Chapter VI: Book I (3)

CHAP. VIII.
OF THE HAPPY SUCCESS OF THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE,
AND THE DREADFUL AND INCONCEIVABLE ADVENTURE OF THE WIND-MILLS,
WITH OTHER INCIDENTS WORTHY TO BE RECORDED
BY THE MOST ABLE HISTORIAN.

In the midst of this their conversation, they discovered thirty or forty wind-mills all together on the plain, which the knight no sooner perceived, than he said to his squire, ‘Chance has conducted our affairs even better than we could either wish or hope for; look there, friend Sancho, and behold thirty or forty outrageous giants, with whom I intend to engage in battle, and put every soul of them to death, so that we may begin to enrich ourselves with their spoils; for it is a meritorious warfare, and serviceable both to God and man, to extirpate such a wicked race from the face of the earth.’—‘What giants do you mean?’ said Sancho Panza in amaze. ‘Those you see yonder,’ replied his master, ‘with vast extended arms; some of which are two leagues long.’—‘I would your worship would take notice,’ replied Sancho, ‘that those you see yonder are no giants, but wind-mills; and what seem arms to you, are sails, which being turned with the wind, make the mill-stone work.’—‘It seems very plain,’ said the knight, ‘that you are but a novice in adventures; these I affirm to be giants; and if thou art afraid, get out of the reach of danger, and put up thy prayers for me, while I join with them in fierce and unequal combat.’ So saying, he put spurs to his steed Rozinante, without paying the least regard to the cries of his squire Sancho, who assured him, that those he was going to attack were no giants, but innocent wind-mills: but he was so much possessed with the opinion that they were giants, that he neither heard the advice of his squire Sancho, nor would use the intelligence of his own eyes, though he was very near them; on the contrary, when he approached them, he called aloud, ‘Fly not, ye base and cowardly miscreants, for he is but a single knight who now attacks you.’ At that instant a breeze of wind springing up, the great sails began to turn; which being perceived by Don Quixote, ‘Tho’ you wield,’ said he, ‘more arms than ever belonged to the giant Briareus, I will make you pay for your insolence.’ So saying, and heartily recommending himself to his Lady Dulcinea, whom he implored to succour him in this emergency, bracing on his target, and setting his lance in the rest, he put his Rozinante to full speed, and assaulting the nearest wind-mill, thrust it into one of the sails, which was drove about by the wind with so much fury, that the lance was shivered to pieces, and both knight and steed whirled aloft, and overthrown in very bad plight upon the plain.

Sancho Panza rode as fast as the ass could carry him to his assistance; and when he came up, found him unable to stir, by reason of the bruises which he and Rozinante had received. ‘Lord have mercy upon us!’ said the squire, ‘did not I tell your worship to consider well what you were about? Did not I assure you, they were no other than wind-mills? Indeed, no body could mistake them for any thing else, but one who has wind-mills in his own head!’—‘Pr’ythee, hold thy peace, friend Sancho,’ replied Don Quixote; ‘the affairs of war are more than any thing subject to change. How much more so, as I believe, nay, am certain, that the sage Freston, who stole my closet and books, has converted those giants into mills, in order to rob me of the honour of their overthrow; such is the enmity he bears me; but in the end, all his treacherous arts will but little avail against the vigour of my sword.’—‘God’s will be done!’ replied Sancho Panza, who helped him to rise and mount Rozinante that was almost disjointed.

While they conversed together upon what had happened, they followed the road that leads to the pass of Lapice; for in that, which was a great thoroughfare, as Don Quixote observed, it was impossible but they must meet with many and divers adventures. As he jogged along, a good deal concerned for the loss of his lance, he said to his squire, ‘I remember to have read of a Spanish knight, called Diego Perez de Vargos, who, having broke his sword in battle, tore off a mighty branch or bough from an oak, with which he performed such wonders, and felled so many Moors, that he retained the name of Machuca, or the Feller, and all his descendants from that day forward have gone by the name of Vargos and Machuca. This circumstance I mention to thee, because, from the first ash or oak that I meet with, I am resolved to rend as large and stout a bough as that, with which I expect, and intend to perform such exploits, as thou shalt think thyself extremely happy in being thought worthy to see, and give testimony to feats otherwise incredible.’—‘By God’s help,’ says Sancho, ‘I believe that every thing will happen as your worship says: but pray, Sir, sit a little more upright; for you seem to lean strangely to one side, which must proceed from the bruises you received in your fall.’—‘Thou art in the right,’ answered Don Quixote; ‘and if I do not complain of the pain, it is because knights-errant are not permitted to complain of any wound they receive, even though their bowels should come out of their bodies.’—‘If that be the case, I have nothing to reply,’ said Sancho; ‘but God knows, I should be glad your worship would complain when any thing gives you pain; this I know, that, for my own part, the smallest prick in the world would make me complain, if that law of not complaining does not reach to the squires as well as the knights.’ Don Quixote could not help smiling at the simplicity of his squire, to whom he gave permission to complain as much and as often as he pleased, whether he had cause or no; for, as yet, he had read nothing to the contrary in the history of knight-errantry.

Then Sancho observing that it was dinner-time, his master told him, that for the present he had no occasion for food; but that he, his squire, might go to victuals when he pleased. With this permission, Sancho adjusted himself as well as he could upon his ass, and taking out the provision with which he had stuffed his wallet, he dropped behind his master a good way, and kept his jaws agoing as he jogged along, lifting the bottle to his head, from time to time, with so much satisfaction, that the most pampered vintner of Malaga might have envied his situation.

While he travelled in this manner, repeating his agreeable draughts, he never thought of the promise which his master had made to him, nor considered it as a toil, but rather as a diversion, to go in quest of adventures, how dangerous soever they might be: in fine, that night they passed under a tuft of trees, from one of which Don Quixote tore a withered branch to serve instead of a lance; and fitted to it the iron head he had taken from that which was broken: all night long the knight closed not an eye, but mused upon his Lady Dulcinea, in order to accommodate himself to what he had read of those errants who had passed many sleepless nights in woods and desarts, entertaining themselves with the remembrance of their mistresses.

This was not the case with Sancho Panza, whose belly being well replenished, and that not with plantane water, made but one nap of the whole night, and even then would not have waked, unless his master had called to him, notwithstanding the sun-beams that played upon his face, and the singing of the birds, which in great numbers, and joyous melody, saluted the approach of the new day. The first thing he did when he got up, was to visit his bottle, which finding considerably more lank than it was the night before, he was grievously afflicted, because in the road that they pursued, he had no hopes of being able in a little time to supply its defect. Don Quixote refusing to breakfast, because, as we have already said, he regaled himself with the savoury remembrance of his mistress, they pursued their journey towards the pass; which, after three days travelling, they discovered. ‘Here,’ cried Don Quixote, ‘here, brother Sancho Panza, we shall be able to dip our hands up to our elbows in what is called adventure; but take notice, although thou seest me beset with the most extreme danger, thou must by no means even so much as lay thy hand upon thy sword, with design to defend me, unless I am assaulted by vulgar and low-born antagonists; in which case thou mayest come to my assistance; but if they are knights, thou art by no means permitted or licensed, by the laws of chivalry, to give me the least succour, until thou thyself hast received the honour of knighthood[42].’—‘As for that matter,’ replied Sancho, ‘your worship shall be obeyed to a tittle; for I am a very peaceable man, and not at all fond of meddling with riots and quarrels. True, indeed, in the defence of my own person, I shall not pay much regard to the said laws, seeing every one that is aggrieved is permitted to defend himself by all the laws of God and man.’—‘I say nothing to the contrary,’ replied Don Quixote; ‘but in the affair of assisting me against knights, thou must keep thy natural impetuosity under the rein.’—‘That will I,’ answered Sancho, ‘and keep your honour’s command as strictly as I keep the Lord’s day.’

While they were engaged in this conversation, there appeared before them two Benedictine monks mounted upon dromedaries, for their mules were not much less, with their travelling spectacles and umbrellas; after them came a coach, accompanied by four or five people on horseback, and two mule-drivers on foot. In this carriage, it was afterwards known, a Biscayan lady was travelling to Seville to her husband, who was bound to the Indies with a rich cargo.

Don Quixote no sooner perceived the friars, (who though they travelled the same road, were not of her company) than he said to his squire, ‘If I am not very much mistaken, that will be the most famous adventure that ever was known, for those black apparitions on the road must doubtless be inchanters, who are carrying off in that coach some princess they have stolen; and there is a necessity for my exerting my whole power in redressing her wrongs.’—‘This will be worse than the wind-mills,’ cried Sancho: ‘for the love of God! Sir, consider that these are Benedictine friars; and those who are in the coach can be no other than common travellers. Mind what I say, and consider what you do, and let not the devil deceive you.’—‘I have told thee already, Sancho,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘that with regard to adventures, thou art utterly ignorant: what I say is true, and in a moment thou shalt be convinced.’

So saying, he rode forward, and placed himself in the middle of the highway through which the friars were to pass; and when he thought them near enough to hear what he said, he pronounced, in a loud voice, ‘Monstrous and diabolical race! surrender, this instant, those high-born princesses, whom you carry captives in that coach; or prepare to receive immediate death, as a just punishment for your misdeeds.’ The friars immediately stopped short, astonished as much at the figure as at the discourse of Don Quixote: to which they replied, ‘Sir knight, we are neither diabolical nor monstrous, but innocent monks of the order of St. Benedict, who are going this way about our own affairs; neither do we know of any princesses that are carried captives in that coach.’—‘These fawning speeches,’ said Don Quixote, ‘shall not impose upon me, who know too well what a treacherous pack ye are.’ And without waiting for any other reply, he put spurs to Rozinante; and couching his lance, attacked the first friar with such fury and resolution, that if he had not thrown himself from his mule, he would have come to the ground extremely ill-handled, not without some desperate wound, nay, perhaps stone dead. The second monk, who saw how his companion had been treated, clapped spurs to the flanks of his trusty mule, and flew through the field even swifter than the wind.

Sancho Panza seeing the friar on the ground, leaped from his ass with great agility, and beginning to uncase him with the utmost dexterity, two of their servants came up, and asked for what reason he stripped their master. The squire replied, that the cloaths belonged to him, as the spoils that Don Quixote, his lord, had won in battle: but the others, who did not understand raillery, nor knew any thing of spoils and battles, seeing Don Quixote at a good distance, talking with the ladies in the coach, went to loggerheads with Sancho, whom they soon overthrew; and, without leaving one hair of his beard, mauled him so unmercifully, that he lay stretched upon the ground, without sense or motion. Then, with the utmost dispatch, the friar mounted, as pale as a sheet, and almost frightened to death; and no sooner found himself on horseback, than he galloped towards his companion, who tarried at a good distance, to see the issue of this strange adventure. However, being joined again, without waiting for the conclusion of it, they pursued their journey; making as many crosses as if the devil had been at their backs.

Don Quixote, in the mean time, as we have already observed, was engaged in conversation with the lady in the coach, to whom he expressed himself in this manner; ‘Beautiful lady, you may now dispose of your own person according to your pleasure; for the pride of your ravishers lies level with the ground, being overthrown by this my invincible arm; and that you may be at no difficulty in understanding the same of your deliverer, know that I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, knight-errant, adventurer and captive of the unparalleled and beautiful Donna Dulcinea del Toboso: and the only acknowledgment I expect for the benefit you have received is, that you return to that place, and presenting yourself before my mistress, tell her what I have performed in behalf of your liberty.’ This whole address of the knight was overheard by a Biscayan squire, who accompanied the coach, and who, seeing that he would not allow the carriage to pass forward, but insisted upon their immediate returning to Toboso, rode up to Don Quixote, and laying hold of his lance, spoke to him thus in bad Castilian, and worse Biscayan: ‘Get thee gone, cavalier! go to the devil, I zay! vor, by the God that made her, if thou wilt not let the coach alone, che will kill thee dead, as zure as che was a Biscayan.’ The knight, understanding very well what he said, replied with great composure; ‘If thou wast a gentleman, as thou art not, I would chastise thy insolence and rashness, wretched creature.’—‘I not a gentleman!’ replied the Biscayan in great choler; ‘by God in heaven, thou lyest, as I am a Christian! if thou wilt throw away thy lance, and draw thy sword, che will soon zee which be the better man[43]. Biscayan by land, gentleman by zea, gentleman by devil; and thou liest, look ye, in thy throat, if thou zayest otherwise.’—‘Thou shalt see that presently, as Agragis said,’ replied Don Quixote; who, throwing his lance upon the ground, unsheathing his sword, and bracing on his target, attacked the Biscayan with full resolution to put him to death[44].

His antagonist, who saw him approach, fain would have alighted from his mule, (which being one of the worst that ever was let out for hire, could not much be depended upon;) but he scarce had time to draw his sword; however, being luckily near the coach, he snatched out of it a cushion, which served him as a shield, and then they flew upon each other as two mortal enemies. The rest of the people who were present endeavoured, but in vain, to appease them; for the Biscayan swore, in his uncouth expressions, that if they did not leave him to fight the battle, he would certainly murder his mistress, and every body who should pretend to oppose it. The lady in the coach, surprized and frightened at what she saw, ordered the coachman to drive a little out of the road, to a place from whence she should see at a distance this rigorous engagement. In the course of which, the Biscayan bellowed such a huge stroke upon the shoulder of Don Quixote, that if it had not been for the defence of his buckler, he would have been cleft down to his girdle. The knight feeling the shock of such an unconscionable blow, exclaimed aloud, ‘O Dulcinea! lady of my soul, thou rose of beauty, succour thy knight, who, for the satisfaction of thy excessive goodness, is now involved in this dreadful emergency.’ To pronounce these words, to raise his sword, to secure himself with his target, and attack the Biscayan, was the work of one instant; for he was determined to risk his all upon a single stroke. His antagonist, who saw him advance, and by this time was convinced of his courage by his resolution, determined to follow his example; and covering himself with his cushion, waited his assault, without being able to turn his mule either on one side or the other; for she was already so jaded, and so little accustomed to such pastime, that she would not move one step out of the way.

Don Quixote, then, as we have said, advanced against the cautious Biscayan, his sword lifted up with an intention to cleave him through the middle; the Biscayan waited his attack in the same posture, being shielded with his cushion. The frightened bye-standers stood aloof, intent upon the success of those mighty strokes that threatened each of the combatants; and the lady in the coach, with the rest of her attendants, put up a thousand prayers to Heaven, and vowed an offering to every image, and house of devotion in Spain, provided God would deliver the squire and them from the imminent danger in which they were: but the misfortune is, that in this very critical instant, the author of the history has left this battle in suspence, excusing himself, that he could find no other account of Don Quixote’s exploits, but what has already been related. True it is, that this second author of this work could not believe that such a curious history was consigned to oblivion; nor, that there could be such a scarcity of curious virtuosi in La Mancha, but that some papers relating to this famous knight should be found in their archives or cabinets: and therefore, possessed of this opinion, he did not despair of finding the conclusion of this delightful history, which indeed he very providentially lighted upon, in the manner which will be related in the second book.

Footnote 42:

Here Don Quixote seems to have been too scrupulous: for though no
squire was permitted to engage with a knight on horseback, yet they
were allowed, and even enjoined, to assist their masters when they
were unhorsed or in danger, by mounting them on fresh steeds,
supplying them with arms, and warding off the blows that were aimed at
them; Davy Gam, at the battle of Agincourt, lost his life in defending
Henry V. of England, and Saint Severin met with the same fate in
warding off the blows that were aimed at Francis I. of France, in the
battle of Pavia.

Footnote 43:

The literal meaning of the Spanish is, ‘Thou shalt soon see who is to
carry the cat to the water:’ or rather, in the corrupted Biscayan
phrase, ‘The water how soon thou wilt see, that thou carriest to the
cat.’

Footnote 44:

The behaviour of Don Quixote was exactly conformable to the rules of
chivalry; which, though they hindered a knight from fighting in armour
with a squire, did not prevent him from giving satisfaction to an
inferior, at sword and target; and every squire who was aggrieved had
a right to demand it.