The History of Don Quixote, Volume 1, Complete

At the cries and moans of Sancho, Don Quixote came to himself, and the first word he said was, “He who lives separated from you, sweetest Dulcinea, has greater miseries to endure than these. Aid me, friend Sancho, to mount the enchanted cart, for I am not in a condition to press the saddle of Rocinante, as this shoulder is all knocked to pieces.”

“That I will do with all my heart, senor,” said Sancho; “and let us return to our village with these gentlemen, who seek your good, and there we will prepare for making another sally, which may turn out more profitable and creditable to us.”

“Thou art right, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote; “It will be wise to let the malign influence of the stars which now prevails pass off.”

The canon, the curate, and the barber told him he would act very wisely in doing as he said; and so, highly amused at Sancho Panza’s simplicities, they placed Don Quixote in the cart as before. The procession once more formed itself in order and proceeded on its road; the goatherd took his leave of the party; the officers of the Brotherhood declined to go any farther, and the curate paid them what was due to them; the canon begged the curate to let him know how Don Quixote did, whether he was cured of his madness or still suffered from it, and then begged leave to continue his journey; in short, they all separated and went their ways, leaving to themselves the curate and the barber, Don Quixote, Sancho Panza, and the good Rocinante, who regarded everything with as great resignation as his master. The carter yoked his oxen and made Don Quixote comfortable on a truss of hay, and at his usual deliberate pace took the road the curate directed, and at the end of six days they reached Don Quixote’s village, and entered it about the middle of the day, which it so happened was a Sunday, and the people were all in the plaza, through which Don Quixote’s cart passed. They all flocked to see what was in the cart, and when they recognised their townsman they were filled with amazement, and a boy ran off to bring the news to his housekeeper and his niece that their master and uncle had come back all lean and yellow and stretched on a truss of hay on an ox-cart. It was piteous to hear the cries the two good ladies raised, how they beat their breasts and poured out fresh maledictions on those accursed books of chivalry; all which was renewed when they saw Don Quixote coming in at the gate.

At the news of Don Quixote’s arrival Sancho Panza’s wife came running, for she by this time knew that her husband had gone away with him as his squire, and on seeing Sancho, the first thing she asked him was if the ass was well. Sancho replied that he was, better than his master was.

“Thanks be to God,” said she, “for being so good to me; but now tell me, my friend, what have you made by your squirings? What gown have you brought me back? What shoes for your children?”

“I bring nothing of that sort, wife,” said Sancho; “though I bring other things of more consequence and value.”

“I am very glad of that,” returned his wife; “show me these things of more value and consequence, my friend; for I want to see them to cheer my heart that has been so sad and heavy all these ages that you have been away.”

“I will show them to you at home, wife,” said Sancho; “be content for the present; for if it please God that we should again go on our travels in search of adventures, you will soon see me a count, or governor of an island, and that not one of those everyday ones, but the best that is to be had.”

“Heaven grant it, husband,” said she, “for indeed we have need of it. But tell me, what’s this about islands, for I don’t understand it?”

“Honey is not for the mouth of the ass,” returned Sancho; “all in good time thou shalt see, wife – nay, thou wilt be surprised to hear thyself called ‘your ladyship’ by all thy vassals.”

“What are you talking about, Sancho, with your ladyships, islands, and vassals?” returned Teresa Panza – for so Sancho’s wife was called, though they were not relations, for in La Mancha it is customary for wives to take their husbands’ surnames.

“Don’t be in such a hurry to know all this, Teresa,” said Sancho; “it is enough that I am telling you the truth, so shut your mouth. But I may tell you this much by the way, that there is nothing in the world more delightful than to be a person of consideration, squire to a knight-errant, and a seeker of adventures. To be sure most of those one finds do not end as pleasantly as one could wish, for out of a hundred, ninety-nine will turn out cross and contrary. I know it by experience, for out of some I came blanketed, and out of others belaboured. Still, for all that, it is a fine thing to be on the look-out for what may happen, crossing mountains, searching woods, climbing rocks, visiting castles, putting up at inns, all at free quarters, and devil take the maravedi to pay.”

While this conversation passed between Sancho Panza and his wife, Don Quixote’s housekeeper and niece took him in and undressed him and laid him in his old bed. He eyed them askance, and could not make out where he was. The curate charged his niece to be very careful to make her uncle comfortable and to keep a watch over him lest he should make his escape from them again, telling her what they had been obliged to do to bring him home. On this the pair once more lifted up their voices and renewed their maledictions upon the books of chivalry, and implored heaven to plunge the authors of such lies and nonsense into the midst of the bottomless pit. They were, in short, kept in anxiety and dread lest their uncle and master should give them the slip the moment he found himself somewhat better, and as they feared so it fell out.

But the author of this history, though he has devoted research and industry to the discovery of the deeds achieved by Don Quixote in his third sally, has been unable to obtain any information respecting them, at any rate derived from authentic documents; tradition has merely preserved in the memory of La Mancha the fact that Don Quixote, the third time he sallied forth from his home, betook himself to Saragossa, where he was present at some famous jousts which came off in that city, and that he had adventures there worthy of his valour and high intelligence. Of his end and death he could learn no particulars, nor would he have ascertained it or known of it, if good fortune had not produced an old physician for him who had in his possession a leaden box, which, according to his account, had been discovered among the crumbling foundations of an ancient hermitage that was being rebuilt; in which box were found certain parchment manuscripts in Gothic character, but in Castilian verse, containing many of his achievements, and setting forth the beauty of Dulcinea, the form of Rocinante, the fidelity of Sancho Panza, and the burial of Don Quixote himself, together with sundry epitaphs and eulogies on his life and character; but all that could be read and deciphered were those which the trustworthy author of this new and unparalleled history here presents. And the said author asks of those that shall read it nothing in return for the vast toil which it has cost him in examining and searching the Manchegan archives in order to bring it to light, save that they give him the same credit that people of sense give to the books of chivalry that pervade the world and are so popular; for with this he will consider himself amply paid and fully satisfied, and will be encouraged to seek out and produce other histories, if not as truthful, at least equal in invention and not less entertaining. The first words written on the parchment found in the leaden box were these:

THE ACADEMICIANS OFARGAMASILLA, A VILLAGE OFLA MANCHA,ON THE LIFE AND DEATHOF DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA,HOC SCRIPSERUNTMONICONGO, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,ON THE TOMB OF DON QUIXOTEEPITAPHThe scatterbrain that gave La Mancha moreRich spoils than Jason’s; who a point so keenHad to his wit, and happier far had beenIf his wit’s weathercock a blunter bore;The arm renowned far as Gaeta’s shore,Cathay, and all the lands that lie between;The muse discreet and terrible in mienAs ever wrote on brass in days of yore;He who surpassed the Amadises all,And who as naught the Galaors accounted,Supported by his love and gallantry:Who made the Belianises sing small,And sought renown on Rocinante mounted;Here, underneath this cold stone, doth he lie.PANIAGUADO,ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,IN LAUDEM DULCINEAE DEL TOBOSOSONNETShe, whose full features may be here descried,High-bosomed, with a bearing of disdain,Is Dulcinea, she for whom in vainThe great Don Quixote of La Mancha sighed.For her, Toboso’s queen, from side to sideHe traversed the grim sierra, the champaignOf Aranjuez, and Montiel’s famous plain:On Rocinante oft a weary ride.Malignant planets, cruel destiny,Pursued them both, the fair Manchegan dame,And the unconquered star of chivalry.Nor youth nor beauty saved her from the claimOf death; he paid love’s bitter penalty,And left the marble to preserve his name.CAPRICHOSO, A MOST ACUTE ACADEMICIANOF ARGAMASILLA, IN PRAISE OF ROCINANTE,STEED OF DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHASONNETOn that proud throne of diamantine sheen,Which the blood-reeking feet of Mars degrade,The mad Manchegan’s banner now hath beenBy him in all its bravery displayed.There hath he hung his arms and trenchant bladeWherewith, achieving deeds till now unseen,He slays, lays low, cleaves, hews; but art hath madeA novel style for our new paladin.If Amadis be the proud boast of Gaul,If by his progeny the fame of GreeceThrough all the regions of the earth be spread,Great Quixote crowned in grim Bellona’s hallTo-day exalts La Mancha over these,And above Greece or Gaul she holds her head.Nor ends his glory here, for his good steedDoth Brillador and Bayard far exceed;As mettled steeds compared with Rocinante,The reputation they have won is scanty.BURLADOR, ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,ON SANCHO PANZASONNETThe worthy Sancho Panza here you see;A great soul once was in that body small,Nor was there squire upon this earthly ballSo plain and simple, or of guile so free.Within an ace of being Count was he,And would have been but for the spite and gallOf this vile age, mean and illiberal,That cannot even let a donkey be.For mounted on an ass (excuse the word),By Rocinante’s side this gentle squireWas wont his wandering master to attend.Delusive hopes that lure the common herdWith promises of ease, the heart’s desire,In shadows, dreams, and smoke ye always end.CACHIDIABLO,ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,ON THE TOMB OF DON QUIXOTEEPITAPHThe knight lies here below,Ill-errant and bruised sore,Whom Rocinante boreIn his wanderings to and fro.By the side of the knight is laidStolid man Sancho too,Than whom a squire more trueWas not in the esquire trade.TIQUITOC,ACADEMICIAN OF ARGAMASILLA,ON THE TOMB OF DULCINEA DEL TOBOSOEPITAPHHere Dulcinea lies.Plump was she and robust:Now she is ashes and dust:The end of all flesh that dies.A lady of high degree,With the port of a lofty dame,And the great Don Quixote’s flame,And the pride of her village was she.

These were all the verses that could be deciphered; the rest, the writing being worm-eaten, were handed over to one of the Academicians to make out their meaning conjecturally. We have been informed that at the cost of many sleepless nights and much toil he has succeeded, and that he means to publish them in hopes of Don Quixote’s third sally.

“Forse altro cantera con miglior plettro.”