CID HAMET reporteth that as they were come near unto the entrance into their village, Don Quixote
perceived how in the commons thereof there were two young lads, who in great anger contested and disputed together.
The one said to the other, ‘Pierrot, thou must not chafe or be angry at it; for as long as thou livest thou shalt
never set thine eyes upon her.’ Which Don Quixote hearing, he began this speech unto Sancho: ‘Friend,’ said he,
‘dost not thou understand what yonder young lad saith, “So long as thou livest thou shalt never set eyes upon her”?’
‘And what imports,’ quoth Sancho, ‘what that young lad hath spoken?’ ‘What!’ replied Don Quixote; ‘seest thou not
how that, applying the words unto mine intention, his meaning is that I shall never see my Dulcinea?’ Sancho was
about to answer him, but he was hindered by an hare, which chased, crossed their way. She was eagerly pursued by
divers greyhounds and huntsmen, so that, fearfully amazed, she squatted down between the feet of Dapple.
Sancho boldly took her up, and presented the same unto Don Quixote, who cried out aloud, “‘Malum signum, malum
signum”; a hare runs away, greyhounds pursue her, and Dulcinea appears not.’
‘You are a strange man,’ then quoth Sancho. ‘Let us imagine that this hare is Dulcinea, and the greyhounds that
pursue her the wicked enchanters that have transformed her into a country lass. She runs away, I take her up, and
deliver her into your own hands; you hold her in your arms, you hug and make much of her. What ill-boding may this
be, and what misfortune can be implied upon this?’
In the meanwhile, the two young boys came near unto them to see the hare; and Sancho demanded of one of them the
cause or ground of their brabbling controversy. Then he who had uttered the words, ‘So long as thou livest thou
shalt never set eyes upon her,’ related unto Sancho how that he had taken from the other boy a little cage full of
crickets, and that he never purposed to let him have it again. Then Sancho pulled out of his pocket a piece of six
blanks, and gave it to the other boy for his cage, which he put into Don Quixote’s hands, saying thus unto him:
‘Behold, good sir, all these fond soothsayings and ill presages are dashed and overthrown, and have now nothing to
do with our adventures, according to my understanding, although I be but a silly gull, no more than with the last
year’s snow. And, if my memory fail me not, I think I have heard the curate of our village say that it fits not good
Christians and wise folk to stand upon such foolish fopperies. It is not long since you told me so yourself, and
gave me to understand that all such Christians as plodded and amused themselves upon auguries or divinations were
very fools. And therefore let us no longer trouble ourselves with them, but let us go on, and enter into our
There, whilst the hunters came in, they demanded to have their hare, and Don Quixote delivered the same unto them.
Then he and Sancho kept on their way; and at the entrance into the village, in a little meadow, they met with the
curate and the bachelor Carrasco, who, with their beads in their hands, were saying their prayers.
It is to be understood that Sancho Panza had placed upon Dapple, and upon the fardel of their weapons, the jacket or
gaberdine of boccasin, all painted over with fiery flames, which was upon him in the duke’s castle the night that
Altisidora rose again from death to life; which jub or jacket served them instead of a carpet or sumpter-cloth. They
had likewise placed upon the ass’s head the mitre whereof we have spoken before. It was the newest kind of
transformation and the fittest decking or array that ever ass did put upon his head.
The curate and the bachelor knew them incontinently, and with wide-open arms ran towards them.
Don Quixote alighted presently, and very kindly embraced them. But the little children, who are as sharp-sighted as
any lynx, having eyed the ass’s mitre, flocked suddenly about them to see the same, saying the one to the other,
‘Come, come, and run all you camarados, and you shall see Sancho Panza’s ass more brave and gallant than Mingo; and
Don Quixote’s palfrey leaner, fainter, and more flaggy than it was the first day.’
Finally, being environed with many young children, and attended on by the curate and bachelor, they entered the
village, and went directly unto Don Quixote’s house; at the door whereof they met with his maidservant, and with his
niece, who had already heard the news of their coming.
Teresa Panza, the wife of Sancho, had likewise been advertised thereof. She ran all dishevelled and half naked to
see her husband, leading her daughter Sanchica by the hand. But when she saw that he was not so richly attired as
she imagined, and in that equipage a governor should be, she thus began to discourse with him: ‘My husband, after
what fashion dost thou come home? Methinks thou comest on foot, and with toilsome travelling, all tired and
fainthearted; thou rather barest the countenance of a miserable wretch than of a governor.
‘Hold thy peace, Teresa,’ quoth Sancho; ‘for oftentimes when there be boots, there be no spurs. Let us go unto our
house, and there thou shalt hear wonders. So it is that I have money, which is of more consequence, and I have
gotten it by mine own industry, without doing wrong to anybody.’
‘Why, then, you have money, my good husband?’ replied Teresa; ‘that’s very well; it is no matter how you came by it,
be it by hook or crook; for after what manner soever you have laid hands on it you bring no new custom into the
world.’ Sanchica embraced her father, and asked him whether he had brought her anything; and that she had as
earnestly looked for him as men do for dew in the month of May.
Thus his wife holding him by the one hand, and his daughter by the one side of his girdle, and with the other hand
leading Dapple, they entered into their cottage, leaving Don Quixote in his own house, in the power of his niece and
maidservant, and in the company of the curate and the bachelor.
Don Quixote, without longer delay, at that very instant drew the bachelor and the curate aside, and in few words
related his being defeated unto them, and the vow which he had been forced to make, not to go out of his village
during the space of one whole year; how his purpose was fully to keep the same, without transgressing it in one jot
or atom ; since that by the rules of knight-errantry, and as he was a true knight-errant, he was strictly obliged to
perform it; which was the reason that he had resolved, during the time of that year, to become a shepherd, and
entertain himself among the deserts and solitary places of that country, where he might freely vent out and give
scope unto his amorous passions by exercising himself in commendable and virtuous pastoral exercises; and now
besought them, if they had no greater affairs in hand, and were not employed in matters of more importance, they
would both be pleased to become his companions and fellow-shepherds; for he would buy store of sheep, and get so
sufficient a flock together as they might well take upon them the name of shepherds.
And in the meantime he gave them to understand that the chiefest point of this business was already effected; for he
had already appointed them so proper and convenient names as if they had been cast in a mould.
The curate would needs know these names. Don Quixote told him that himself would be called the shepherd Quixotiz;
the bachelor, the shepherd Carrascon; and the curate, the shepherd Curiambro; and as for Sancho Panza, he should be
They were all astonished at Don Quixote’s new folly; nevertheless, that he might not another time go out of his
village, and return to his knighthood’s and cavalier’s tricks, and therewithal supposing that in the space of this
year he might be cured and recovered, they allowed of his design and new invention, and in that rural exercise
offered to become his companions.
‘We shall lead a pleasant life,’ said Samson Carrasco, ‘since, as all the world knoweth, I am an excellent poet, and
shall every hand-while be composing of pastoral ditties and eclogues, or else some verses of the court, as best
shall agree to our purpose. Thus shall we entertain ourselves by the ways we shall pass and go. But, good sirs, the
thing that is most necessary is that everyone make choice of the name of the shepherdess whom he intendeth to
celebrate in his verses; and that there be no tree, how hard and knurry soever, but therein we shall write, carve,
and engrave her name, even as amorous shepherds are accustomed to do.’
‘In good sooth, that will do passing well,’ quoth Don Quixote; ‘albeit I need not go far to find out the name of an
imaginary shepherdess, since I have the never-matched or paralleled Dulcinea of Toboso, the glory of all these
shores, the ornament of these meadows, the grace and comeliness of beauty, the cream and prime of all gracefulness,
and, to be short, the subject on which the extremity of all commendations may rightly be conferred, how hyperbolical
soever it be.’
‘It is most true,’ said the curate; ‘but for us, we must seek out some barren shepherdesses, and at least, if they
be not fit and proper for us, yet one way or other they may stead us, if not in the main, yet in the by.’
‘Although we have none,’ quoth Samson Carrasco, ‘yet will we give them those very names as we see in print, and
wherewith the world is full. For we will call them Phillis, Amaryllis, Diana, Florinda, Galathea, and Belisarda.
Since they are publicly to be sold in the open market-place, we may very well buy them, and lawfully appropriate
them unto ourselves. If my mistress, or, to say better, my shepherdess, have to name Anna, I will celebrate her
under the style of Anarda; if she be called Francis, I will call her Francina; and if she hight Lucie, her name
shall be Lucinda; for all such names square and encounter. As for Sancho Panza, if he will be one of our fraternity,
he may celebrate his wife Teresa Panza under the name of Teresaina.’
Don Quixote burst out a-laughing at the application of these names, whilst the curate did infinitely commend and
extol his honourable resolution, and again offered to keep him company all the time that he could spare, having
acquitted himself of the charge unto which he was bound.
With that they took leave of him, persuading and entreating him to have a care of his health, and endeavour to be
So it happened that his niece and his maidservant heard all the speeches which they three had together; and when the
bachelor and the curate were gone from him, they both came near unto Don Quixote, and thus his niece bespake him:
‘What means this, my lord, mine uncle? Now when we imagined that you would have continued in your own house, and
there live a quiet, a reposed, and honourable life, you go about to cast yourself headlong into new labyrinths and
troubles, with becoming a swain or shepherd? Verily, the corn is already over-hard to make oaten pipes of it.’
‘But how,’ quoth the maidservant, ‘can you endure and undergo in the open fields the scorching heat of summer and
the cold and frost of winter nights, and hear the howlings of wolves without quaking for very fear? No, truly; for
so much as that belongs only to such as are of a robust and surly complexion, of a hard and rugged skin, and that
from their cradles are bred and inured to such a trade and occupation. If the worst come to the worst, it were
better to be still a knight-errant than a shepherd. I beseech you, good my lord, follow my counsel which I give you,
not as being full of wine and bread, but rather fasting, and as one that have fifty years upon my head. Abide still
in your house, think on your domestic affairs, confess yourself often, serve God, do good unto the poor, and if any
harm come to you of it, let me take it upon my soul.’
‘Good wenches, hold your peace,’ replied Don Quixote; ‘for I know what I have to do. In the meanwhile, let me be had
to bed. Methinks I am not very well; yet assure yourself that whether I be an errant knight or a shepherd, I will
carefully provide for all that you may stand in need of, and you shall see the effects of it.’
The niece and the maidservant, who without doubt were two merry good wenches, laid him in his bed, and attended and
looked so well unto him as they could not possibly have done better.