The history of the valorous and vvitty-knight-errant, Don-Quixote, of the Mancha tr. out of the Spanish.

CHAP. II.

Of that which hapned unto the ingenuous Knight, within the Inn, which hee supposed to bee a Castle.

THe Inn-keeper seeing Don-Quixote laid overthwart upon the Asse, de∣manded of Sancho what disease he had? Sancho answered, that it was nothing but a fall down from a Rock, and that his Ribs were thereby somewhat bruised. This Inn-keeper had a wife, not of the condi∣tion that those of that trade are wont to be; for she was of a cha∣ritable nature, and would grieve at the calamities of her neighbours, and did therefore presently occur to cure Don-Quixote, causing her daughter, a very comely young maiden, to assist her to cure her Guest. There like∣wise served in the Inn an Asturian wench, who was broad-faced, flat-pated, sadle∣nosed, blinde of one eye, and the other almost out, true it is, that the comelinesse of her body supplied all the other defects: She was not seven palmes long from her feet unto her head; and her shoulders, which did somewhat burden her, made her look oftner to the ground then she would willingly. This beautifull piece did assist the young maiden and both of them made a very bad bed for Don-Quixote in an old wide chamber, which gave manifest tokens of it self, that it had sometimes served many yeers only to keep chopt straw for horses: in which was also lodged a Carrier, whose bed was made a little way off from Don-Quixotes, which though it was made of Can∣vasse, and coverings of his Mules, was much better then the Knights, that only con∣tained four boards roughly plained, placed on two unequall tressels; A flock-Bed, which in the thinnest seemed rather a Quilt, full of pellets; and had not they shewn that they were wooll, through certain breaches made by antiquity on the Tick, a man would by the hardnesse rather take them to be stones; a pair of sheets made of the skins of Targets; a coverlet, whose threds if a man would number, he should not lose one only of the account.

In this ungracious bed did Don-Quixote lie, and presently the Hostesse and her daughter anoint him all over, and Maritornes (for so the Asturian wench was called) did hold the candle. The Hostesse at the plaistring of him, perceiving him to be so bruised in Sundry places, she said unto him, that those signes rather seemed to pro∣ceed of blows then of a fall. They were not blows, replied Sancho, but the Rock had many sharp ends and knobs on it, whereof every one left behinde it a token; And I desire you good Mistrisse, quoth he, to leave some flax behinde, and there shall not want one that needeth the use of them; for I assure you my back doth likewise ake. If that be so, quoth the Hostesse, it is likely that thou didest also fall. I did not fall, quoth Sancho Panca, but with the suddain affright that I took at my Masters fall, my body doth so grieve me, as me thinks I have been handsomely belaboured. It may well happen as thou saiest, quoth the Hostesses daughter; for it hath befaln me sundry times to dream, that I fell down from some high Tower, and could never come to the ground; and when I awaked, I did finde my self so troubled and broken, as if I had verify faln. There is the point Masters, quoth Sancho Panca, that I without dreaming at all; but being more awake then I am at this hour, found my self to have very few lesse tokens and marks then my Lord Don-Quixote hath. How is this Gentleman

called? quoth Maritornes the Asturian. Don-Quixote of the Mancha, replyed Sancho Panca, and he is a Knight Errant, and one of the best and strongest that have been seen in the world these many ages. What is that, a Knight Errant? quoth the wench. Art thou so young in the world, that thou knowest it not? answered Sancho Panca. Know then sister mine, that a Knight Errant is a thing, which in two words you see well cudgelled, and after becomes an Emperour. To day he is the most un∣fortunate creature of the world, and the most needy; and to morrow he will have two or three Crowns of Kingdoms to bestow upon his Squire. If it be so, quoth the Hostesse; why then hast not thou gotten at least an Earldome, seeing thou art this good Knight his Squire? It is yet too soon, replyed Sancho; for it is but a moneth sithence we began first to seek Adventures; and we have not yet encountred any worthy of the name. And sometimes it befalls, that searching for one thing we encounter another. True it is, that if my Lord Don-Quixote recover of this wound or fall, and that I be not changed by it, I would not make an exchange of my hopes for the best title of Spain. Don-Quixote did very attentively listen unto all these discourses, and siting up in his Bed, as well as he could, taking his Hostesse by the hand; he said unto her:

Believe me, beautifull Lady, that you may count your self fortunate, for having harboured my person in this your Castle, which is such, that if I doe not praise it; it is because men say, that proper praise stinks; but my Squire will inform you what I am: only this I will say my self, That I will keep eternally written in my memory the service that you have done unto me, to be gratefull unto you for it whilest I live. And I would it might please the highest Heavens that Love held me not so enthral'd and sub∣ject to his Laws as he doth, and to the eyes of that ingratefull fair, whose name I se∣cretly mutter, then should those of this beautifull Damzell presently signiorize my Libertie.

The Hostesse, her daughter, and the good Maritornes remained con∣founded, hearing the Speech of our Knight Errant, which they understood as well as if he spoken Greek unto them; but yet they conceived that they were words of complements and Love, and as people unused to hear the like language, they beheld and admired him, and he seemed unto them a man of the other world; and so return∣ing him thanks with Tavernly phrase for his large offers, they departed. And the Asturian Maritornes cured Sancho, who needed her help no lesse then his Ma∣ster.

The Carrier and shee had agreed to passe the night together, and she had given unto him her word, that when the Guests were quiet and her Master sleeping, she would come unto him and satisfie his desire, as much as he pleased. And it is said of this good wench, that she never passed the like promise, but that she performed it, although it were given in the mid'st of a wood, and without any witnesse; for she presumed to be of gentle blood; and yet she held it no disgrace to serve in an Inn; for she was wont to affirm, that disgraces and misfortunes brought her to that state. The hard, narrow, niggard, and counterfeit Bed, whereon Don-Quixote lay, was the first of the four, and next unto it was his Squires, that only conteined a Mat and a Coverlet, and rather seemed to be of shorn Canvasse then Wooll: After these two Beds followed that of the Carrier, made, as we have said, of the Pannels and Furniture of two of his best Mules, although they were twelve all in number, fair, fat, and goodly beasts; for he was one of the richest Carriers of Arevalo, as the Authour of this History affirmeth, who maketh particular mention of him, because he knew him very well, [Here the Au∣thour taxeth some one cunningly to be descended of a Moorish race] and besides some men say, that he was somewhat a kinn unto him. Omitting that Cid Mahamat Be∣nengeli was a very exact Historiographer, and most curious in all things, as may be gathered very well, seeing that those which are related being so minute and triviall, he would not overslip them in silence.

By which those grave Historiographers may take example, which recount unto us matters so short and succinctly, as they doe scarce arrive to our knowledge, leaving the most substantiall part of the works drowned in the Inkhorne, either through neg∣ligence, malice, or ignorance. Many good fortunes beside the Authour of Tablante de

Ricam••nte, and him that wrote the booke wherein are rehearsed the Acts of the Count Tomillas, Lord with what precisenesse doe they describe every circumstance? to con∣clude, I say, that after the Carrier had visited his Mules, and given unto them their se∣cond refreshing, hee stretched himselfe in his Coverlets, and expected the coming of the most exquisite Maritornes. Sancho was also, by this, plaistred and laid downe in his bed, and though hee desired to sleepe, yet would not the grief of his ribs permit him. And Don-Quixote with the paine of his sides, lay with both his eyes open, like a Hare. All the Inne was drowned in silence, and there was no other light in it then that of a Lampe, which hung lighted in the midst of the entry. This marvailous quietnesse and the thoughts which alwaies represented to our Knight the memory of the successes which at every pace are recounted in books of Knighthood (the principall Authors of this mishap) called to his imagination one of the strangest follies that easily may bee conjectured; which was, hee imagined that hee arived to a famous Castle (for as wee have said, all the Innes wherein hee lodged seemed unto him to bee such) and that the Inkeepers daughter (daughter to the Lord of the Castle) who, overcome by his comli∣nesse and valour, was enamoured of him, and had promised that shee would come to solace with him for a good space, after her Father and Mother had gone to bed. And holding all this chymera and fiction, which hee himself had built in his brain, for most firm and certain, he began to be vexed in minde, and to think on the dangerous trance, wherein his honesty was like to fall, and did firmly purpose in heart not to commit any disloyalty against his Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, although very Queen Genever, with her Lady Queintanonina, should come to sollicite him. Whilst thus he lay thinking of these follies, the houre approached (that was unluckie for him) wherein the Austurian wench should come, who entred into the chamber in search of her Carrier, in her smock, bare∣footed, & her hair trust up in a coif of sustain, with soft & wairy steps. But she was scarce come to the door, when Don-Quixote felt her, and arising and siting up in his bed, in de∣spight of his plaisters, [Bismas] & with great grief of his ribs, he stretched forth his arms to receive his beautifull Damzell, the Austurian, who crouching, and silently went gro∣ping with her hands to finde out her sweet heart, and incountred with Don-Quixote's armes, who presently seized very strongly upon one of her wrists, and drawing her to∣wards him (shee daring not to speak a word) hee caused her to sit upon his beds side, and presently groped her smock, and although it was of [Harpiller] the strongest Can∣vase, hee thought it was most subtle and fine Holland. Shee wore on her wrists certain bracelets of glasse, which hee esteemed to bee precious, orientall-pearles. Her haire which was almost as rough as a horse taile, hee held to bee wires of the glistringest gold of Arabia, whose brightnesse did obscure that of the Sunne. And her breath which certainly smelled like to stale salt fish, reserved from over night, seemed unto him to have a most redolent, aromaticall and sweet smell; and finally hee painted her in his phantasie of the same very form and manner as hee had read in his bookes of Knight∣hood; of a certain Princesse which came to visit a Knight who was grievously wounded, being overcome by his love, embellished with all the ornaments that here wee have re∣counted; and the blindnesse of this poore Gallant was such, as neither the touching, savour or other things that accompanied the good Damzell could undeceive him, being such as were able to make any other, save a Carrier, vomet up his bowels; but rather hee made full acount that hee held the Goddesse of Love between his armes, and hold∣ing her still very fast, hee began to court her with a low and amorous voice in this man∣ner.

I could wish to finde my self in termes, most high, and beautifull Lady, to be a∣ble to recompence so great a favour, as that which with the presence of your match∣lesse feature you have shewn unto mee: but fortune (who is never weary of perse∣cuting the good) hath pleased to lay mee in this bed, wherein I lie so broken and brui∣sed, that although I were desirous to satisfie your will, yet is it impossible; especial∣ly seeing to that impossibility may bee added a greater, to wit, the promised Faith which I have given to the unmatchable Dulcinea of Toboso, the only Lady of my most hidden thoughts; for did not this let mee, doe not hold mee to bee so senslesse and madde a Knight as to overslip so fortunate an occasion as this, which your bounty

hath offered to mee,

Maritornes remained sweating through anxiety, to see her self held so fast by Don-Quixote, and without eyther understanding, or giving attention to his words, shee laboured all that shee could to free her self from him without speak∣ing a word. The Carrier, whose bad intention kept him still waking, did feare his La∣dy from the time that shee first entred into the roome, and did attentively give eare to all Don-Quixotes discourses, and jealous that the Asturian should break promise with him, for any other, hee drew neerer unto Don-Quixotes bed, and stood quiet to see whereunto those words which hee could not understand tended; But viewing that the wench strived to depart, and Don-Quixote laboured to with-hold her, the jest seeming evill unto him, hee up with his arme, and discharged so terrible a blow on the enamou∣red Knights jawes, as hee bathed all his mouth in blood, and not content here withall, hee mounted upon the Knight, and did tread on his ribs, and passed them all over with more then a trot.

The Bed which was somwhat [Endeble] weake, and not very firme of foundation, being unable to suffer the addition of the Carrier, fell downe to the ground, with so great a noise, as it waked the Inkeeper; who presently suspecting that it was one of Maritornes conflicts, because shee answered him not, having called her lowdly, hee forthwith arose and, lighting of a Lamp, hee went towards the place where hee heard the noyse. The Wench, perceiving that her Master came, and that hee was extreme cholericke, did, all ashamed and troubled, run into Sancho Pancaes bed, who slept all this while very soundly, and there crouched, and made her selfe as little as an Eg.

Her Master entred, crying, Whore where art thou? I dare warrant that these are some of thy doings. By this Sancho awaked, and feeling that bulk lying almost wholly upon him, he thought it was the night Mare, and began to lay with his fists here and there about him very swiftly and among others wraught Maritornes I know not how many blows; who grieved for the pain she indured there, casting all honesty aside, gave Sancho the exchange of his blows so trimly, as she made him to awake in despight of his sluggishnesse. And finding himself to be so abused of an uncouth person, whom he could not behold, he arose and caught hold of Maritornes as well as he could, and they both began the best fight and pleasantest skirmish of the world.

The Carrier perceiving by the light which the Inn-keeper brought in with him, the lamentable state of his Mistrisse, abandoning Don-Quixote, he instantly repaired to give her the succour that was requisite, which likewise the Inn-keeper did, but with another meaning; for he approached with intention to punish the wench, beleeving that shee was infallibly the cause of all that harmony: And so as men say, the Cat to the Rat, the Rat to the Cord, the Cord to the Poste: So the Carrier struck Sancho, Sancho the wench, she returned him again his liberality with interest, and the In-keeper laid load upon his maid also: And all of them did mince it with such expedition, as there was no leisure at all allowed to any one of them for breathing. And the best of all was, that the Inn-keepers lamp went out, and then finding themselves in darknesse they belaboured one another so without compassion, and at once, as wheresoever the blow fell, it bruised the place pittifully.

There lodged by chance that night in the Inn one of the Squadron of these, which are called of the old Holy Brotherhood of Toledo [The Holy Brotherhood, or the Sancta Hermandad, are a certain number of men, whose chief office is to free the High-way from Robbers] he likewise hearing the wonderfull noyse of the fight, laid hand on his Rod of Office, and the tinn box of his Titles, and entred into the chamber without light, saying, Stand still to the Officer of Justice, and to the Holy Brotherhood. And saying so, the first whom he met, was the poor battered Don-Quixote, who lay over∣thrown in his Bed, stretched, with his face upward without any felling, and taking hold of his beard, he cryed out incessantly, Help the Justice. But seeing that he whom he held fast, bowed neither hand or foot, he presently thought that he was dead, and that those battaillants that fought so eagerly in the Room, had slain him; wherefore he lifted his voyce and cryed out loudly, saying, Shut the Inn door, and see that none escape; for here they have kil'd a man. This word Astonished all the Combattants so

much, as every one left the Battail in the very terms, wherein this voyce had overtaken them. The Inn-keeper retyred himself to his Chamber, the Carrier to his Coverlets, the Wench to her Couch, and only the unfortunate Don-Quixote and Sancho were not able to move themselves from the place wherein they lay. The Officer of the Ho∣ly Brotherhood in this space letting slip poor Don-Quixotes beard, went out for light, to search and apprehend the Delinquents; but he could not finde any: For the Inn-keeper had purposely quenched the Lamp, as he retyred to his Bed, wherefore the Offi∣cer was constrained to repair to the chimney, where with great difficulty, after he had spent a long while doing of it, he at last lighted a Candle.