CHAPTER 30
OF DON QUIXOTE’S ADVENTURE WITH A FAIR HUNTRESS
They reached their beasts in low spirits and bad humour enough, knight
and squire, Sancho particularly, for with him what touched the stock of
money touched his heart, and when any was taken from him he felt as if he
was robbed of the apples of his eyes. In fine, without exchanging a word,
they mounted and quitted the famous river, Don Quixote absorbed in
thoughts of his love, Sancho in thinking of his advancement, which just
then, it seemed to him, he was very far from securing; for, fool as he was,
he saw clearly enough that his master’s acts were all or most of them utterly
senseless; and he began to cast about for an opportunity of retiring from his
service and going home some day, without entering into any explanations or
taking any farewell of him. Fortune, however, ordered matters after a fash-
ion very much the opposite of what he contemplated.
It so happened that the next day towards sunset, on coming out of a
wood, Don Quixote cast his eyes over a green meadow, and at the far end of
it observed some people, and as he drew nearer saw that it was a hawking
party. Coming closer, he distinguished among them a lady of graceful mien,
on a pure white palfrey or hackney caparisoned with green trappings and a
silver-mounted side-saddle. The lady was also in green, and so richly and
splendidly dressed that splendour itself seemed personified in her. On her
left hand she bore a hawk, a proof to Don Quixote’s mind that she must be
some great lady and the mistress of the whole hunting party, which was the
fact; so he said to Sancho, “Run Sancho, my son, and say to that lady on the
palfrey with the hawk that I, the Knight of the Lions, kiss the hands of her
exalted beauty, and if her excellence will grant me leave I will go and kiss
them in person and place myself at her service for aught that may be in my
power and her highness may command; and mind, Sancho, how thou speak-
est, and take care not to thrust in any of thy proverbs into thy message.”
“You’ve got a likely one here to thrust any in!” said Sancho; “leave me
alone for that! Why, this is not the first time in my life I have carried mes-
sages to high and exalted ladies.”
“Except that thou didst carry to the lady Dulcinea,” said Don Quixote, “I
know not that thou hast carried any other, at least in my service.”
“That is true,” replied Sancho; “but pledges don’t distress a good payer,
and in a house where there’s plenty supper is soon cooked; I mean there’s no
need of telling or warning me about anything; for I’m ready for everything
and know a little of everything.”
“That I believe, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “go and good luck to thee,
and God speed thee.”
Sancho went off at top speed, forcing Dapple out of his regular pace, and
came to where the fair huntress was standing, and dismounting knelt before
her and said, “Fair lady, that knight that you see there, the Knight of the Li-
ons by name, is my master, and I am a squire of his, and at home they call
me Sancho Panza. This same Knight of the Lions, who was called not long
since the Knight of the Rueful Countenance, sends by me to say may it
please your highness to give him leave that, with your permission, approba-
tion, and consent, he may come and carry out his wishes, which are, as he
says and I believe, to serve your exalted loftiness and beauty; and if you
give it, your ladyship will do a thing which will redound to your honour,
and he will receive a most distinguished favour and happiness.”
“You have indeed, squire,” said the lady, “delivered your message with
all the formalities such messages require; rise up, for it is not right that the
squire of a knight so great as he of the Rueful Countenance, of whom we
have heard a great deal here, should remain on his knees; rise, my friend,
and bid your master welcome to the services of myself and the duke my
husband, in a country house we have here.”
Sancho got up, charmed as much by the beauty of the good lady as by her
high-bred air and her courtesy, but, above all, by what she had said about
having heard of his master, the Knight of the Rueful Countenance; for if she
did not call him Knight of the Lions it was no doubt because he had so late-
ly taken the name. “Tell me, brother squire,” asked the duchess (whose title,
however, is not known), “this master of yours, is he not one of whom there
is a history extant in print, called ‘The Ingenious Gentleman, Don Quixote
of La Mancha,’ who has for the lady of his heart a certain Dulcinea del
Toboso?”
“He is the same, senora,” replied Sancho; “and that squire of his who fig-
ures, or ought to figure, in the said history under the name of Sancho Panza,
is myself, unless they have changed me in the cradle, I mean in the press.”
“I am rejoiced at all this,” said the duchess; “go, brother Panza, and tell
your master that he is welcome to my estate, and that nothing could happen
me that could give me greater pleasure.”
Sancho returned to his master mightily pleased with this gratifying an-
swer, and told him all the great lady had said to him, lauding to the skies, in
his rustic phrase, her rare beauty, her graceful gaiety, and her courtesy. Don
Quixote drew himself up briskly in his saddle, fixed himself in his stirrups,
settled his visor, gave Rocinante the spur, and with an easy bearing ad-
vanced to kiss the hands of the duchess, who, having sent to summon the
duke her husband, told him while Don Quixote was approaching all about
the message; and as both of them had read the First Part of this history, and
from it were aware of Don Quixote’s crazy turn, they awaited him with the
greatest delight and anxiety to make his acquaintance, meaning to fall in
with his humour and agree with everything he said, and, so long as he
stayed with them, to treat him as a knight-errant, with all the ceremonies
usual in the books of chivalry they had read, for they themselves were very
fond of them.
Don Quixote now came up with his visor raised, and as he seemed about
to dismount Sancho made haste to go and hold his stirrup for him; but in
getting down off Dapple he was so unlucky as to hitch his foot in one of the
ropes of the pack-saddle in such a way that he was unable to free it, and was
left hanging by it with his face and breast on the ground. Don Quixote, who
was not used to dismount without having the stirrup held, fancying that
Sancho had by this time come to hold it for him, threw himself off with a
lurch and brought Rocinante’s saddle after him, which was no doubt badly
girthed, and saddle and he both came to the ground; not without discomfi-
ture to him and abundant curses muttered between his teeth against the un-
lucky Sancho, who had his foot still in the shackles. The duke ordered his
huntsmen to go to the help of knight and squire, and they raised Don
Quixote, sorely shaken by his fall; and he, limping, advanced as best he
could to kneel before the noble pair. This, however, the duke would by no
means permit; on the contrary, dismounting from his horse, he went and
embraced Don Quixote, saying, “I am grieved, Sir Knight of the Rueful
Countenance, that your first experience on my ground should have been
such an unfortunate one as we have seen; but the carelessness of squires is
often the cause of worse accidents.”
“That which has happened me in meeting you, mighty prince,” replied
Don Quixote, “cannot be unfortunate, even if my fall had not stopped short
of the depths of the bottomless pit, for the glory of having seen you would
have lifted me up and delivered me from it. My squire, God’s curse upon
him, is better at unloosing his tongue in talking impertinence than in tight-
ening the girths of a saddle to keep it steady; but however I may be, allen or
raised up, on foot or on horseback, I shall always be at your service and that
of my lady the duchess, your worthy consort, worthy queen of beauty and
paramount princess of courtesy.”
“Gently, Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha,” said the duke; “where my
lady Dona Dulcinea del Toboso is, it is not right that other beauties should
be praised.”
Sancho, by this time released from his entanglement, was standing by,
and before his master could answer he said, “There is no denying, and it
must be maintained, that my lady Dulcinea del Toboso is very beautiful; but
the hare jumps up where one least expects it; and I have heard say that what
we call nature is like a potter that makes vessels of clay, and he who makes
one fair vessel can as well make two, or three, or a hundred; I say so be-
cause, by my faith, my lady the duchess is in no way behind my mistress
the lady Dulcinea del Toboso.”
Don Quixote turned to the duchess and said, “Your highness may con-
ceive that never had knight-errant in this world a more talkative or a droller
squire than I have, and he will prove the truth of what I say, if your high-
ness is pleased to accept of my services for a few days.”
To which the duchess made answer, “that worthy Sancho is droll I con-
sider a very good thing, because it is a sign that he is shrewd; for drollery
and sprightliness, Senor Don Quixote, as you very well know, do not take
up their abode with dull wits; and as good Sancho is droll and sprightly I
here set him down as shrewd.”
“And talkative,” added Don Quixote.
“So much the better,” said the duke, “for many droll things cannot be said
in few words; but not to lose time in talking, come, great Knight of the Rue-
ful Countenance-”
“Of the Lions, your highness must say,” said Sancho, “for there is no
Rueful Countenance nor any such character now.”
“He of the Lions be it,” continued the duke; “I say, let Sir Knight of the
Lions come to a castle of mine close by, where he shall be given that recep-
tion which is due to so exalted a personage, and which the duchess and I are
wont to give to all knights-errant who come there.”
By this time Sancho had fixed and girthed Rocinante’s saddle, and Don
Quixote having got on his back and the duke mounted a fine horse, they
placed the duchess in the middle and set out for the castle. The duchess de-
sired Sancho to come to her side, for she found infinite enjoyment in listen-
ing to his shrewd remarks. Sancho required no pressing, but pushed himself
in between them and the duke, who thought it rare good fortune to receive
such a knight-errant and such a homely squire in their castle.
