Don Quixote

by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

Because of this kind of nonsense the poor man lost his wits, and he spent many a sleepless night trying to understand those words and to figure out their meaning, which Aristotle himself couldn’t have succeeded in doing, even if he were brought back to life for that sole purpose.

It’s true that to test its durability and to see if it could withstand a slash, he took out his sword and gave it two whacks. With the first one he instantly undid what had taken him a week to make. And the ease with which he’d knocked it to pieces truly seemed inauspicious to him. To protect himself from further danger, he made it again, and this time he put some iron straps inside to satisfy himself of its battle-worthiness. And, not willing to put it to the test once again, he deemed it a very sturdy helmet.

This kind of language, which the ladies didn’t understand, coupled with the strange aspect of our knight, increased their laughter, and his anger, and it would have gotten worse if at that moment the innkeeper hadn’t appeared. He, being quite fat, was very easygoing.

The young women, who were not accustomed to hearing such rhetoric, said nothing. They only asked him if he wanted something to eat. “I’ll eat anything,” responded don Quixote, “because I feel that it would do me a lot of good.”

Forewarned and now a bit afraid, the warden brought a book in which he recorded the straw and barley furnished to the muleteers, and with the stub of a candle that a boy held for him, and also with the damsels mentioned earlier, he went to where don Quixote was, and told him to kneel down. He read from his account book as if he were saying a devout prayer, and in the middle of his discourse, he raised the sword and gave him a stout thwack on his neck followed by a spirited slap on the shoulder, all the while murmuring, as if he were praying. Having done this, he had one of those ladies fasten his sword on him, which she did with great poise and tact, because not a little was needed so as not to burst out laughing throughout the ceremony. But the feats of the novice knight kept their laughter at bay.

That night the housekeeper burned all the books that were in the corral and in the whole house, and some must have burned that deserved to be kept in permanent archives. But their luck, and the sloth of the inquisitor, didn’t allow it, and so the old saying came true that “the pious sometimes suffer for the sinners.”

During this period, don Quixote made overtures to a neighbor of his, a peasant and an honest man—if that can be said about one who is poor165—but not very smart.

While they were having this conversation, two friars of the Benedictine order appeared along the road on two dromedaries, because the mules on which they were traveling were no smaller than that.

Other little details could be mentioned, but all of them are of little importance and they’re not critical to the true telling of the story, because no story is bad as long as it’s true.

From what he said, the travelers figured out that don Quixote was indeed crazy, and they saw the kind of madness that he had.

And let no one contradict me in this, except on the conditions that Cervino put at the bottom of the trophy of Orlando’s armor, which said: ‘Let no one move them who doesn’t want to battle with Roland.’

was born free, and in order to live free, I chose the solitude of the outdoors.

And such was the blindness of the poor hidalgo that neither the touch, nor the smell, nor anything else about the girl was enough to make him see how she really was, which was that she would make anyone but a muleteer vomit. He thought he had in his arms the goddess of beauty. And still clutching her, he began to say in a soft, amorous voice: “I’d like to have found myself in a position, beautiful and highborn lady, to respond to the favor that you’ve done me just by letting me see you. But Fortune, which never tires of persecuting good people, has placed me in this bed, where I lie beaten up and broken, so that even if my inclinations would allow me to satisfy yours, it would be impossible. And what makes this impossibility even more impossible is that I’ve promised fidelity to the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, the only lady of my most hidden thoughts. If all this didn’t prevent me, I wouldn’t be so foolish as to let such a wonderful opportunity as this one that your great goodness has given me pass me by.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” responded the innkeeper. “Just pay me what you owe me, and let’s hear no more about stories and chivalry. The only thing I care about is getting what is due me.” “You’re a foolish man and a bad innkeeper,” responded don Quixote.

. But don’t go just now—I need your help. Come over here and see how many teeth are missing, because it seems to me I don’t have any left in my mouth.”

“Sancho, no man is more than another unless he does more than another.

God, who provides everything, won’t fail us, and more so since we’re so much in His service. Since He doesn’t fail the gnats in the air, nor the worms in the earth, nor the tadpoles in the water, and is so merciful that He makes the sun shine on the good and the bad, and rains on the unjust and the just.”

La Torralba realized that Lope had scorned her, so immediately came to love him, although she never had before.” “That’s the natural condition of women—” said don Quixote, “to scorn whoever loves them and to love whoever hates them. Continue, Sancho.”

“How can that be?” responded don Quixote. “Is it so important to the story to keep track of the goats that have been taken over, so that if one of them is not counted you can’t go on with the story?” “That’s right, senor,” responded Sancho, “because as soon as I asked you to tell me how many goats had gone over and you said you didn’t know—at that very second, I instantly forgot what remained to be told of the story, and I swear there were worthwhile and amusing things in it.” “So,” said don Quixote, “the story is finished?” “It’s as finished as my mother is,” said Sancho. “To tell you the truth,” responded don Quixote, “you’ve told one of the most original tales or stories that anyone in the world has ever contrived, and your way of telling it and cutting it short has never been seen nor will ever be seen in a lifetime, although I expected no less from you. But I’m not surprised, since this eternal pounding must have confused your judgment.”

All we need to do now is find out which Christian or pagan king is at war and has a beautiful daughter.

You rejected me—oh, ungrateful one!—for a man who has more than I do, rather than who is worth more than I am.

This denial only fanned the flames and piled one desire on another, because, although it silenced our tongues, it couldn’t silence our pens, which, more freely than our tongues, made the beloved one understand what is locked inside the heart, because frequently the presence of the loved one confuses and makes silent the most determined desire and the most daring tongue.

But now I remember that it will be good, and even more than good, to write it in Cardenio’s diary. You’ll make sure to have it copied onto regular paper, in nice handwriting, in the first village where there is a schoolteacher or some sexton who can copy it—but don’t give it to a notary, since they never remove the pen from the paper when they write, and Satan himself can’t understand that style of writing.”

I want you to know, Sancho, if you don’t know it already, that there are two things that stimulate love more than anything else: great beauty and a good reputation, and these two things are conspicuously exemplified in Dulcinea, because in beauty, no one can rival her, and in good reputation few can. To sum up, I make myself believe that everything I say about her is the absolute truth, neither more nor less, and I portray her in my imagination as I like her, so that in beauty and rank, Helen305 cannot match her, nor can Lucretia306 come near, nor any other of the famous women of ages past: Greek, barbarian, or Roman. Let anyone say what he wants—even if uninformed people criticize me, I’ll not be condemned by those who are discerning.”

She recognized me right away and I her, but not as we should have recognized each other. (But who is there in the world who can boast that he’s fathomed or come to know the confused mind and unstable nature of a woman? No one, for sure.)

“All these words that I said just now I told him, and many others that I don’t remember, but it had no effect in causing him to forgo his purpose—‘he who has no intention of paying does not haggle over the price.’

Then don Quixote got onto Rocinante and the barber mounted his pack mule, leaving Sancho on foot, which renewed in him a sense of loss for his donkey. But he took it all in stride because it seemed to him that his master was on the road to and even on the verge of becoming an emperor, believing don Quixote would get married to that princess and be, at least, the king of Micomicón. The only thing that really troubled him was considering that that kingdom lay in the area of black Africa, and that the people they would give him to be his vassals would all be black. But soon he arrived at a good solution, and said to himself: “What difference does it make to me if my vassals are black? What have I to do other than take them to Spain, where I can sell them,323 where they will pay me in cash so I can buy a title or some office in which I can lead the easy life for the rest of my days?

“It’s true,” responded don Quixote, “and her stature must be accompanied and adorned by a billion graces of the soul. But don’t deny me this next bit of information—when you were next to her, didn’t she have an exquisite aroma, a fragrance, a certain delicious je ne sais quoi that I find impossible to give a name to. I mean, an aroma as if you were in a fine glovemaker’s shop?”335 “All I can say,” said Sancho, “is that I smelled a little odor that was a bit mannish, and it must be because she was sweaty and grimy owing to the physical exercise.”

“That’s the kind of love,” said Sancho, “I’ve heard our priest say that we should use to love Our Lord, for His own sake, moved neither by hope of glory nor fear of punishment. But I would like and love to serve Him for what He can do for me.”

Sancho took a piece of bread and some cheese from his supplies and gave them to the boy, saying: “Take these, brother Andrés, because a share of your misfortune affects all of us.” “And what share affects you?” asked Andrés. “This share of the bread and cheese I’m giving you,” responded Sancho,

a woman has by nature a quicker mind for both good and bad things than a man does, although it fails them when they set about to reason deliberately,

it’s the privilege of beauty, even in one of humble birth, as long as it’s accompanied by virtue, to rise to the highest social level without any discredit to the person who raises it to that level.

“Truly, when you consider it, señores míos, those who profess the order of knight-errantry see great and unheard-of things. Who in the world, upon entering the door of this castle and seeing us here as we are, would think that we are who we are?

Fictional tales must suit the understanding of the reader and be written in such a way that impossible things seem possible, excesses are smoothed over, and the mind is kept in suspense, so that they astonish, stimulate, delight, and entertain us in such a way that admiration and pleasure go together; and the person who flees from credibility and imitation—which is what perfect writing consists of—cannot accomplish this.

The Phœnix was the mythical Egyptian bird that lived for five hundred years. It built its own funeral pyre, fanned the flames with its wings, and was reincarnated. It never married anyone.