Chap. V In Which the Story of Our Knight’s Misfortune Is Continued
Finding it therefore impossible to move, he was fain to have recourse to his usual remedy, which was to amuse his imagination with some passages of the books he had read; and his madness immediately recalled to his memory that of Valdovinos and the Marquis of Mantua, when Carloto left him wounded on the mountain; a piece of history that every body knows, that every young man is acquainted with, and which is celebrated, nay more, believed, by old age itself, though it be as apocryphal as the miracles of Mahomet: nevertheless, it occurred to him as an occasion expressly adapted to his present situation. Therefore, with marks of extreme affliction, he began to roll about upon the ground, and with a languid voice, exclaim, in the words of the wounded knight of the wood—
‘Where art thou, lady of my heart,
‘Regardless of my misery?
‘Thou little know’st thy lover’s smart,
‘Or faithless art and false pardie!’
In this manner he went on repeating the romance until he came to these lines:
‘O noble prince of Mantuan plains.
‘My carnal kinsman, and my lord!’
Before he could repeat the whole couplet, a peasant who was a neighbour of his own, and lived in the same village, chanced to pass, in his way from the mill where he had been with a load of wheat. This honest countryman seeing a man lying stretched upon the ground, came up, and asked him who he was, and the reason of his lamenting so piteously. Don Quixote doubtless believed that this was his uncle the Marquis of Mantua, and made no other reply but the continuation of his romance, in which he gave an account of his own misfortune, occasioned by the amour betwixt his wife and the emperor’s son, exactly as it is related in the book. The peasant, astonished at such a rhapsody, took off his beaver, which had been beaten to pieces by the mule-driver, and wiping his face, which was covered with dust, immediately knew the unfortunate knight. ‘Signior Quixada,’ said he, (for so he was called before he had lost his senses, and was transformed from a sober country gentleman into a knight-errant) ‘who has left your worship in such a woeful condition?’ But he, without minding the question that was put to him, proceeded, as before, with his romance; which the honest man perceiving, went to work, and took off his back and breast-plates, to see if he had received any wound, but he could perceive neither blood nor scar upon his body. He then raised him upon his legs, and with infinite difficulty mounted him upon his own beast, which appeared to him a safer carriage than the knight’s steed.
Having gathered up his armour, even to the splinters of the lance, he tied them upon Rozinante, and taking hold of the reins, together with the halter of his own ass, jogged on towards the village, not a little concerned to hear the mad exclamations of Don Quixote, who did not find himself extremely easy; for he was so battered and bruised, that he could not sit upright upon the beast, but from time to time vented such dismal groans, as obliged the peasant to ask again what was the matter with him. Indeed, one would have thought, that the devil had assisted his memory in supplying him with tales accommodated to the circumstances of his own situation; for at that instant, forgetting Valdovinos, he recollected the story of Abindar-raez the Moor, whom Rodrigo de Narvaez, governor of Antequera, took prisoner, and carried into captivity to the place of his residence; so that when the countryman repeated his desire of knowing where he had been, and what was the matter with him, he answered to the purpose, nay, indeed, in the very words, used by the captive Abencerraje to the said Rodrigo de Narvaez, as may be seen in the Diana of George Monte-major, which he had read, and so well-adapted for his purpose, that the countryman hearing such a composition of folly, wished them both at the devil.
It was then he discovered that his neighbour was mad; and therefore made all the haste he could to the village, that he might be the sooner rid of his uneasiness at the unaccountable harangue of Don Quixote; who had no sooner finished this exclamation, than he accosted his conductor in these words—‘Know, then, valiant Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, that this same beautiful Xarifa, whom I have mentioned, is no other than the fair Dulcinea del Toboso, for whom I have performed, undertake, and will atchieve, the most renowned exploits, that ever were, are, or will be seen on earth.’ To this address the countryman replied with great simplicity—‘How your worship talks! As I am a sinner, I am neither Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, nor the Marquis of Mantua, but Pedro Alonzo, your neighbour; nor is your worship either Valdovinos, or Abindar-raez, but the worthy gentleman Signior Quixada.’—‘I know very well who I am,’ replied Don Quixote; ’and that it is possible for me to be not only those whom I have mentioned, but also the whole Twelve Peers of France, and even the Nine Worthies, seeing that my atchievements will excel not only those of each of them singly, but even the exploits of them all joined together.’
Discoursing in this manner, they arrived at the village about twilight; but the peasant staid till it was quite dark, that the poor rib-roasted knight might not be seen in such a woeful condition. Then he conducted Don Quixote to his own house, which was all in confusion. When he arrived, the curate and the barber of the village, two of his best friends and companions, were present, and his housekeeper was just saying with a woeful countenance, ‘Mr. Licentiate Pero Perez,’ that was the curate’s name, ‘some misfortune must certainly have happened to my master; for six days, both he and his horse, together with the target, lance, and armour, have been missing38: as I am a sinner, it is just come into my head, and it is certainly as true as that every one is born to die, those hellish books of knight-errantry, which he used to read with so much pleasure, have turned his brain; for now I remember to have heard him say to himself more than once, that he longed to be a knight-errant, and stroll about in quest of adventures. May the devil and Barrabas lay hold of such legends, which have perverted one of the soundest understandings in all La Mancha!’
To this remark the niece assented, saying—‘Moreover, you must know, Mr. Nicolas,’ this was the name of the barber, ‘my uncle would frequently, after having been reading in these profane books of misadventures, for two whole days and nights together, start up, throw the book upon the ground, and drawing his sword, fence with the walls till he was quite fatigued, then affirm that he had killed four giants as big as steeples, and swear that the sweat of his brows, occasioned by this violent exercise, was the blood of the wounds he had received in battle; then he would drink of a large pitcher of cold water, and remain quiet and refreshed, saying, that the water was a most precious beverage, with which he was supplied by the sage Isquife, a mighty inchanter and friend of his; but I take the whole blame to myself, for not having informed your worship of my dear uncle’s extravagancies, that some remedy might have been applied before they had proceeded to such excess; and that you might have burnt all those excommunicated books, which deserve the fire as much as if they were crammed with heresy.’
‘I am of the same opinion,’ said the curate; ‘and assure you, before another day shall pass, they shall undergo a severe trial, and be condemned to the flames, that they may not induce other readers to follow the same path which I am afraid my good friend has taken.’ Every syllable of this conversation was overheard by Don Quixote and his guide, which last had now no longer any doubt about his neighbour’s infirmity, and therefore pronounced with a loud voice—‘Open your gates to the valiant Valdovinos, and the great Marquis of Mantua, who comes home wounded from the field together with the Moor Abindar-raez, who drags in captivity the valiant Rodrigo de Narvaez, governor of Antequera.’
Alarmed at these words, they came all to the door, and perceiving who it was, the barber and curate went to receive their friend, and the women ran to embrace their master and kinsman; who, though he had not as yet alighted, for indeed it was not in his power, proclaimed aloud—‘Let the whole world take notice, that the wounds I have received were owing to the fault of my horse alone; carry me therefore to bed, and send if possible for the sage Urganda39, to search and cure them.’—‘See now, in an evil hour,’ cried the housekeeper, hearing these words, ‘if I did not truly foretel of what leg my master was lame!—Your worship shall understand, in good time, that without the assistance of that same Urganda, we know how to cure the hurts you have received; and cursed, I say, nay a hundred and a hundred times cursed, be those books of chivalry, which have so disordered your honour’s brain!’ Having carried him to his bed, they began to search for his wounds, but could find none; and he told them that his whole body was one continued bruise, occasioned by the fall of his horse Rozinante, during his engagement with ten of the most insolent and outrageous giants that ever appeared upon the face of the earth. ‘Ah, ha!’ cried the curate, ‘have we got giants too in the dance! Now, by the faith of my function, I will reduce them all to ashes before to-morrow night!’
A thousand questions did they ask of the knight, who made no other answer, but desired them to bring him some food, and leave him to his repose, which indeed was what he had most occasion for. They complied with his request, and the curate informed himself at large of the manner in which he had been found by the countryman, who gave him full satisfaction in that particular, and repeated all the nonsense he had uttered when he first found him, as well as what he afterwards spoke in their way home. This information confirmed the licentiate in his resolution, which was executed next day, when he brought his friend master Nicolas the barber along with him to Don Quixote’s house.