Chap. III The Diverting Expedient Don Quixote Falls Upon in Order to Be Knighted
Harassed by this reflection, he abridged his sorry meal, and called for the landlord; with whom having shut himself up in the stable, he fell upon his knees, and addressed the supposed constable in these words: ‘Never will I rise from this suppliant posture, thrice valiant knight, until your courtesy shall grant the boon I mean to beg; a boon, that will not only redound to your particular praise, but also to the inestimable benefit of mankind in general33.’ The innkeeper hearing such discourse proceed from the mouth of his guest, who kneeled before him, was astonished; and gazed at our hero, without knowing what to say or do: at length, however, he intreated him to rise; but this request was absolutely refused, until he assured him that his boon should be granted. ‘Signior,’ said Don Quixote, ‘I could expect no less from the courtesy of your magnificence; I will now therefore tell you, that the boon which I have begged, and obtained from your generosity, is, that you will, to-morrow morning, vouchsafe to confer upon me the honour of knighthood. This night will I watch my arms in the chapel of your castle; that the morning, as I said, may fulfil my eager desire, and enable me, as I ought, to traverse the four corners of the world, in search of adventures for the relief of the distressed, according to the duty and office of chivalry, and of those knight-errants, in imitation of whom my genius is strongly addicted to such atchievements.’
The landlord, who, as we have already observed, was a sort of a wag, and had, from the beginning, suspected that his lodger’s brain was none of the soundest, having heard him to an end, no longer entertained any doubts about the matter; and, in order to regale himself and the rest of his guests with a dish of mirth, resolved to humour him in his extravagance. With this view, he told him, that nothing could be more just and reasonable than his request, his conceptions being extremely well-suited, and natural to such a peerless knight as his commanding presence and gallant demeanour demonstrated him to be; that he himself had, in his youth, exercised the honourable profession of errantry, strolling from place to place in quest of adventures, in the course of which he did not fail to visit the suburbs of Malaga, the isles of Riaran, the booths of Seville, the market-place of Segovia, the olive-gardens of Valencia, the little tower of Grenada, the bay of St. Lucar, the spout of Cordova34, the publick houses of Toledo, and many other places, in which he had exercised the dexterity of his hands as well as the lightness of his heels, doing infinite mischief; courting widows without number, debauching damsels, ruining heirs, and, in short, making himself known at the bar of every tribunal in Spain: that, at length, he had retired to the castle, where he lived on his own means, together with those of other people; accommodating knights-errant of every quality and degree, solely on account of the affection he bore to them, and to the coin which they parted with in return for his hospitality. He, moreover, informed him, that there was no chapel in the castle at present, where he could watch his armour, it having been demolished in order to be rebuilt; but that, in case of necessity, as he very well knew, he might chuse any other place; that the court-yard of the castle would very well serve the purpose; where, when the knight should have watched all night, he, the host, would in the morning, with God’s permission, perform all the other ceremonies required, and create him not only a knight, but such an one as should not have his fellow in the whole universe.
He then asked, if he carried any money about with him: and the knight replied, that he had not a sous; for he had never read in the history of knights-errant, that they had ever troubled themselves with any such incumbrance. The innkeeper assured him, that his was very much mistaken, for that though no such circumstance was to be found in those histories, the authors having thought it superfluous to mention things that were so plainly necessary as money and clean shirts, it was not to be supposed that their heroes travelled without supplies of both; he might therefore take it for granted and uncontrovertible, that all those knights, whose actions are so voluminously recorded, never rode without their purses well lined in cases of emergency35; not forgetting to carry a stock of linen, with a small box of ointment to cure the wounds they might receive in the course of their adventures; for it was not to be imagined, that any other relief was to be had every time they should have occasion to fight, and be wounded in fields and desarts; unless they were befriended by some sage inchanter, who would assist them, by transporting through the air, in a cloud, some damsel, or dwarf, with a cordial of such virtue, that one drop of it would instantly cure them of their bruises and wounds, and make them as sound as if no such mischance had happened: but the knights of former ages, who had no such assistance to depend upon, laid it down as a constant maxim, to order their squires to provide themselves with money and other necessaries, such as ointment and lint for immediate application: and, when the knight happened to be without a squire, which was very seldom the case, he himself kept them in very small bags, that hung, scarce perceptible, at his horse’s rump, as if it were a treasure of much greater importance. Though, indeed, except upon such an occasion, that of carrying bags was not much for the honour of knight-errantry; for which reason, he advised Don Quixote, and now that he was on the brink of being his godson, he might command him, never thenceforward to travel without money, and those other indispensible necessaries, with which he should provide himself as soon as possible; and then he would, when he least thought of it, find his account in having made such provision.
The knight promised to follow his advice with all deference and punctuality; and thereupon received orders to watch his armour in a large court on one side of the inn; where, having gathered the several pieces on a heap, he placed them in a cistern that belonged to the well; then bracing on his target, and grasping his lance, he walked with courteous demeanour backward and forward before the cistern; beginning this knightly exercise as soon as it was dark36. The roguish landlord having informed every lodger in his house of our hero’s frenzy, the watching of his armour, and his expectation of being dubbed a knight; they were astonished at such a peculiar strain of madness, and going out to observe him at a distance, beheld him with silent gesture sometimes stalking along, sometimes leaning on his spear, with his eyes fixed upon his armour, for a considerable space of time. Though it was now night, the moon shone with such splendour, as might even vie with the source from which she derived her brightness; so that every motion of our noviciate was distinctly perceived by all present. At this instant, a carrier, who lodged in the inn, took it in his head to water his mules; and it being necessary for this purpose to clear the cistern, he went to lift off Don Quixote’s armour; when a loud voice accosted him in these words: ‘O thou! whosoever thou art, bold and insolent knight! who presumest to touch the armour of the most valiant errant that ever girded himself with cold iron, consider what thou art about to attempt, and touch it not, unless thou art desirous of yielding thy life as the price of thy temerity.’
The carrier, far from regarding these threats, which, had he regarded his own carcase, he would not have despised, laid hold on the sacred deposit, and threw it piece-meal into the yard with all his might. Don Quixote no sooner beheld this profanation, than lifting up his eyes to Heaven, and addressing himself, in all likelihood, to his Mistress Dulcinea, he said, ‘Grant me thy assistance, dear lady of my heart! in this insult offered to thy lowly vassal, and let me not be deprived of thy favourable protection in this my first perilous atchievement.’ Having uttered this and some other ejaculation, he quitted his target, and raising his lance with both hands, bestowed it with such good-will upon the carrier’s head, that he fell prostrate on the ground, so effectually mauled, that had the blow been repeated, there would have been no occasion to call a surgeon. This exploit being performed, he replaced his armour, and returned to his walk, which he continued with his former composure.
It was not long before another carrier, not knowing what had happened to his companion, who still lay without sense or motion, arrived, with the same intention of watering his mules, and went straight up to the cistern, in order to remove the armour; when Don Quixote, without speaking a syllable, or asking leave of any living soul, once more quitted his target, and lifting up his lance, made another experiment of its hardness upon the pate of the second carrier, which failed in the application, giving way in four different places. At the noise of this encounter, every body in the house, innkeeper, and all, came running to the field; at sight of whom Don Quixote, snatching up his target, and drawing his sword, pronounced aloud, ‘O lady, of transcendent beauty! the force and vigour of my enfeebled heart; now, if ever, is the time for thee to turn thy princely eyes on this thy caitif knight, who is on the eve of so mighty an adventure.’ So saying, he seemed to have acquired such courage, that had he been assaulted by all the carriers in the universe, he would not have retreated one step.
The companions of the wounded, seeing how their friends had been handled, began at a distance to discharge a shower of stones upon the knight; who, as well as he could, sheltered himself under his shield, not daring to leave the cistern, lest some mischance should happen to his armour. The innkeeper called aloud, entreating them to leave off; for, as he had told them before, the man being mad, would be acquitted on account of his lunacy, even though he should put every soul of them to death. At the same time, Don Quixote, in a voice louder still, upbraided them as cowardly traitors, and called the constable of the castle a worthless and base-born knight, for allowing his guest to be treated in such an inhospitable manner; swearing, that if he had received the honour of knighthood, he would make him repent his discourteous behaviour. ‘But as for you,’ said he, ‘ye vile, ill-mannered scum, ye are beneath my notice. Discharge, approach, come forward, and annoy me as much as you can, you shall soon see what reward you will receive for your insolent extravagance.’ These words, delivered in a bold and resolute tone, struck terror into the hearts of the assailants; who, partly for this menace, and partly on account of the landlord’s persuasion, gave over their attack; while he, on his side, allowed the wounded to retire, and returned to his watch, with his former ease and tranquillity.
These pranks of the knight were not at all to the liking of the landlord, who resolved to abridge the ceremony, and bestow this unlucky order of knighthood immediately, before any other mischief should happen. Approaching him, therefore, he disclaimed the insolence with which his guest had been treated by those saucy plebeians, without his knowledge or consent; and observed that they had been justly chastised for their impudence: that, as he had told him before, there was no chapel in the castle, nor indeed, for what was to be done, was it at all necessary; nothing of the ceremony now remaining unperformed, except the cuff on the neck, and the thwack on the shoulders, as they are prescribed in the ceremonial of the order; and that this part might be executed in the middle of a field: he assured him also, that he had punctually complied with every thing that regarded the watching of his armour, which might have been finished in two hours, though he had already remained double the time on that duty. Don Quixote believing every syllable that he spoke, said, he was ready to obey him in all things, and besought him to conclude the matter as soon as possible: for, in case he should be attacked again, after having been knighted, he would not leave a soul alive in the castle, except those whom he should spare at his request.
The constable, alarmed at this declaration, immediately brought out his day-book, in which he kept an account of the barley and straw that was expended for the use of the carriers, and attended by a boy with a candle’s end in his hand, together with the two ladies before mentioned, came to the place where Don Quixote stood; then ordering him to kneel before him, mumbled in his manual, as if he had been putting up some very devout petition; in the midst of which he lifted up his hand, and gave him a hearty thump on the neck; then, with the flat of his own sword, bestowed an handsome application across his shoulders, muttering all the time between his teeth, as if he had been employed in some fervent ejaculation37. This article being fulfilled, he commanded one of the ladies to gird on his sword, an office she performed with great dexterity and discretion, of which there was no small need to restrain her laughter at each particular of this strange ceremony: but the effects they had already seen of the knight’s disposition, kept their mirth effectually under the rein.
When this good lady had girded on his sword, ‘Heaven preserve your worship! adventurous knight,’ said she, ‘and make you fortunate in all your encounters.’ Don Quixote then begged to know her name, that he might thenceforward understand to whom he was obliged for the favour he had received at her hands, and to whom he might ascribe some part of the honour he should acquire by the valour of his invincible arm. She answered with great humility, that her name was Tobosa, daughter of an honest butcher in Toledo, who lived in one of the stalls of Sancho Minaya: that she should always be at his service, and acknowledge him for her lord and master. The knight professed himself extremely obliged to her for her love; and begged she would, for the future, dignify her name by calling herself Donna Tobosa. This request she promised faithfully to comply with; and a dialogue of the same kind passed between him and the other lady who buckled on his spur: when he asked her name, she told him it was Mollinera; and that her father was an honourable miller of Antequera. Don Quixote entreated her also to ennoble her name with the same title of Donna, loaded her with thanks, and made a tender of his service. These hitherto unseen ceremonies being dispatched, as it were with post-haste, Don Quixote, impatient to see himself on horseback, in quest of adventures, saddled and mounted Rozinante forthwith, and embracing his host, uttered such a strange rhapsody of thanks for his having dubbed him knight, that it is impossible to rehearse the compliment. The landlord, in order to get rid of him the sooner, answered in terms no less eloquent, though something more laconick, and let him march off in a happy hour, without demanding one farthing for his lodging.