PART I - CHAPTER VIII.

by Miguel de Cervantes

　　OF THE GOOD FORTUNE WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE HAD IN THE TERRIBLE ANDUNDREAMT-OF ADVENTURE OF THE WINDMILLS, WITH OTHER OCCURRENCES WORTHY TOBE FITLY RECORDEDAt this point they came in sight of thirty forty windmills that there areon plain, and as soon as Don Quixote saw them he said to his squire,"Fortune is arranging matters for us better than we could have shaped ourdesires ourselves, for look there, friend Sancho Panza, where thirty ormore monstrous giants present themselves, all of whom I mean to engage inbattle and slay, and with whose spoils we shall begin to make ourfortunes; for this is righteous warfare, and it is God's good service tosweep so evil a breed from off the face of the earth.""What giants?" said Sancho Panza."Those thou seest there," answered his master, "with the long arms, andsome have them nearly two leagues long.""Look, your worship," said Sancho; "what we see there are not giants butwindmills, and what seem to be their arms are the sails that turned bythe wind make the millstone go.""It is easy to see," replied Don Quixote, "that thou art not used to thisbusiness of adventures; those are giants; and if thou art afraid, awaywith thee out of this and betake thyself to prayer while I engage them infierce and unequal combat."So saying, he gave the spur to his steed Rocinante, heedless of the crieshis squire Sancho sent after him, warning him that most certainly theywere windmills and not giants he was going to attack. He, however, was sopositive they were giants that he neither heard the cries of Sancho, norperceived, near as he was, what they were, but made at them shouting,"Fly not, cowards and vile beings, for a single knight attacks you."A slight breeze at this moment sprang up, and the great sails began tomove, seeing which Don Quixote exclaimed, "Though ye flourish more armsthan the giant Briareus, ye have to reckon with me."So saying, and commending himself with all his heart to his ladyDulcinea, imploring her to support him in such a peril, with lance inrest and covered by his buckler, he charged at Rocinante's fullest gallopand fell upon the first mill that stood in front of him; but as he drovehis lance-point into the sail the wind whirled it round with such forcethat it shivered the lance to pieces, sweeping with it horse and rider,who went rolling over on the plain, in a sorry condition. Sancho hastenedto his assistance as fast as his ass could go, and when he came up foundhim unable to move, with such a shock had Rocinante fallen with him."God bless me!" said Sancho, "did I not tell your worship to mind whatyou were about, for they were only windmills? and no one could have madeany mistake about it but one who had something of the same kind in hishead.""Hush, friend Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "the fortunes of war morethan any other are liable to frequent fluctuations; and moreover I think,and it is the truth, that that same sage Friston who carried off my studyand books, has turned these giants into mills in order to rob me of theglory of vanquishing them, such is the enmity he bears me; but in the endhis wicked arts will avail but little against my good sword.""God order it as he may," said Sancho Panza, and helping him to rise gothim up again on Rocinante, whose shoulder was half out; and then,discussing the late adventure, they followed the road to Puerto Lapice,for there, said Don Quixote, they could not fail to find adventures inabundance and variety, as it was a great thoroughfare. For all that, hewas much grieved at the loss of his lance, and saying so to his squire,he added, "I remember having read how a Spanish knight, Diego Perez deVargas by name, having broken his sword in battle, tore from an oak aponderous bough or branch, and with it did such things that day, andpounded so many Moors, that he got the surname of Machuca, and he and hisdescendants from that day forth were called Vargas y Machuca. I mentionthis because from the first oak I see I mean to rend such another branch,large and stout like that, with which I am determined and resolved to dosuch deeds that thou mayest deem thyself very fortunate in being foundworthy to come and see them, and be an eyewitness of things that willwith difficulty be believed.""Be that as God will," said Sancho, "I believe it all as your worshipsays it; but straighten yourself a little, for you seem all on one side,may be from the shaking of the fall.""That is the truth," said Don Quixote, "and if I make no complaint of thepain it is because knights-errant are not permitted to complain of anywound, even though their bowels be coming out through it.""If so," said Sancho, "I have nothing to say; but God knows I wouldrather your worship complained when anything ailed you. For my part, Iconfess I must complain however small the ache may be; unless this ruleabout not complaining extends to the squires of knights-errant also."Don Quixote could not help laughing at his squire's simplicity, and heassured him he might complain whenever and however he chose, just as heliked, for, so far, he had never read of anything to the contrary in theorder of knighthood.Sancho bade him remember it was dinner-time, to which his master answeredthat he wanted nothing himself just then, but that he might eat when hehad a mind. With this permission Sancho settled himself as comfortably ashe could on his beast, and taking out of the alforjas what he had stowedaway in them, he jogged along behind his master munching deliberately,and from time to time taking a pull at the bota with a relish that thethirstiest tapster in Malaga might have envied; and while he went on inthis way, gulping down draught after draught, he never gave a thought toany of the promises his master had made him, nor did he rate it ashardship but rather as recreation going in quest of adventures, howeverdangerous they might be. Finally they passed the night among some trees,from one of which Don Quixote plucked a dry branch to serve him after afashion as a lance, and fixed on it the head he had removed from thebroken one. All that night Don Quixote lay awake thinking of his ladyDulcinea, in order to conform to what he had read in his books, how manya night in the forests and deserts knights used to lie sleeplesssupported by the memory of their mistresses. Not so did Sancho Panzaspend it, for having his stomach full of something stronger than chicorywater he made but one sleep of it, and, if his master had not called him,neither the rays of the sun beating on his face nor all the cheery notesof the birds welcoming the approach of day would have had power to wakenhim. On getting up he tried the bota and found it somewhat less full thanthe night before, which grieved his heart because they did not seem to beon the way to remedy the deficiency readily. Don Quixote did not care tobreak his fast, for, as has been already said, he confined himself tosavoury recollections for nourishment.They returned to the road they had set out with, leading to PuertoLapice, and at three in the afternoon they came in sight of it. "Here,brother Sancho Panza," said Don Quixote when he saw it, "we may plungeour hands up to the elbows in what they call adventures; but observe,even shouldst thou see me in the greatest danger in the world, thou mustnot put a hand to thy sword in my defence, unless indeed thou perceivestthat those who assail me are rabble or base folk; for in that case thoumayest very properly aid me; but if they be knights it is on no accountpermitted or allowed thee by the laws of knighthood to help me until thouhast been dubbed a knight.""Most certainly, senor," replied Sancho, "your worship shall be fullyobeyed in this matter; all the more as of myself I am peaceful and nofriend to mixing in strife and quarrels: it is true that as regards thedefence of my own person I shall not give much heed to those laws, forlaws human and divine allow each one to defend himself against anyassailant whatever.""That I grant," said Don Quixote, "but in this matter of aiding meagainst knights thou must put a restraint upon thy natural impetuosity.""I will do so, I promise you," answered Sancho, "and will keep thisprecept as carefully as Sunday."While they were thus talking there appeared on the road two friars of theorder of St. Benedict, mounted on two dromedaries, for not less tall werethe two mules they rode on. They wore travelling spectacles and carriedsunshades; and behind them came a coach attended by four or five personson horseback and two muleteers on foot. In the coach there was, asafterwards appeared, a Biscay lady on her way to Seville, where herhusband was about to take passage for the Indies with an appointment ofhigh honour. The friars, though going the same road, were not in hercompany; but the moment Don Quixote perceived them he said to his squire,"Either I am mistaken, or this is going to be the most famous adventurethat has ever been seen, for those black bodies we see there must be, anddoubtless are, magicians who are carrying off some stolen princess inthat coach, and with all my might I must undo this wrong.""This will be worse than the windmills," said Sancho. "Look, senor; thoseare friars of St. Benedict, and the coach plainly belongs to sometravellers: I tell you to mind well what you are about and don't let thedevil mislead you.""I have told thee already, Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "that on thesubject of adventures thou knowest little. What I say is the truth, asthou shalt see presently."So saying, he advanced and posted himself in the middle of the road alongwhich the friars were coming, and as soon as he thought they had comenear enough to hear what he said, he cried aloud, "Devilish and unnaturalbeings, release instantly the highborn princesses whom you are carryingoff by force in this coach, else prepare to meet a speedy death as thejust punishment of your evil deeds."The friars drew rein and stood wondering at the appearance of Don Quixoteas well as at his words, to which they replied, "Senor Caballero, we arenot devilish or unnatural, but two brothers of St. Benedict following ourroad, nor do we know whether or not there are any captive princessescoming in this coach.""No soft words with me, for I know you, lying rabble," said Don Quixote,and without waiting for a reply he spurred Rocinante and with levelledlance charged the first friar with such fury and determination, that, ifthe friar had not flung himself off the mule, he would have brought himto the ground against his will, and sore wounded, if not killed outright.The second brother, seeing how his comrade was treated, drove his heelsinto his castle of a mule and made off across the country faster than thewind.Sancho Panza, when he saw the friar on the ground, dismounting brisklyfrom his ass, rushed towards him and began to strip off his gown. At thatinstant the friars muleteers came up and asked what he was stripping himfor. Sancho answered them that this fell to him lawfully as spoil of thebattle which his lord Don Quixote had won. The muleteers, who had no ideaof a joke and did not understand all this about battles and spoils,seeing that Don Quixote was some distance off talking to the travellersin the coach, fell upon Sancho, knocked him down, and leaving hardly ahair in his beard, belaboured him with kicks and left him stretchedbreathless and senseless on the ground; and without any more delay helpedthe friar to mount, who, trembling, terrified, and pale, as soon as hefound himself in the saddle, spurred after his companion, who wasstanding at a distance looking on, watching the result of the onslaught;then, not caring to wait for the end of the affair just begun, theypursued their journey making more crosses than if they had the devilafter them.Don Quixote was, as has been said, speaking to the lady in the coach:"Your beauty, lady mine," said he, "may now dispose of your person as maybe most in accordance with your pleasure, for the pride of your ravisherslies prostrate on the ground through this strong arm of mine; and lestyou should be pining to know the name of your deliverer, know that I amcalled Don Quixote of La Mancha, knight-errant and adventurer, andcaptive to the peerless and beautiful lady Dulcinea del Toboso: and inreturn for the service you have received of me I ask no more than thatyou should return to El Toboso, and on my behalf present yourself beforethat lady and tell her what I have done to set you free."One of the squires in attendance upon the coach, a Biscayan, waslistening to all Don Quixote was saying, and, perceiving that he wouldnot allow the coach to go on, but was saying it must return at once to ElToboso, he made at him, and seizing his lance addressed him in badCastilian and worse Biscayan after his fashion, "Begone, caballero, andill go with thee; by the God that made me, unless thou quittest coach,slayest thee as art here a Biscayan."Don Quixote understood him quite well, and answered him very quietly, "Ifthou wert a knight, as thou art none, I should have already chastised thyfolly and rashness, miserable creature." To which the Biscayan returned,"I no gentleman!--I swear to God thou liest as I am Christian: if thoudroppest lance and drawest sword, soon shalt thou see thou art carryingwater to the cat: Biscayan on land, hidalgo at sea, hidalgo at the devil,and look, if thou sayest otherwise thou liest.""'"You will see presently," said Agrajes,'" replied Don Quixote; andthrowing his lance on the ground he drew his sword, braced his buckler onhis arm, and attacked the Biscayan, bent upon taking his life.The Biscayan, when he saw him coming on, though he wished to dismountfrom his mule, in which, being one of those sorry ones let out for hire,he had no confidence, had no choice but to draw his sword; it was luckyfor him, however, that he was near the coach, from which he was able tosnatch a cushion that served him for a shield; and they went at oneanother as if they had been two mortal enemies. The others strove to makepeace between them, but could not, for the Biscayan declared in hisdisjointed phrase that if they did not let him finish his battle he wouldkill his mistress and everyone that strove to prevent him. The lady inthe coach, amazed and terrified at what she saw, ordered the coachman todraw aside a little, and set herself to watch this severe struggle, inthe course of which the Biscayan smote Don Quixote a mighty stroke on theshoulder over the top of his buckler, which, given to one without armour,would have cleft him to the waist. Don Quixote, feeling the weight ofthis prodigious blow, cried aloud, saying, "O lady of my soul, Dulcinea,flower of beauty, come to the aid of this your knight, who, in fulfillinghis obligations to your beauty, finds himself in this extreme peril." Tosay this, to lift his sword, to shelter himself well behind his buckler,and to assail the Biscayan was the work of an instant, determined as hewas to venture all upon a single blow. The Biscayan, seeing him come onin this way, was convinced of his courage by his spirited bearing, andresolved to follow his example, so he waited for him keeping well undercover of his cushion, being unable to execute any sort of manoeuvre withhis mule, which, dead tired and never meant for this kind of game, couldnot stir a step.On, then, as aforesaid, came Don Quixote against the wary Biscayan, withuplifted sword and a firm intention of splitting him in half, while onhis side the Biscayan waited for him sword in hand, and under theprotection of his cushion; and all present stood trembling, waiting insuspense the result of blows such as threatened to fall, and the lady inthe coach and the rest of her following were making a thousand vows andofferings to all the images and shrines of Spain, that God might deliverher squire and all of them from this great peril in which they foundthemselves. But it spoils all, that at this point and crisis the authorof the history leaves this battle impending, giving as excuse that hecould find nothing more written about these achievements of Don Quixotethan what has been already set forth. It is true the second author ofthis work was unwilling to believe that a history so curious could havebeen allowed to fall under the sentence of oblivion, or that the wits ofLa Mancha could have been so undiscerning as not to preserve in theirarchives or registries some documents referring to this famous knight;and this being his persuasion, he did not despair of finding theconclusion of this pleasant history, which, heaven favouring him, he didfind in a way that shall be related in the Second Part.