THE KNIGHT AND HIS squire were of downcast spirits when they got to their mounts especially Sancho, who, when something touched his money, it also touched his soul, since it seemed to him that everything taken from his supply of money was the same as taking away his very eyes. So, without saying a word, they mounted their animals and went away from the famous river, don Quixote being buried in thoughts of love, and Sancho in his advancement, which just then seemed far from attainable, because, although he was unlettered, he realized that all or most of the actions of his master were foolhardy, and he was hoping to find an occasion whereby, without explanations or farewells to his master, he might one day escape and go home. But Fortune ordered it so things turned out quite the reverse of what he feared.
It happened, then, the next day at sunset, when they were emerging from a forest, don Quixote looked out onto a green meadow, and at the far side of it he saw some people, and as he approached he realized that they were hunting with falcons. As he drew even closer, he saw among them a handsome woman riding a snow-white palfrey or hackney, caparisoned with green decorations and a sidesaddle made of silver. The woman was also dressed in green, and so elegantly and richly, that elegance itself was personified in her. On her left hand she held a falcon, which meant to don Quixote that she must be a great lady, and the mistress of all the hunters (as was the truth), and so he said to Sancho: “Go, my son, and tell that lady with the falcon on the palfrey that I, the Knight of the Lions, kiss her grace’s hands and that if her highness grants me permission I’ll kiss them in person and will serve her to the best of my ability, and for as long as she commands me to do so. Watch, Sancho, how you speak, and be careful not to insert any of your proverbs in your message.”
“Would I go inserting proverbs?” responded Sancho. “Honestly! As if this were the first time I’ve taken messages to noble and important ladies in this life.”
“Except for the one you took to señora Dulcinea,” replied don Quixote, “I’m not aware that you’ve taken another, at least while you’ve been working for me.”
“That’s the truth,” responded Sancho, “but «a trustworthy payer doesn’t mind leaving security» and «in a well-provisioned house, dinner is soon served». What I mean is that you don’t have to tell me anything or give me admonitions. I know a bit about everything and am ready for whatever happens.”
“And I believe it, Sancho,” said don Quixote, “so go, good luck, and may God guide you.”
Sancho rode away at top speed, going faster then usual on his donkey, and went to where the beautiful huntress was. He got off his donkey and knelt before her and said: “Beautiful lady, that knight over there, called the Knight of the Lions, is my master, and I’m a squire of his, who they call Sancho Panza at home. This Knight of the Lions, who not long ago was called the Woebegone Knight, sends me to ask your highness to be pleased to give him your consent, permission, and blessing, to put his desire into effect, which is none other—the way he says and I think—than to serve your lofty highness and beauty. With this permission you will be doing something that will redound to your benefit, and he’ll consider it a great favor and a source of great satisfaction.”
“Good squire,” responded the lady, “you’ve certainly given your message with all the details required for such missions. Get up from the ground, for a squire of such a great knight as is the Woebegone Knight, about whom we have heard quite a bit, shouldn’t be on his knees. Arise, my friend, and tell your master to come and be the guest of myself and of the duke, my husband, in a country home we have nearby.”
Sancho got up, astonished by the beauty, courtesy, and quality of the woman, and more so by what she said about having heard of his master, the Woebegone Knight; and if she didn’t call him the Knight of the Lions, it must be because it was such a newly acquired name. The duchess—whose domain was never learned—asked him: “Tell me, brother squire, this master of yours, isn’t he the one circulating in a history called The Ingenious Hidalgo don Quixote de La Mancha, who has for his lady a certain Dulcinea del Toboso?”
“The very same, señora, and that squire of his who appears, or should appear in the same history, who they call Sancho Panza, is me, unless they changed me in the cradle, I mean, unless they changed me in the print shop.”
“I’m very pleased about all of this,” said the duchess. “Go, brother Panza, and tell your master that he’s welcome at my estate, and that nothing would make me happier.”
Sancho, with this most gratifying response, and with greatest pleasure, went back to his master, to whom he told what the great lady had said to him, praising to the skies in his rustic terms her great beauty, charm, and courtesy. Don Quixote straightened up in his saddle. He firmed himself in his stirrups, adjusted his visor, put the spurs to Rocinante, and with a gallant mien went to kiss the hands of the duchess, who, having sent for the duke, her husband, told him while don Quixote was approaching, all about his message, and the two of them—since they had read the first part of his history and through it knew about don Quixote’s absurd behavior—with greatest pleasure, and eager to meet him, waited for him, having decided to humor him and go along with whatever he might say, treating him like a knight errant during the days he might stay with them, with all the usual ceremonies that they had read about in the books of chivalry, of which they were still quite fond.
Don Quixote arrived just then with his visor raised, and intended to dismount. Sancho was about to go over and hold his stirrup, but his luck was so bad that when he went to get off his donkey, his foot got caught in a rope of the packsaddle in such a way that he couldn’t get it free, and found himself hanging with his chest and face on the ground. Don Quixote, who was not accustomed to dismounting without his stirrup being held, and thinking that Sancho had come over to hold it for him, got off all at once, and took Rocinante’s saddle (which must have been loose) with him, and both he and the saddle fell to the ground, with no little embarrassment on his part, and many curses directed under his breath to Sancho, whose foot was still trapped.
The duke told his hunters to help the knight and his squire. They picked up the bruised don Quixote from his fall, and he went limping over as well as he could and knelt before the two people. But the duke wouldn’t allow it. Rather, getting off his horse, he went over to embrace don Quixote, saying to him: “I’m sorry, señor Woebegone Knight, that the first thing that happened to you on my estate has turned out as unfortunately as this. But carelessness on the part of squires sometimes results in even worse things happening.”
“My luck in meeting you, worthy prince,” responded don Quixote, “cannot be bad, even though my fall had taken me to the depths of the abyss, since the glory of having seen you would have lifted me up and taken me out. My squire—may God damn him!—is much better at loosening his tongue to say mischievous things than tying and cinching a saddle so it’ll stay up. But no matter how I find myself, fallen or standing up, on foot or on horseback, I’ll always be at your service, and that of my lady, your worthy companion, mistress of beauty, and universal princess of courtesy.”
“Careful, señor don Quixote de La Mancha,” said the duke, “for where my lady Dulcinea del Toboso is, it’s not right to praise other beauties.”
By this time, Sancho Panza was free from the rope, and since he was nearby, before his master could respond, he said: “You cannot deny, but rather confirm, that my lady Dulcinea del Toboso is very pretty. But «when least you expect it the hare leaps up» and I’ve heard that this thing they call nature is like a potter who makes vessels from clay, and if she can make one, she can make two, three, and a hundred. I say it because I swear my lady the duchess isn’t at all behind my lady Dulcinea del Toboso.”
Don Quixote turned toward the duchess and said: “Your highness should imagine that no knight errant in the world has ever had such a talkative nor a more amusing squire as the one I have, and he’ll prove me right if your great loftiness would accept my service for a few days.”
To which the duchess responded: “Because the good Sancho is amusing, I hold him in higher esteem, since that means he’s quick-witted. Wit, señor don Quixote, as you know, isn’t found in dunces, and since he’s witty, from now on I’ll hold him as quick-witted.”
“And talkative,” added don Quixote. “So much the better,” said the duke, “because many clever things cannot be said with few words, and let’s not waste time with words, so let the great Woebegone Knight come along with us.”
“«Of the Lions» your highness should say,” said Sancho, “for there’s no more «Woebegone», just «He of the Lions».”
The duke went on: “So I say, let the Knight of the Lions come to a castle of mine near here, where he’ll be received as the noble person he is, and in the same way the duchess and I typically receive all knights errant who go there.”
By this time Sancho had adjusted and tightened the saddle well on Rocinante, and once don Quixote had mounted him, and the duke his own beautiful steed, they placed the duchess between them and rode toward the castle. The duchess had Sancho ride next to her because she enjoyed his witticisms immensely. Sancho needed no further urging, and inserted himself among the three, and the four of them engaged in conversation, to the great pleasure of the duchess and duke, who considered themselves very lucky to receive in their castle such a knight and such a squire.