CHAPTER 44
IN WHICH ARE CONTINUED THE UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURES OF THE INN
So loud, in fact, were the shouts of Don Quixote, that the landlord open-
ing the gate of the inn in all haste, came out in dismay, and ran to see who
was uttering such cries, and those who were outside joined him. Maritornes,
who had been by this time roused up by the same outcry, suspecting what it
was, ran to the loft and, without anyone seeing her, untied the halter by
which Don Quixote was suspended, and down he came to the ground in the
sight of the landlord and the travellers, who approaching asked him what
was the matter with him that he shouted so. He without replying a word
took the rope off his wrist, and rising to his feet leaped upon Rocinante,
braced his buckler on his arm, put his lance in rest, and making a consider-
able circuit of the plain came back at a half-gallop exclaiming:
“Whoever shall say that I have been enchanted with just cause, provided
my lady the Princess Micomicona grants me permission to do so, I give him
the lie, challenge him and defy him to single combat.”
The newly arrived travellers were amazed at the words of Don Quixote;
but the landlord removed their surprise by telling them who he was, and not
to mind him as he was out of his senses. They then asked the landlord if by
any chance a youth of about fifteen years of age had come to that inn, one
dressed like a muleteer, and of such and such an appearance, describing that
of Dona Clara’s lover. The landlord replied that there were so many people
in the inn he had not noticed the person they were inquiring for; but one of
them observing the coach in which the Judge had come, said, “He is here no
doubt, for this is the coach he is following: let one of us stay at the gate, and
the rest go in to look for him; or indeed it would be as well if one of us went
round the inn, lest he should escape over the wall of the yard.” “So be it,”
said another; and while two of them went in, one remained at the gate and
the other made the circuit of the inn; observing all which, the landlord was
unable to conjecture for what reason they were taking all these precautions,
though he understood they were looking for the youth whose description
they had given him.
It was by this time broad daylight; and for that reason, as well as in con-
sequence of the noise Don Quixote had made, everybody was awake and
up, but particularly Dona Clara and Dorothea; for they had been able to
sleep but badly that night, the one from agitation at having her lover so near
her, the other from curiosity to see him. Don Quixote, when he saw that not
one of the four travellers took any notice of him or replied to his challenge,
was furious and ready to die with indignation and wrath; and if he could
have found in the ordinances of chivalry that it was lawful for a knight-er-
rant to undertake or engage in another enterprise, when he had plighted his
word and faith not to involve himself in any until he had made an end of the
one to which he was pledged, he would have attacked the whole of them,
and would have made them return an answer in spite of themselves. But
considering that it would not become him, nor be right, to begin any new
emprise until he had established Micomicona in her kingdom, he was con-
strained to hold his peace and wait quietly to see what would be the upshot
of the proceedings of those same travellers; one of whom found the youth
they were seeking lying asleep by the side of a muleteer, without a thought
of anyone coming in search of him, much less finding him.
The man laid hold of him by the arm, saying, “It becomes you well in-
deed, Senor Don Luis, to be in the dress you wear, and well the bed in
which I find you agrees with the luxury in which your mother reared you.”
The youth rubbed his sleepy eyes and stared for a while at him who held
him, but presently recognised him as one of his father’s servants, at which
he was so taken aback that for some time he could not find or utter a word;
while the servant went on to say, “There is nothing for it now, Senor Don
Luis, but to submit quietly and return home, unless it is your wish that my
lord, your father, should take his departure for the other world, for nothing
else can be the consequence of the grief he is in at your absence.”
“But how did my father know that I had gone this road and in this dress?”
said Don Luis.
“It was a student to whom you confided your intentions,” answered the
servant, “that disclosed them, touched with pity at the distress he saw your
father suffer on missing you; he therefore despatched four of his servants in
quest of you, and here we all are at your service, better pleased than you can
imagine that we shall return so soon and be able to restore you to those eyes
that so yearn for you.”
“That shall be as I please, or as heaven orders,” returned Don Luis.
“What can you please or heaven order,” said the other, “except to agree to
go back? Anything else is impossible.”
All this conversation between the two was overheard by the muleteer at
whose side Don Luis lay, and rising, he went to report what had taken place
to Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the others, who had by this time dressed
themselves; and told them how the man had addressed the youth as “Don,”
and what words had passed, and how he wanted him to return to his father,
which the youth was unwilling to do. With this, and what they already knew
of the rare voice that heaven had bestowed upon him, they all felt very anx-
ious to know more particularly who he was, and even to help him if it was
attempted to employ force against him; so they hastened to where he was
still talking and arguing with his servant. Dorothea at this instant came out
of her room, followed by Dona Clara all in a tremor; and calling Cardenio
aside, she told him in a few words the story of the musician and Dona
Clara, and he at the same time told her what had happened, how his father’s
servants had come in search of him; but in telling her so, he did not speak
low enough but that Dona Clara heard what he said, at which she was so
much agitated that had not Dorothea hastened to support her she would
have fallen to the ground. Cardenio then bade Dorothea return to her room,
as he would endeavour to make the whole matter right, and they did as he
desired. All the four who had come in quest of Don Luis had now come into
the inn and surrounded him, urging him to return and console his father at
once and without a moment’s delay. He replied that he could not do so on
any account until he had concluded some business in which his life, honour,
and heart were at stake. The servants pressed him, saying that most certain-
ly they would not return without him, and that they would take him away
whether he liked it or not.
“You shall not do that,” replied Don Luis, “unless you take me dead;
though however you take me, it will be without life.”
By this time most of those in the inn had been attracted by the dispute,
but particularly Cardenio, Don Fernando, his companions, the Judge, the
curate, the barber, and Don Quixote; for he now considered there was no
necessity for mounting guard over the castle any longer. Cardenio being al-
ready acquainted with the young man’s story, asked the men who wanted to
take him away, what object they had in seeking to carry off this youth
against his will.
“Our object,” said one of the four, “is to save the life of his father, who is
in danger of losing it through this gentleman’s disappearance.”
Upon this Don Luis exclaimed, “There is no need to make my affairs
public here; I am free, and I will return if I please; and if not, none of you
shall compel me.”
“Reason will compel your worship,” said the man, “and if it has no power
over you, it has power over us, to make us do what we came for, and what it
is our duty to do.”
“Let us hear what the whole affair is about,” said the Judge at this; but the
man, who knew him as a neighbour of theirs, replied, “Do you not know
this gentleman, Senor Judge? He is the son of your neighbour, who has run
away from his father’s house in a dress so unbecoming his rank, as your
worship may perceive.”
The judge on this looked at him more carefully and recognised him, and
embracing him said, “What folly is this, Senor Don Luis, or what can have
been the cause that could have induced you to come here in this way, and in
this dress, which so ill becomes your condition?”
Tears came into the eyes of the young man, and he was unable to utter a
word in reply to the Judge, who told the four servants not to be uneasy, for
all would be satisfactorily settled; and then taking Don Luis by the hand, he
drew him aside and asked the reason of his having come there.
But while he was questioning him they heard a loud outcry at the gate of
the inn, the cause of which was that two of the guests who had passed the
night there, seeing everybody busy about finding out what it was the four
men wanted, had conceived the idea of going off without paying what they
owed; but the landlord, who minded his own affairs more than other peo-
ple’s, caught them going out of the gate and demanded his reckoning, abus-
ing them for their dishonesty with such language that he drove them to re-
ply with their fists, and so they began to lay on him in such a style that the
poor man was forced to cry out, and call for help. The landlady and her
daughter could see no one more free to give aid than Don Quixote, and to
him the daughter said, “Sir knight, by the virtue God has given you, help
my poor father, for two wicked men are beating him to a mummy.”
To which Don Quixote very deliberately and phlegmatically replied,
“Fair damsel, at the present moment your request is inopportune, for I am
debarred from involving myself in any adventure until I have brought to a
happy conclusion one to which my word has pledged me; but that which I
can do for you is what I will now mention: run and tell your father to stand
his ground as well as he can in this battle, and on no account to allow him-
self to be vanquished, while I go and request permission of the Princess Mi-
comicona to enable me to succour him in his distress; and if she grants it,
rest assured I will relieve him from it.”
“Sinner that I am,” exclaimed Maritornes, who stood by; “before you
have got your permission my master will be in the other world.”
“Give me leave, senora, to obtain the permission I speak of,” returned
Don Quixote; “and if I get it, it will matter very little if he is in the other
world; for I will rescue him thence in spite of all the same world can do; or
at any rate I will give you such a revenge over those who shall have sent
him there that you will be more than moderately satisfied;” and without say-
ing anything more he went and knelt before Dorothea, requesting her High-
ness in knightly and errant phrase to be pleased to grant him permission to
aid and succour the castellan of that castle, who now stood in grievous jeop-
ardy. The princess granted it graciously, and he at once, bracing his buckler
on his arm and drawing his sword, hastened to the inn-gate, where the two
guests were still handling the landlord roughly; but as soon as he reached
the spot he stopped short and stood still, though Maritornes and the landla-
dy asked him why he hesitated to help their master and husband.
“I hesitate,” said Don Quixote, “because it is not lawful for me to draw
sword against persons of squirely condition; but call my squire Sancho to
me; for this defence and vengeance are his affair and business.”
Thus matters stood at the inn-gate, where there was a very lively ex-
change of fisticuffs and punches, to the sore damage of the landlord and to
the wrath of Maritornes, the landlady, and her daughter, who were furious
when they saw the pusillanimity of Don Quixote, and the hard treatment
their master, husband and father was undergoing. But let us leave him there;
for he will surely find some one to help him, and if not, let him suffer and
hold his tongue who attempts more than his strength allows him to do; and
let us go back fifty paces to see what Don Luis said in reply to the Judge
whom we left questioning him privately as to his reasons for coming on
foot and so meanly dressed.
To which the youth, pressing his hand in a way that showed his heart was
troubled by some great sorrow, and shedding a flood of tears, made answer:
“Senor, I have no more to tell you than that from the moment when,
through heaven’s will and our being near neighbours, I first saw Dona Clara,
your daughter and my lady, from that instant I made her the mistress of my
will, and if yours, my true lord and father, offers no impediment, this very
day she shall become my wife. For her I left my father’s house, and for her I
assumed this disguise, to follow her whithersoever she may go, as the arrow
seeks its mark or the sailor the pole-star. She knows nothing more of my
passion than what she may have learned from having sometimes seen from
a distance that my eyes were filled with tears. You know already, senor, the
wealth and noble birth of my parents, and that I am their sole heir; if this be
a sufficient inducement for you to venture to make me completely happy,
accept me at once as your son; for if my father, influenced by other objects
of his own, should disapprove of this happiness I have sought for myself,
time has more power to alter and change things, than human will.”
With this the love-smitten youth was silent, while the Judge, after hearing
him, was astonished, perplexed, and surprised, as well at the manner and
intelligence with which Don Luis had confessed the secret of his heart, as at
the position in which he found himself, not knowing what course to take in
a matter so sudden and unexpected. All the answer, therefore, he gave him
was to bid him to make his mind easy for the present, and arrange with his
servants not to take him back that day, so that there might be time to consid-
er what was best for all parties. Don Luis kissed his hands by force, nay,
bathed them with his tears, in a way that would have touched a heart of
marble, not to say that of the Judge, who, as a shrewd man, had already per-
ceived how advantageous the marriage would be to his daughter; though,
were it possible, he would have preferred that it should be brought about
with the consent of the father of Don Luis, who he knew looked for a title
for his son.
The guests had by this time made peace with the landlord, for, by persua-
sion and Don Quixote’s fair words more than by threats, they had paid him
what he demanded, and the servants of Don Luis were waiting for the end
of the conversation with the Judge and their master’s decision, when the
devil, who never sleeps, contrived that the barber, from whom Don Quixote
had taken Mambrino’s helmet, and Sancho Panza the trappings of his ass in
exchange for those of his own, should at this instant enter the inn; which
said barber, as he led his ass to the stable, observed Sancho Panza engaged
in repairing something or other belonging to the pack-saddle; and the mo-
ment he saw it he knew it, and made bold to attack Sancho, exclaiming,
“Ho, sir thief, I have caught you! hand over my basin and my pack-saddle,
and all my trappings that you robbed me of.”
Sancho, finding himself so unexpectedly assailed, and hearing the abuse
poured upon him, seized the pack-saddle with one hand, and with the other
gave the barber a cuff that bathed his teeth in blood. The barber, however,
was not so ready to relinquish the prize he had made in the pack-saddle; on
the contrary, he raised such an outcry that everyone in the inn came running
to know what the noise and quarrel meant. “Here, in the name of the king
and justice!” he cried, “this thief and highwayman wants to kill me for try-
ing to recover my property.”
“You lie,” said Sancho, “I am no highwayman; it was in fair war my mas-
ter Don Quixote won these spoils.”
Don Quixote was standing by at the time, highly pleased to see his
squire’s stoutness, both offensive and defensive, and from that time forth he
reckoned him a man of mettle, and in his heart resolved to dub him a knight
on the first opportunity that presented itself, feeling sure that the order of
chivalry would be fittingly bestowed upon him.
In the course of the altercation, among other things the barber said, “Gen-
tlemen, this pack-saddle is mine as surely as I owe God a death, and I know
it as well as if I had given birth to it, and here is my ass in the stable who
will not let me lie; only try it, and if it does not fit him like a glove, call me
a rascal; and what is more, the same day I was robbed of this, they robbed
me likewise of a new brass basin, never yet handselled, that would fetch a
crown any day.”
At this Don Quixote could not keep himself from answering; and inter-
posing between the two, and separating them, he placed the pack-saddle on
the ground, to lie there in sight until the truth was established, and said,
“Your worships may perceive clearly and plainly the error under which this
worthy squire lies when he calls a basin which was, is, and shall be the hel-
met of Mambrino which I won from him in air war, and made myself mas-
ter of by legitimate and lawful possession. With the pack-saddle I do not
concern myself; but I may tell you on that head that my squire Sancho
asked my permission to strip off the caparison of this vanquished poltroon’s
steed, and with it adorn his own; I allowed him, and he took it; and as to its
having been changed from a caparison into a pack-saddle, I can give no ex-
planation except the usual one, that such transformations will take place in
adventures of chivalry. To confirm all which, run, Sancho my son, and fetch
hither the helmet which this good fellow calls a basin.”
“Egad, master,” said Sancho, “if we have no other proof of our case than
what your worship puts forward, Mambrino’s helmet is just as much a basin
as this good fellow’s caparison is a pack-saddle.”
“Do as I bid thee,” said Don Quixote; “it cannot be that everything in this
castle goes by enchantment.”
Sancho hastened to where the basin was, and brought it back with him,
and when Don Quixote saw it, he took hold of it and said:
“Your worships may see with what a face this squire can assert that this is
a basin and not the helmet I told you of; and I swear by the order of chivalry
I profess, that this helmet is the identical one I took from him, without any-
thing added to or taken from it.”
“There is no doubt of that,” said Sancho, “for from the time my master
won it until now he has only fought one battle in it, when he let loose those
unlucky men in chains; and if had not been for this basin-helmet he would
not have come off over well that time, for there was plenty of stone-throw-
ing in that affair.”
