the contrary, when he approached them, he called aloud, "Fly not, ye base and cowardly miscreants, for he is but a single knight who now attacks you." At this instant, a breeze of wind springing up, the great sails began to turn; which being perceived by Don Quixote,

CHAP. VIII.

Of the happy success of the valiant Don Quixote, and the dreadful and inconceivable adventure of the windmills, with other incidents worthy to be recorded by the most able historian.

In the midst of this their conversation, they discovered thirty or forty wind-mills all together on the plain, which the knight no sooner perceived, than he said to his 'squire, "Chance has conducted our affairs even better than we could either wish or hope for; look there, friend Sancho, and behold thirty or forty outrageous giants, with whom I intend to engage in battle, and put every soul of them to death, so that we may begin to enrich ourselves with their spoils; for it is a meritorious warfare, and serviceable both to God and man, to extirpate such a wicked race from the face of the earth." "What giants do you mean?" said Sancho Panza in amaze. "Those you see yonder (replied his master), with vast extended arms, some of which are two leagues long." "I would your worship would take notice (replied Sancho), that those you see yonder are no giants, but windmills; and what seem arms to you are sails, which, being turned with the wind, make the mill-stone work." "It seems very plain (said the knight), that you are but a novice in adventures; these I affirm to be giants, and if thou art afraid, get out of the reach of danger, and put up thy prayers for me, while I join with them in fierce and unequal combat." So saying, he put spurs to his steed Rozinante, without paying the least regard to the cries of his 'squire Sancho, who assured him, that those he was going to attack were no giants, but innocent windmills: but he was so much possessed with the opinion that they were giants, that he neither heard the advice of the 'squire Sancho, nor would use the intelligence of his own eyes, though he was very near them: on

ever belonged to the giant Briareus, I will make you pay for your insolence." So saying, and heartily recommending himself to his lady Dulcinea, whom he implored to succour him in this emergency, bracing on his target, and setting his lance in the rest, he put his Rozinante to full speed, and assaulting the nearest windmill, thrust it into one of the sails, which was drove about by the wind with so much fury, that the lance was shivered to pieces, and both knight and steed whirled aloft, and overthrown in very bad plight upon the plain.

Sancho Panza rode as fast as the ass could carry him to his assistance; and when he came up, found him unable to stir, by reason of the bruises which he and Rozinante had received. "Lord have mercy upon us! (said the 'squire), did not I tell your worship to consider well what you were about? Did not I assure you, they were no other than windmills? Indeed nobody could mistake them for any thing else, but one who has windmills in his own head!" "Pr'ythee, hold thy peace, friend Sancho (replied Don Quixote); the affairs of war are, more than any thing, subject to change. How much more so, as I believe, nay am certain, that the sage Freston, who stole my closet and books, has converted those giants into mills, in order to rob me of the honour of their overthrow; such is the enmity he bears me; but in the end all his treacherous arts will but little avail against the vigour of my sword." "God's will be done!" replied Sancho Panza, who helped him to rise and mount Rozinante, that was almost disjointed.

While they conversed together upon what had happened, they followed the road that leads to the pass of Lapice; for in that, which was a great thoroughfare, as Don Quixote observed, it was impossible but they must meet with many and divers adventures. As he jogged along, a good deal concerned for the loss of his lance, he said to his 'squire, "I remember to have read of a Spanish knight, called Diego Perez de Vargos, who, having broke his sword in battle, tore off a mighty branch or bough from an oak, with which he performed such wonders, and felled so many Moors, that he retained the name of Manchuca, or the feller, and all his descendants from that day forward have gone by the name of Vargos and Manchuca. This circumstance I mention to thee, because, from the first ash or oak that

I meet with, I ain resolved to rend as large and stout a bough as that, with which I expect and intend to perform such exploits as thou shalt think thyself extremely happy in being thought worthy to see, and give testimony to feats, otherwise incredible." "By God's help (says Sancho,) I believe that every thing will happen as your worship says; but pray, sir, sit a little more upright, for you seem to lean strangely to one side, which must proceed from the bruises you received in your fall." "Thou art in the right (answered Don Quixote), and if I do not complain of the pain, it is because knights-errant are not permitted to complain of any wound they receive, even though their bowels should come out of their bodies." "If that be the case, I have nothing to reply (said Sancho), but, God knows, I should be glad your worship would complain when any thing gives you pain: this I know, that, for my own part, the smallest prick in the world would make me complain, if that law of not complaining does not reach to the 'squires as well as to the knights." Don Quixote could not help smiling at the simplicity of his 'squire, to whom he gave permission to complain as much and as often as he pleased, whether he had cause or no; for, as yet, he had read nothing to the contrary in the history of knight-errantry.

Then Sancho observing that it was dinner time, his master told him, that for the present he had no occasion for food; but that he, his 'squire, might go to victuals when he pleased. With this permission, Sancho adjusted himself as well as he could upon his ass, and, taking out the provision with which he had stuffed his wallet, he dropped behind his master a good way, and kept his jaws a-going as he jogged along, lifting the bottle to his head, from time to time, with so much satisfaction, that the most pampered vintner of Malaga might have envied his situation.

While he travelled in this manner, repeating his agreeable draughts, he never thought of the promise which his master had made to him, nor considered it as a toil, but rather as a diversion, to go in quest of adventures, how dangerous so ever they might be: in fine, that night they passed under a tuft of trees, from one of which Don Quixote tore a withered branch, to serve instead of a lance, and fitted to it the iron head he had taken from that which was broken: all night long the knight closed not an eye, but mused upon his lady Dulcinea, in order to accommodate himself to what he had read of those errants who had passed many sleepless

nights in woods and deserts, entertaining themselves with the remembrance of their mistresses.

This was not the case with Sancho Panza, whose belly being well replenished, and that not with plantain water, made but one nap of the whole night, and even then would not have waked unless his master had called to him, notwithstanding the sunbeams that played upon his face, and the singing of the birds, which in great numbers, and joyous melody, saluted the approach of the new day. The first thing he did when he got up was to visit his bottle, which finding considerably more lank than it was the night before, he was grievously afflicted, because in the road that they pursued he had no hopes of being able in a little time to supply its defect. Don Quixote refusing to breakfast, because, as we have already said, he regaled himself with the savoury remembrance of his mistress, they pursued their journey towards the pass, which, after three days' travelling, they discovered. "Here (cried Don Quixote), here, brother Sancho Panza, we shall be able to dip our hands up to the elbows in what is called adventure; but take notice, although thou seest me beset with the most extreme danger, thou must by no means even so much as lay thy hand upon thy sword with design to defend me, unless I am assaulted by vulgar and low-born antagonists, in which case thou mayest come to my assistance; but if they are knights, thou art by no means permitted or licensed, by the laws of chivalry, to give me the least succour, until thou thyself hast received the honour of knighthood.' "As for that matter (replied Sancho,) your worship shall be obeyed to a tittle, for I am a very peaceable man, and not at all fond of meddling with riots and quarrels. True, indeed, in the defence of my own person, I shall not pay much regard to the said laws, seeing every one that is aggrieved is permitted to defend himself by all the laws of God and man." "I say nothing to the contrary (replied Don Quixote), but in the affair of assisting me against knights, thou must keep thy natural impetuosity under the rein." "That will I (answered Sancho), and keep your honour's command as strictly as I keep the Lord's day."

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While they were engaged in this conversation, there appeared before them two Benedictine monks mounted upon dromedaries, for their mules were not much less, with their travelling spectacles and umbrellas; after them came a coach, accompanied by four or five people on horse

back, and two mule-drivers on foot. In this carriage, it was afterwards known, a Biscayan lady was travelling to Seville to her husband, who was bound to the Indies with a rich cargo. Don Quixote no sooner perceived the friars (who, though they travelled the same road, were not of her company), than he said to his 'squire, "If I am not very much mistaken, this will be the most famous adventure that ever was known; for those black apparitions on the road must doubtless be enchanters, who are carrying off in that coach some princess they have stolen; and there is a necessity for my exerting my whole power in redressing her wrongs. "This will be worse than the windmills (cried Sancho), for the love of God! sir, consider that these are Benedictine friars, and those who are in the coach can be no other than common travellers. Mind what I say, and consider what you do, and let not the devil deceive you." I have told thee already Sancho (replied Don Quixote), that, with regard to adventures, thou art utterly ignorant: what I say is true, and in a moment thou shalt be convinced." So saying, he rode forward, and placed himself in the middle of the highway through which the friars were to pass; and when he thought them near enough to hear what he said, he pronounced, in a loud voice, "Monstrous and diabolical race! surrender, this instant, those high-born princesses, whom you carry captives in that coach, or prepare to receive immediate death, as a just punishment for your misdeeds." The friars immediately stopped short, astonished as much at the figure as at the discourse of Don Quixote: to which they replied," Sir Knight, we are neither diabolical nor monstrous, but innocent monks of the order of St Benedict, who are going this way about our own affairs, neither do we know of any princesses that are carried captives in that coach." "These fawning speeches (said Don Quixote), shall not impose upon me, who know too well what a treacherous pack ye are ;" and, without waiting for any other reply, he put spurs to Rozinante, and, couching his lance, attacked the first friar with such fury and resolution, that, if he had not thrown himself from his mule, he would have come to the ground extremely ill-handled, not without some desperate wound, nay, perhaps stone dead. The second monk, who saw how his companion had been treated, clapped spurs to the flanks of his trusty mule, and flew through the field even swifter than the wind.

Sancho Panza, seeing the friar on the ground, leaped from his ass with great agility, and beginning to uncase him with the utmost dexterity, two of their servants came up, and asked

for what reason he stripped their master? The 'squire replied, that the clothes belonged to him, as the spoils that Don Quixote his lord had won in battle: but the others, who did not understand raillery, nor know any thing of spoils and battles, seeing Don Quixote at a good distance, talking with the ladies in the coach, went to loggerheads with Sancho, whom they soon overthrew, and, without leaving one hair of his beard, mauled him so unmercifully, that he lay stretched upon the ground without sense or motion. Then, with the utmost despatch, the friar mounted, as pale as a sheet, and almost frightened to death, and no sooner found himself on horseback, than he gallopped towards his companion, who tarried at a good distance, to see the issue of this strange adventure. However, being joined again, without waiting for the conclusion of it, they pursued their journey, making as many crosses as if the devil had been at their backs.

Don Quixote, in the mean time, as we have already observed, was engaged in conversation with the lady in the coach, to whom he expressed himself in this manner: "Beautiful lady, you may now dispose of your own person according to your pleasure; for the pride of your ravishers lies level with the ground, being overthrown by this my invincible arm; and that you may be at no difficulty in understanding the name of your deliverer, know that I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, knight-errant, adventurer, and captive of the unparalleled and beautiful Donna Dulcinea del Toboso: and the only acknowledgment I expect for the benefit you have received is, that you return to that place, and, presenting yourself before my mistress, tell her what I have performed in behalf of your liberty." This whole address of the knight was overheard by a Biscayan 'squire, who accompanied the coach, and who, seeing that he would not allow the carriage to pass forward, but insisted upon their immediate returning to Toboso, rode up to Don Quixote, and, laying hold of his lance, spoke to him thus, in bad Castilian, and worse Biscayan: "Get thee gone, cavalier, go to the devil, I zay; vor, by the God that made her, if thou wilt not let the coach alone, che will kill thee dead, as zure as che was a Biscayan." The knight, understanding very well what he said, replied with great composure, "If thou wast a gentleman, as thou art not, I would chastise thy insolence and rashness, wretched creature." "I not a gentleman! (replied the Biscayan in great choler); by God in heaven! thou liest, as I am a Christian: if thou wilt throw away thy lance, and draw thy sword, che will soon zee which be the better man. Biscayan by land, gentleman by zea,

gentleman by devil; and thou liest, look ye, in thy throat, if thou zayest otherwise." "Thou shalt see that presently, as Agragis said," replied Don Quixote, who, throwing his lance upon the ground, unsheathing his sword, and bracing on his target, attacked the Biscayan with full resolution to put him to death.*

His antagonist, who saw him approach, fain would have alighted from his mule (which, being one of the worst that ever was let out for hire, could not much be depended upon); but he scarce had time to draw his sword; however, being luckily near the coach, he snatched out of it a cushion, which served him as a shield, and then they flew upon each other as two mortal enemies. The rest of the people who were present endeavoured, but in vain, to appease them; for the Biscayan swore, in his uncouth expres sions, that if they did not leave him to fight the battle, he would certainly murder his mistress, and every body who should pretend to oppose it. The lady in the coach, surprised and frightened at what she saw, ordered the coachman to drive a little out of the road to a place from whence she could see at a distance this rigorous engagement. In the course of which, the Biscayan bestowed such a huge stroke upon the shoulder of Don Quixote, that, if it had not been for the defence of his buckler, he would have been cleft down to his girdle. The knight, feeling the shock of such an unconscionable blow, exclaimed aloud, "O Dulcinea! lady of my soul, thou rose of beauty, succour thy knight, who, for the satisfaction of thy excessive goodness, is now involved in this dreadful emergency!" To pronounce these words, to raise his sword, to secure himself with his target, and attack the Biscayan, was the work of one instant; for he was determined to risk his all

upon a single stroke. His antagonist, who saw him advance, and by this time was convinced of his courage by his resolution, determined to follow his example; and, covering himself with his cushion, waited his assult, without being able to turn his mule either on one side or the other for she was already so jaded, and so little accustomed to such pastime, that she would not move one step out of the way.

Don Quixote then, as we have said, advanced against the cautious Biscayan, his sword lifted up with an intention to cleave him through the middle: the Biscayan waited his attack in the same posture, being shielded with his cushion. The frightened bye-standers stood aloof, intent upon the success of those mighty strokes that threatened each of the combatants; and the lady in the coach, with the rest of her attendants, put up a thousand prayers to Heaven, and vowed an offering to every image and house of devotion in Spain, provided God would deliver the 'squire and them from the imminent danger in which they were: but the misfortune is, that in this very critical instant, the author of the history has left this battle in suspense, excusing himself, that he could find no other account of Don Quixote's exploits, but what has already been related. True it is, that the second author of this work could not believe that such a curious history was consigned to oblivion; nor that there could be such a scarcity of curious virtuosi in la Mancha, but that some papers relating to this famous knight should be found in their archives or cabinets: and therefore, possessed of this opinion, he did not despair of finding the conclusion of this delightful history, which indeed he very providentially lighted upon, in the manner which will be related in the second book.

CHAP. I.

The conclusion and consequence of the stupendous combat between the gallant Biscayan and the valiant Knight of La Mancha.

In the first book of this history we left the valiant Biscayan and renowned Don Quixote with their gleaming swords brandished aloft,

about to discharge two such furious strokes as must (if they had cut sheer) have cleft them both asunder from top to toe, like a couple of pomegranates; and in this dubious and critical conjuncture, the delicious history abruptly breaks off, without our being informed by the author where or how that which is wanting may be found.

I was not a little concerned at this disappoint

ment; for the pleasure I enjoyed in the little I had read was changed into disgust, when I reflected on the small prospect I had of finding the greater part of this relishing story, which, in my opinion, was lost: and yet it seemed impossible and contrary to every laudable custom, that such an excellent knight should be unprovided with some sage to undertake the history of his unheard-of exploits,—a convenience which none of those knights-errant who went in quest of adventures ever wanted, each of them having been accommodated with one or two necromancers, on purpose to record not only his achievements, but even his most hidden thoughts and amusements. Surely then such a complete errant could not be so unlucky as to want that, which even Platil and other such second-rate warriors enjoyed.

I could not therefore prevail upon myself to believe that such a spirited history was left so lame and unfinished, but laid the whole blame on the malignity of time, which wastes and devours all things, and by which, no doubt, this was either consumed or concealed: on the other hand, I considered, that, as some books had been found in his library, so modern as the Undeceptions of Jealousy, together with the Nymphs and Shepherds of Henares, his own history must also be of a modern date, and the circumstances, though not committed to writing, still fresh in the memory of his neighbours and townsmen. This consideration perplexed and inflamed me with the desire of knowing the true and genuine account of the life and wonderful exploits of our Spanish worthy Don Quixote de la Mancha, the sun and mirror of Manchegan chivalry, the first who, in this our age, and these degenerate times, undertook the toil and exercise of errantry and arms, to redress grievances, support the widow, and protect those damsels who stroll about with whip and palfrey from hill to hill, and from dale to dale, on the strength of their virginity alone: for in times past, unless some libidinous clown with hatchet and morrion, or monstrous giant, forced her to his brutal wishes, a damsel might have lived fourscore years without ever lying under any other cover than that of heaven, and then gone to her grave as good a maiden as the mother that bore her. I say, therefore, that for these and many other considerations, our gallant Don Quixote merits incessant and immortal praise; and even I myself may claim some share for my labour and diligence in finding the conclusion of this agreeable history; though I am well aware, that if I had not been favoured by fortune, chance, or providence, the world would have been deprived of that pleasure and satisfaction which the attentive reader may enjoy for an hour or two, in perusing what follows: the manner of my finding it I will now recount.

While I was walking one day on the exchange of Toledo, a bov coming up to a certain mercer,

offered to sell him a bundle of old papers he had in his hand now, as I have always a strong propensity to read even those scraps that some times fly about the streets, I was led by this my natural curiosity to turn over some of the leaves: I found them written in Arabic, which not being able to read, though I knew the characters, I looked about for some Portuguese Moor who should understand it; and, indeed, though the language had been both more elegant and ancient, I might easily have found an interpreter. In short, I lighted upon one, to whom expressing my desire, and putting the pamphlet into his hands, he opened it in the middle, and, after having read a few lines, be gan to laugh; when I asked the cause of his laughter, he said it was occasioned by a whimsical annotation in the margin of the book. I begged he would tell me what it was, and he answered, still laughing, "What I find written in the margin is to this purpose: this same Dulcinea, so often mentioned in the history, is said to have had the best hand at salting pork of any woman in La Mancha."

Not a little surprised at hearing Dulcinea del Toboso mentioned, I immediately conjectured that the bundle actually contained the history of Don Quixote: possessed with this notion, I bade him, with great eagerness, read the titlepage, which, having perused, he translated it extempore from Arabic to Spanish, in these words: "The History of Don Quixote de la Mancha, written by Cid Hamet Benengeli, an Arabian Author." No small discretion was requisite to dissemble the satisfaction I felt, when my ears were saluted with the title of these papers, which, snatching from the mercer, I immediately bought in the lump for half a rial; though, if the owner had been cunning enough to discover my eagerness to possess them, he might have laid his account with getting twelve times the sum by the bargain.

I then retired with my Moor through the cloisters of the cathedral, and desired him to translate all those papers that related to Don Quixote into the Castilian tongue, without addition or diminution, offering to pay any thing he should charge for his labour: his demand was limited to two quarters of raisins, and as many bushels of wheat, for which he promised to translate them with great care, conciseness, and fidelity: but I, the more to facilitate the business, without parting with such a rich prize, conducted him to my own house, where, in little less than six weeks, he translated the whole, in the same manner as shall here be related.

In the first sheet was painted to the life the battle between Don Quixote and the Biscayan, who were represented in the same posture as the history has already described, their swords brandished aloft, one of the antagonists covered with his shield, the other with his cushion, and the Biscayan's mule so naturally set forth, that