Don Quixote of the Mancha, Retold by Judge Parry

by Sir Edward Abbott Parry; Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

All his preparations being made, he could no longer resist the desire of carrying out his plans, his head being full of the wrongs he intended to put right, the errors he wished to amend, and the evil deeds he felt himself called upon to punish. And, therefore, without telling any living creature, and unseen of anybody, somewhat before daybreak—it being one of the warmest days in July—he armed himself from head to foot, mounted on Rozinante, laced on his strange helmet, gathered up his target, seized his lance, and through the back door of his yard sallied forth into the fields, marvellously cheerful and content to see how easily he had started on his new career. But scarcely was he clear of the village when he was struck by a terrible thought, and one which did well-nigh overthrow all his plans. For he recollected that he had never been knighted, and therefore, according to the laws of Knighthood, neither could he nor ought he to combat with any Knight. And even if he were a Knight, he remembered to have read that as a new Knight he ought to wear white armour without any device upon his shield until he should win it by force of arms.

These thoughts made him waver a little in his plan; but more for the reason that his head was full of his folly than for any other, he determined to cause himself to be knighted by the first he met, as others had done of whom he had read in the books which had so turned his brain. As to the white armour, he resolved at the first opportunity to scour his own until it should be whiter than ermine; and, having satisfied himself with these intentions, he pursued his way without following any other road than that which his horse was pleased to choose, believing that to be the most correct way of meeting with knightly adventures. And as he rode along he exclaimed to the empty air as if he had been actually in love: 'O Princess Dulcinea, Lady of this captive heart, much wrong hast thou done me by dismissing me and reproaching me with thy cruel commandment not to appear before thy beauty! I pray thee, sweet Lady, to remember this thy faithful slave, who for thy love suffers so many tortures.'

A thousand other ravings, after the style and manner that his books had taught him, did he add to this as he travelled along, meeting with no adventure worthy to be set down, whilst the sun mounted so swiftly and with so great heat that it would have been sufficient to have melted his brains if he had had any left.

He journeyed all that day long, and at night both he and his horse were tired and marvellously pressed by hunger, and looking about him on every side to see whether he could discover any Castle to which he might retire for the night, he saw an Inn near unto the highway on which he travelled, which was as welcome a sight to him as if he had seen a guiding star. Then spurring his horse he rode towards it as fast as he might, and arrived there much about nightfall.

There stood by chance at the Inn door two jolly peasant women who were travelling towards Seville with some carriers, who happened to take up their lodging in that Inn the same evening. And as our Knight Errant believed all that he saw or heard to take place in the same manner as he had read in his books, he no sooner saw the Inn than he fancied it to be a Castle with four turrets and pinnacles of shining silver, with a drawbridge, a deep moat, and all such things as belong to grand Castles. Drawing slowly towards it, he checked Rozinante with the bridle when he was close to the Inn, and rested awhile to see if any dwarf would mount on the battlements to give warning with the sound of a trumpet how some Knight did approach the Castle; but seeing they stayed so long, and Rozinante was eager to get up to his stable, he went to the Inn door, and there beheld the two wenches that stood at it, whom he supposed to be two beautiful damsels or lovely ladies that did solace themselves before the Castle gates. At that moment it happened that a certain swineherd, as he gathered together his hogs, blew the horn which was wont to bring them together, and at once Don Quixote imagined it was some dwarf who gave notice of his arrival; and he rode up to the Inn door with marvellous delight. The ladies, when they beheld one armed in that manner with lance and target, made haste to run into the Inn; but Don Quixote, seeing their fear by their flight, lifted up his pasteboard visor, showed his withered and dusky face, and spoke to them thus: 'Let not your ladyships fly nor fear any harm, for it does not belong to the order of Knighthood which I profess to wrong anybody, much less such high-born damsels as your appearance shows you to be.'

The wenches looked at him very earnestly, and sought with their eyes for his face, which the ill-fashioned helmet concealed; but when they heard themselves called high-born damsels, they could not contain their laughter, which was so loud that Don Quixote was quite ashamed of them and rebuked them, saying: 'Modesty is a comely ornament of the beautiful, and too much laughter springing from trifles is great folly; but I do not tell you this to make you the more ashamed, for my desire is none other than to do you all the honour and service I may.'

This speech merely increased their laughter, and with it his anger, which would have passed all bounds if the Innkeeper had not come out at this instant. Now this Innkeeper was a man of exceeding fatness, and therefore, as some think, of a very peaceable disposition; and when he saw that strange figure, armed in such fantastic armour, he was very nearly keeping the two women company in their merriment and laughter. But being afraid of the owner of such a lance and target, he resolved to behave civilly for fear of what might happen, and thus addressed him: 'Sir Knight! if your Worship do seek for lodging, we have no bed at liberty, but you shall find all other things in abundance.'

To which Don Quixote, noting the humility of the Constable of the Castle—for such he took him to be—replied: 'Anything, Sir Constable, may serve me, for my arms are my dress, and the battlefield is my bed.'

While he was speaking, the Innkeeper laid hand on Don Quixote's stirrup and helped him to alight. This he did with great difficulty and pain, for he had not eaten a crumb all that day. He then bade the Innkeeper have special care of his horse, saying he was one of the best animals that ever ate bread.