D ON QUIXOTE roared so loudly the innkeeper opened the gates of the inn and rushed out in alarm to see who was shouting, and those who were outside went to see as well. Maritornes, whom the shouts had also awakened, figuring out what must have happened, went to the hayloft unseen, untied the halter holding don Quixote up, and he fell to the ground, in full view of the innkeeper and also of the travelers, who approached him and asked him what had caused him to bellow so loudly. He, without answering a single word, removed the rope from his wrist, stood up, mounted Rocinante, clasped his shield, couched his lance, and after making a wide turn down the field, came back at a half-gallop, saying: “Whoever says I’ve been enchanted with just cause, if my lady, the Princess Micomicona, grants me permission, I’ll show him he’s lying and challenge him to a singular battle.”
The new travelers were amazed at these words of don Quixote, but the innkeeper allayed their amazement by telling them that he was don Quixote, and they should pay him no heed since he was out of his mind. They asked the innkeeper if by chance a boy about fifteen years old had come to that inn, dressed as a mule boy, of such-and-such an appearance, in effect describing doña Clara’s lover. The innkeeper responded that there were so many people at the inn he hadn’t noticed the one they were asking about. But one of them, having seen the coach in which the judge had come, said: “He’s must be here because this is the coach they say he’s following. One of us should stay by the gate and the others should go looking for him. Maybe one of us should circle around the inn so that he can’t escape over the wall of the corral.”
“Let’s do it,” responded one of them. Two of them went inside the walls, one stayed by the gate, and the other rode around the outside, as the innkeeper watched and wondered why they were taking all those precautions, although he figured they were looking for the boy that they had described. At this point day was breaking, and for this reason, as well as for the racket don Quixote had made, everyone was awake and getting up, especially doña Clara and Dorotea, who had slept poorly that night, one of them agitated by having her lover so near and the other curious to see him.
Don Quixote saw that none of the four travelers was paying any attention to his challenge, and was dying of dismay and seething with rage; and if he could have found in the rules of chivalry that a knight errant could legally engage in another enterprise, having given his word not to do so until he’d completed the one he’d promised, he would have attacked all of them and made them take up arms in spite of themselves. But considering it wouldn’t be right or proper to start a new adventure until he’d installed Micomicona in her kingdom, he held his peace and waited to see what would happen with the travelers, one of whom found the boy he was looking for, sleeping next to another mule boy, quite unaware that anyone was looking for him, much less would find him. The man took him by the arm and said: “Truly, don Luis, your attire fits who you are, and the bed I find you in rivals the comfort in which your mother raised you.”
The boy rubbed his sleepy eyes and looked closely at the one who was holding him, and recognized that he was a servant of his father, and was so taken aback he couldn’t say a word for a long time, so the servant continued, saying: “There is nothing you can do, señor don Luis, except surrender calmly and return home, unless you want your father and my master to go to the other world, because that’s all that can be expected from the grief he feels at your being gone.”
“But how did my father find out,” said don Luis, “that I’d taken this road?”
“A student,” responded the servant, “to whom you had revealed your plan, was the one who told him, moved by the grief that he saw in your father when he realized you were gone. So he sent four of his servants to look for you, and we’re all here at your service, happier than can be imagined by the speed in which we’ll be able to return, restoring you to the eyes that love you so.”
“That will be as I wish, or as heaven ordains,” responded don Luis.
“What can you wish or what can heaven order, except to consent to go home, because there is no other possibility.”
This conversation was overheard by the mule boy who was next to don Luis and who got up from there and went to tell what was going on to don Fernando and Cardenio and to the others, who had already gotten dressed. He said the man called the boy DOn and repeated the words he’d heard, and how they wanted him to return to their father’s house, and how the boy didn’t want to. With this, and from what they knew about him and the fine voice that heaven had given him, they all gathered around to find out most particularly who he was, and even to try to help him if those men tried to use any force against him. So they went over to where the boy was stubbornly arguing with his servant.
Dorotea came out of her room at this point, and behind her came doña Clara who was quite upset, and calling Cardenio aside, Dorotea told him in a few words the story of the singer and doña Clara, and he told her about what happened when his father’s four servants came to look for him. He didn’t say it so quietly that doña Clara couldn’t hear, and she became so beside herself that if Dorotea hadn’t gone to hold her, she would have fallen to the ground. Cardenio told Dorotea to go back with doña Clara to their room and he would fix everything, so they went back inside.
By this time the four who had been looking for don Luis were in the inn, surrounding him, and trying to persuade him that he should, without delaying a minute longer, return to comfort his father. He responded that he would not until he resolved a piece of business on which his life, honor, and soul, were at stake. The servants pressured him by saying they refused to go back without him and they would carry him off whether he wanted to go or not.
“You won’t do that,” replied don Luis, “unless you take me back dead, although no matter how you take me, it’ll be without life.”
At this point, the rest of the people at the inn gathered around them, especially Cardenio, don Fernando, his companions, the judge, the priest, the barber, and don Quixote, to whom it seemed that it was no longer necessary to guard the castle. Cardenio, since he knew the boy’s story, asked those who wanted to take him away, why they were doing so against his will.
“It is,” said one of the four, “to give life back to his father, who is in danger of losing it because of the absence of this young man.”
To this don Luis said: “There is no reason to tell anyone about my affairs. I’m free, and I’ll go home if I please, and if not, none of you can force me.”
“Reason will convince you,” responded the man, “and if reason fails, it’s quite enough for us to do what we came for, and what we’re compelled to do.”
“Let’s find out what’s at the bottom of this,” said the judge.
But the servant, who recognized him since he lived in a neighboring house, said: “Doesn’t your grace, señor judge, recognize this young man, who is the son of your neighbor, and who left his father’s house, dressed so differently from what his rank demands, as you can see?”
The judge looked at him more closely, recognized him, and took him in his arms, saying: “What childish things are you doing, señor don Luis? Or what cause is so powerful that it moved you to come dressed this way, which is so different from your social class?”
Tears came to the boy’s eyes, and he couldn’t utter a word. The judge told the four to calm down, and that everything would work out. Taking don Luis’ hand, he drew him aside and he asked him why he’d come.
While these and other questions were being asked, they heard loud shouts coming from the gate of the inn. What caused those shouts was that two guests who had spent the night there, seeing everyone was busy trying to find out what the four were after, had tried to leave without paying. But the innkeeper, who was tending to his own business more than other people’s, grabbed them at the gate and demanded payment, and reprimanded them for their unscrupulous intention with such words that it moved them to respond with their fists. They began to punch him so vigorously that the poor innkeeper needed to shout and ask for help. The innkeeper’s wife and her daughter could see no one more in a position to help them than don Quixote, to whom the daughter cried: “Your grace, señor knight! By the strength that God gave you, rescue my poor father who two bad man are beating up as if they were threshing wheat!”
To which don Quixote responded slowly and with great calm: “Beautiful maiden, your request is inappropriate because I’m prevented from engaging in another adventure until I happily conclude another one that I gave my word I would settle. But what I can do to serve you is what I’ll say now: run over and tell your father to defend himself as well as he can and not let himself be vanquished in any way until I get permission from Princess Micomicona to succor him in his affliction, and if she grants it, rest assured that I’ll help him.”
“Sinner than I am,” said Maritornes, who was nearby, in reaction to this, “before your grace can get this permission, my master will already be in the other world!”
“Allow me, señora, to get the permission I mention,” responded don Quixote, “and as soon as I have it, it will make little difference if he’s in the other world; in spite of everything the other world does to prevent me, I’ll pluck him out, or at least I’ll avenge him on those who will have sent him there, and you’ll be more than somewhat satisfied.”
And without saying another word, he went over and got down on his knees before Dorotea, asking her, with knightly and errant words, to be pleased to give him permission to help and rescue the warden of that castle who was in great distress. The princess gave it to him graciously, and he then, bracing his shield and drawing his sword, went over to the gate, where the two guests were still mauling the innkeeper. But as he approached, he hesitated and stopped, although Maritornes and the innkeeper’s wife asked why he’d stopped, and told him that he should rescue their master and husband.
“I’m delaying,” said don Quixote, “because it’s unlawful for me to draw my sword against squires. But call my own squire over here, because this defense and vengeance is his job.”
That was the way things were at the gate of the inn, and there, punches and blows to the face were exchanged with full force, all to the detriment of the innkeeper, and to the rage of Maritornes, the innkeeper’s wife, and her daughter, who were despairing over the cowardice of don Quixote and the bad treatment of their husband, master, and father.
But let’s leave them here, for someone will doubtless rescue him, and if not, let him suffer and hold his tongue who takes on more than his strength will permit, and let’s go back fifty paces to see how don Luis answered the judge, since we left him asking the boy why he’d come on foot and in such an outfit. The boy responded, taking him earnestly by the hands, as if to show that some great sorrow was troubling his heart, and shedding tears in great abundance, said to him: “Señor mío, I don’t know what else to tell you except that since heaven ordained that we should be neighbors and that I should see my lady doña Clara, your grace’s daughter and my lady, from that instant I made her the mistress of my will, and if yours, my true lord and father, offers no objection, on this very day she’ll be my wife. On her account I left my father’s house, and for her I dressed in this attire to follow her wherever she was going, as the arrow seeks the bull’s eye, or the sailor tracks the North Star. All she knows of my passion is what she could guess from the times she’s seen me shed tears from a distance. You’re familiar with the wealth and nobility of my parents, señor, and how I’m their only heir. If you believe this is sufficient reason for you to venture to make me totally happy, receive me right now as your son, for even though my father, who might have other intentions, may not like this good fortune that I found on my own, time has more power to affect and change things than human will.”
When the enamored youth finished, he was silent, and the judge was astonished, amazed, and confused, as much by the discreet way don Luis had revealed his thoughts, as at the position in which he found himself, not knowing what action to take in such a sudden and unexpected matter. So he said nothing other than that the boy should stay calm and arrange with his servants not to take him that day so that he, the judge, could consider what was best for everyone. Don Luis kissed his hands, and even bathed them with tears, something that could melt a heart of marble, not to mention that of the judge, who, as a shrewd man, had already realized how much good such a marriage would be for his daughter, though he wished, if it were possible, that it should be done with the blessing of don Luis’ father, who he knew wanted to bestow a noble title on his son.
By now the guests had made peace with the innkeeper, because, through don Quixote’s persuasion and convincing words, more than by threats, they had paid him all that he had wanted, and don Luis’ servants were waiting for the end of the conversation between the judge and their young master, when the devil, who never sleeps, ordained that at that exact moment, the barber from whom don Quixote took Mambrino’s helmet, and with whose donkey Sancho Panza exchanged trappings, arrived at the inn. This barber, taking his donkey to the stable, saw Sancho Panza, who was fixing something on the packsaddle, and as soon as he recognized him, he ran to attack Sancho, saying: “Hey, you thief, I’ve got you now! Give me back my basin and my packsaddle and all the trappings you robbed me of!”
When Sancho saw himself attacked so suddenly and heard the abuse hurled at him, with one hand he held the packsaddle, and with the other he punched the barber in the face, which bathed his teeth in blood, but even with this, the barber didn’t let go of the packsaddle, but raised his voice so much that everyone in the inn went to see what the ruckus and fighting were all about.
The barber said: “Help in the name of the king and justice! While I’m trying to get my property back, this thief, this highwayman, is trying to kill me!”
“You’re lying,” responded Sancho, “I’m not a highwayman—my master, don Quixote, won these spoils in a fair battle.”
By this time don Quixote was standing nearby, very pleased to see how well Sancho fought and defended himself, and from then on he held him as a man of worth, and proposed in his heart to dub him a knight at the earliest opportunity, since it seemed to him that the order of chivalry would be well bestowed on him.
As the barber fought, among other things, he said: “Señores, this packsaddle is mine as surely as the death I owe God. I recognize it as if I’d given birth to it, and there is my donkey in the stable, who won’t let me lie. If you don’t believe me, put it on him, and if it doesn’t fit perfectly, call me a liar. And there’s more—the same day they took my packsaddle from me, they also took a brass basin which had never before been used, and cost one escudo.”
Don Quixote couldn’t keep from responding, and placed himself between the two, and separated them, putting the packsaddle on the ground until the truth could be cleared up, and said: “I want your graces to see clearly the obvious mistake into which this good squire has fallen, since he calls what was, is, and forever will be Mambrino’s helmet, which I won from him in a fair battle, and became the owner of it by right and legal possession. Insofar as the packsaddle goes, I won’t get involved, but what I know about it is that my squire Sancho asked permission to take the trappings from the horse belonging to this vanquished coward, to adorn his own. I gave him permission and he took them, and if the trappings changed into a packsaddle, I can’t give any other reason other than the usual one which is that these transformations happen in the ordinary business of chivalry. To confirm this, Sancho, fetch the helmet that this good man calls a basin.”
“Jeez, master!” said Sancho, “if we have no other proof than what your worship says, that basin is as much Malino’s helmet as the trappings of this good man are a packsaddle.”
“Do what I tell you,” replied don Quixote, “because not everything in this castle happens by enchantment.”
Sancho went to where the basin was and brought it out, and as soon as don Quixote saw it he took it in his hands and said: “Look with what cheek this squire said that this is a basin, and not the helmet I’ve mentioned. And I swear by the order of knighthood I profess that this helmet was the same one I took from him, without adding or removing anything.”
“In this there is no doubt,” said Sancho right then, “because since my master won it until now he had only one battle, when he freed the luckless chain of people, and if it weren’t for this basinelmet, he would have had a bad time of it because there were plenty of stones thrown in that battle.”