Part 14

'Stop, or you are a dead man,' cried he in tones of thunder. 'Tell me who you are and whither you are going, or else I will fight you all'; and with that he seized the mule by the bridle. The mule, not being used to such rough treatment, reared herself up on her hind legs, so that her rider slipped off her back. At this sight one of the other men ran to his aid, calling the knight all the ill names he could think of, which so inflamed the anger of Don Quixote that he laid about him with his spear on every side. Even Rozinante seemed to have gotten a new spirit as well as a new body, for he turned him about so nimbly that soon the plain was covered with flying white men, still holding the bobbing torches. The mourners who rode behind did not escape so easily, for their long skirts and cloaks hindered them from moving, and Don Quixote struck and beat them just as he would, till they took him to be a giant or enchanter rather than a man.

Sancho, as was his custom, bore no part in the fray, but stood by and said to himself: 'Had ever any man such a master!'

When Don Quixote's rage was somewhat abated, he paused and gazed about him. Then, seeing a burning torch lying on the ground, and a figure near it, he went up, and perceived by the light that it was the man whom he had first attacked.

'Yield, or I will slay you!' he shouted, and the man answered grimly:

'I seem to have "yielded" as much as can be required of me, as my leg is broken. If you are indeed a Christian knight, I pray you of your nobility to spare my life, as I am a member of the Holy Church.'

'Who brought you here, then?' asked Don Quixote.

'Who? My ill fortune,' replied he. 'I and the eleven priests who have fled with the torches set forth as escort to the body of the gentleman that lies in the litter, bearing it to its tomb in the city of Segovia, where he was born.'

'And who killed him?' said Don Quixote, who never imagined that any man could die naturally.

'He died by reason of a most pestilent fever,' answered the wounded man.

'Then,' replied Don Quixote, 'I am delivered from the duty of avenging his death, which would otherwise have fallen to me. For in case you are ignorant, I would have you know that I am the knight Don Quixote de la Mancha, and it is my place to wander through the world, helping those that suffer wrongs and punishing those who inflict them.'

'As to helping those who suffer wrongs,' replied the churchman, 'for my

## part I can see nothing but that it is you and no other who have

inflicted the wrong upon me. For whereas I was whole before, you have given me a thrust which has broken my leg, and I shall remain injured for ever.'

'You and your friends the priests,' answered Don Quixote, in no wise abashed by this remark, 'have wrought the evil yourselves by coming in such wise, and by night, that no man could think but that you were ill creatures from another world.'

'Then, if you repent you of the wrong that you have done me,' said the man, 'I pray you, worshipful knight, to deliver my leg from the bondage of this ass, who has my leg fastened between the stirrup and the saddle.'

The kind heart of Don Quixote was shocked at his thoughtlessness, and he answered quickly:

'You should have told me of your pain before, or I might have talked on till to-morrow'; and he called to Sancho Panza, who was busily robbing the mule that carried the provisions. Hearing his master's voice, Sancho left off with an ill grace, and, placing the bag of food on his own donkey, went to see what his master wanted.

Between them both they set the mule on its feet, and the man on its saddle. Don Quixote then put the torch in his hand and bade him ride after his companions, and not to forget to ask their pardon in his name for the wrong he had unconsciously done them.

'And,' added the squire, 'if your friends should ask the name of this gentleman, who now craves their forgiveness, tell them that it is the famous Don Quixote, the Knight of the Sorrowful Countenance!'

_THE HELMET OF MAMBRINO_

The morning after the last adventure Don Quixote and his squire were riding along the road, when the knight saw in front of him a man on horseback, with something on his head which looked as if it were made of gold.

'If my eyes do not deceive me,' he said, turning to Sancho Panza, 'here comes one who wears on his head the helmet of Mambrino.'

'If I had your worship's leave to speak,' answered Sancho, who was by this time beginning to learn a little wisdom, 'I could give many reasons to show that you are mistaken.'

'How _can_ I be mistaken?' cried Don Quixote angrily. 'Do not you see for yourself that a knight is coming towards us, mounted on a grey horse and with a golden helmet on his head?'

'All that _I_ can see,' replied the squire, 'is that the man is mounted on a grey donkey like my own, and he has on his head something that glitters.'

'What you see,' answered Don Quixote solemnly, 'is the helmet of Mambrino.[194-1] Go, stand aside and let _me_ deal with him, for without even speaking to him I will get possession of his helmet, for which my soul has always longed.'

[194-1] Mambrino was one of the Moorish kings, to whom the helmet belonged. He who wore it could not be wounded in battle.

Truth to tell, the real story of the helmet, for so Don Quixote took it to be, was very simple. A rich man who lived in a village only a few miles away had sent for the nearest barber to shave and bleed him. The man started, taking with him a brass basin, which he was accustomed to use, and, as a shower of rain soon came on, he put the basin on his head to save his hat, which was a new one. The ass, as Sancho Panza rightly said, was very like his own.

The good man was jogging comfortably along, thinking what he would like for supper, when suddenly he saw Don Quixote galloping towards him, head bent and lance in rest. As he drew near he cried loudly:

'Defend yourself, or give me up the helmet, to which you have no right.'

The barber was so taken by surprise that for a moment he did nothing; then he had only just time to escape the lance thrust by sliding off his ass and running so swiftly over the plain that even the wind could scarcely overtake him. In his flight the basin fell from his head, to the great pleasure of Don Quixote, who bade his squire bring it to him.

'The Unbeliever who wore this helmet first must have had indeed a large head,' cried he, turning it over in his hands, seeking the vizor; 'yet, even so, half of it is wanting.'

At this Sancho began to laugh, and his master asked him what he found to divert him so much.

'I cannot but laugh when I think how large was the head of the Unbeliever,' replied Sancho gravely, knowing that the knight did not love the mirth of other men. 'But, to my mind, the helmet looks exactly like a barber's basin.'

'Listen to me,' answered Don Quixote, 'and I will tell you what has happened. By a strange accident this famous helmet must have fallen to the lot of someone who did not know the value of his prize. But, seeing it was pure gold, he melted half of it for his own uses, and the rest he made into a barber's basin. Be sure that in the first village where I can meet with a skilled workman I will have it restored to its own shape again, and meanwhile I will wear it as it is, for half a helmet is better than none.'

'And what,' inquired Sancho, 'shall we do with the grey horse that looks so like an ass? The beast is a good beast.'

'Leave the ass or horse, whichever it pleases you to call it,' replied the Don, 'for no knight ever takes the steed of his foe, unless it is won in fair fight. And perchance, when we have ridden out of sight, its master will come back and seek for it.'

Sancho, however, was not overmuch pleased by this speech.

'Truly the laws of chivalry are strict,' he grumbled, 'if they will not let a man change one donkey for another! And is it forbidden to change the pack-saddle also?'

'Of that I am in doubt,' replied Don Quixote; 'and until I have certain information on this point, if your need is great, you may take what you need.'

Sancho hardly expected such good fortune to befall him, and stripping the ass of his harness he speedily put it upon his own beast, and then laid out the dinner he had stolen from the sumpter mule for himself and his master.

Not long after this event, as Don Quixote and his squire were riding along the road, discoursing as they went of matters of chivalry, they saw approaching them from a distance a dozen men or more, with iron chains round their necks, stringing them together like beads on a rosary, and bearing iron fetters on their hands. By their side were two men on horseback carrying firelocks, and two on foot with swords and spears.

'Look!' cried Sancho Panza, 'here come a gang of slaves, sent to the galleys by the king.'

'What is that you say--_sent_?' asked Don Quixote. 'Can any king _send_ his subjects where they have no mind to go?'

'They are men who have been guilty of many crimes,' replied the squire, 'and to punish them they are being led by force to the galleys.'

'They go,' inquired Don Quixote, 'by force and not willingly?'

'You speak truly,' answered Sancho Panza.

'Then if that is so,' said the knight, 'it is my duty to set them free.'

'But think a moment, your worship,' cried Sancho, terrified at the consequences of this new idea; 'they are bad men, and deserve punishment for the crimes they have committed.'

Don Quixote was silent. In fact, he had heard nothing of what his squire had said. Instead he rode up to the galley-slaves, who by this time were quite near, and politely begged one of the soldiers who had charge of them to tell him of his courtesy where these people were going, and why they were chained in such a manner.

The guard, who had never read any of the romances of chivalry, and was quite ignorant of the speech of knights, answered roughly that they were felons going to the galleys, and that was all that mattered to anybody. But Don Quixote was not to be put aside like this.

'By your leave,' he said, 'I would speak with them, and ask of every man the reason of his misfortune.'

Now this civility of the knight made the soldiers feel ashamed of their own rudeness, so one of them replied more gently than before:

'We have here set down the crimes of every man singly, but if your worship pleases you may inquire of the prisoners yourself. And be sure you will hear all about their tricks, and more too, for it is a mighty pleasure to them to tell their tales.'

The soldier spoke truly; and wonderful were the stories which Don Quixote listened to and believed, until the knight, smitten by compassion, turned to the guards and implored them to set free the poor fellows, whose sins would be punished elsewhere.

'I ask you to do this as a favour,' he ended, 'for I would willingly owe you this grace. But, if you deny me, my arm and my sword will teach you to do it by force.'

'That is a merry jest indeed,' cried the soldier. 'So we are to let go the king's prisoners just because you tell us to do it. You had better mind your own business, fair sir, and set that pot straight on your head, and do not waste your time in looking for five feet in a cat.'

Don Quixote was so furious at the man's words that he felled him to the earth with a blow from his sword, while for a moment the other guards stood mute from surprise. Then seizing their weapons they rushed at Don Quixote, who sat firm in his saddle as became a knight, awaiting their onslaught. But for all his valour it would have gone hard with him had not the attention of the soldiers been hastily called off by the galley-slaves, who were taking advantage of the tumult to break their fetters. The chief among them had snatched the sword and firelock of the man whom Don Quixote had overthrown, and by merely pointing it at the other guards he so frightened them that they fled in all directions, followed by a shower of stones from the rest of the captives.

'Let us depart from here,' whispered Sancho Panza, knowing better than his master in what a sorry plight they might presently find themselves. 'If we once reach those hills, none can overtake us.'

'It is well,' replied the knight; 'but first I must settle this matter,' and, calling together the prisoners, he bade them go with all speed and present themselves before the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, and say that they had come by the command of the Knight of the Sorrowful Countenance, and further to relate the doughty deeds by which they had been set free.

[Illustration: HOW THE GALLEY SLAVES REPAID DON QUIXOTE]

At this the convicts only laughed, and replied that if they were to fulfil his desires and travel together in a body they would soon be taken captive by their enemies, and would be no better off than before, but that in gratitude for his services they would be willing to pray for him, which they could do at their leisure.

This discourse enraged Don Quixote nearly as much as the words of the guard had done, and he answered the fellow in terms so abusive that the convict's patience, which was never very great, gave way altogether, and he and his comrades, picking up what stones lay about, flung them with such hearty goodwill at the knight and Rozinante, that at length they knocked him right out of the saddle. The man then dragged the basin from his head, and after dealing him some mighty blows with it dashed it to the ground, where it broke in pieces. They next took the coat which he wore over his armour, and stripped the squire of all but his shirt. Having done this, they went their ways, fearing lest they might be overtaken.

_HOW DON QUIXOTE WAS ENCHANTED WHILE GUARDING THE CASTLE_

In the course of their adventures Don Quixote and his squire found themselves at the door of an inn which they had already visited, where they met with many friends. The hours were passed in pleasant discourse, and in the telling and reading of strange stories; the company parted at night well satisfied with their entertainment.

Don Quixote, however, did not share in these joys, for he was sorely cast down by reason of wounds he had received a few days previously in seeking to right a wrong. So, leaving the remainder of the guests to each other's society, he threw himself on the bed that had been made for him, and soon fell fast asleep.

The guests below had forgotten all about him, so absorbed were they in the interest of a tale of woeful ending, when the voice of Sancho Panza burst upon their ears.

'Hasten! hasten! good sirs; hasten and help my master in the hardest battle I have ever seen him fight. By my faith, he has dealt such a blow to the giant that his head he has cut clean off.'

'What is that you say?' asked the priest, who was reading out the tale. 'Are you out of your senses, Sancho?' But his question was lost in a furious noise from above, in which Don Quixote might be heard crying:

'Rogue, thief, villain! I have you fast, and little will your sword avail you'; then followed loud blows against the wall.

[Illustration: DON QUIXOTE'S BATTLE WITH THE WINE-SKINS]

'Quick, quick! don't stand there listening, but fly to the aid of my master. Though, indeed, by this time there can be little need, for the giant must be dead already, and will trouble the world no more. For I saw his blood spurt and run all over the floor, and his head is cut off and fallen to one side.'

'As I am alive,' exclaimed the innkeeper, 'I fear that Don Quixote has been fighting with one of the wine-skins that I put to hang near the bed, and it is wine not blood that is spilt on the ground.' And he ran into the room, followed by the rest, to see what had really happened.

They all stopped short at the sight of Don Quixote, who did, in truth, present a most strange figure. The only garments he had on were a shirt and a little red cap; his legs were bare, and round his left arm was rolled the bed covering, while in the right he held a sword, with which he was cutting and thrusting at everything about him, uttering cries all the while, as if in truth he were engaged in deadly combat with a giant. Yet his eyes were tight shut, and it was clear to all that he was fast asleep; but in his dream he had slashed at so many of the skins that the whole room was full of wine. When the innkeeper perceived this, the loss of his wine so enraged him that he in his turn flew at the knight, and struck him such hard blows with his fists that, had not the priest and another man pulled him off, the war with the giant would soon have ended.

Still, curious to say, it was not until a pannikin of cold water had been poured over him by the barber that Don Quixote awoke, and even then he did not understand what he had been doing, and why he stood there in such a dress.

Now the priest had caught hold of Don Quixote's hands, so that he should not beat those who were pouring the water over him, and the knight, having only partly come to his senses, took him for the princess, for whose sake he had made war on the giant.

'Fair and gracious lady,' he said, falling on his knees, 'may your life henceforth be freed from the terror of this ill-born creature!'

'Well, did I not speak truly?' asked Sancho Panza proudly. 'Has not my master properly salted the giant? I have got my earldom safe at last.' For Sancho never ceased to believe in the knight's promises.

Everyone was driven to laugh at the strange foolery of both master and man, except the innkeeper, whose mind was still sore at the loss of his wine-skins. The priest and the barber first busied themselves in getting Don Quixote, now quite worn out with his adventure, safely into bed, and then went to administer the best consolation they could to the poor man.

Many days passed before Don Quixote was well enough to leave the inn, but at length he seemed to be cured of the fatigue he had undergone during his previous adventures, and had bidden his squire get all things ready for his departure. Maritornes, the servant at the inn, and the innkeeper's daughter, having overheard the plans of Don Quixote, resolved that he should not leave them before they had played him some merry tricks.

That night, when everyone else had gone to bed, and Don Quixote, armed, and mounted on Rozinante, was keeping guard in front of the inn, the two girls crept up to a loft. Nowhere in the inn was there such a thing as a proper window, but in the loft was a hole through which the knight could be seen, leaning on his lance uttering deep sighs and broken words about the Lady Dulcinea.

The innkeeper's daughter, falling in with his humour, advanced to the hole, and invited him to draw a little nearer. Nothing more was needed than for Don Quixote to imagine that the damsel was sick of love for him, and he told her straightway that any service he could do her short of proclaiming her his liege lady she might command. Upon this, Maritornes informed him that her mistress would be content were she permitted to kiss his hand, which Don Quixote answered might be done without wrong to the Lady Dulcinea. So, without more ado, he passed it through the hole, when it was instantly seized by Maritornes, who slipped a noose of rope over his wrist, and tied the other end of it tightly to the door of the loft.

After that they both ran off, overflowing with laughter, leaving the knight to reproach them for their ill-usage.

There the poor knight remained, mounted on Rozinante, his arm in the hole and his hand fastened to the door, fearing lest Rozinante should move and he should be left hanging. But in this he did wrong to his horse, who was happy enough to stand still.

Then Don Quixote, seeing himself bound, instead of seeking to unloose himself as many others would have tried to do, sat quietly in his saddle, and dreamed dreams of the enchantment which had befallen him. And thus he stayed till the day dawned.

His dreams were rudely broken into when there drew up at the inn door four men well armed and mounted. As no one answered their knock, they repeated it more loudly, when Don Quixote cried to them:

'Knights or squires, or whoever you may be, it is not for you to knock at the gates of this castle; for sure, any man might tell that those within are asleep, or else it is their custom not to open until the sun touches the whole floor. You must wait until it is broad day, and then it will be seen whether you can be admitted within the gates.'

'What sort of castle is this, which receives no guests without such ceremonies?' mocked one of the men. 'If you are the innkeeper, bid your servants open to us without delay. We are neither knights nor squires, but honest travellers, who need corn for our horses, and that without delay.'

'Have I the air of an innkeeper?' asked Don Quixote loftily.

'I do not know of what you have the air,' answered the man, 'but this I _do_ know, and that is that you are jesting when you call this inn a castle.'

'But it _is_ a castle,' replied Don Quixote, 'and one of the finest in the whole country! And within are those who carry crowns on their heads and sceptres in their hands.'