Of the dreadful and never-to-be-imagined Adventure

Whilst they were journeying along, Sancho Panza said to his Master:
‘I pray you have good care, Sir Knight, that you forget not that
government of the Island which you have promised me, for I shall be
able to govern it be it never so great.’

And Don Quixote replied: ‘Thou must understand, friend Sancho, that it
was a custom very much used by ancient Knights Errant, to make their
Squires Governors of the Islands and Kingdoms they conquered, and I
am resolved that so good a custom shall be kept up by me. And if thou
livest and I live, it may well be that I might conquer a Kingdom within
six days, and crown thee King of it.’

‘By the same token,’ said Sancho Panza, ‘if I were a King, then should
Joan my wife become a Queen and my children Princes?’

‘Who doubts of that?’ said Don Quixote.

‘That do I,’ replied Sancho Panza, ‘for I am fully persuaded that
though it rained Kingdoms down upon the earth, none of them would sit
well on my wife Joan. She is not worth a farthing for a Queen. She
might scrape through as a Countess, but I have my doubts of that.’

[Illustration: DON QUIXOTE AND THE WINDMILLS]

As they were talking, they caught sight of some thirty or forty
windmills on a plain. As soon as Don Quixote saw them he said to his
Squire: ‘Fortune is guiding our affairs better than we could desire.
For behold, friend Sancho, how there appear thirty or forty monstrous
Giants with whom I mean to do battle, and take all their lives. With
their spoils we will begin to be rich, for this is fair war, and it is
doing great service to clear away these evil fellows from off the face
of the earth.’

‘What Giants?’ said Sancho amazed.

‘Those thou seest there,’ replied his Master, ‘with the long arms.’

‘Take care, Sir,’ cried Sancho, ‘for those we see yonder are not Giants
but windmills, and those things which seem to be arms are their sails,
which being whirled round by the wind make the mill go.’

‘It is clear,’ answered Don Quixote, ‘that thou art not yet experienced
in the matter of adventures. They are Giants, and if thou art afraid,
get thee away home, whilst I enter into cruel and unequal battle with
them.’

So saying, he clapped spurs to Rozinante, without heeding the cries
by which Sancho Panza warned him that he was going to encounter not
Giants but windmills. For he would neither listen to Sancho’s outcries,
nor mark what he said, but shouted to the windmills in a loud voice:
‘Fly not, cowards and vile creatures, for it is only one Knight that
assaults you!’

A slight breeze having sprung up at this moment, the great sail-arms
began to move, on seeing which Don Quixote shouted out again: ‘Although
you should wield more arms than had the Giant Briareus, I shall make
you pay for your insolence!’

Saying this, and commending himself most devoutly to his Lady Dulcinea,
whom he desired to aid him in this peril, covering himself with his
buckler, and setting his lance in rest, he charged at Rozinante’s best
gallop, and attacked the first mill before him. Thrusting his lance
through the sail, the wind turned it with such violence that it broke
his weapon into shivers, carrying him and his horse after it, and
having whirled them round, finally tumbled the Knight a good way off,
and rolled him over the plain sorely damaged.

Sancho Panza hastened to help him as fast as his Ass could go, and
when he came up he found the Knight unable to stir, such a shock had
Rozinante given him in the fall.

‘Bless me,’ said Sancho, ‘did I not tell you that you should look well
what you did, for they were none other than windmills, nor could any
think otherwise unless he had windmills in his brains?’

‘Peace, friend Sancho,’ said Don Quixote, ‘for the things of war are
constantly changing, and I think this must be the work of the same sage
Freston who robbed me of my library and books, and he hath changed
these Giants into windmills to take from me the glory of the victory.
But in the end his evil arts shall avail but little against the
goodness of my sword.’

‘May it prove so,’ said Sancho, as he helped his Master to rise and
remount Rozinante, who, poor steed, was himself much bruised by the
fall.

The next day they journeyed along towards the Pass of Lapice, a
romantic spot, at which they arrived about three o’clock in the
afternoon.

‘Here,’ said Don Quixote to his Squire, ‘we may hope to dip our hands
up to the elbows in what are called adventures. But take note of this,
that although thou seest me in the greatest dangers of the world,
thou art not to set hand to thy sword in my defence, unless those who
assault me be base or vulgar people. If they be Knights thou mayest not
help me.’

‘I do assure you, Sir,’ said Sancho, ‘that herein you shall be most
punctually obeyed, because I am by nature a quiet and peaceful man, and
have a strong dislike to thrusting myself into quarrels.’

Whilst they spoke thus, two Friars of the order of St. Benedict,
mounted on large mules—big enough to be dromedaries—appeared coming
along the road. They wore travelling masks to keep the dust out of
their eyes and carried large sun umbrellas. After them came a coach
with four or five a-horseback travelling with it, and two lackeys ran
hard by it. In the coach was a Biscayan Lady who was going to Seville.
The Friars were not of her company, though all were going the same way.

Scarcely had Don Quixote espied them than he exclaimed to his Squire:
‘Either I much mistake, or this should be the most famous adventure
that hath ever been seen; for those dark forms that loom yonder are
doubtless Enchanters who are carrying off in that coach some Princess
they have stolen. Therefore I must with all my power undo this wrong.’

‘This will be worse than the adventure of the windmills,’ said Sancho.
‘Do you not see that they are Benedictine Friars, and the coach will
belong to some people travelling?’

‘I have told thee already, Sancho,’ answered Don Quixote, ‘that thou
art very ignorant in the matter of adventures. What I say is true, as
thou shalt see.’

So saying he spurred on his horse, and posted himself in the middle
of the road along which the Friars were coming, and when they were
near enough to hear him he exclaimed in a loud voice: ‘Monstrous and
horrible crew! Surrender this instant those exalted Princesses, whom
you are carrying away in that coach, or prepare to receive instant
death as a just punishment of your wicked deeds.’

The Friars drew rein, and stood amazed at the figure and words of Don
Quixote, to whom they replied: ‘Sir Knight, we are neither monstrous
nor wicked, but two religious men, Benedictines, travelling about our
business, and we know nothing about this coach or about any Princesses.’

‘No soft words for me,’ cried Don Quixote, ‘for I know you well,
treacherous knaves.’

And without waiting for their reply he set spurs to Rozinante; and
laying his lance on his thigh, charged at the first Friar with such
fury and rage, that if he had not leaped from his mule he would have
been slain, or at least badly wounded.

The second Friar, seeing the way his companion was treated, made no
words but fled across the country swifter than the wind itself.

Sancho Panza, on seeing the Friar overthrown, dismounted very speedily
off his Ass and ran over to him, and would have stripped him of his
clothes. But two of the Friars’ servants came up and asked him why he
was thus despoiling their master. Sancho replied that it was his due
by the law of arms, as lawful spoils gained in battle by his Lord and
Master, Don Quixote.

The lackeys, who knew nothing of battles or spoils, seeing that Don
Quixote was now out of the way, speaking with those that were in the
coach, set both at once upon Sancho and threw him down, plucked every
hair out of his beard and kicked and mauled him without mercy, leaving
him at last stretched on the ground senseless and breathless.

As for the Friar, he mounted again, trembling and terror-stricken, all
the colour having fled from his face, and spurring his mule, he joined
his companion, who was waiting for him hard by.

While this was happening, Don Quixote was talking to the Lady in the
coach, to whom he said: ‘Dear Lady, you may now dispose of yourself as
you best please. For the pride of your robbers is laid in the dust by
this my invincible arm. And that you may not pine to learn the name of
your deliverer, know that I am called Don Quixote of the Mancha, Knight
Errant, adventurer, and captive of the peerless and beauteous Lady
Dulcinea of Toboso. And in reward of the benefits you have received at
my hands, I demand nothing else but that you return to Toboso, there to
present yourself in my name before my Lady, and tell her what I have
done to obtain your liberty.’

All this was listened to by a Biscayan Squire who accompanied the
coach. He hearing that the coach was not to pass on but was to return
to Toboso, went up to Don Quixote, and, laying hold of his lance, said
to him: ‘Get away with thee, Sir Knight, for if thou leave not the
coach I will kill thee as sure as I am a Biscayan.’

‘If,’ replied Don Quixote haughtily, ‘thou wert a gentleman, as thou
art not, I would ere this have punished thy folly and insolence,
caitiff creature.’

‘I no gentleman?’ cried the enraged Biscayan. ‘Throw down thy lance and
draw thy sword, and thou shalt soon see that thou liest.’

‘That shall be seen presently,’ replied Don Quixote; and flinging his
lance to the ground he drew his sword, grasped his buckler tight, and
rushed at the Biscayan.

The Biscayan, seeing him come on in this manner, had nothing else to do
but to draw his sword. Luckily for him he was near the coach, whence he
snatched a cushion to serve him as a shield, and then they fell on one
another as if they had been mortal enemies.

Those that were present tried to stop them, but the Biscayan shouted
out that if he were hindered from ending the battle he would put his
Lady and all who touched him to the sword.

The Lady, amazed and terrified, made the coachman draw aside a little,
and sat watching the deadly combat from afar.

The Biscayan, to begin with, dealt Don Quixote a mighty blow over the
target, which, if it had not been for his armour, would have cleft him
to the waist. Don Quixote, feeling the weight of this tremendous blow
which had destroyed his visor and carried away part of his ear, cried
out aloud: ‘O Dulcinea, Lady of my soul, flower of all beauty, help thy
Knight, who finds himself in this great danger!’ To say this, to raise
his sword, to cover himself with his buckler, and to rush upon the
Biscayan was the work of a moment. With his head full of rage he now
raised himself in his stirrups, and, gripping his sword more firmly in
his two hands, struck at the Biscayan with such violence that he caught
him a terrible blow on the cushion, knocking this shield against his
head with tremendous violence. It was as though a mountain had fallen
on the Biscayan and crushed him, and the blood spouted from his nose
and mouth and ears. He would have fallen straightway from his mule if
he had not clasped her round the neck; but he lost his stirrups, then
let go his arms, and the mule, frightened at the blow, began to gallop
across the fields, so that after two or three plunges it threw him to
the ground.

Don Quixote leaped off his horse, ran towards him, and setting the
point of his sword between his eyes, bade him yield, or he would cut
off his head.

The Lady of the coach now came forward in great grief and begged the
favour of her Squire’s life.

Don Quixote replied with great stateliness: ‘Truly, fair Lady, I will
grant thy request, but it must be on one condition, that this Squire
shall go to Toboso and present himself in my name to the peerless Lady
Dulcinea, that she may deal with him as she thinks well.’

The Lady, who was in great distress, without considering what Don
Quixote required, or asking who Dulcinea might be, promised that he
should certainly perform this command.

‘Then,’ said Don Quixote, ‘on the faith of that pledge I will do him no
more harm.’

Seeing the contest was now over, and his Master about to remount
Rozinante, Sancho ran to hold his stirrups, and before he mounted,
taking him by his hand he kissed it and said: ‘I desire that it will
please you, good my Lord Don Quixote, to bestow on me the government of
that Island which in this terrible battle you have won.’

To which Don Quixote replied: ‘Brother Sancho, these are not the
adventures of Islands, but of cross roads, wherein nothing is gained
but a broken pate or the loss of an ear. Have patience awhile, for the
adventures will come whereby I can make thee not only a Governor, but
something higher.’

Sancho thanked him heartily, and kissed his hand again and the hem of
his mailed shirt. Then he helped him to get on Rozinante, and leaped
upon his Ass to follow him.

And Don Quixote, without another word to the people of the coach, rode
away at a swift pace and turned into a wood that was hard by, leaving
Sancho to follow him as fast as his beast could trot.