Don Quixote

N WHICH IS CONCLUDED AND FINISHED THE TERRIFIC BATTLE BETWEEN THE
GALLANT BISCAYAN AND THE VALIANT MANCHEGAN
In the First Part of this history we left the valiant Biscayan and the
renowned Don Quixote with drawn swords uplifted, ready to deliver two
such furious slashing blows that if they had fallen full and fair they
would at least have split and cleft them asunder from top to toe and
laid them open like a pomegranate; and at this so critical point the
delightful history came to a stop and stood cut short without any
intimation from the author where what was missing was to be found.

This distressed me greatly, because the pleasure derived from having
read such a small portion turned to vexation at the thought of the poor
chance that presented itself of finding the large part that, so it
seemed to me, was missing of such an interesting tale. It appeared to
me to be a thing impossible and contrary to all precedent that so good
a knight should have been without some sage to undertake the task of
writing his marvellous achievements; a thing that was never wanting to
any of those knights-errant who, they say, went after adventures; for
every one of them had one or two sages as if made on purpose, who not
only recorded their deeds but described their most trifling thoughts
and follies, however secret they might be; and such a good knight could
not have been so unfortunate as not to have what Platir and others like
him had in abundance. And so I could not bring myself to believe that
such a gallant tale had been left maimed and mutilated, and I laid the
blame on Time, the devourer and destroyer of all things, that had
either concealed or consumed it.

On the other hand, it struck me that, inasmuch as among his books there
had been found such modern ones as “The Enlightenment of Jealousy” and
the “Nymphs and Shepherds of Henares,” his story must likewise be
modern, and that though it might not be written, it might exist in the
memory of the people of his village and of those in the neighbourhood.
This reflection kept me perplexed and longing to know really and truly
the whole life and wondrous deeds of our famous Spaniard, Don Quixote
of La Mancha, light and mirror of Manchegan chivalry, and the first
that in our age and in these so evil days devoted himself to the labour
and exercise of the arms of knight-errantry, righting wrongs,
succouring widows, and protecting damsels of that sort that used to
ride about, whip in hand, on their palfreys, with all their virginity
about them, from mountain to mountain and valley to valley—for, if it
were not for some ruffian, or boor with a hood and hatchet, or
monstrous giant, that forced them, there were in days of yore damsels
that at the end of eighty years, in all which time they had never slept
a day under a roof, went to their graves as much maids as the mothers
that bore them. I say, then, that in these and other respects our
gallant Don Quixote is worthy of everlasting and notable praise, nor
should it be withheld even from me for the labour and pains spent in
searching for the conclusion of this delightful history; though I know
well that if Heaven, chance and good fortune had not helped me, the
world would have remained deprived of an entertainment and pleasure
that for a couple of hours or so may well occupy him who shall read it
attentively. The discovery of it occurred in this way.

One day, as I was in the Alcana of Toledo, a boy came up to sell some
pamphlets and old papers to a silk mercer, and, as I am fond of reading
even the very scraps of paper in the streets, led by this natural bent
of mine I took up one of the pamphlets the boy had for sale, and saw
that it was in characters which I recognised as Arabic, and as I was
unable to read them though I could recognise them, I looked about to
see if there were any Spanish-speaking Morisco at hand to read them for
me; nor was there any great difficulty in finding such an interpreter,
for even had I sought one for an older and better language I should
have found him. In short, chance provided me with one, who when I told
him what I wanted and put the book into his hands, opened it in the
middle and after reading a little in it began to laugh. I asked him
what he was laughing at, and he replied that it was at something the
book had written in the margin by way of a note. I bade him tell it to
me; and he still laughing said, “In the margin, as I told you, this is
written: ‘This Dulcinea del Toboso so often mentioned in this history,
had, they say, the best hand of any woman in all La Mancha for salting
pigs.’”

When I heard Dulcinea del Toboso named, I was struck with surprise and
amazement, for it occurred to me at once that these pamphlets contained
the history of Don Quixote. With this idea I pressed him to read the
beginning, and doing so, turning the Arabic offhand into Castilian, he
told me it meant, “History of Don Quixote of La Mancha, written by Cid
Hamete Benengeli, an Arab historian.” It required great caution to
hide the joy I felt when the title of the book reached my ears, and
snatching it from the silk mercer, I bought all the papers and
pamphlets from the boy for half a real; and if he had had his wits
about him and had known how eager I was for them, he might have safely
calculated on making more than six reals by the bargain. I withdrew at
once with the Morisco into the cloister of the cathedral, and begged
him to turn all these pamphlets that related to Don Quixote into the
Castilian tongue, without omitting or adding anything to them, offering
him whatever payment he pleased. He was satisfied with two arrobas of
raisins and two bushels of wheat, and promised to translate them
faithfully and with all despatch; but to make the matter easier, and
not to let such a precious find out of my hands, I took him to my
house, where in little more than a month and a half he translated the
whole just as it is set down here.

In the first pamphlet the battle between Don Quixote and the Biscayan
was drawn to the very life, they planted in the same attitude as the
history describes, their swords raised, and the one protected by his
buckler, the other by his cushion, and the Biscayan’s mule so true to
nature that it could be seen to be a hired one a bowshot off. The
Biscayan had an inscription under his feet which said, “Don Sancho de
Azpeitia,” which no doubt must have been his name; and at the feet of
Rocinante was another that said, “Don Quixote.” Rocinante was
marvellously portrayed, so long and thin, so lank and lean, with so
much backbone and so far gone in consumption, that he showed plainly
with what judgment and propriety the name of Rocinante had been
bestowed upon him. Near him was Sancho Panza holding the halter of his
ass, at whose feet was another label that said, “Sancho Zancas,” and
according to the picture, he must have had a big belly, a short body,
and long shanks, for which reason, no doubt, the names of Panza and
Zancas were given him, for by these two surnames the history several
times calls him. Some other trifling particulars might be mentioned,
but they are all of slight importance and have nothing to do with the
true relation of the history; and no history can be bad so long as it
is true.

If against the present one any objection be raised on the score of its
truth, it can only be that its author was an Arab, as lying is a very
common propensity with those of that nation; though, as they are such
enemies of ours, it is conceivable that there were omissions rather
than additions made in the course of it. And this is my own opinion;
for, where he could and should give freedom to his pen in praise of so
worthy a knight, he seems to me deliberately to pass it over in
silence; which is ill done and worse contrived, for it is the business
and duty of historians to be exact, truthful, and wholly free from
passion, and neither interest nor fear, hatred nor love, should make
them swerve from the path of truth, whose mother is history, rival of
time, storehouse of deeds, witness for the past, example and counsel
for the present, and warning for the future. In this I know will be
found all that can be desired in the pleasantest, and if it be wanting
in any good quality, I maintain it is the fault of its hound of an
author and not the fault of the subject. To be brief, its Second Part,
according to the translation, began in this way:

With trenchant swords upraised and poised on high, it seemed as though
the two valiant and wrathful combatants stood threatening heaven, and
earth, and hell, with such resolution and determination did they bear
themselves. The fiery Biscayan was the first to strike a blow, which
was delivered with such force and fury that had not the sword turned in
its course, that single stroke would have sufficed to put an end to the
bitter struggle and to all the adventures of our knight; but that good
fortune which reserved him for greater things, turned aside the sword
of his adversary, so that although it smote him upon the left shoulder,
it did him no more harm than to strip all that side of its armour,
carrying away a great part of his helmet with half of his ear, all
which with fearful ruin fell to the ground, leaving him in a sorry
plight.

Good God! Who is there that could properly describe the rage that
filled the heart of our Manchegan when he saw himself dealt with in
this fashion? All that can be said is, it was such that he again raised
himself in his stirrups, and, grasping his sword more firmly with both
hands, he came down on the Biscayan with such fury, smiting him full
over the cushion and over the head, that—even so good a shield proving
useless—as if a mountain had fallen on him, he began to bleed from
nose, mouth, and ears, reeling as if about to fall backwards from his
mule, as no doubt he would have done had he not flung his arms about
its neck; at the same time, however, he slipped his feet out of the
stirrups and then unclasped his arms, and the mule, taking fright at
the terrible blow, made off across the plain, and with a few plunges
flung its master to the ground. Don Quixote stood looking on very
calmly, and, when he saw him fall, leaped from his horse and with great
briskness ran to him, and, presenting the point of his sword to his
eyes, bade him surrender, or he would cut his head off. The Biscayan
was so bewildered that he was unable to answer a word, and it would
have gone hard with him, so blind was Don Quixote, had not the ladies
in the coach, who had hitherto been watching the combat in great
terror, hastened to where he stood and implored him with earnest
entreaties to grant them the great grace and favour of sparing their
squire’s life; to which Don Quixote replied with much gravity and
dignity, “In truth, fair ladies, I am well content to do what ye ask of
me; but it must be on one condition and understanding, which is that
this knight promise me to go to the village of El Toboso, and on my
behalf present himself before the peerless lady Dulcinea, that she deal
with him as shall be most pleasing to her.”

The terrified and disconsolate ladies, without discussing Don Quixote’s
demand or asking who Dulcinea might be, promised that their squire
should do all that had been commanded.

“Then, on the faith of that promise,” said Don Quixote, “I shall do him
no further harm, though he well deserves it of me.”