Chap. XVII A Continuation of the Surprizing Events That Happened in the Inn
Don Quixote actually made such a hideous outcry, that the innkeeper opened the door, and ran out to see what was the matter; while the strangers that remained without were no less astonished at his bellowing. Maritornes being also waked by the same noise, conjectured what might be the case, and going straight to the hay-loft without being perceived, untied the halter that sustained him, so that the knight came to the ground in sight of the landlord and strangers, who running up, asked what was the matter with him, and wherefore he cried so violently? Without answering one word, he loosed the tether from his wrist, and rising up, mounted Rozinante, braced his target, couched his lance, and making a pretty large circuit in the field, returned at a half gallop, pronouncing with great emphasis, ‘If any person whatever sayeth that I have justly suffered inchantment, I here with the permission of my Lady Princess Micomicona give him the lye, challenge, and defy him to single combat.’
The travellers were amazed at his words; but their astonishment abated when the innkeeper told them who Don Quixote was, observing that they ought not to mind what he did, because he was disordered in his brain: they then asked if he had seen a youth about fifteen years of age, dressed like a young muleteer, with such and such marks, giving an exact description of Donna Clara’s lover. The landlord answered, there were so many people in his house, that he could not possibly distinguish the person for whom they enquired; but one of them perceiving the judge’s coach, ‘He must certainly be here,’ said he; ‘for this is the coach which they say he followed: let one of us stay at the door, and the rest go in to search for him; it will also be proper that one go round the whole house, to prevent his escaping over the yard wall.’ This plan being agreed upon, two of them entered the inn, another remained at the door, and the fourth rode round the house to reconnoitre; while the landlord observing every thing that passed, could not conceive the meaning of all this care and diligence, although he believed they were in search of the youth whom they had described. By this time it was clear day-light, and upon that account, as well as in consequence of Don Quixote’s roaring, all the company were awake, and got up, especially Donna Clara and Dorothea, who had slept very little that night; the first being disturbed and alarmed by reflecting that her lover was so near, and the other kept awake by the desire of seeing this pretended muleteer.
Don Quixote seeing that none of the travellers took the least notice of him, or made any answer to his defiance, was transported with rage and vexation; and if he could have recollected any law of chivalry, authorizing a knight-errant to undertake another enterprize while he was under promise and oath to abstain from any adventure until that in which he was engaged was already atchieved, he would have assaulted them all together, and forced them to reply, contrary to their inclination: but thinking it was neither expedient nor just to begin a new enterprize until he had re-established the Princess Micomicona on her throne, he chose to be silent, waiting to see the effects of that diligence practised by the new comers, one of whom found the youth they came in quest of sleeping by the side of a muleteer, and little dreaming that any body was in search of him, much less that he was in any danger of being discovered. The man, however, shook him by the arm, saying, ‘Truly, Signior Don Lewis, this is a very suitable dress for one of your quality, and the bed in which you now lie extremely well-adapted to the tenderness and delicacy in which your mother brought you up.’
The youth rubbed his sleepy eyes, and looking stedfastly at the person who held him by the arm, no sooner perceived that he was one of his father’s servants, than he was so much surprized and confounded, that for a good while he could not speak one word; while the domestick proceeded, saying, ‘At present, Don Lewis, there is nothing else to be done but to exert your patience and return home, if you are not resolved that your father and my lady shall visit the other world; for nothing else can be expected from their anxiety at your absence.’—‘How did my father get notice that I travelled this road, and in this habit?’ said Don Lewis. ‘A student,’ replied the servant, ‘to whom you imparted your intention, was so much moved by the sorrow that took possession of your parents the moment you were missed, that he disclosed your scheme to your father, who instantly dispatched four of his domesticks in search of you; and we are all here, at your service, infinitely rejoiced that we have now an opportunity of returning speedily, and carrying you back to the longing eyes of those by whom you are so much beloved.’—‘That may depend upon my own will, and the appointment of Heaven,’ said the young nobleman. ‘What should you will, or Heaven ordain, but your immediate return, which indeed you cannot possibly avoid?’
All this conversation was overheard by the muleteer with whom Don Lewis lay, who got up immediately, and going to Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the ladies, who were already dressed, told them how the man called his fellow-servant, Don, and communicated every thing that passed between them concerning the domestick’s proposal of conducting him home again, and the youth’s refusal to comply with his desire. This information, together with the knowledge of that sweet voice with which Heaven had endowed him, excited in all the company a desire of knowing more particularly who he was, and even of assisting him, should they offer any violence to his inclination: for this purpose, therefore, they repaired to the place where he still stood talking and disputing with his father’s servant. At the same time Dorothea coming out of her apartment, followed by Donna Clara, in the utmost confusion called Cardenio aside, and briefly related to him the story of the musician and the judge’s daughter; and he in his turn informed her of what passed on the arrival of his father’s servants. This he spoke not so softly but that he was overheard by Clara, who was so much affected at the news, that if Dorothea had not supported her, she would have fallen to the ground; but Cardenio desired them to retire into their apartment, saying, he would endeavour to set every thing to rights, and they accordingly followed his advice. Meanwhile, the four who had come in quest of Don Lewis stood round him in the inn, persuading him to return without loss of time, and console his melancholy father; but he assured them he could by no means comply with their request until he had finished an affair upon which his honour, life, and soul, depended. Then the domesticks began to be more urgent, protesting they would in no shape return without him; and declaring that if he would not go willingly, they would be obliged to carry him off by force. ‘That you shall never do,’ replied Don Lewis, ‘unless you carry me off dead: and indeed you may as well kill me, as force me away in any shape.’
Most of the people in the house were now gathered together to hear the dispute, particularly Cardenio, Don Fernando, his companions, the judge, curate, barber, and Don Quixote, who thought it was no longer necessary to guard the castle. Cardenio being already acquainted with the young man’s story, asked what reason the domesticks had to carry off the youth contrary to his own inclination. ‘Our motive,’ replied one of the four, ‘is to retrieve his father’s life, which is in danger of being lost on account of this young gentleman’s absence.’ To this declaration Don Lewis answered, ‘There is no reason why I should here give an account of my affairs; I am free, and will return if I please, otherwise none of you shall compel me into your measures.’—‘Your honour will, I hope, hear reason,’ said the servant; ‘or if you should not, it will be enough for us to execute our errand, as we are in duty bound.’
Here the judge desiring to know the whole affair from the bottom, the man having lived in the same neighbourhood, knew him, and replied, ‘My Lord Judge, don’t you know that young gentleman is your neighbour’s son, who hath absented himself from his father’s house, in a dress altogether unbecoming his quality, as your lordship may perceive?’ Then the judge looking at him more attentively, recollected his features, and embracing him said, ‘What a frolick is this, Don Lewis? or what powerful cause hath induced you to come hither in a garb so ill-suited to your rank and fortune?’ The tears gushing into the young man’s eyes, he could not answer one word to the judge, who desired the four domesticks to make themselves easy, for all would be well; then taking Don Lewis by the hand, he led him aside, and asked again the cause of his coming in that manner.
While he was employed in this and other questions, they heard a great noise at the inn door, occasioned by two men who had lodged all night in the house, and who seeing every body intent upon knowing the business of the four last comers, resolved to march off without paying their reckoning; but the innkeeper, who minded his own affairs more than those of any other person, stopped them on the threshold, demanded his money, and upbraided them for their evil intention, with such abusive language, as provoked them to answer by dint of fists, which they began to employ so dextrously, that the poor landlord found himself under the necessity of calling aloud for assistance. His wife and daughter seeing nobody so idle, consequently so proper for the purpose as Don Quixote, the damsel addressed him in these words: ‘Sir knight, I beseech your worship, by the valour which God hath given you, to go to the assistance of my poor father, whom two wicked men are now beating to a jelly.’ To this request the knight replied, with great leisure, and infinite phlegm, ‘Beautiful young lady, I cannot at present grant your petition, being restricted from intermeddling in any other adventure, until I shall have accomplished one in which my honour is already engaged; all that I can do for your service is this, run and desire your father to maintain the combat as well as he can, and by no means allow himself to be overcome, until I go and ask permission of the Princess Micomicona, to succour him in his distress; and if I obtain it, be assured that I will rescue him from all danger.’—‘Sinner that I am!’ cried Maritornes, who was then present, ‘before your worship can obtain that permission, my master will be in the other world.’—‘Allow me, Madam,’ answered Don Quixote, ‘to go and solicit the licence I mention, which if I obtain, I shall not make much account of his being in the other world, from whence I will retrieve him, though all its inhabitants should combine to oppose me; at least I shall take such vengeance on those who have sent him thither, as will give you full and ample satisfaction.’
So saying, he went and kneeled before Dorothea, begging in the stile and manner of knight-errantry, that her highness would be pleased to give him permission to run and assist the constable of the castle, who was at that time involved in a very grievous disaster. The princess having very graciously granted his request, he braced on his target, unsheathed his sword, and ran to the gate, where the two guests still continued pummelling the landlord; but as soon as he beheld them, he stopped short, as if suddenly surprized, and when Maritornes and her mistress asked what hindered him from giving assistance to their master and husband, ‘I am hindered,’ answered the knight, ‘by a law, which will not permit me to use my sword against plebeians; but call hither my squire Sancho, for to him it belongs, and is peculiar, to engage in such vengeance and defence.’
This transaction happened on the very field of battle, while kicks and cuffs were dealt with infinite dexterity, to the no small prejudice of the innkeeper’s carcase, and the rage of his wife, daughter, and Maritornes, who were half-distracted at seeing the cowardice of Don Quixote, and the distress of their lord and master. But let us here leave him awhile, for he shall not want one to assist him; or else, let him suffer with patience, and hold his tongue as becomes those who rashly undertake adventures which they have not strength to atchieve; and let us retreat backwards, about fifty yards, to see what answer Don Lewis made to the judge, whom we left enquiring the cause of his travelling on foot in such a mean habit. The youth, squeezing both his hands with great eagerness, in token of the excessive grief that wrung his heart, and shedding a flood of tears, replied to this question, ‘Dear Sir, I can give you no other reason, but that from the first moment that fortune made us neighbours, and Heaven ordained that I should see Donna Clara, your daughter and my delight, I, that instant, made her mistress of my heart; and if your inclination, my real lord and father, does not oppose my happiness, this very day she shall be my lawful wife; for her I forsook my father’s house, and disguised myself in this manner, with a resolution to follow whithersoever she should go, directing my views towards her, like the arrow to its mark, and the needle to the pole; though she knows no more of my passion than what she may have understood from the tears which, at a distance, she hath often seen me shed. You yourself, my lord, know the rank and fortune of my father, whose sole heir I am. If you think that a motive sufficient for venturing to make me perfectly happy, receive me immediately as your son; and though my father, prompted perhaps by other views, should be disobliged at the blessing which I have chosen for myself, it is in the power of time to work greater changes and alterations than human prudence can foresee.’
Here the enamoured youth left off speaking, and the judge remained in the utmost suspense; not only admiring the discretion with which Don Lewis had disclosed his passion, but also finding himself perplexed about the resolution he was to take, in such a sudden and unexpected affair. He therefore made no other reply for the present, but to desire he would make himself easy, and detain his servants a day longer, that he might have time to consider what steps it would be most proper to take, for the satisfaction of all concerned. Don Lewis kissed his hands by force, and even bathed them with his tears; a circumstance sufficient to melt a heart of marble, much more that of the judge, who, being a man of prudence, had already conceived all the advantages of such a match for his daughter; though he wished it could be effected, if possible, with the consent of the young man’s father, who, he knew, had some pretensions to a title for his son.
By this time peace was re-established between the innkeeper and his two lodgers, who being persuaded by the arguments and exhortations of Don Quixote, more than by his threats, had paid their reckoning to the last farthing; and the servants of Don Lewis waited the result of the judge’s advice, together with their master’s resolution; when the devil, who is ever watchful, so ordered matters, that the barber should just then enter the inn; that very barber from whom Don Quixote had retrieved Mambrino’s helmet, and Sancho Panza taken the furniture of his ass, which he had exchanged for his own. This individual shaver, as he led his beast to the stable, perceived Sancho employed in mending something that belonged to the pannel, and knowing him at first sight, assaulted the squire in a trice, crying, ‘Ha! Don thief, I have caught you at last. Restore my bason and pannel, with all the furniture you stole from me.’
Sancho seeing himself so suddenly attacked, and hearing the reproachful language of his antagonist, with one hand laid fast hold on the pannel, and with the other bestowed upon the barber such a slap in the face, as bathed his whole jaws in blood. But for all that, he would not quit the pannel which he had also seized; on the contrary, he raised his voice so high as to alarm the whole company, and bring them to the scene of contention, crying, ‘Justice! help in the king’s name! this robber wants to murder me, because I endeavour to recover my own property.’—‘You lye,’ answered the squire; ‘I am no robber; my Lord Don Quixote won these spoils fairly in battle.’ The knight coming up among the rest, beheld with infinite satisfaction, his squire so alert in offending and defending, and looking upon him from thenceforward as a man of valour, resolved in his heart, to have him dubbed with the first opportunity, confident that on him the order of knighthood would be very well bestowed. Among other things alledged by the barber in the course of the fray, ‘Gentlemen,’ said he, ‘that pannel belongs as much to me as my soul belongs to God; for I know it as well as if it had been produced by my own body, and though I had all the mind in the world, my ass, which is now in the stable, would not suffer me to tell a falshood; since you will not take my word, pray go and try it upon his back, and if it does not fit him to a hair, I shall give you leave to call me the greatest lyar upon earth. Besides, the very same day on which they took my pannel, they also robbed me of a new brass bason, never hanselled, that cost me a good crown111.’
Don Quixote hearing this, could contain himself no longer, but interposed between the combatants, whom he parted, and depositing the pannel on the ground, to be publickly viewed until the truth should appear, addressed himself thus to the spectators: ‘Gentlemen, you may now clearly and manifestly perceive how this honest squire errs in his judgment, by calling that a bason, which was, is, and shall be, Mambrino’s helmet; a piece of armour I won in fair and open battle, and now possess by the just laws of conquest. With regard to the pannel, I will not intermeddle; all that I can say of the matter is, that my squire Sancho having asked permission to take the trappings of that coward’s horse, and adorn his own with them, I gave him leave, and he took them accordingly; though I can give no other reason for their being now converted into a pannel, but that such transformations frequently happen in the events of chivalry: yet, as a confirmation of what I say, run, friend Sancho, and bring hither the helmet, which this honest man calls a bason.’
‘’Fore God!’ answered Sancho, ‘if your worship has no better proof of our honourable doings than what you mention, Mambrino’s helmet will turn out a bason, as certainly as this honest man’s trappings are transmographied into a pannel.’—‘Do what I order,’ replied the knight; ’sure I am every thing in this castle cannot be conducted by inchantment.’ Sancho went accordingly, and fetched this bason or helmet of Mambrino, as his master called it, which Don Quixote taking in his hand, said, ‘Behold, gentlemen, with what face this plebeian can affirm that this is a bason, and not the helmet I have mentioned: now, I swear by the order of knighthood I profess, that this is the individual helmet which I took from him, without the least addition or diminution.’—‘Without all manner of doubt,’ said Sancho; ‘for since my master won it, to this good hour, he hath used it but in one battle, when he delivered those mischievous galley-slaves; and if it had not been for that same bason-helmet, he could not have come off so well: for there was a deadly shower of stones rained upon his pate in that storm.’