he must have said, senora," observed Sancho at this,
"otherwise called the Knight of the Rueful Countenance."</p>
<p>"That is it," said Dorothea; "he said, moreover, that he would be
tall of stature and lank featured; and that on his right side under
the left shoulder, or thereabouts, he would have a grey mole with
hairs like bristles."</p>
<p>On hearing this, Don Quixote said to his squire, "Here, Sancho my
son, bear a hand and help me to strip, for I want to see if I am the
knight that sage king foretold."</p>
<p>"What does your worship want to strip for?" said Dorothea.</p>
<p>"To see if I have that mole your father spoke of," answered Don
Quixote.</p>
<p>"There is no occasion to strip," said Sancho; "for I know your
worship has just such a mole on the middle of your backbone, which
is the mark of a strong man."</p>
<p>"That is enough," said Dorothea, "for with friends we must not
look too closely into trifles; and whether it be on the shoulder or on
the backbone matters little; it is enough if there is a mole, be it
where it may, for it is all the same flesh; no doubt my good father
hit the truth in every particular, and I have made a lucky hit in
commending myself to Don Quixote; for he is the one my father spoke
of, as the features of his countenance correspond with those
assigned to this knight by that wide fame he has acquired not only
in Spain but in all La Mancha; for I had scarcely landed at Osuna when
I heard such accounts of his achievements, that at once my heart
told me he was the very one I had come in search of."</p>
<p>"But how did you land at Osuna, senora," asked Don Quixote, "when it
is not a seaport?"</p>
<p>But before Dorothea could reply the curate anticipated her,
saying, "The princess meant to say that after she had landed at Malaga
the first place where she heard of your worship was Osuna."</p>
<p>"That is what I meant to say," said Dorothea.</p>
<p>"And that would be only natural," said the curate. "Will your
majesty please proceed?"</p>
<p>"There is no more to add," said Dorothea, "save that in finding
Don Quixote I have had such good fortune, that I already reckon and
regard myself queen and mistress of my entire dominions, since of
his courtesy and magnanimity he has granted me the boon of
accompanying me whithersoever I may conduct him, which will be only to
bring him face to face with Pandafilando of the Scowl, that he may
slay him and restore to me what has been unjustly usurped by him:
for all this must come to pass satisfactorily since my good father
Tinacrio the Sapient foretold it, who likewise left it declared in
writing in Chaldee or Greek characters (for I cannot read them),
that if this predicted knight, after having cut the giant's throat,
should be disposed to marry me I was to offer myself at once without
demur as his lawful wife, and yield him possession of my kingdom
together with my person."</p>
<p>"What thinkest thou now, friend Sancho?" said Don Quixote at this.
"Hearest thou that? Did I not tell thee so? See how we have already
got a kingdom to govern and a queen to marry!"</p>
<p>"On my oath it is so," said Sancho; "and foul fortune to him who
won't marry after slitting Senor Pandahilado's windpipe! And then, how
illfavoured the queen is! I wish the fleas in my bed were that sort!"</p>
<p>And so saying he cut a couple of capers in the air with every sign
of extreme satisfaction, and then ran to seize the bridle of
Dorothea's mule, and checking it fell on his knees before her, begging
her to give him her hand to kiss in token of his acknowledgment of her
as his queen and mistress. Which of the bystanders could have helped
laughing to see the madness of the master and the simplicity of the
servant? Dorothea therefore gave her hand, and promised to make him
a great lord in her kingdom, when Heaven should be so good as to
permit her to recover and enjoy it, for which Sancho returned thanks
in words that set them all laughing again.</p>
<p>"This, sirs," continued Dorothea, "is my story; it only remains to
tell you that of all the attendants I took with me from my kingdom I
have none left except this well-bearded squire, for all were drowned
in a great tempest we encountered when in sight of port; and he and
I came to land on a couple of planks as if by a miracle; and indeed
the whole course of my life is a miracle and a mystery as you may have
observed; and if I have been over minute in any respect or not as
precise as I ought, let it be accounted for by what the licentiate
said at the beginning of my tale, that constant and excessive troubles
deprive the sufferers of their memory."</p>
<p>"They shall not deprive me of mine, exalted and worthy princess,"
said Don Quixote, "however great and unexampled those which I shall
endure in your service may be; and here I confirm anew the boon I have
promised you, and I swear to go with you to the end of the world until
I find myself in the presence of your fierce enemy, whose haughty head
I trust by the aid of my arm to cut off with the edge of this--I
will not say good sword, thanks to Gines de Pasamonte who carried away
mine"--(this he said between his teeth, and then continued), "and when
it has been cut off and you have been put in peaceful possession of
your realm it shall be left to your own decision to dispose of your
person as may be most pleasing to you; for so long as my memory is
occupied, my will enslaved, and my understanding enthralled by
her--I say no more--it is impossible for me for a moment to contemplate
marriage, even with a Phoenix."</p>
<p>The last words of his master about not wanting to marry were so
disagreeable to Sancho that raising his voice he exclaimed with
great irritation:</p>
<p>"By my oath, Senor Don Quixote, you are not in your right senses;
for how can your worship possibly object to marrying such an exalted
princess as this? Do you think Fortune will offer you behind every
stone such a piece of luck as is offered you now? Is my lady
Dulcinea fairer, perchance? Not she; nor half as fair; and I will even
go so far as to say she does not come up to the shoe of this one here.
A poor chance I have of getting that county I am waiting for if your
worship goes looking for dainties in the bottom of the sea. In the
devil's name, marry, marry, and take this kingdom that comes to hand
without any trouble, and when you are king make me a marquis or
governor of a province, and for the rest let the devil take it all."</p>
<p>Don Quixote, when he heard such blasphemies uttered against his lady
Dulcinea, could not endure it, and lifting his pike, without saying
anything to Sancho or uttering a word, he gave him two such thwacks
that he brought him to the ground; and had it not been that Dorothea
cried out to him to spare him he would have no doubt taken his life on
the spot.</p>
<p>"Do you think," he said to him after a pause, "you scurvy clown,
that you are to be always interfering with me, and that you are to
be always offending and I always pardoning? Don't fancy it, impious
scoundrel, for that beyond a doubt thou art, since thou hast set thy
tongue going against the peerless Dulcinea. Know you not, lout,
vagabond, beggar, that were it not for the might that she infuses into
my arm I should not have strength enough to kill a flea? Say,
scoffer with a viper's tongue, what think you has won this kingdom and
cut off this giant's head and made you a marquis (for all this I count
as already accomplished and decided), but the might of Dulcinea,
employing my arm as the instrument of her achievements? She fights
in me and conquers in me, and I live and breathe in her, and owe my
life and being to her. O whoreson scoundrel, how ungrateful you are,
you see yourself raised from the dust of the earth to be a titled
lord, and the return you make for so great a benefit is to speak
evil of her who has conferred it upon you!"</p>
<p>Sancho was not so stunned but that he heard all his master said, and
rising with some degree of nimbleness he ran to place himself behind
Dorothea's palfrey, and from that position he said to his master:</p>
<p>"Tell me, senor; if your worship is resolved not to marry this great
princess, it is plain the kingdom will not be yours; and not being so,
how can you bestow favours upon me? That is what I complain of. Let
your worship at any rate marry this queen, now that we have got her
here as if showered down from heaven, and afterwards you may go back
to my lady Dulcinea; for there must have been kings in the world who
kept mistresses. As to beauty, I have nothing to do with it; and if
the truth is to be told, I like them both; though I have never seen
the lady Dulcinea."</p>
<p>"How! never seen her, blasphemous traitor!" exclaimed Don Quixote;
"hast thou not just now brought me a message from her?"</p>
<p>"I mean," said Sancho, "that I did not see her so much at my leisure
that I could take particular notice of her beauty, or of her charms
piecemeal; but taken in the lump I like her."</p>
<p>"Now I forgive thee," said Don Quixote; "and do thou forgive me
the injury I have done thee; for our first impulses are not in our
control."</p>
<p>"That I see," replied Sancho, "and with me the wish to speak is
always the first impulse, and I cannot help saying, once at any
rate, what I have on the tip of my tongue."</p>
<p>"For all that, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "take heed of what thou
sayest, for the pitcher goes so often to the well--I need say no
more to thee."</p>
<p>"Well, well," said Sancho, "God is in heaven, and sees all tricks,
and will judge who does most harm, I in not speaking right, or your
worship in not doing it."</p>
<p>"That is enough," said Dorothea; "run, Sancho, and kiss your
lord's hand and beg his pardon, and henceforward be more circumspect
with your praise and abuse; and say nothing in disparagement of that
lady Toboso, of whom I know nothing save that I am her servant; and
put your trust in God, for you will not fail to obtain some dignity so
as to live like a prince."</p>
<p>Sancho advanced hanging his head and begged his master's hand, which
Don Quixote with dignity presented to him, giving him his blessing
as soon as he had kissed it; he then bade him go on ahead a little, as
he had questions to ask him and matters of great importance to discuss
with him. Sancho obeyed, and when the two had gone some distance in
advance Don Quixote said to him, "Since thy return I have had no
opportunity or time to ask thee many particulars touching thy
mission and the answer thou hast brought back, and now that chance has
granted us the time and opportunity, deny me not the happiness thou
canst give me by such good news."</p>
<p>"Let your worship ask what you will," answered Sancho, "for I
shall find a way out of all as as I found a way in; but I implore you,
senor, not not to be so revengeful in future."</p>
<p>"Why dost thou say that, Sancho?" said Don Quixote.</p>
<p>"I say it," he returned, "because those blows just now were more
because of the quarrel the devil stirred up between us both the
other night, than for what I said against my lady Dulcinea, whom I
love and reverence as I would a relic--though there is nothing of that
about her--merely as something belonging to your worship."</p>
<p>"Say no more on that subject for thy life, Sancho," said Don
Quixote, "for it is displeasing to me; I have already pardoned thee
for that, and thou knowest the common saying, 'for a fresh sin a fresh
penance.'"</p>
<p>While this was going on they saw coming along the road they were
following a man mounted on an ass, who when he came close seemed to be
a gipsy; but Sancho Panza, whose eyes and heart were there wherever he
saw asses, no sooner beheld the man than he knew him to be Gines de
Pasamonte; and by the thread of the gipsy he got at the ball, his ass,
for it was, in fact, Dapple that carried Pasamonte, who to escape
recognition and to sell the ass had disguised himself as a gipsy,
being able to speak the gipsy language, and many more, as well as if
they were his own. Sancho saw him and recognised him, and the
instant he did so he shouted to him, "Ginesillo, you thief, give up my
treasure, release my life, embarrass thyself not with my repose,
quit my ass, leave my delight, be off, rip, get thee gone, thief,
and give up what is not thine."</p>
<p>There was no necessity for so many words or objurgations, for at the
first one Gines jumped down, and at a like racing speed made off and
got clear of them all. Sancho hastened to his Dapple, and embracing
him he said, "How hast thou fared, my blessing, Dapple of my eyes,
my comrade?" all the while kissing him and caressing him as if he were
a human being. The ass held his peace, and let himself be kissed and
caressed by Sancho without answering a single word. They all came up
and congratulated him on having found Dapple, Don Quixote
especially, who told him that notwithstanding this he would not cancel
the order for the three ass-colts, for which Sancho thanked him.</p>
<p>While the two had been going along conversing in this fashion, the
curate observed to Dorothea that she had shown great cleverness, as
well in the story itself as in its conciseness, and the resemblance it
bore to those of the books of chivalry. She said that she had many
times amused herself reading them; but that she did not know the
situation of the provinces or seaports, and so she had said at
haphazard that she had landed at Osuna.</p>
<p>"So I saw," said the curate, "and for that reason I made haste to
say what I did, by which it was all set right. But is it not a strange
thing to see how readily this unhappy gentleman believes all these
figments and lies, simply because they are in the style and manner
of the absurdities of his books?"</p>
<p>"So it is," said Cardenio; "and so uncommon and unexampled, that
were one to attempt to invent and concoct it in fiction, I doubt if
there be any wit keen enough to imagine it."</p>
<p>"But another strange thing about it," said the curate, "is that,
apart from the silly things which this worthy gentleman says in
connection with his craze, when other subjects are dealt with, he
can discuss them in a perfectly rational manner, showing that his mind
is quite clear and composed; so that, provided his chivalry is not
touched upon, no one would take him to be anything but a man of
thoroughly sound understanding."</p>
<p>While they were holding this conversation Don Quixote continued
his with Sancho, saying:</p>
<p>"Friend Panza, let us forgive and forget as to our quarrels, and
tell me now, dismissing anger and irritation, where, how, and when
didst thou find Dulcinea? What was she doing? What didst thou say to
her? What did she answer? How did she look when she was reading my
letter? Who copied it out for thee? and everything in the matter
that seems to thee worth knowing, asking, and learning; neither adding
nor falsifying to give me pleasure, nor yet curtailing lest you should
deprive me of it."</p>
<p>"Senor," replied Sancho, "if the truth is to be told, nobody
copied out the letter for me, for I carried no letter at all."</p>
<p>"It is as thou sayest," said Don Quixote, "for the note-book in
which I wrote it I found in my own possession two days after thy
departure, which gave me very great vexation, as I knew not what
thou wouldst do on finding thyself without any letter; and I made sure
thou wouldst return from the place where thou didst first miss it."</p>
<p>"So I should have done," said Sancho, "if I had not got it by
heart when your worship read it to me, so that I repeated it to a
sacristan, who copied it out for me from hearing it, so exactly that
he said in all the days of his life, though he had read many a
letter of excommunication, he had never seen or read so pretty a
letter as that."</p>
<p>"And hast thou got it still in thy memory, Sancho?" said Don
Quixote.</p>
<p>"No, senor," replied Sancho, "for as soon as I had repeated it,
seeing there was no further use for it, I set about forgetting it; and
if I recollect any of it, it is that about 'Scrubbing,'I mean to say
'Sovereign Lady,' and the end 'Yours till death, the Knight of the
Rueful Countenance;' and between these two I put into it more than
three hundred 'my souls' and 'my life's' and 'my eyes."</p>
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<br><br>
<center><h2><a name="ch31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2></center>
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<center><h3>OF THE DELECTABLE DISCUSSION BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA,
HIS SQUIRE, TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS
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<p>"All that is not unsatisfactory to me," said Don Quixote. "Go on;
thou didst reach her; and what was that queen of beauty doing?
Surely thou didst find her stringing pearls, or embroidering some
device in gold thread for this her enslaved knight."</p>
<p>"I did not," said Sancho, "but I found her winnowing two bushels
of wheat in the yard of her house."</p>
<p>"Then depend upon it," said Don Quixote, "the grains of that wheat
were pearls when touched by her hands; and didst thou look, friend?
was it white wheat or brown?"</p>
<p>"It was neither, but red," said Sancho.</p>
<p>"Then I promise thee," said Don Quixote, "that, winnowed by her
hands, beyond a doubt the bread it made was of the whitest; but go on;
when thou gavest her my letter, did she kiss it? Did she place it on
her head? Did she perform any ceremony befitting it, or what did she
do?"</p>
<p>"When I went to give it to her," replied Sancho, "she was hard at it
swaying from side to side with a lot of wheat she had in the sieve,
and she said to me, 'Lay the letter, friend, on the top of that
sack, for I cannot read it until I have done sifting all this."</p>
<p>"Discreet lady!" said Don Quixote; "that was in order to read it
at her leisure and enjoy it; proceed, Sancho; while she was engaged in
her occupation what converse did she hold with thee? What did she
ask about me, and what answer didst thou give? Make haste; tell me
all, and let not an atom be left behind in the ink-bottle."</p>
<p>"She asked me nothing," said Sancho; "but I told her how your
worship was left doing penance in her service, naked from the waist
up, in among these mountains like a savage, sleeping on the ground,
not eating bread off a tablecloth nor combing your beard, weeping
and cursing your fortune."</p>
<p>"In saying I cursed my fortune thou saidst wrong," said Don Quixote;
"for rather do I bless it and shall bless it all the days of my life
for having made me worthy of aspiring to love so lofty a lady as
Dulcinea del Toboso."</p>
<p>"And so lofty she is," said Sancho, "that she overtops me by more
than a hand's-breadth."</p>
<p>"What! Sancho," said Don Quixote, "didst thou measure with her?"</p>
<p>"I measured in this way," said Sancho; "going to help her to put a
sack of wheat on the back of an ass, we came so close together that
I could see she stood more than a good palm over me."</p>
<p>"Well!" said Don Quixote, "and doth she not of a truth accompany and
adorn this greatness with a thousand million charms of mind! But one
thing thou wilt not deny, Sancho; when thou camest close to her
didst thou not perceive a Sabaean odour, an aromatic fragrance, a, I
know not what, delicious, that I cannot find a name for; I mean a
redolence, an exhalation, as if thou wert in the shop of some dainty
glover?"</p>
<p>"All I can say is," said Sancho, "that I did perceive a little
odour, something goaty; it must have been that she was all in a
sweat with hard work."</p>
<p>"It could not be that," said Don Quixote, "but thou must have been
suffering from cold in the head, or must have smelt thyself; for I
know well what would be the scent of that rose among thorns, that lily
of the field, that dissolved amber."</p>
<p>"Maybe so," replied Sancho; "there often comes from myself that same
odour which then seemed to me to come from her grace the lady
Dulcinea; but that's no wonder, for one devil is like another."</p>
<p>"Well then," continued Don Quixote, "now she has done sifting the
corn and sent it to the mill; what did she do when she read the
letter?"</p>
<p>"As for the letter," said Sancho, "she did not read it, for she said
she could neither read nor write; instead of that she tore it up
into small pieces, saying that she did not want to let anyone read
it lest her secrets should become known in the village, and that
what I had told her by word of mouth about the love your worship
bore her, and the extraordinary penance you were doing for her sake,
was enough; and, to make an end of it, she told me to tell your
worship that she kissed your hands, and that she had a greater
desire to see you than to write to you; and that therefore she
entreated and commanded you, on sight of this present, to come out
of these thickets, and to have done with carrying on absurdities,
and to set out at once for El Toboso, unless something else of greater
importance should happen, for she had a great desire to see your
worship. She laughed greatly when I told her how your worship was
called The Knight of the Rueful Countenance; I asked her if that
Biscayan the other day had been there; and she told me he had, and
that he was an honest fellow; I asked her too about the galley slaves,
but she said she had not seen any as yet."</p>
<p>"So far all goes well," said Don Quixote; "but tell me what jewel
was it that she gave thee on taking thy leave, in return for thy
tidings of me? For it is a usual and ancient custom with knights and
ladies errant to give the squires, damsels, or dwarfs who bring
tidings of their ladies to the knights, or of their knights to the
ladies, some rich jewel as a guerdon for good news,' and
acknowledgment of the message."</p>
<p>"That is very likely," said Sancho, "and a good custom it was, to my
mind; but that must have been in days gone by, for now it would seem
to be the custom only to give a piece of bread and cheese; because
that was what my lady Dulcinea gave me over the top of the yard-wall
when I took leave of her; and more by token it was sheep's-milk
cheese."</p>
<p>"She is generous in the extreme," said Don Quixote, "and if she
did not give thee a jewel of gold, no doubt it must have been
because she had not one to hand there to give thee; but sleeves are
good after Easter; I shall see her and all shall be made right. But
knowest thou what amazes me, Sancho? It seems to me thou must have
gone and come through the air, for thou hast taken but little more
than three days to go to El Toboso and return, though it is more
than thirty leagues from here to there. From which I am inclined to
think that the sage magician who is my friend, and watches over my
interests (for of necessity there is and must be one, or else I should
not be a right knight-errant), that this same, I say, must have helped
thee to travel without thy knowledge; for some of these sages will
catch up a knight-errant sleeping in his bed, and without his
knowing how or in what way it happened, he wakes up the next day
more than a thousand leagues away from the place where he went to
sleep. And if it were not for this, knights-errant would not be able
to give aid to one another in peril, as they do at every turn. For a
knight, maybe, is fighting in the mountains of Armenia with some
dragon, or fierce serpent, or another knight, and gets the worst of
the battle, and is at the point of death; but when he least looks
for it, there appears over against him on a cloud, or chariot of fire,
another knight, a friend of his, who just before had been in
England, and who takes his part, and delivers him from death; and at
night he finds himself in his own quarters supping very much to his
satisfaction; and yet from one place to the other will have been two
or three thousand leagues. And all this is done by the craft and skill
of the sage enchanters who take care of those valiant knights; so
that, friend Sancho, I find no difficulty in believing that thou
mayest have gone from this place to El Toboso and returned in such a
short time, since, as I have said, some friendly sage must have
carried thee through the air without thee perceiving it."</p>
<p>"That must have been it," said Sancho, "for indeed Rocinante went
like a gipsy's ass with quicksilver in his ears."</p>
<p>"Quicksilver!" said Don Quixote, "aye and what is more, a legion
of devils, folk that can travel and make others travel without being
weary, exactly as the whim seizes them. But putting this aside, what
thinkest thou I ought to do about my lady's command to go and see her?
For though I feel that I am bound to obey her mandate, I feel too that
I am debarred by the boon I have accorded to the princess that
accompanies us, and the law of chivalry compels me to have regard
for my word in preference to my inclination; on the one hand the
desire to see my lady pursues and harasses me, on the other my
solemn promise and the glory I shall win in this enterprise urge and
call me; but what I think I shall do is to travel with all speed and
reach quickly the place where this giant is, and on my arrival I shall
cut off his head, and establish the princess peacefully in her
realm, and forthwith I shall return to behold the light that
lightens my senses, to whom I shall make such excuses that she will be
led to approve of my delay, for she will see that it entirely tends to
increase her glory and fame; for all that I have won, am winning, or
shall win by arms in this life, comes to me of the favour she
extends to me, and because I am hers."</p>
<p>"Ah! what a sad state your worship's brains are in!" said Sancho.
"Tell me, senor, do you mean to travel all that way for nothing, and
to let slip and lose so rich and great a match as this where they give
as a portion a kingdom that in sober truth I have heard say is more
than twenty thousand leagues round about, and abounds with all
things necessary to support human life, and is bigger than Portugal
and Castile put together? Peace, for the love of God! Blush for what
you have said, and take my advice, and forgive me, and marry at once
in the first village where there is a curate; if not, here is our
licentiate who will do the business beautifully; remember, I am old
enough to give advice, and this I am giving comes pat to the
purpose; for a sparrow in the hand is better than a vulture on the
wing, and he who has the good to his hand and chooses the bad, that
the good he complains of may not come to him."</p>
<p>"Look here, Sancho," said Don Quixote. "If thou art advising me to
marry, in order that immediately on slaying the giant I may become
king, and be able to confer favours on thee, and give thee what I have
promised, let me tell thee I shall be able very easily to satisfy
thy desires without marrying; for before going into battle I will make
it a stipulation that, if I come out of it victorious, even I do not
marry, they shall give me a portion portion of the kingdom, that I may
bestow it upon whomsoever I choose, and when they give it to me upon
whom wouldst thou have me bestow it but upon thee?"</p>
<p>"That is plain speaking," said Sancho; "but let your worship take
care to choose it on the seacoast, so that if I don't like the life, I
may be able to ship off my black vassals and deal with them as I
have said; don't mind going to see my lady Dulcinea now, but go and
kill this giant and let us finish off this business; for by God it
strikes me it will be one of great honour and great profit."</p>
<p>"I hold thou art in the right of it, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "and
I will take thy advice as to accompanying the princess before going to
see Dulcinea; but I counsel thee not to say anything to any one, or to
those who are with us, about what we have considered and discussed,
for as Dulcinea is so decorous that she does not wish her thoughts
to be known it is not right that I or anyone for me should disclose
them."</p>
<p>"Well then, if that be so," said Sancho, "how is it that your
worship makes all those you overcome by your arm go to present
themselves before my lady Dulcinea, this being the same thing as
signing your name to it that you love her and are her lover? And as
those who go must perforce kneel before her and say they come from
your worship to submit themselves to her, how can the thoughts of both
of you be hid?"</p>
<p>"O, how silly and simple thou art!" said Don Quixote; "seest thou
not, Sancho, that this tends to her greater exaltation? For thou
must know that according to our way of thinking in chivalry, it is a
high honour to a lady to have many knights-errant in her service,
whose thoughts never go beyond serving her for her own sake, and who
look for no other reward for their great and true devotion than that
she should be willing to accept them as her knights."</p>
<p>"It is with that kind of love," said Sancho, "I have heard preachers
say we ought to love our Lord, for himself alone, without being
moved by the hope of glory or the fear of punishment; though for my
part, I would rather love and serve him for what he could do."</p>
<p>"The devil take thee for a clown!" said Don Quixote, "and what
shrewd things thou sayest at times! One would think thou hadst
studied."</p>
<p>"In faith, then, I cannot even read."</p>
<p>Master Nicholas here called out to them to wait a while, as they
wanted to halt and drink at a little spring there was there. Don
Quixote drew up, not a little to the satisfaction of Sancho, for he
was by this time weary of telling so many lies, and in dread of his
master catching him tripping, for though he knew that Dulcinea was a
peasant girl of El Toboso, he had never seen her in all his life.
Cardenio had now put on the clothes which Dorothea was wearing when
they found her, and though they were not very good, they were far
better than those he put off. They dismounted together by the side
of the spring, and with what the curate had provided himself with at
the inn they appeased, though not very well, the keen appetite they
all of them brought with them.</p>
<p>While they were so employed there happened to come by a youth
passing on his way, who stopping to examine the party at the spring,
the next moment ran to Don Quixote and clasping him round the legs,
began to weep freely, saying, "O, senor, do you not know me? Look at
me well; I am that lad Andres that your worship released from the
oak-tree where I was tied."</p>
<p>Don Quixote recognised him, and taking his hand he turned to those
present and said: "That your worships may see how important it is to
have knights-errant to redress the wrongs and injuries done by
tyrannical and wicked men in this world, I may tell you that some days
ago passing through a wood, I heard cries and piteous complaints as of
a person in pain and distress; I immediately hastened, impelled by
my bounden duty, to the quarter whence the plaintive accents seemed to
me to proceed, and I found tied to an oak this lad who now stands
before you, which in my heart I rejoice at, for his testimony will not
permit me to depart from the truth in any particular. He was, I say,
tied to an oak, naked from the waist up, and a clown, whom I
afterwards found to be his master, was scarifying him by lashes with
the reins of his mare. As soon as I saw him I asked the reason of so
cruel a flagellation. The boor replied that he was flogging him
because he was his servant and because of carelessness that
proceeded rather from dishonesty than stupidity; on which this boy
said, 'Senor, he flogs me only because I ask for my wages.' The master
made I know not what speeches and explanations, which, though I
listened to them, I did not accept. In short, I compelled the clown to
unbind him, and to swear he would take him with him, and pay him
real by real, and perfumed into the bargain. Is not all this true,
Andres my son? Didst thou not mark with what authority I commanded
him, and with what humility he promised to do all I enjoined,
specified, and required of him? Answer without hesitation; tell
these gentlemen what took place, that they may see that it is as great
an advantage as I say to have knights-errant abroad."</p>
<p>"All that your worship has said is quite true," answered the lad;
"but the end of the business turned out just the opposite of what your
worship supposes."</p>
<p>"How! the opposite?" said Don Quixote; "did not the clown pay thee
then?"</p>
<p>"Not only did he not pay me," replied the lad, "but as soon as
your worship had passed out of the wood and we were alone, he tied
me up again to the same oak and gave me a fresh flogging, that left me
like a flayed Saint Bartholomew; and every stroke he gave me he
followed up with some jest or gibe about having made a fool of your
worship, and but for the pain I was suffering I should have laughed at
the things he said. In short he left me in such a condition that I
have been until now in a hospital getting cured of the injuries
which that rascally clown inflicted on me then; for all which your
worship is to blame; for if you had gone your own way and not come
where there was no call for you, nor meddled in other people's
affairs, my master would have been content with giving me one or two
dozen lashes, and would have then loosed me and paid me what he owed
me; but when your worship abused him so out of measure, and gave him
so many hard words, his anger was kindled; and as he could not revenge
himself on you, as soon as he saw you had left him the storm burst
upon me in such a way, that I feel as if I should never be a man
again."</p>
<p>"The mischief," said Don Quixote, "lay in my going away; for I
should not have gone until I had seen thee paid; because I ought to
have known well by long experience that there is no clown who will
keep his word if he finds it will not suit him to keep it; but thou
rememberest, Andres, that I swore if he did not pay thee I would go
and seek him, and find him though he were to hide himself in the
whale's belly."</p>
<p>"That is true," said Andres; "but it was of no use."</p>
<p>"Thou shalt see now whether it is of use or not," said Don
Quixote; and so saying, he got up hastily and bade Sancho bridle
Rocinante, who was browsing while they were eating. Dorothea asked him
what he meant to do. He replied that he meant to go in search of
this clown and chastise him for such iniquitous conduct, and see
Andres paid to the last maravedi, despite and in the teeth of all
the clowns in the world. To which she replied that he must remember
that in accordance with his promise he could not engage in any
enterprise until he had concluded hers; and that as he knew this
better than anyone, he should restrain his ardour until his return
from her kingdom.</p>
<p>"That is true," said Don Quixote, "and Andres must have patience
until my return as you say, senora; but I once more swear and
promise not to stop until I have seen him avenged and paid."</p>
<p>"I have no faith in those oaths," said Andres; "I would rather
have now something to help me to get to Seville than all the
revenges in the world; if you have here anything to eat that I can
take with me, give it me, and God be with your worship and all
knights-errant; and may their errands turn out as well for
themselves as they have for me."</p>
<p>Sancho took out from his store a piece of bread and another of
cheese, and giving them to the lad he said, "Here, take this,
brother Andres, for we have all of us a share in your misfortune."</p>
<p>"Why, what share have you got?"</p>
<p>"This share of bread and cheese I am giving you," answered Sancho;
"and God knows whether I shall feel the want of it myself or not;
for I would have you know, friend, that we squires to knights-errant
have to bear a great deal of hunger and hard fortune, and even other
things more easily felt than told."</p>
<p>Andres seized his bread and cheese, and seeing that nobody gave
him anything more, bent his head, and took hold of the road, as the
saying is. However, before leaving he said, "For the love of God,
sir knight-errant, if you ever meet me again, though you may see
them cutting me to pieces, give me no aid or succour, but leave me
to my misfortune, which will not be so great but that a greater will
come to me by being helped by your worship, on whom and all the
knights-errant that have ever been born God send his curse."</p>
<p>Don Quixote was getting up to chastise him, but he took to his heels
at such a pace that no one attempted to follow him; and mightily
chapfallen was Don Quixote at Andres' story, and the others had to
take great care to restrain their laughter so as not to put him
entirely out of countenance.</p>
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<center><h2><a name="ch32"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2></center>
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<center><h3>WHICH TREATS OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE'S PARTY AT THE INN
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<p>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.</p>
<p>No sooner was the door shut upon him than the landlady made at the
barber, and seizing him by the beard, said:</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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:</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"And you, what do you think, young lady?" said the curate turning to
the landlord's daughter.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"Then you would console them if it was for you they wept, young
lady?" said Dorothea.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"As the gentleman asked me, I could not help answering him," said
the girl.</p>
<p>"Well then," said the curate, "bring me these books, senor landlord,
for I should like to see them."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"What! your worship would burn my books!" said the landlord.</p>
<p>"Only these two," said the curate, "Don Cirongilio, and Felixmarte."</p>
<p>"Are my books, then, heretics or phlegmaties that you want to burn
them?" said the landlord.</p>
<p>"Schismatics you mean, friend," said the barber, "not phlegmatics."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
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<p>"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."</p>
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<p>"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!"</p>
<p>Hearing this Dorothea said in a whisper to Cardenio, "Our landlord
is almost fit to play a second part to Don Quixote."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"You are very right, friend," said the curate; "but for all that, if
the novel pleases me you must let me copy it."</p>
<p>"With all my heart," replied the host.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"I would read it," said the curate, "if the time would not be better
spent in sleeping."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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."</p>
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