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

CHAP. VI.

Of a wonderfull Adventure, atchieved with lesse hazard then e∣ver any other Knight did any, by the valorous Don-Qui∣xote of the Mancha.

IT is not possible my Lord, but that these green hearbs doe argue, that neer unto this place must bee some Fountain or stream that watereth them, and therefore I pray you let us goe a little farther, and wee shall meete that which may mitigate the terrible thirst that afflicts us, which sets us questionless in more paine then did our hun∣ger. This counsell was allowed by Don-Quixote, and therefore leading Rozinante by the Bridle, and Sancho his Asse by the halter, after laying up the reversion of their Supper, they set on through the plaine, only guided by their guesse, for the night was so darke as they could not see a jot. And scarce had they travailed two hundred paces when they heard a great noise of water, as if it fell headlong from some great and steep Rock. The noise did cheere them very much, and standing to heare from whence it sounded, they heard unawares another noyse, which watered all the continent; they conceived before, specially in Sancho, who as I have noted was naturally very fearfull and of little spirit. They heard I say certain blowes strucken with proportion, with a kinde of ratling of irons and chaines, which accompanied by the furious sound of the water, might strike terror into any other heart but Don-Quixotes.

The night, as wee said, was darke, and they hapned to enter in among certaine tall and loftie trees, whose leaves moved by a soft gale of winde, made a fearfull and still noyse; so that the solitude, situation, darknesse and the noyse of the water, and trem∣bling of the leaves concurring, did breed horror and affright. But specially seeing that the blowes never ceased, the winde slept not, nor the morning approached, whereunto may bee added that they knew not the place where they were. But Don-Quixote ac∣companied

with his valiant heart, leaped on Rozinante, and embracing his Buckler, brandished his Launce, and said:

Friend Sancho, I would have thee know, that I was born by the disposition of Heaven, in this our Age of iron, to resuscitate in it that of Gold, or the Golden world as it is called. I am he for whom are reserved all dangerous, great, and volorus feats. I say again, that I am he which shall set up again those of the Round Table, the twelve Peers of France, and the nine Worthies. I am he who shall cause the Acts to be forgotten of those Platires, Tablantes, Oli∣vantes, and Tirantes. The Phebuse••, Bel••amses, with all the crew of the famous Knights Errant of times past, doing in this wherein I live such great and wonderfull fea••s of Armes, as shall obscure the bravest that ever they atchieved. Thou notest well faithfull and loyall Squire, the darkenesse of this night, the strange silence, the deaf and confused trembling of these Trees, the dreadfull noyse of that water in whose search we come, which seems to throw it self headlong down from the steep Mountains of the Moon, the inceslable blows which doth still wound our ears; all which together, and every one apart, are able to strike terrour, fear, and amazement into the very minde of Mars; how much more in his that is not accus••omed to the like chances and Adventures? Yet all this which I have depainted to thee, are inciters and ••owsers of my minde, which now causeth my heart almost to burst in my breast, with the desire it hath to trye this Adventure, how difficult soever it shews it self: Wherefore ••ye my horse gyrts a little straighter, and farewell. Here in this place thou mayest expect me three dayes and no more. And if I shall 〈◊〉〈◊〉 return in that space; thou mayest goe back to our Village, and from thence (for my sake) to Toboso, where thou shalt say to my incomparable Lady Dulcinea, that her captive Knight dyed, by attempting things that might make him worthy to bee called hers.

When Sancho heard his Lord speak these words, he began to weep with the greatest compassion of the World, and say unto him; Sir, I see no reason why you should under∣take this fearfull Adventure: it is now night, and no body can perceive us; we may very well crosse the way, and apart our selves from danger, although we should therefore want drink these three dayes. And seeing none behold us, there will be much lesse any one to take notice of our cowardize; the rather because I heard oft times the Curate of our Village, whom you know very well, preach, That he which seeks the ••••••ger perisheth therein; so that it is not good to ••empt God, undertaking such a huge Affair, out of which you cannot escape, but by miracle; and let those which Hea∣ven hath already wrought for you suffice, in delivering you from being costed in a Co∣verlet, as I was, and bringing you away a Victor, free, and safe, from among so many enemies as accompanied the dead man. And when all this shall not move or soften your hard heart, let this move it, to think and certainly believe, that scarce shall you depart from this place, when through very fear I shall give up my Soul to him that pleaseth to take it. I left my Countrey, Wife, and Children to come and serve you, hoping thereby to be worth more, and not lesse: But as cove••••••nesse breaks the Sack, so hath it also torne my Hopes, seeing when they were most pregnant and lively to obt••in that unluckle and accursed Island, which you promised me so often: I see that in exchange & pay thereof, you mean to forsake me here in a Desart, out of all frequen∣tation. For Gods sake doe not me such a wrong my Lord; and if you will not wholy desist from your purpose, yet de••er it at least till the morning; for as my little skill that I learned when I was a Sheepheard, telleth me, the dawning is not three hours off, [Porque la bocade la bozinaist alucina de l•• cabeo••. p. 168.] for the mouth of the Fish is over the head, and maketh mid-night in the line of the left arme. How canst thou Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, see where is the line, or that mouth, or that talle of which thou speakest, seeing the night is so darke that one star alone appeareth not? That is true, quoth Sancho, but fear hath eyes which can see things under the ground, and much more in the skies. And besides, we may gather by good discourse, that the day is not far off. Let it be as little off as it lists, quoth Don-Quixote; it shall never be recorded of me, that either tears, or prayers could ever disswade me from performing the duty

of a Knight; and therefore good Sancho hold thy peace, for God who hath inspired me to attempt this unseen and fearfull Adventure, will have an eye to my weale, and also to comfort thy sorrow. And that thou hast therefore to doe, is to make straigh my gyrts, and remain here; for I will return shortly either alive or dead.

Sancho perceiving his Lords last resolution, and how little his teares, counsailes or prayers could availe, resolved to profit himselfe a little of his wit, and make him if hee could to expect untill day, and so when hee did fasten the gyrts, hee softly, without be∣ing felt, tyed his Asses halter to both Rozinantes legs so falt, that when Don-Quixote thought to depart hee could not, for that his Horse could not goe a step, but ••••aping. Sancho seeing the good successe of his guile, said, behold Sir how Heaven, moved by my teares and prayers, hath ordained that Rozinante should not goe a step; and if you will bee still contending and spurring, and striking him, you will doe nothing but in∣rage fortune, and as the Proverb saies, But spurne against the pri••k. Don-Quixote grew wood at this, and yet the more hee spurred him, hee was the lesse able to goe; wherefore without perceiving the cause of his Horses stay, hee resolved at last to bee quiet, and expect either till the morning, or else till Rozinante would please to depart, believing verily that the impediment came of some other cause, and not from Sancho; and therefore said unto him: Since it is so Sancho, that Rozinante cannot stir him, I am content to tarry till the dawning, although her tardines••e cost me some tears. You shall have no cause to weep, replyed Sancho; for I will entertain you telling of Histories untill it be day if you will not alight and take a nap upon these green hearbs, as Knights Errant are wont, that you may be the fresher, and better able to morrow, to attempt that monstrous Adventure which you expect. What doest thou call alight∣ing, or sleeping, quoth Don-Quixote? Am I peradventure one of those Knights that repose in time of danger? Sleep thou who wast borne to sleep, or doe what thou please; for I will doe that which I shall see fittest for my pretence. Good Sir be not angry, quoth Sancho, for I did not speak with that intention: And so drawing neer unto him, he set one of his hands on the pomell of the saddle, and the other hinder in such sort, that he rested imbracing his Lords left thigh, not daring to depart from thence the bredth of a finger, such was the fear he had of those blows, which all the while did sound without ceasing.

Then Don Quixote commanded him to tell some tale to passe away the time, as hee had promised, and Sancho said hee would, if the feare of that which hee heard would suffer him. Yet, quoth hee, for all this I will encourage my selfe to tell you one, whereon if I can hit aright, and that I bee not interrupted, is the best History that ever you heard, and bee you attentive for now I begin. It was, that it was, the good that shall befall, bee for us all, and the ••arme for him that searches it. And you must be ad∣vertised good Sir, that the beginning that ancient men gave to their tales, was not of ordinary things, and it was a sentence of Cato the Roman 〈◊〉〈◊〉: Which saies, and the harme bee for him that searches it: Which is as fit for this place as a ring for a finger, to the end that you may bee quiet, and not to goe seeke your owne harme to any place, but that wee turne us another way, for no body compelleth us to follow this, where so many feares doe surprize us. Prosecute this tale Sancho, said Don-Quixote, and leave the charge of the way wee must goe to mee. I say then quoth Sancho, that in a vil∣lage of Estremadura, there was a Sheepheard, I would say a Goateheard. And as I say of my tale, this Goatheard was called Lope R••yz, and this Lope R••yz was enamou∣red on a Sheepheardesse who was called Torralua, the which Sheepheardesse called Tor∣ralua was daughter to a rich Heard-man, and this rich heard-man. If thou tellest thy tale Sancho after that manner, quoth Don-Quixote, repeating every thing twice that thou sayest, thou wilt not end it these two dayes; tell it succin••tly, and like one of judgement, or else say nothing. Of the very same fashion that I tell, are all tales told in my Countrey and I know not how to tell it any other way, nor is it reason that you should aske of mee to make new customes. Tell it as thou pleasest, quoth Don-Quixote for since fortune will not otherwise, but that I must heare thee, goe forward. So that my deere Sir of my Soule, quoth Sancho, that as I have said already, this Sheep heard

was in love with Torralua the Sheepheard esse, who was a round wench, scornefull, and drew somwhat neere to a man, for shee had Mochachoes, for mee thinks I see her now before my face. Belike then, quoth Don Quixote thou knewest her? I did not know her quoth Sancho, but hee that told mee the tale, said it was so certaine and true, that I might when I told it to any other, very well sweare and affirme that I had seene it all my selfe. So that dayes passing and dayes coming, the Devill who sleepes not, and that troubles all [Yque tod••lo annasca. pag. 172,] wrought in such sort, as the love that the Sheepheard bore to the Sheepheardesse turned into man-slaughter and ill will, and the cause was according to bad tongues; a certaine quantity of little jealousies that shee gave him, such as they past the line, and came to the forbidden [A Spanish Proverb touching their jealousie.] And the Sheepheard did hate her so much afterward that hee was content to leave all that Countrey because hee would not see her, and goe where his eyes should never looke upon her. Torralua that saw her selfe disdayned by Lope, did presently love him better then ever shee did before; that is a naturall conditi∣on of women, quoth Don-Quixote, to disdaine those that love them, and to affect those which hate them. Passe forward Sancho. It hapned quoth Sancho, that the Sheepheard set his purpose in execution, and gathering up his Goates, hee travelled through the fields of Estremadura, to passe into the Kingdom of Portugall. Torralua, which knew it well, followed him a foote and bare legged, a farre off, with a Pilgrims staffe in her hand, and a Wallet hanging at her neck, where they say that shee carried a peece of a looking-glasse, and another of a combe, and I know not what little bottle of changes for her face. But let her carry what shee carries, for I will not put my selfe now to verifie that: Only I'le say that they say, that the Sheepheard arived with his Goates to passe over the River Guadiana, which in that season was swoln very much, and overflowed the banks, and at the side where hee came there was neither boate nor barke, nor any to passe himself or his Goats over the River, for which hee was very much grieved, because hee saw that Torralua came very neere, and shee would trouble him very much with her prayers and teares. But hee went so long looking up and downe, that hee spyed a fisher, who had so little a boate, as it could only hold one man and a Goate at once, and for all that hee spake and agreed with him to passe him∣self and three hundred Goates that hee had over the River. The fisher-man entred in∣to the boate, and caried over one Goate, hee returned and past over another, and tur∣ned back again and past over another. Keep you Sir good account of the Goates, that the fisherman ferries over, for if one only bee forgotten, the tale will end, and it will not be possible to tell one word more of it. Follow on then, and I say, that the land∣ing place on the other side was very dirty and slippery, which made the fisherman spend much time coming too and fro. Yet for all that he turned for another Goate, and ano∣ther, and another.

Make account quoth Don-Quixote, that thou hast past them all over, for otherwise thou wilt not make an end of passing them in a whol yeeres space. How many said Sancho are already past over? What a Devill know I, said Don-Quixote? See there that which I said quoth Sancho, that you should keepe good account. By Iove the tale is ended therefore, for there is no passing forward. How can that bee, said Don-Qui∣xote, is it so greatly of the essence of this History to know the Goates that are past so exactly and distinctly, that if one of the number bee missed thou canst not follow on with thy tale? No Sir, in no sort, said Sancho, for as soone as I demanded of you to tell mee how many Goates past over, and that you answered mee you knew not, in that very instant it went from me out of my memorie all that was to bee told, and yfaith it was of great virtue and content. So then quoth Don-Quixote, the tale is ended; it is as certainly ended as is my Mother quoth Sancho. Surely, replyed Don-Quixote, thou hast recounted one of the rarest tales or Histories that any one of the world could thinke upon, and that such a manner of telling or finishing a tale, was never yet seene, or shall bee seene againe, although I never expected any other thing from thy good dis∣course. But I doe not greatly marvaile, for perhaps those senselesse strokes, have trou∣bled thine understanding. All that may bee said Sancho, but I know in the discourse

of my tale there is no more to be said, but that there is ends, where the errour of count∣ing the Goats that were wafted over the River begins. Let it end in a good hour where it lists, answered Don-Quixote, and let us trie whether Rozinante can yet stir himself; then did he turn again to give him the spurs, and he to leap as he did at the first and rest anew, being unable to doe other, he was so well shackled.

It hapned about this time, that either through the cold of the morning, or that Sancho had eaten at supper some lenative meats, or that it was a thing naturall (and that is most credible) he had a desire to doe that which others could not doe for him; but such was the fear that entred into his heart, as he dared not depart from his Lord the bredth of a straw; and to think to leave that which he had desired undone, was also impossible; therefore his resolution in that perplexed exigent (be it spoken with pardon) was this; he loosed his right hand, wherewithall he held fast the hinder part of the saddle, and therewithall very softly, and without any noyse, he untied the Cod∣piece poynt wherewithall his breeches were only supported, which, that being let slip, did presently fall down about his legs like a pair of bolts: After this lifting up his shirt the best he could, he exposed his buttocks to the aire, which were not the least: This be∣ing done, which as he thought was the chiefest thing requisite to issue out of that terrible anguish and plunge; he was suddainly troubled with a greater, to wit, That he knew not how to disburden himself without making a noyse: which to avoyd first he shut his teeth close, lifted up his shoulders, and gathered up his breath as much as he might: yet notwithstanding all these diligences, he was so unfortunate, that he made a little noyse at the end, much different from that which made him so fearefull. Don-Quixote heard it, and said, What noyse is that Sancho? I know it not Sir, quoth he; I think it be some new thing for Adventures, or rather disventures never begin with a little. Then turned' he once again to trie his hap, and it succeeded so well, that without making any rumour or noyse, but that which he did at the first, he found himself free of the loading the troubled him so much.

But Don-Quixote having the sense of smelling, as perfect as that of his hearing; and Sancho stood so neer, or rather joyned to him, as the vapours did ascend upward, al∣most by a direct line, he could not excuse himself but that some of them must needs touch his nose. And scarce had they arrived, but that he occurd to the usuall remedy, and stopped it very well between his fingers, and then said with a snaffling voyce: Me thinks Sancho that thou art much afraid. I am indeed, replyed Sancho; but wherein I pray you, doe you perceive it now more then ever? In that thou smellest now more then ever, quoth Don-Quixote, and that not of Amber. It may be so, quoth Sancho; yet the fault is not mine, but yours, which bring me at such unseasonable hours, through so desolate and fearfull places. I pray thee friend retire thy self two or three steps back, quoth Don-Quixote, holding his fingers still upon his nose; and from henceforth have more care of thy person, and of the respect thou owest to mine; for I see the overmuch familiarity that I use with thee, hath ingendred this contempt. I dare wa∣ger, quoth Sancho, that you think I have done somewhat with my person that I ought not. Friend Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, it is the worse to stir it thus. And thus in these and such like conversation the Master and the Man passed over the night. And Sancho seeing that the morning approached, he loosed Rozinante very warily, and tyed up his hose, Rozinante feelling himself (although hee was not naturally very coura∣gious) hee seemed to rejoyce, and began to beat the ground with his hoofs; for by his leave he could never yet curvet. Don-Quixote seeing that Rozinante could now stir, accounted it to be a good signe, and an incouragement of him to attempt that timorous Adventure.

By this Aurora did display her purple mantle over the face of Heaven, and every thing appeared distinctly, which made Don-Quixote perceive that he was among a number of tall Chesnut-trees, which commonly make a great shadow: He heard like∣wise those incessable stroaks, but could not espie the cause of them; wherefore giving Rozinante presently the spur, and turning back again to Sancho, to bid him farewell, he commanded him to stay for him there three dayes at the longest, and that if he re∣turned

not after that space, he should make full account that Iove was pleased hee should end his dayes in that dangerous Adventure.

After this charge given by Don-Quixote to Sancho, hee repeated to him againe the embassage and errant hee should cary in his behalfe to his Lady Dulcinea, and that tou∣ching the reward of his services hee should not feare any thing, for hee had left his Te∣stament, made before hee departed from his Village, where hee should finde himselfe gratif••ed touching all that which pertained to his hyre, according to the rate of the time hee had served. But if God would bring him off from that Adventure safe and sound, and without danger, hee might fully account to receive the promised Island. Here Sancho began anew to weepe, hearing againe the pittifull discourses of his good Lord, and determined not to abandon him untill the last trance and end of that affaire, and out of these teares and honourable resolution of Sancho, the author of this History col∣lects, that it is like hee was well borne, or at the very least an old Christian, whose grief did move his Master a little, but not so much as he should shew the least argument of weakness, but rather dissembling it the best he could, he followed on his way towards the way of the water, and that where the stroakes were heard. Sancho followed him a foote, leading as he was wont his Asse by the halter, who was the inseparable fellow of his prosperous or adverse fortunes.

And having travelled a good space among these Chesnut and shady trees, they came out into a little plaine that stood at the foote of certaine steepe Rocks, from whose tops did precipitate it self a great fall of water. There were at the foot of those rockes certaine houses, so ill made, as they rather seemed ruines of buildings then houses; from whence as they perceived, did issue the fearfull rumour and noyse of the stroaks, which yet continued. Rozinante at this dreadfull noyse did start, and being made quiet by his Lord Don-Quixote, did by little and little draw neer to the houses, recommending himself on the way most devoutly to his Ladie Dulcinea, and al∣so to Iove, desiring him that hee would not forget him. Sancho never departed from his Lords side, and stretched out his neck and eyes as farr as he might through Rozinan∣te his legg••, to see if he could perceive that which held him so fearfull and suspen∣ded. And after they had travelled about a hundred paces, more at the dubling of a point of a Mountaine they saw the very cause patent and open (for there could bee none other) of that so hideous and fearefull a noyse that had kept them all the night so doubtfull and affrighted, and was (O Reader if thou wilt not take it in bad part) six iron Maces that fulled cloath, which with their interchangeable blowes, did forme that marvelous noyse.

When Don-Quixote saw what it was, hee waxed mute and all ashamed. Sancho beheld him, and saw that hee hanged his head on his breast with tokens that hee was somewhat ashamed. Don-Quixote looked also on his Squire, and saw his cheeks swolne with laughter, giving withall evident signes that hee was in danger to burst, if he vent∣ed not that passion, whereat all Don-Quixotes melancholy little prevayling, he could not, beholding Sancho, but laugh also himselfe. And when Sancho saw his Master begin the play, hee let slip the prisoner, in such violent manner pressing his sides with both his hands, to save himselfe from bursting. Foure times hee ended, and other foure he renewed his laughter, with as great impulse and force as at the first, whereat Don-Qui∣xote was wonderfully enraged, but chiefly hearing him say, in jibing manner; I would have thee know friend Sancho, that I was borne by the disposition of Heaven in this our age of Iron, to renewe in it that of gold, or the golden world. I am hee for whom are reserved all dangerous, great and valorous feats. And in this sort hee went repeating all or the greatest part of the words Don-Quixote had said the first time that they heard the timerous blowes, Don-Quixote perceiving that Sancho mock't him, grew so ashamed and angry withall, that lifting up the end of his lance, hee gave him two such blowes on the back, as if hee had received them on his pate, would have freed his Ma∣ster from paying him any wages, if it were not to his Heires. Sancho, seeing that hee gayned so ill earnest by his jests, fearing that his Master should goe onward with it, he said unto him with very great submission; Pacifie your selfe good Sir, for by Iove I

did but jest. But why doest thou jest? I tell thee I doe not jest, quoth Don-Quixote. Come here Master Merriman, thinkest thou that as those are iron Maces to full Cloth, if they were some other dangerous Adventure, that I have not shewn resolution enough to undertake and finish it? Am I by chance oblieged, being, as I am, a Knight, to know and distinguish noyses, and perceive which are of a Fulling-Mill, or no? And more it might (as it is true) that I never saw any before as thou hast done, base Villain that thou art, born and braught up among the like: if not, make thou that these six Maces be converted into Giants, and cast them in my beard one by one, or all together; and when I doe not turn all their heels up, then mock me as much as thou pleasest.

No more good Sir, quoth Sancho, for I confesse I have been somewhat too laugh∣some; but tell me I pray you, now that we are in peace, as God shall deliver you out of all Adventures that may befall you as whole and sound, as he hath done out of this: Hath not the great fear we were in, been a good subject of laughter, and a thing worthy the telling? At least I, for of you, I am certain that you doe not yet know what fear or terrour is. I doe not denye, quoth Don-Quixote, but that which befell us is worthy of laughter; yet ought it not to be recounted, for as much as all persons are not so discreet, as to know how to discerne one thing from another, and set every thing in his right poynt. You know at least wise, quoth Sancho, how to set your Javelin in his poynt, when poynting at my pate you hit me on the shoulders, thanks be to God, and to the diligence I put in going aside. But farewell it, for all will away in the bucking; and I have heard old folk say, That man loves thee well who makes thee to weep: And besides great Lords are wont after a bad word which they say to one of their Servingmen, to bestow on him presently a pair of hose. But I know not yet what they are wont to give them after blows, if it be not that Knights Errant give after the Bastanado Islands, or Kingdoms on the continent. The Die might run so favourably; quoth Don-Quixote, as all thou hast said might come to passe; and therefore pardon what is done since thou art discreet, and knowest that a mans first motions are not in his hand. And be advertised of one thing from hence forward to the end to abstain, and carry thy self more respectively in thy over-much liberty of speech with me) that in as many books of Chivalry as I have read, which are infi∣nite, I never found that any Squire spoak so much with his Lord, as thou doest with thine: which in good sooth I doe attribute to thy great indiscretion and mine; thine in respecting me so little; mine in not making my self to be more regarded. Was not Gandalin, Amadis du Gaules Squire Earl of the firm Island? and yet it is read of him, that hee spoak to his Lord with his Cap in his hand, his head bowed, and his body bended (more Turcesco.) What then shall we say of Gasabel, Don Gataors Squire, who was so silent, as to declare us the excellencie thereof, his name is but once repeated in all that so great and authenticall a History? Of all which my words Sancho, thou must infer, that thou must make difference between the Master and the man; the Lord and his Serving-man; the Knight and his Squire. So that from this day forward we must proceed with more respect, not letting the clew run so much; for after what way soever I grow angry with thee, it will be bad for the Pitcher. The rewards and benefits that I have promised thee will come in their time; and if they doe not, thy wages cannot be lost (as I have already said to thee).

You say very well, quoth Sancho, but fain would I learn (in case that the time of rewards came not, and that I must of necessity trust to my wages) how much a Knight Errants Squire did gain in times past? Or if they did agree for moneths, or by dayes as Masons men. I doe not think, quoth Don-Quixote, that they went by the hire, but only trusted to their Lords courtesie. And if I have assigned wages to thee in my sealed Testament, which I left at home, it was to prevent the worst; because I know not yet what successe Chivalry may have in these our so miserable times; and I would not have my Soul suffer in the other world for such a minuity as is thy wages. For thou must understand, that in this world there is no state so dangerous as that of Knights Errant. That is most true, replyed Sancho, seeing the only sound of the Maces of a

Fulling-Mill could trouble and disquiet the heart of so valiant a Knight as you are. But you may be sure, that I will not hereafter once unfold my lips to jest at your doings, but only to honour you as my Master and naturall Lord. By doing so, replyed Don-Quixote, thou shalt live on the face of the earth; for next to our parents, we are bound to respect our Masters, as if they were our Fathers.