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We are readying from The Life and Achievements of Don QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA. Don Quixote is a Spanish epic novel by Miguel de Cervantes. Originally published in two parts, in 1605 and 1615, its full title is The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha. A founding work of Western literature, it is often labelled as the first modern novel and one of the greatest works ever written. Don Quixote is also one of the most-translated books in the world.

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CHAPTER XXI.
What befell Don Quixote and his company at the inn.

When they had eaten plentifully they left that place, and travelledall that day and the next without meeting anything worth notice, tillthey came to the inn, which was so frightful a sight to poor Sancho,that he would willingly not have gone in, but could by no means avoidit. The innkeeper, the hostess, her daughter, and Maritornes, met DonQuixote and his squire with a very hearty welcome. The knight receivedthem with a face of gravity and approbation, bidding them prepare hima better bed than their last entertainment afforded him. "Sir," saidthe hostess, "pay us better than you did then, and you shall have abed for a prince." And upon the knight's promise that he would, shepromised him a tolerable bed in the large room where he lay before. Hepresently undressed, and being heartily crazed in body as well as inmind, he went to bed. He was scarcely got to his chamber, when thehostess flew suddenly at the barber, and catching him by the beard,"On my life," said she, "you shall use my tail no longer for a beard;pray, sir, give me my tail; my husband wants it to stick his combinto; and my tail I will have, sir." The barber surrendered thehostess her tail, with the other trinkets which he had borrowed todecoy Don Quixote out of the desert. Dorothea's beauty and Cardenio'shandsome shape surprised every body. The curate bespoke supper; andthe host, being pretty secure of his reckoning, soon got them atolerable entertainment. They would not disturb the knight, who sleptvery soundly, for his distemper wanted rest more than meat; but theydiverted themselves with the hostess's account of his encounter withthe carriers, and of Sancho's being tossed in a blanket. Don Quixote'sunaccountable madness was the principal subject of their discourse;upon which the curate insisting and arguing that it proceeded from hisreading romances, the innkeeper took him up.
"Sir," said he, "you cannot make me of your opinion; for, in my mind,it is the pleasantest reading that ever was. I have now in the housetwo or three books of that kind, and some other pieces that reallyhave kept me and many others alive. In harvest-time, a great many ofthe reapers come to drink here in the heat of the day, and he that canread best among us takes up one of these books, and all the rest ofus, sometimes thirty or more, sit round about him and listen with suchpleasure that we think neither of sorrow nor care. As for my own part,when I hear the mighty blows and dreadful battles of thoseknights-errant, I have half a mind to be one myself, and am raised tosuch a life and briskness that I could frighten away old age. I couldsit and hear them from morning till night." "I wish you would,husband," said the hostess; "for then we should have some rest; for atall other times you are so out of humour and so snappish that we leada sad life with you." "And what think you of this matter, young miss?"said the curate to the innkeeper's daughter. "Alack-a-day, sir," saidshe, "I do not understand those things, and yet I love to hear them;but I do not like that frightful ugly fighting that so pleases myfather. Indeed, the sad lamentations of the poor knights for the lossof their mistresses sometimes makes me cry like any thing." "Isuppose, then, young gentlewoman," said Dorothea, "you will betender-hearted, and will never let a lover die for you." "I do notknow what may happen as to that," said the girl; "but this I know,that I will never give any body reason to call me tigress and lioness,and I do not know how many other ugly names, as those ladies are oftencalled; and I think they deserve yet worse, so they do; for they cannever have soul nor conscience to let such fine gentlemen die or runmad for a sight of them. What signifies all their fiddling andcoyness? If they are civil women, why do not they marry them; for thatis all their knights would be at?" "Hold your prating, mistress," saidthe hostess, "how came you to know all this? It is not for such as youto talk of these matters." "The gentleman only asked me a question,"said she, "and it would be uncivil not to answer him." "Well," saidthe curate, "do me the favour, good landlord, to bring out these booksthat I may have a sight of them."
"With all my heart," said the innkeeper; and with that, stepping tohis chamber, he opened a little portmanteau that shut with a chain,and took out three large volumes, with a parcel of manuscripts in afair legible letter. The title of the first was Don Cirongilio ofThrace; the second Felixmarte of Hircania; and the third was theHistory of the great Captain Gonçalo Hernandes de Corduba, and theLife of Diego Garcia de Paredes, bound together. The curate,reading the title, turned to the barber, and told him they wanted nowDon Quixote's housekeeper and his niece. "I shall do as well with thebooks," said the barber; "for I can find the way to the back-yard, orto the chimney; there is a good fire that will do their business.""Business!" said the innkeeper, "I hope you would not burn my books?""Only two of them," said the curate; "this same Don Cirongilio and hisfriend Felixmarte." "I hope, sir," said the host, "they are neitherheretics nor flegmatics." "Schismatics, you mean," said the barber. "Imean so," said the innkeeper; "and if you must burn any, let it bethis of Gonçalo Hernandes and Diego Garcia; for you should sooner burnone of my children than the others." "These books, honest friend,"said the curate, "that you appear so concerned for are senselessrhapsodies of falsehood and folly; and this which you so despise is atrue history, and contains a true account of two celebrated men. Thefirst by his bravery and courage purchased immortal fame, and the nameof the Great General, by the universal consent of mankind; and theother, Diego Garcia de Paredes, was of noble extraction, and born inTruxillo, a town of Estremadura, and was a man of singular courage,and of such mighty strength, that with one of his hands he could stopa mill-wheel in its most rapid motion, and with his single forcedefended the passage of a bridge against an immense army. Severalother great actions are related in the memoirs of his life, but allwith so much modesty and unbiassed truth, that they easily pronouncehim his own historiographer; and had they been written by any oneelse, with freedom and impartiality, they might have eclipsed yourHectors, Achilles's, and Orlandos, with all their heroic exploits.""That's a fine jest, truly," said the innkeeper; "my father could havetold you another tale, sir. Holding a mill-wheel! why, is that such amighty matter? Only do but turn over a leaf of Felixmarte there; youwill find how with one single back-stroke he cut five swinging giantsoff by the middle, as if they had been so many bean-cods, of which thechildren make little puppet-friars; and read how at another time hecharged a most mighty and powerful army of above a million and sixhundred thousand fighting men, all armed cap-a-pie, and routed themall like so many sheep. And what can you say of the worthy Cirongilioof Thrace? who, as you may read there, going by water one day, wasassaulted by a fiery serpent in the middle of the river; he presentlyleaped nimbly upon her back, and, hanging by her scaly neck, graspedher throat fast with both his arms, so that the serpent, findingherself almost strangled, was forced to dive into the water to saveherself, and carried the knight, who would not quit his hold, to thevery bottom, where he found a stately palace and such pleasant gardensthat it was a wonder; and straight the serpent turned into a very oldman, and told him such things as were never heard nor spoken. Now, afig for your Great Captain and your Diego Garcia." Dorothea, hearingthis, said softly to Cardenio, that the host was capable of making asecond part to Don Quixote. "I think so too," cried Cardenio, "for itis plain he believes every tittle contained in those books; nor canall the Carthusian friars in the world persuade him otherwise." "Itell thee, friend," said the curate, "there were never any suchpersons as your books of chivalry mention upon the face of the earth;your Felixmarte of Hircania and your Cirongilio of Thrace are all butchimeras and fictions of idle and luxuriant wits, who wrote them forthe same reason that you read them, because they had nothing else todo." "Sir," said the innkeeper, "you must angle with another bait, oryou will catch no fish; I know what's what as well as another; I cantell where my own shoe pinches me; and you must not think, sir, tocatch old birds with chaff. A pleasant jest indeed, that you shouldpretend to persuade me now that these notable books are lies andstories! why, sir, are they not in print? Are they not publishedaccording to order? licensed by authority from the privy council? Anddo you think that they would permit so many untruths to be printed,and such a number of battles and enchantments, to set us alla-madding?" "I have told you already, friend," replied the curate,"that this is licensed for our amusement in our idle hours: for thesame reason that tennis, billiards, chess, and other recreations aretolerated, that men may find a pastime for those hours they cannotfind employment for. Neither could the government foresee thisinconvenience from such books that you urge, because they could notreasonably suppose any rational person would believe theirabsurdities. And were this a proper time, I could say a great deal infavour of such writings; and how, with some regulations, they might bemade both instructive and diverting. But I design upon the firstopportunity to communicate my thoughts on this head to some that mayredress it. In the mean time, honest landlord, you may put up yourbooks, and believe them true if you please, and much good may they doyou. And I wish you may never halt on the same foot as your guest, DonQuixote." "There's no fear of that," said the innkeeper; "for I neverdesign to turn knight-errant, because I find the customs thatsupported the noble order are quite out of doors."
These were not fabulous heroes, though romantic authors have addedmuch of fable to their true history.

CHAPTER XXII.
Of the dreadful battle betwixt Don Quixote and certain Wine-skins.

The conversation was hardly concluded when Sancho Panza came runningout of Don Quixote's chamber in a terrible fright, crying out, "Help,help, good people! help my master! He is just now at it tooth and nailwith that same giant, the Princess Micomicona's foe; I never saw amore dreadful battle in my born days. He has lent him such a blow,that whip off went the giant's head, as round as a turnip." "You aremad, Sancho," said the curate, starting up astonished; "is thy mastersuch a wonderful hero as to fight a giant at two thousand leaguesdistance?" Upon this they presently heard a noise and bustle in thechamber, and Don Quixote bawling out, "Stay, villain! robber, stay!since I have thee here, thy scimitar shall but little avail thee!" andwith this they heard him strike with his sword with all his forceagainst the walls. "Good folks," said Sancho, "my master does not wantyour hearkening; why do not you run in and help him? though I believeit is after-meat mustard; for sure the giant is dead by this time, andgiving an account of his ill life; for I saw his blood run all aboutthe house, and his head sailing in the middle on it; but such a head!it is bigger than any wine-skin in Spain." "Mercy on me!" cried theinnkeeper, "I will be cut like a cucumber, if this Don Quixote, or DonDevil, has not been hacking my wine-skins that stood filled at hisbed's head, and this coxcomb has taken the spilt liquor for blood."Then running with the whole company into the room, they found the poorknight in the most comical posture imaginable.
In Spain they keep their wines in the skin of a goat, sheep, orother beast, pitched within, and sewed close without.
He wore on his head a little red greasy nightcap of the innkeeper's;he had wrapped one of the best blankets about his left arm for ashield; and wielded his drawn-sword in the right, laying about himpell-mell; with now and then a start of some military expression, asif he had been really engaged with some giant. But the best jest ofall, he was all this time fast asleep; for the thoughts of theadventure he had undertaken had so wrought on his imagination that hisdepraved fancy had in his sleep represented to him the kingdom ofMicomicon and the giant; and dreaming that he was then fighting him,he assaulted the wine-skins so desperately that he set the wholechamber afloat with good wine. The innkeeper, enraged to see thehavoc, flew at Don Quixote with his fists; and had not Cardenio andthe curate taken him off, he had proved a giant indeed against theknight. All this could not wake the poor Don, till the barber,throwing a bucket of cold water on him, wakened him from his sleep,though not from his dream.
Sancho ran up and down the room searching for the giant's head, till,finding his labour fruitless, "Well, well," said he, "now I seeplainly that this house is haunted; for when I was here before, inthis very room was I beaten like any stock-fish, but knew no more thanthe man in the moon who struck me; and now the giant's head that I sawcut off with these eyes is vanished; and I am sure I saw the bodyspout blood like a pump." "What prating and nonsense!" said theinnkeeper; "I tell you, rascal, it is my wine-skins that are slashed,and my wine that runs about the floor here." "Well, well," saidSancho, "do not trouble me; I only tell you that I cannot find thegiant's head, and my earldom is gone after it; and so I am undone,like salt in water." And truly Sancho's waking dream was as pleasantas his master's when asleep. The innkeeper was almost mad to see thefoolish squire harp so on the same string with his frantic master, andswore they should not come off now as before; that their chivalryshould be no satisfaction for his wine, but that they should pay himsauce for the damage, and for the very leathern patches which thewounded wine-skins would want.
Don Quixote in the mean while, believing he had finished hisadventure, and mistaking the curate, that held him by the arms, forthe Princess Micomicona, fell on his knees before him, and with arespect due to a royal presence, "Now may your highness," said he,"great and illustrious princess, live secure, free from any furtherapprehensions from your conquered enemy; and now I am acquitted of myengagement, since, by the assistance of Heaven, and the influence ofher favour by whom I live and conquer, your adventure is so happilyachieved." "Did not I tell you so, gentlefolks?" said Sancho; "who isdrunk or mad now? See if my master has not already put the giant inpickle? I am an earl as sure as possible." The whole company (exceptthe unfortunate innkeeper) were highly diverted at the extravagancesof both. At last, the barber, Cardenio, and the curate, having withmuch ado got Don Quixote to bed, he presently fell asleep, beingheartily tired; and then they left him to comfort Sancho Panza for theloss of the giant's head; but it was no easy matter to appease theinnkeeper, who was at his wit's end for the unexpected and sudden fateof his wine-skins.
The hostess in the mean time ran up and down the house crying androaring: "In an ill hour," said she, "did this unlucky knight-errantcome into my house; I wish, for my part, I had never seen him, for hehas been a dear guest to me. He and his man, his horse and his asswent away last time without paying me a cross for their supper, theirbed, their litter and provender; and all, forsooth, because he wasseeking adventures. What, in the wide world, have we to do with hisstatutes of chivalry? If they oblige him not to pay, they shouldoblige him not to eat neither. It was upon this score that the otherfellow took away my good tail; it is clean spoiled, the hair is alltorn off, and my husband can never use it again. And now to come uponme again with destroying my wine-skins, and spilling my liquor. But Iwill be paid, so I will, to the last maravedis, or I will disown myname, and forswear my mother." Her honest maid Maritornes seconded herfury; but Master Curate stopped their mouths by promising that hewould see them satisfied for their wine and their skins, butespecially for the tail which they made such a clatter about. Dorotheacomforted Sancho, assuring him that whenever it appeared that hismaster had killed the giant, and restored her to her dominions, heshould be sure of the best earldom in her disposal. With this hebuckled up again, and vowed "that he himself had seen the giant'shead, by the same token that it had a beard that reached down to hismiddle; and if it could not be found, it must be hid by witchcraft,for every thing went by enchantment in that house, as he had found tohis cost when he was there before." Dorothea answered that shebelieved him; and desired him to pluck up his spirits, for all thingswould be well.

CHAPTER XXIII.
Containing an account of many surprising accidents in the inn.

At the same time the innkeeper, who stood at the door, seeing companycoming, "More guests," cried he; "a brave jolly troop, on my word. Ifthey stop here, we may rejoice." "What are they?" said Cardenio. "Fourmen," said the host, "on horseback, with black masks on their faces,and armed with lances and targets; a lady too all in white, that ridessingle and masked; and two running footmen." "Are they near?" said thecurate. "Just at the door," replied the innkeeper. Hearing this,Dorothea veiled herself, and Cardenio had just time enough to stepinto the next room, where Don Quixote lay, when the strangers cameinto the yard. The four horsemen, who made a very genteel appearance,dismounted and went to help down the lady, whom one of them taking inhis arms, carried into the house, where he seated her in a chair bythe chamber-door, into which Cardenio had withdrawn. All this was donewithout discovering their faces, or speaking a word; only the lady, asshe sat down in the chair, breathed out a deep sigh, and let her armssink down in a weak and fainting posture. The curate, marking theirodd behaviour, which raised in him a curiosity to know who they were,went to their servants in the stable, and asked what their masterswere? "Indeed, sir," said one of them, "that is more than we can tellyou; they seem of no mean quality, especially that gentleman whocarried the lady into the house; for the rest pay him great respect,and his word is a law to them." "Who is the lady?" said the curate."We know no more of her than the rest," answered the fellow; "for wecould never see her face all the time, and it is impossible we shouldknow her or them otherwise. They picked us up on the road, andprevailed with us to wait on them to Andalusia, promising to pay uswell for our trouble; so that, except the two days' travelling intheir company, they are utter strangers to us." "Could you not hearthem name one another all this time?" asked the curate. "No, truly,sir," answered the footman; "for we heard them not speak a syllableall the way; the poor lady indeed used to sigh and grieve sopiteously, that we are persuaded she has no stomach to this journey.""Very likely," said the curate; and with that leaving them, hereturned to the place where he left Dorothea, who, hearing the maskedlady sigh so frequently, moved by the natural pity of the soft sex,could not forbear inquiring the cause of her sorrow. "Pardon me,madam," said she, "if I beg to know your grief; and assure yourselfthat my request does not proceed from mere curiosity, but an earnestinclination to assist you, if your misfortune be such as our sex isnaturally subject to, and in the power of a woman to cure." The ladymade no return to her compliment, and Dorothea pressed her in vainwith new reasons; when the gentleman, whom the footboy signified to bethe chief of the company, interposed: "Madam," said he, "do nottrouble yourself to throw away any generous offer on that ungratefulwoman, whose nature cannot return an obligation; neither expect anyanswer to your demands, for her tongue is a stranger to truth." "Sir,"said the disconsolate lady, "my truth and honour have made me thusmiserable, and my sufferings are sufficient to prove you the falsestand most base of men." Cardenio, being only parted from the company byDon Quixote's chamber-door, overheard these last words verydistinctly, and immediately cried out, "Good heaven, what do I hear?what voice struck my ear just now?" The lady, startled at hisexclamation, sprung from the chair, and would have rushed into thechamber whence the voice came; but the gentleman perceiving it, laidhold of her to prevent her, which so disordered the lady that her maskfell off, and discovered an incomparable face, beautiful as anangel's, though very pale, and strangely discomposed. Dorothea and therest beheld her with grief and wonder. She struggled so hard, and thegentleman was so disordered by beholding her, that his mask droppedoff too, and discovered to Dorothea, who was assisting to hold thelady, the face of her husband Don Fernando. Scarce had she known himwhen, with a long and dismal "oh!" she fell in a swoon, and would havefallen to the ground, had not the barber, by good fortune, stoodbehind and supported her. The curate ran presently to help her, andpulling off her veil to throw water in her face, Don Fernandopresently knew her, and was struck almost as dead as she at the sight;nevertheless he did not quit Lucinda, who was the lady that struggledso hard to get out of his hands. Cardenio hearing Dorothea'sexclamation, and imagining it to be Lucinda's voice, flew into thechamber in great disorder, and the first object he met was DonFernando holding Lucinda, who presently knew him. They were all struckdumb with amazement: Dorothea gazed on Don Fernando; Don Fernando onCardenio; and Cardenio and Lucinda on one another.
At last Lucinda broke silence, and addressing Don Fernando, "Let mego," said she; "unloose your hold, my lord: by the generosity youshould have, or by your inhumanity, since it must be so, I conjure youleave me, that I may cling like ivy to my old support; and from whomneither your threats, nor prayers, nor gifts, nor promises, could everalienate my love. Contend not against Heaven, whose power alone couldbring me to my dear husband's sight by such strange and unexpectedmeans; you have a thousand instances to convince you that nothing butdeath can make me ever forget him; let this, at least, turn your loveinto rage, which may prompt you to end my miseries with my life herebefore my dear husband, where I shall be proud to lose it, since mydeath may convince him of my unshaken love and honour till the lastminute of my life." Dorothea by this time had recovered, and findingby Lucinda's discourse who she was, and that Don Fernando would notunhand her, she made a virtue of necessity, and falling at his feet,"My lord," cried she, all bathed in tears, "if that beauty which youhold in your arms has not altogether dazzled your eyes, you may beholdat your feet the once happy, but now miserable Dorothea. I am the poorand humble villager, whom your generous bounty, I dare not say yourlove, did condescend to raise to the honour of calling you her own: Iam she who, once confined to peaceful innocence, led a contented life,till your importunity, your shew of honour and deluding words, charmedme from my retreat, and made me resign my freedom to your power. How Iam recompensed may be guessed by my grief, and my being found here inthis strange place, whither I was led, not through any dishonourableends, but purely by despair and grief to be forsaken of you. It was atyour desire I was bound to you by the strictest tie; and whatever youdo, you can never cease to be mine. Consider, my dear lord, that mymatchless love may balance the beauty and nobility of the person forwhom you would forsake me; she cannot share your love, for it is onlymine; and Cardenio's interest in her will not admit a partner. It iseasier far, my lord, to recall your wandering desires, and fix themupon her that adores you, than to draw her to love who hates you. Havesome regard to your honour! remember you are a Christian! Why shouldyou then make her life end so miserably, whose beginning your favourmade so happy? If I must not expect the usage and respect of a wife,let me but serve you as a slave; so I belong to you, though in themeanest rank, I shall never complain; let me not be exposed to theslandering reflections of the censorious world by so cruel aseparation from my lord; afflict not the declining years of my poorparents, whose faithful services to you and yours have merited a moresuitable return."
These, with many such arguments, did the mournful Dorothea urge,appearing so lovely in her sorrow, that Don Fernando's friends, aswell as all the rest, sympathised with her; Lucinda particularly, asmuch admiring her wit and beauty as moved by the tears, the piercingsighs and moans, that followed her entreaties; and she would have gonenearer to have comforted her, had not Fernando's arms, that still heldher, prevented it. He stood full of confusion, with his eyes fixedattentively on Dorothea a great while; at last, opening his arms, hequitted Lucinda: "Thou hast conquered," cried he; "charming Dorothea,thou hast conquered; it is impossible to resist so many united truthsand charms." Lucinda was still so disordered and weak that she wouldhave fallen when Fernando quitted her, had not Cardenio, withoutregard to his safety, leaped forward and caught her in his arms, andembracing her with eagerness and joy, "Thanks, gracious Heaven!" criedhe aloud, "my dear, my faithful wife, thy sorrows are now ended; forwhere canst thou rest more safe than in my arms, which now supportthee as once they did when my blessed fortune first made thee mine?"Lucinda then opening her eyes and finding herself in the arms of herCardenio, without regard to ceremony threw her arms about his neck,"Yes," said she, "thou art he, thou art my lord indeed! Now, fortune,act thy worst; nor fears nor threats shall ever part me from the solesupport and comfort of my life." This sight was very surprising to DonFernando and the other spectators. Dorothea perceiving, by DonFernando's change of countenance, and laying his hand to his sword,that he prepared to assault Cardenio, fell suddenly on her knees, andwith an endearing embrace held him so fast that he could not stir."What means," cried she, all in tears, "the only refuge of my hope?See here thy own and dearest wife at thy feet, and her you would havein her true husband's arms. Think then, my lord, how unjust is yourattempt to dissolve that knot which Heaven has tied so fast. Can youever think or hope success in your design when you see her contemningall dangers, and confirmed in strictest constancy and honour, leaningin tears of joy on her true lover's bosom? For Heaven's sake I entreatyou, by your own words I conjure you, to mitigate your anger, andpermit that faithful pair to spend their remaining days in peace. Thusmay you make it appear that you are generous and truly noble, givingthe world so strong a proof that you have your reason at command, andyour passion in subjection."
All this while Cardenio, though he still held Lucinda in his arms, hada watchful eye on Don Fernando; resolving, if he had made the leastoffer to his prejudice, to make him repent it and all his party, ifpossible, though at the expense of his life. But Don Fernando'sfriends, the curate, the barber, and all the company (not forgettinghonest Sancho Panza), got together about Don Fernando, and entreatedhim to pity the beautiful Dorothea's tears; that, considering what shehad said, the truth of which was apparent, it would be the highestinjustice to frustrate her lawful hopes; that their strange andwonderful meeting could not be attributed to chance, but the peculiarand directing providence of Heaven; that nothing but death (as thecurate very well urged) could part Cardenio from Lucinda; and thatthough the edge of his sword might separate them, he would make themhappier by death than he could hope to be by surviving; that, inirrecoverable accidents, a submission to Providence, and a resignationof our wills, shewed not only the greatest prudence, but also thehighest courage and generosity; that he should not envy those happylovers what the bounty of Heaven had conferred on them, but that heshould turn his eyes on Dorothea's grief, view her incomparablebeauty, which, with her true and unfeigned love, made large amends forthe meanness of her parentage; but principally it lay upon him, if hegloried in the titles of nobility and Christianity, to keep hispromise unviolated; that the more reasonable part of mankind could nototherwise be satisfied, or have any esteem for him. Also, that it wasthe special prerogative of beauty, if heightened by virtue and adornedwith modesty, to lay claim to any dignity without disparagement orscandal to the person that raises it. In short, to these reasons theyadded so many enforcing arguments, that Don Fernando, who was truly agentleman, could no longer resist reason, but stooped down, andembracing Dorothea, "Rise, madam," said he; "it is not proper that sheshould lie prostrate at my feet who triumphs over my soul. If I havenot hitherto paid you all the respect I ought, it was perhaps soordered by Heaven, that having by this a stronger conviction of yourconstancy and goodness, I may henceforth set the greater value on yourmerit. Let the future respects and services I shall pay you plead apardon for my past transgressions; and let the violent passions of mylove that first made me yours plead my excuse for that which caused meto forsake you. View the now happy Lucinda's eyes, and there read athousand farther excuses; but I promise henceforth never to disturbher quiet; and may she live long and contented with her dearCardenio, as I hope to do with my dearest Dorothea."
Cardenio, Lucinda, and the greatest part of the company, could notcommand their passions, but all wept for joy: even Sancho Panzahimself shed tears, though, as he afterwards confessed, it was not fordownright grief, but because he found not Dorothea to be the Queen ofMicomicona, as he supposed, and of whom he expected so many favoursand preferments. Cardenio and Lucinda fell at Don Fernando's feet,giving him thanks with the strongest expressions which gratitude couldsuggest; he raised them up, and received their acknowledgments withmuch modesty, then begged to be informed by Dorothea how she came tothat place. She related to him all she had told Cardenio, but withsuch a grace that what were misfortunes to her proved an inexpressiblepleasure to those that heard her relation. When she had done, DonFernando told all that had befallen him in the city after he had foundthe paper in Lucinda's bosom which declared Cardenio to be herhusband; how he would have killed her, had not her parents preventedhim; how afterwards, mad with shame and anger, he left the city towait a more convenient opportunity of revenge; how, in a short time,he learned that Lucinda was fled to a nunnery, resolving to end herdays there, if she could not spend them with Cardenio; that, havingdesired those three gentlemen to go with him, they went to thenunnery, and, waiting till they found the gate open, he left two ofthe gentlemen to secure the door, while he with the other entered thehouse, where they found Lucinda talking with a nun in the cloister.They carried her thence to a village, where they disguised themselvesfor their more convenient flight, which they more easily broughtabout, the nunnery being situate in the fields, distant a good wayfrom any town. He likewise added how Lucinda, finding herself in hispower, fell into a swoon; and that after she came to herself, shecontinually wept and sighed, but would not speak a syllable; and that,accompanied with silence only and tears, they had travelled till theycame to that inn, which proved to him as his arrival at heaven, havingput a happy conclusion to all his earthly misfortunes.