The first thing Don Quixote did was to go to his Rocinante; and then the canon thought he would try to talk sense into him, to see whether he could not persuade him to give up his crazy notions and ideas. Don Quixote listened courteously and attentively, but when the canon had finished, he turned to him and said he rather thought it was the canon and not he who was afflicted and out of his wits, since he had the audacity to blaspheme the order of knighthood. And then he went on, describing the deeds of all the famous knights he had read of; and the canon was really amazed at the great ease and clearness of mind with which he related these tales of adventure. He thought it a pity that so much knowledge of a wrong kind should be heaped into one brain.

CHAPTERS L-LI

OF THE SHREWD CONTROVERSY WHICH DON QUIXOTE AND THE CANON HELD, TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS

What the canon had tried on the knight, Don Quixote now decided to try on him. Was that not the great mission he had undertaken in the world--to revive the spirit of chivalry? So he told the canon of the many fine qualities he had developed since he was dubbed a knight, such as courtesy, generosity, valor, good breeding, patience, and many others that he mentioned; how he had learned to bear hardships of all kinds, and now, of late, enchantment. He ended his long discourse by expressing a desire that he might soon be an emperor, for, he said, he wished to do good to some of his faithful friends, especially his squire Sancho Panza.

Sancho heard his master's last words, and reminded him again of the island that he was to govern. On hearing this, the canon broke in with a few remarks about administration and government, and their difficulties, and Sancho interrupted the canon to say it would be very easy to find some one to do all that for him. In reply to this the canon came forward with a good many arguments phrased in philosophical language which the squire could make neither head nor tail of. So he took up the thread of his own mind, and replied: "I have as much soul as another, and as much body as any one, and I shall be as much king of my realm as any other of his; so let the country come, and G.o.d be with you, and let us see one another, as one blind man said to the other."

All the canon could do when he realized how badly both master and servant were in the clutch of their beliefs and superst.i.tions, was to wonder at it. But by the time Sancho had finished his words, the repast was being served on the gra.s.s.

As they were about to seat themselves, a goat came running from between the trees, pursued by a man whose clear voice could be heard distinctly from the distance. Soon he came up, and he caught the goat by the horns and began to talk to her, calling her daughter, as if she had been a child. The goat seemed to understand everything, and the canon was so impressed with the scene that he asked the goatherd not to be in a hurry, but to sit down and eat with them.

The goatherd accepted the invitation; and when they had finished the repast, they had found that he was by no means a fool. When he asked them if they would like to hear a true story, they were all anxious to have him tell it to them. Only Sancho Panza withdrew, that he might get a chance to load himself brimful of food; for he had heard his master once say that a knight errant's squire should eat until he could hold no more. The goatherd began his story, after having told the goat to lie down beside him. She did so, and while the goatherd was telling the story of his unfortunate love for Leandra, a rich farmer's daughter, who had jilted both him and his rival Anselmo for the good looks of a braggard by the name of Vicente de la Roca, the goat was looking up into his face with an expression as it seemed of understanding and sympathy.

CHAPTER LII

OF THE QUARREL THAT DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH THE GOATHERD, TOGETHER WITH THE RARE ADVENTURE OF THE PENITENTS, WHICH WITH AN EXPENDITURE OF SWEAT HE BROUGHT TO A HAPPY CONCLUSION

All had enjoyed the goatherd's story, and they thanked him for it. Don Quixote offered him the aid of his sword for the future, and said that if he had not been enchanted at this moment he would at once set out to free his Leandra. When the goatherd perceived Don Quixote's strange behavior and appearance and heard his remarkable language, he was struck with amazement, and asked the barber what madness was his, who talked like the knights he had read about in the books of knight-errantry. Scarcely had Don Quixote heard that he was being taken for a madman by the goatherd than he flew at him in a raging fit. The most fierce battle ensued, during which the faces of both men were scratched until they could hardly be recognized. They fought in the midst of the setting for the meal, and plates and gla.s.ses were smashed and upset. Both were urged on like dogs by the rest of the company, and soon blood began to flow. Finally Don Quixote stumbled, and the goatherd managed to get him on his back, while Sancho was held off by one of the canon's servants, moaning all the while because he could not go to his master's rescue.

Just then a trumpet blew a solemn note, and all listened in surprise.

Don Quixote was all eagerness: there was no doubt in his mind but that he was being summoned by one in distress, so he asked for and received an hour's truce from the goatherd. As soon as he was on his feet, he ran to Rocinante, whom he bridled in great haste, and set off, armed with lance, buckler, sword and helmet, in the direction of the sound.

What Don Quixote saw when he had ridden a short distance at his charger's usual comfortable canter was a procession of penitents, clad in white, some of whom were carrying an image, draped in black. The procession had been called for by the priests who desired to bring relief to the country, which had been suffering that year from a terrific heat and a lack of rain. They were now marching to a nearby hermitage, where they wanted to do penance, praying in silence to G.o.d that he might have pity on them.

But what could such a procession have suggested to an imaginative mind like Don Quixote's but one of the many incidents that he had read of in his books of chivalry, where some great and worthy lady was being carried away by evil forces? To the knight the covered image easily became the worthy lady. Violently kicking Rocinante in the sides, for he had not had time to put on his spurs, he tried to increase his steed's canter to a gallop that he might attack in real knight errant fashion.

The faithful squire, the curate, the canon and the barber all did their best to stop the knight by their yells. Sancho was frantic, and cried after him: "Where are you going, Senor Don Quixote? What devils have possessed you to set you against our Catholic faith? Plague take me! It is a procession of penitents!" And then he asked him, filled with horror and almost choking with tears, whether he knew what he was doing. Why, he was charging the blessed image of the immaculate and holy Virgin Mary! Sancho, seeing his master's lifted lance, could not know that his master wanted to release her.

When Don Quixote had reached the penitents, he abruptly halted his horse and demanded in no uncertain, though flowery, language that the fair lady--whom, he said, he could plainly see they were carrying away against her will--be released at once.

One of four priests, who had just begun to chant the Litany, stopped on a high note and answered the knight that he must not hold up the singing or the procession, for the marchers were doing penitence by whipping themselves and could not stop once they had commenced the ceremony. Again Don Quixote put forth his demand, this time in language that seemed much more ludicrous to the penitents so that some of them could not resist bursting into laughter. This sign of disrespect was too much for our errant, who started his attack but was prevented from finishing it by the blow of a stick carried by one of the penitents. With one thwack of it he was felled to the ground.

Sancho had now come up, and when he saw his master stretched out, with no sign of life, his eyes filled with tears, and he thrust himself over his master's body, crying and wailing like a little child. It was pitiful to see the sorrow and the devotion of the poor, simple-minded fellow, bewailing his master's fall from the blow of a mere stick.

And he ended his tribute by thanking him for the great generosity he had always shown; for Don Quixote, for but eight months of service, had given him the best island that was afloat in the sea.

Sancho was suddenly called from his grief by the weak voice of the knight, who implored his squire to mount him on the ox-cart, as his shoulder was in a dilapidated condition. Then he commended himself to his Lady Dulcinea, while Sancho recommended that they return with their friends to their village, where they could prepare for another sally at a more favorable time. The knight seemed inclined to take his squire's advice, for he remarked that it was not a bad idea: that in the meantime the prevailing evil influence of the stars might disappear.

By this time the curate, the canon and the officers of the Brotherhood had arrived at the spot, and the curate found that he knew one of the priests in the procession. This simplified matters considerably, for he found it easy to explain to his friend the malady and peculiarities of Don Quixote, which had been the cause of so much disturbance in so short a time. After the curate had taken leave of the canon, the goatherd and those in the procession, he paid off the officers, who considered it unwise to accompany the party any further. The canon begged the curate to keep him informed of any change in Don Quixote's behavior, as he was most interested in his case. Then Don Quixote was heaved into the cart where a stack of hay served as a softer resting-place this time; and after six days of travel, the oxen and the cart and the whole procession entered the La Mancha village. When they pa.s.sed the square, it being Sunday, the people crowded around them, and all were amazed at what they saw.

Soon Don Quixote's niece and his housekeeper got word of his homecoming. When they saw him, and observed his pallor and leanness, they began to weep and beat their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and curse all books of chivalry.

Then Sancho Panza's wife learned the news, and as soon as she saw her husband the first thing she asked him was whether the donkey was well. To this greeting he replied that the donkey was better than he himself. And then she pestered him with questions as to what he had brought back with him for her and the children; to which he impatiently remarked that she would have to wait until he got his island or empire, when she would be called Her Ladyship. Of course, it was not to be expected that Teresa Panza should understand this; and she did not. Sancho attempted to give her an insight into the intricacies of knight-errantry by telling her of some of his remarkable experiences, such as the blanketing, which stood out in his mind's eye as the culmination of suffering in his career as a squire.

While this was going on in the Panza household, Don Quixote had been undressed and put to bed by his niece and the housekeeper. The curate had told them what troubles and tribulations he had been forced to undergo in order to restore him to his community and his loved ones.

So they decided, with fear in their hearts, to be ever watchful, lest he escape and depart on another rampage. And again and again they would curse the books that they had burned too late.

VOLUME II

CHAPTER I

OF THE INTERVIEW THE CURATE AND THE BARBER HAD WITH DON QUIXOTE ABOUT HIS MALADY

Don Quixote had been at home almost a month. During that time neither the curate nor the barber had been to see him for fear that the sight of them would remind him of his days of knight-errantry and make him long for another campaign. They did visit the niece and housekeeper, however, and advised them from time to time what to do; and at last the women began to think that there was hope for our knight's being restored to his right mind, for his conversation never touched upon deeds of chivalry, and when he spoke on other subjects he always talked most sanely.

Finally the curate and the barber decided to pay their friend a visit, firmly resolved not to let the subject of conversation turn to knight-errantry. They found him in bed, with a red Toledo cap on his head. His face had changed greatly; it was so withered and yellow that it resembled parchment rather than human flesh. He greeted them cordially, however, and soon they engaged in an animated conversation, which finally turned to such an intricate subject as government. So unusually sane and clear was Don Quixote's reasoning that his friends were amazed at the change that had taken place, and they felt quite certain that he was cured. Then they began to discuss the news from the capital, and the curate mentioned that the Turk was expected to attack. n.o.body knew when, he said, but in order to safeguard the island of Malta and the coasts of Naples and Sicily, His Majesty had already made provisions for the defense of these provinces.

Here Don Quixote interrupted and said that His Majesty could easily settle the whole thing if he would only follow his advice. Both the curate and the barber began to wonder and worry about what his plan might be, but before divulging it Don Quixote insisted upon absolute secrecy, which of course they promised. And then he began in the old, familiar strain, citing the examples of the innumerable heroes of his condemned books of chivalry, heroes who, single-handed, had conquered armies of millions. He finished with a tirade about G.o.d's providing such a knight errant to-day to save the nation and Christianity against the onslaught of the heathen Turk, with an inference in his last words that he was to be the chosen savior.

When the two women heard Don Quixote again rave in this manner, they burst into tears, and the curate and the barber were as sorry and concerned as the women. The curate turned in bewilderment to his poor friend and asked him whether he truly believed that the heroes of these tales of chivalry were men of flesh and blood. He himself, he said, was convinced that these stories were nothing but fables and falsehoods, and that none of the personages in them ever lived. Whereupon Don Quixote began to ridicule the curate, and went on to describe his heroes, saying that his faith was so strong that he could almost swear he had seen Amadis of Gaul and some of the others he worshiped. Then he embarked on a description of these knights, giving the color of their eyes, of their beards and hair, their height, complexion, all according to his own crazy imagination. Much of what he said seemed so amusing to his two friends that they nearly went into hysterics from laughter. His mind's image of Roland was particularly laughable, for he saw him as a bow-legged, swarthy-complexioned gentleman with a hairy body, courteous and well-bred.

On hearing Roland so pictured, the curate remarked it was no wonder that he was jilted by the fair lady Angelica. To this Don Quixote retorted that lady Angelica was a giddy and frivolous damsel with desires that smacked of wantonness. He only regretted that Roland had not been a poet that he might have libeled her in poetry for all eternity.

Here the knight was interrupted by the sound of loud talking in the courtyard, intermingled with screams, and when he and the curate came running they saw the two women struggling to keep a man from entering the house.

CHAPTER II

WHICH TREATS OF THE NOTABLE ALTERCATION WHICH SANCHO PANZA HAD WITH DON QUIXOTE'S NIECE AND HIS HOUSEKEEPER, TOGETHER WITH OTHER DROLL MATTERS

The man turned out to be no other than Sancho, who wanted to see his master. But the housekeeper and the niece were bent on not admitting him, for they considered Sancho the arch enticer and felt that he was to blame for Don Quixote's expeditions into the country. When Sancho heard himself thus accused, he defended himself with accusations against Don Quixote, who, he said, had been the one to hypnotize him; and then he added that he had come to find out about his island.

As soon as Don Quixote recognized his squire, he quickly took him inside, being afraid that he would tell the women all the little details of the knight's adventures, such as the galley-slave episode and others not tending to reflect honor on his shield. Whereupon the barber and the curate left, both of them in despair of their friend's ever being cured. The curate remarked that it would not surprise him to learn before many moons that Don Quixote and Sancho had set off again on another sally. They were curious to know what the master and the servant might be discussing at that very moment. However, the curate was of the firm belief that they could rely upon the two women to keep their ears to the door. They would learn from them what had been the topic, and what had been said.

When Don Quixote was alone with his squire, he expressed dismay over his having told the housekeeper the knight had taken him from house and home, when he knew perfectly well that he had gone of his own free will. They had shared everything, he said; everything except blows, where he had had a distinct advantage over his squire, having taken ninety-nine out of a hundred beatings. This dividing of fortune, Sancho thought, was quite as it should be, for of course knights errant ought to share the greater benefits of the battle. Here Don Quixote interrupted with a Latin quotation, which had an evil effect on Sancho, for it made him retaliate with the blanket episode which to him still seemed the height of all his suffering in the world. But this attempt to belittle the fairness of his master's division of honors in battle was speedily parried by Don Quixote, who maintained that his squire's bodily suffering in the blanket was as nothing compared with the painful agony of his own heart and soul when he had seen his squire in such a predicament. And then he proceeded to question Sancho as to public opinion of his deeds and valor.

Sancho was inclined to be reticent; but urged by Don Quixote--and having been forgiven in advance for any vexation he might cause him by telling the truth--he told of the variety of opinions that existed in the village. This his master thought only natural; for when had the world ever given full recognition to a genius or a great hero until after he was dead? He pointed to all the great names he could recollect in history that had been persecuted.

But Sancho had not come to the worst; and at last he found sufficient courage to tell his master of a book ent.i.tled "The Ingenious Gentleman, Don Quixote of La Mancha," which had already, he said, been spread abroad. In this book not only Don Quixote, but he himself--under his own name!--and the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso figured; and he was so stupefied that he had to cross himself, for he could not imagine how everything that had been told in the book--the most intimate happenings between Don Quixote and himself--had come to be known to the author. Don Quixote thought it was very plain that the adventures must have been reported by some sage and enchanter; but Sancho told him that the author was one Cid Hamet Berengena (meaning eggplant). It was no other than the son of Bartholomew Carrasco, who had been a student at Salamanca, who had told him all this, he said. He asked his master whether he should like to see the young bachelor, and Don Quixote begged him to run and fetch him at once, for, he said, he would be unable to digest a thing until he had had a talk with him.