Don Quixote de la Mancha: Chapter 1
"Now this gentleman, whose name was Alonza Qaixana, had so muddled his brains by reading books of chivalry, stuffed full of stories of knights, and enchanters, and the like, that…
From: 1605 C.E. To: 1615 C.E.
Location: Castile-La Mancha, Spain
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
From Don Quixote de la Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes, 1605, translated by Charles Jarvis and published with revisions by the A.L. Burt Company, 1883-1937.
In a village of La Mancha, in Spain, there once lived one of those gentlemen who usually keep a lance upon a rack, an old target, a lean horse, and a greyhound for coursing. A dish of boiled meat, consisting of somewhat more beef than mutton, the fragments served up cold on most nights, lentils on Fridays, bread and pull-it on Saturdays, with a small pigeon by way of addition on Sundays, consumed three fourths of his income. The rest was laid out in a surtout of fine black cloth, a pair of velvet breeches for holidays, with slippers of the same; and on week-days he prided himself on the very best of his own homespun doth.
His family consisted of a housekeeper, somewhat above forty, a niece not quite twenty, and a lad for the field and the market, who both saddled the horse and handled the pruning-hook. The age of our gentleman bordered upon fifty years. He was of a robust constitution, spare-bodied, of a meagre visage; a very early riser, and a keen sportsman.
Now this gentleman, whose name was Alonza Qaixana, had so muddled his brains by reading books of chivalry, stuffed full of stories of knights, and enchanters, and the like, that at last he imagined he was bound to turn knight-errant himself, and wander about the world in search of adventures. So, prepare for this, the first thing he did was to scour up a suit of armour, which had been his great-great-grandfather's, and being mouldy and rust-eaten, had lain by, many long years, forgotten in a corner.
This he cleaned and furbished up the best he could: but he perceived it had one grand defect, which was, that instead of a helmet, there was only a simple morrion or steel-cap! a want which he dexterously supplied by contriving a sort of visor of pasteboard, which, being fixed to the headpiece, gave it the appearance of a complete helmet. It is true, indeed, that, to try its strength, and whether it was proof against a cut, he drew his sword, and, giving it two strokes, undid in an instant what he had been a week in doing. But not altogether approving of his having broken it to pieces with so much ease, to secure himself from the like danger for the future he made it over again, fencing it with small bars of iron within, in such a manner, that he rested satisfied of its strength; and without caring to make a fresh experiment on it, he approved and looked upon it as a most excellent helmet
He had a wretched horse, all skin and bone, but to his craziness it seemed the most admirable steed in the world; and after puzzling himself for four days to find a name for it, he fixed upon that of Rozinante, as being both expressive and stately. Eight days' more puzzling supplied him with a name for himself, that of Don Quixote de la Mancha—La Mancha being the name of his province.
His armour being now complete, and his steed, with himself new named, nothing was wanting but some beautiful damsel, of noble birth, for the love of whom he might perform such wondrous deeds as knights-errant of old were wont; and a good-looking country girl, who lived hard by, was chosen for this, under the high-sounding title of Dulcinea del Toboso—Toboso being the village where she was born.
All being ready, he got up before daybreak one hot July morning, and, without saying a word to any one, armed himself from head to foot, managed to stick his helmet on his head, mounted Rozinante, braced on his shield, and, grasping his lance, let himself out of his back-yard into the open plain. But he had not gone far, when it suddenly occurred to him that before seeking out any adventures he ought to have been dubbed a knight, and also to wear plain, white armour, without device on the shield, until his own valour had gained him one.
It was a terrible difficulty; got over, however, by making up his mind to be dubbed, according to the usage of chivalry, by the first knight whom he met, and to scour his armour on the earliest opportunity, until it was as white as snow. Then giving his horse the rein, he jogged along leisurely until night-fall, when, seeing two young women standing at the door of an inn, which his crazed imagination took for a castle, all turrets and battlements with drawbridge, moat, and everything else that belongs to a stronghold, he drew near, fancying them the ladies of the place. The girls were so frightened at seeing a man armed in that manner, with lance and buckler, that they ran off into the house.
Upon this, Don Quixote, lifting up the pasteboard visor from his dusty, meagre face, courteously entreated them not to fly, as it was impossible for a knight to injure any one, much less ladies of their exalted rank. The girls laughed so at this, and the knight got so angry at their rudeness, that the landlord, hearing the fuss, came out; and, with much ado to keep his countenance at the ridiculous figure before him, civilly said, "If your worship is in quest of a lodging, bating a bed (for in this inn there is none to be had), everything else will be found here in great abundance."
Don Quixote, perceiving the humility of the governor of the fortress (for such to him appeared the inn-keeper and the inn), answered, "Anything will serve me, Signor Castellano, for arms are my ornaments, and fighting my repose." The host thought he called him Castellano because he took him for an honest Castilian, and therefore replied, "If it be so, your worship's beds are hard rocks, and your sleep the being always awake; and since it is so, you may venture to alight, being sure of finding in this poor hut sufficient cause for not sleeping a whole twelvemonth, much more one single night. So saying, he went and held Don Quixote's stirrup, who alighted with much difficulty and pains, for he had not broken his fast all that day.
He presently requested of the host to take especial care of his steed, for he was the best piece of horse-flesh that ever ate bread fn the world. The inn-keeper did not think him half so good as Don Quixote represented him to be, but, putting him up in the stable, returned to see what his guest would be pleased to order, whom the damsels were unarming (for they were already reconciled to him); and though they had taken off the back and breast pieces, they could not find out how to unlace his gorget, or take off the counterfeit beaver, which he had fastened in such a manner with green ribbons, that, there being no possibility of untying them, they must of necessity be cut, which he would by no means consent to. So he remained all that night with his helmet on; the strangest and most ridiculous figure imaginable.
Whilst the girls were taking off his armour, imagining them to be persons of the first quality, and ladies of that castle, he said to them, with great gaiety, "Never sure was knight so nobly served by ladies as was Don Quixote, after his departure from his village: damsels waited on his person, and princesses on his steed. O Rozinante! for that, dear ladies, is my horse's name, and Don Quixote de la Mancha is my own; for though I was not willing to discover myself, until the exploits done for your service and benefit should discover me, the time will come when your ladyships may command, and I obey; and the valour of my arm shall manifest the desire I have to serve you.
The girls, who were not accustomed to such flourishes, answered not a word, but only asked whether he would be pleased to eat anything. “With all my heart," answered Don Quixote; "anything eatable would, I apprehend, come very seasonably." That day happened to be Friday, and there was nothing to be had in the inn excepting some miserable little dried trouts, which they offered him, saying they had nothing better. "So there be many troutlings," answered Don Quixote, “they may serve me instead of one trout. But, be that as it will, let it come quickly; for the toil and weight of arms cannot be supported without abundant food."
They laid the cloth at the door of the inn, for the sake of the fresh breeze; and the landlord brought him some of the ill-dried and worse-cooked fish, with a loaf of bread as black and mouldy as his armour: but it was matter of great laughter to see him eat; for, having his helmet on, and the beaver up, he could not put anything into his mouth with his own hands, but somebody must do it for him; and so one of the aforesaid ladies performed this office. To give him drink, however, would have been utterly impossible, if the host had not bored a reed, and, putting one end into his mouth, poured in the wine leisurely at the other; all which he suffered patiently, rather than cut the lacings of his helmet
In the meantime there came to the inn a cow-doctor, who, as soon as he arrived, sounded his whistle of reeds four or five times; which entirely confirmed Don Quixote in the thought that he was in some famous castle, that they served him with music, and that the poor jack was trouts, the coarse loaf the finest white bread, the girls ladies, and the host governor of the castle; and so he concluded his resolution to be well taken, and his sally attended with success.
But what gave him the most disturbance was, that he was not yet dubbed a knight; thinking he could not lawfully undertake any adventure, until he had first received the order of knighthood. So, finishing his supper in haste, he called the landlord, and, shutting himself up with him in the stable, fell upon his knees before him and said, “I will never rise from this place, valorous knight, until your courtesy vouchsafes me a boon I mean to beg of you; which will redound to your own honour, and to the benefit of humankind. The host stared at him, and not knowing what to do or say, strove to raise him from the ground, but in vain, until he had promised to grant him the boon he requested.
"I expected no less, sir, from your great magnificence," answered Don Quixote; "and therefore know, the boon I would request, and has been vouchsafed me by your liberality, is, that you shall to-morrow morning dub me a knight. This night in the chapel of your castle I will watch my armour: and to-morrow, as I have said, what I so earnestly desire shall be accomplished; that I may be duly qualified to wander through the four quarters of the world, in quest of adventures, for the relief of the distressed, as is the duty of chivalry, and of knights-errant."
The host, who was an arch fellow, and had already entertained some suspicions of the madness of his guest, was now thoroughly convinced of it; and, to make sport for the night, resolved to keep up the joke. So he told him a long rhodomontade about himself having been a knight-errant in his young days, adding, that there was no chapel in his castle, in which to watch his armour (for it had been pulled down in order to be rebuilt); but, in cases of necessity, it might be watched wherever he pleased, and that he might do it that night in a court of the castle: the next day he should be dubbed a knight so effectually, that no one in the world could be more so. He asked him also whether he had any money about him?
Don Quixote replied, he had not a farthing, having never read, in the histories of knights-errant, that they carried any. To this the host replied, that he was under a mistake, and advised him never to travel without money, clean shirts, and some other useful matters. This was taken in good part; and order being presently given for performing the watch of the armour, in a large yard adjoining the inn, Don Quixote, gathering all the pieces of it together, laid them upon a cistern that stood close to a well; then bracing on his buckler, and grasping his lance, with a solemn pace he began to walk backward and forward before the cistern, beginning his parade just as the day shut in.
The host told all that were in the inn of the fun that was going on. So they came out to have a look at our knight, and saw that, with a composed air, he sometimes continued his walk; at other times, leaning upon his lance, he looked wistfully at his armour, in the bright moonlight, without taking off his eyes for a long time together.
While he was thus employed, one of the carriers, who put up there, had a mind to water his mules, and it was necessary first to remove Don Quixote's armour from off the cistern: who, seeing him approach, called to him with a loud voices " Ho! there, whoever thou art, rash knight, that approachest to touch the arms of the most valorous adventurer that ever girded sword, take heed what thou doest, and touch them not, unless thou wouldst leave thy life a forfeit for thy temerity."
The carrier troubled not his head with these speeches (it had been better for him if he had), but, taking hold of the straps, tossed the armour a good distance from him; which Don Quixote perceiving, lifted up his eyes to heaven, and fixing his thoughts (as it seemed) on his mistress Dulcinea, said, "Assist me, dear lady, in this first affront offered to the breast enthralled to thee; let not thy favour and protection fail me in this first moment of danger." Uttering these and the like ejaculations, he let slip his target, and lifting up his lance with both hands, gave the carrier such a blow on the head, as laid him flat on the ground, in such piteous plight, that, had he seconded the blow, there would have been no need of a surgeon. This done, he gathered up his armour, and walked backward and forward with the same gravity as at first.
Soon after, another carrier, not knowing what had happened (for still the first lay stunned), came out with the same intention of watering his mules; and as he was going to clear the cistern, by removing the armour, Don Quixote, without speaking a word, or imploring anybody's protection, again let slip his target, and lifting up his lance, broke the second carrier's head in three or four places. All the people of the inn ran out together at the noise, the inn-keeper among the rest, and the comrades of those that were wounded began to let fly a shower of stones at Don Quixote; who sheltered himself the best he could under his shield, and durst not stir from the cistern, lest he should seem to abandon his armour.
The host cried out to them to let him alone, for he had already told them he was mad, and that he would be acquitted as a madman though he should kill them all. Don Quixote also cried out louder, calling them cowards and traitors, and the lord of the castle a poltroon and a base-born knight, for suffering knights-errant to be treated in that manner; and that, if he had received the order of knighthood, he would make him smart for his treachery: “But for you, rascally and base scoundrels," said he, "I do not value you a straw: draw near, come on, and do your worst; you shall quickly see the reward you are like to receive of your folly and insolence." This he uttered with so much vehemence and resolution, that he struck a terrible dread into the hearts of the assailants; and for this reason, together with the landlord's persuasions, they forebore throwing any more stones; so he permitted the wounded to be carried off, returning to the watch of his armour with the same tranquillity and sedateness as before.
The host now thought it high time to dub him knight before worse came of it; so telling him he had already sufficiently watched his armour, and that knighthood might (in case of need) be as well conferred in the middle of a field, as in the chapel of a castle, he brought out the book in which he entered the accounts of the straw and barley he furnished to the carriers, and, with the two girls, a boy carrying an end of candle before them; he came where Don Quixote was, whom he commanded to kneel. Then, reading as if out of his book, in the midst of it he lifted up his hand, and gave him a good blow on the nape of the neck, and after that, with his own sword, a handsome thwack on the shoulder, still muttering in a low tone.
This done, he ordered one of the ladies to gird on his sword, which she did with the most obliging freedom, and discretion too, of which not a little was needful to keep them from bursting with laughter; but indeed, the exploits they had already seen our new knight perform kept their mirth within bounds. At girding on the sword, the lady said, "May you be a fortunate knight, and victorious in battle." Don Quixote asked her name, that he might know to whom he was indebted for the favour received; for he intended her a share of the honour he should acquire by the valour of his arm. She replied that she was called La Tolosa, and was a cobbler's daughter of Toledo. Don Quixote then desired her, for his sake, thenceforward to add to her name the Donna, and to call herself Donna Tolosa; which she promised to do. The other buckled on his spun, and was also entreated to make a lady of herself, by adding the Donna to her surname of Molenaria.
This done, the knight immediately mounted Rozinante, and, with a thousand thanks to the host for the favour he had conferred upon him, set forth in search of adventure.
De Cervantes, Miguel. Don Quixote de La Mancha. Charles Jarvis, trans. A.L. Burt Company.
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