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Chapter 5

  • **In which the narrative of our knight's mishap is continued**
  • Finding, then, that, in fact he could not move, he thought himself of havin_ecourse to his usual remedy, which was to think of some passage in his books,
  • and his craze brought to his mind that about Baldwin and the Marquis o_antua, when Carloto left him wounded on the mountain side, a story known b_eart by the children, not forgotten by the young men, and lauded and eve_elieved by the old folk; and for all that not a whit truer than the miracle_f Mahomet. This seemed to him to fit exactly the case in which he foun_imself, so, making a show of severe suffering, he began to roll on the groun_nd with feeble breath repeat the very words which the wounded knight of th_ood is said to have uttered:
  • Where art thou, lady mine, that thou My sorrow dost not rue? Thou canst no_now it, lady mine, Or else thou art untrue.
  • And so he went on with the ballad as far as the lines:
  • O noble Marquis of Mantua, My Uncle and liege lord!
  • As chance would have it, when he had got to this line there happened to com_y a peasant from his own village, a neighbour of his, who had been with _oad of wheat to the mill, and he, seeing the man stretched there, came up t_im and asked him who he was and what was the matter with him that h_omplained so dolefully.
  • Don Quixote was firmly persuaded that this was the Marquis of Mantua, hi_ncle, so the only answer he made was to go on with his ballad, in which h_old the tale of his misfortune, and of the loves of the Emperor's son and hi_ife all exactly as the ballad sings it.
  • The peasant stood amazed at hearing such nonsense, and relieving him of th_isor, already battered to pieces by blows, he wiped his face, which wa_overed with dust, and as soon as he had done so he recognised him and said,
  • "Senor Quixada" (for so he appears to have been called when he was in hi_enses and had not yet changed from a quiet country gentleman into a knight-
  • errant), "who has brought your worship to this pass?" But to all questions th_ther only went on with his ballad.
  • Seeing this, the good man removed as well as he could his breastplate an_ackpiece to see if he had any wound, but he could perceive no blood nor an_ark whatever. He then contrived to raise him from the ground, and with n_ittle difficulty hoisted him upon his ass, which seemed to him to be th_asiest mount for him; and collecting the arms, even to the splinters of th_ance, he tied them on Rocinante, and leading him by the bridle and the ass b_he halter he took the road for the village, very sad to hear what absur_tuff Don Quixote was talking.
  • Nor was Don Quixote less so, for what with blows and bruises he could not si_pright on the ass, and from time to time he sent up sighs to heaven, so tha_nce more he drove the peasant to ask what ailed him. And it could have bee_nly the devil himself that put into his head tales to match his ow_dventures, for now, forgetting Baldwin, he bethought himself of the Moo_bindarraez, when the Alcaide of Antequera, Rodrigo de Narvaez, took hi_risoner and carried him away to his castle; so that when the peasant agai_sked him how he was and what ailed him, he gave him for reply the same word_nd phrases that the captive Abindarraez gave to Rodrigo de Narvaez, just a_e had read the story in the "Diana" of Jorge de Montemayor where it i_ritten, applying it to his own case so aptly that the peasant went alon_ursing his fate that he had to listen to such a lot of nonsense; from which,
  • however, he came to the conclusion that his neighbour was mad, and so made al_aste to reach the village to escape the wearisomeness of this harangue of Do_uixote's; who, at the end of it, said, "Senor Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, you_orship must know that this fair Xarifa I have mentioned is now the lovel_ulcinea del Toboso, for whom I have done, am doing, and will do the mos_amous deeds of chivalry that in this world have been seen, are to be seen, o_ver shall be seen."
  • To this the peasant answered, "Senor—sinner that I am!—cannot your worship se_hat I am not Don Rodrigo de Narvaez nor the Marquis of Mantua, but Pedr_lonso your neighbour, and that your worship is neither Baldwin no_bindarraez, but the worthy gentleman Senor Quixada?"
  • "I know who I am," replied Don Quixote, "and I know that I may be not onl_hose I have named, but all the Twelve Peers of France and even all the Nin_orthies, since my achievements surpass all that they have done all togethe_nd each of them on his own account."
  • With this talk and more of the same kind they reached the village just a_ight was beginning to fall, but the peasant waited until it was a littl_ater that the belaboured gentleman might not be seen riding in such _iserable trim. When it was what seemed to him the proper time he entered th_illage and went to Don Quixote's house, which he found all in confusion, an_here were the curate and the village barber, who were great friends of Do_uixote, and his housekeeper was saying to them in a loud voice, "What doe_our worship think can have befallen my master, Senor Licentiate Pero Perez?"
  • for so the curate was called; "it is three days now since anything has bee_een of him, or the hack, or the buckler, lance, or armour. Miserable me! I a_ertain of it, and it is as true as that I was born to die, that thes_ccursed books of chivalry he has, and has got into the way of reading s_onstantly, have upset his reason; for now I remember having often heard hi_aying to himself that he would turn knight-errant and go all over the worl_n quest of adventures. To the devil and Barabbas with such books, that hav_rought to ruin in this way the finest understanding there was in all L_ancha!"
  • The niece said the same, and, more: "You must know, Master Nicholas"—for tha_as the name of the barber—"it was often my uncle's way to stay two days an_ights together poring over these unholy books of misventures, after which h_ould fling the book away and snatch up his sword and fall to slashing th_alls; and when he was tired out he would say he had killed four giants lik_our towers; and the sweat that flowed from him when he was weary he said wa_he blood of the wounds he had received in battle; and then he would drink _reat jug of cold water and become calm and quiet, saying that this water wa_ most precious potion which the sage Esquife, a great magician and friend o_is, had brought him. But I take all the blame upon myself for never havin_old your worships of my uncle's vagaries, that you might put a stop to the_efore things had come to this pass, and burn all these accursed books—for h_as a great number—that richly deserve to be burned like heretics."
  • "So say I too," said the curate, "and by my faith to-morrow shall not pas_ithout public judgment upon them, and may they be condemned to the flame_est they lead those that read to behave as my good friend seems to hav_ehaved."
  • All this the peasant heard, and from it he understood at last what was th_atter with his neighbour, so he began calling aloud, "Open, your worships, t_enor Baldwin and to Senor the Marquis of Mantua, who comes badly wounded, an_o Senor Abindarraez, the Moor, whom the valiant Rodrigo de Narvaez, th_lcaide of Antequera, brings captive."
  • At these words they all hurried out, and when they recognised their friend,
  • master, and uncle, who had not yet dismounted from the ass because he coul_ot, they ran to embrace him.
  • "Hold!" said he, "for I am badly wounded through my horse's fault; carry me t_ed, and if possible send for the wise Urganda to cure and see to my wounds."
  • "See there! plague on it!" cried the housekeeper at this: "did not my hear_ell the truth as to which foot my master went lame of? To bed with you_orship at once, and we will contrive to cure you here without fetching tha_urgada. A curse I say once more, and a hundred times more, on those books o_hivalry that have brought your worship to such a pass."
  • They carried him to bed at once, and after searching for his wounds could fin_one, but he said they were all bruises from having had a severe fall with hi_orse Rocinante when in combat with ten giants, the biggest and the boldest t_e found on earth.
  • "So, so!" said the curate, "are there giants in the dance? By the sign of th_ross I will burn them to-morrow before the day over."
  • They put a host of questions to Don Quixote, but his only answer to al_as—give him something to eat, and leave him to sleep, for that was what h_eeded most. They did so, and the curate questioned the peasant at grea_ength as to how he had found Don Quixote. He told him, and the nonsense h_ad talked when found and on the way home, all which made the licentiate th_ore eager to do what he did the next day, which was to summon his friend th_arber, Master Nicholas, and go with him to Don Quixote's house.