The thirteen men could not help but stand still at the sound of such words; nor did they hesitate about thinking that the speaker of them might be lacking in some of his wits. One of the travelers, however, either was curious or had a failing for making fun of people, for he asked Don Quixote to produce the lady before asking him to pay her his respects. Perhaps he was skeptical of his country's harboring such a rare beauty unbeknown to him.
But Don Quixote was not to be fooled. "If I were to show her to you," he replied, "what merit would you have in confessing a truth so manifest? You must believe without seeing her; otherwise you have to do with me in battle. Come on, you rabble! I rely on the justice of the cause I maintain!"
The merchant with a sense of humor tried to plead for consideration. He suggested that a portrait of the fair lady might suffice to bring about a conversion to his conception of her beauty. But Don Quixote was determined that they were intolerant blasphemers who simply had to be thrashed. So he suddenly charged with such vehemence and fury that, if luck had not interfered and made his gentle steed stumble, the trader might have been killed. As Rocinante went down, our gallant hero went over his head, and after he had struck the ground he rolled for some distance. But when he tried to rise he could not: he was so weighted down with armor, helmet, spurs, buckler and lance. To make matters worse, one of the servants, having broken his lance in two, proceeded to batter him with one of the pieces until it seemed as if Don Quixote would be able to stand no more. Finally the man grew tired and went to catch up with his party, which had continued its way. But Don Quixote still lay on the ground, unable to get up.
CHAPTER V
In Which the Narrative of Our Knight's Mishap is Continued
WHEN Don Quixote began to realize that he was, so to speak, anchored to the ground, he turned his thoughts to his usual remedy, his books on knighthood and chivalry, which, in fact, had been the cause of his downfall. He decided that the passage to fit his case was the one about Baldwin and the Marquis of Mantua when Carloto left him wounded on the mountainside—for that he had been wounded by brigands he had no doubt. So he began to feign severe suffering, rolling to and fro on the ground, and repeating words that he had read in his books and ascribed to Baldwin as he lay wounded; until he finally was discovered by a peasant from his own village, a neighbor of his, whom he took for Baldwin's uncle, the Marquis of Mantua. This good neighbor of Don Quixote's was much concerned over his ravings. He removed the knight's breastplate, back piece and visor, expecting to see him badly wounded; but he found no trace of blood or marks upon him. Then he succeeded in hoisting poor Don Quixote up on his donkey, which seemed the easiest mount for him, while he tied the pieces of his arms on Rocinante. And thus they proceeded toward the village. Because of his blows and bruises, Don Quixote had a hard task sitting upright on the ass, and he emphasized the romance of his situation by constantly heaving sighs to heaven. But every time the peasant was driven by these sighs to ask him his trouble, he replied in the language of a different hero from a different book.
It was nightfall when they arrived at Don Quixote's house in the village. His housekeeper, the curate, and the village barber were all in confusion, for it was now six days since the old gentleman had disappeared from La Mancha with his hack and armor. They had just come to the conclusion that his books were to blame for his dilapidated mentality, and agreed that they ought to be condemned to be publicly burned, when the peasant suddenly arrived with Don Quixote himself. They all ran out to greet and embrace him while he was still on the donkey—he had not dismounted because he could not. He insisted that he was severely wounded—through no fault of his own, however, but that of his horse—and asked that they put him to bed and send for the wise Urganda to cure him.
The good people carried him to bed, but still they could find no wounds, although he insisted that he had been wounded in combat with ten giants, the greatest and most bloodthirsty in the world. Then he asked for something to eat; and then fell asleep.