"That will do," said Don Fernando; "let us say no more about it; andas her ladyship the princess proposes to set out to-morrow becauseit is too late to-day, so be it, and we will pass the night inpleasant conversation, and to-morrow we will all accompany Senor DonQuixote; for we wish to witness the valiant and unparalleledachievements he is about to perform in the course of this mightyenterprise which he has undertaken."
"It is I who shall wait upon and accompany you," said Don Quixote;"and I am much gratified by the favour that is bestowed upon me, andthe good opinion entertained of me, which I shall strive to justify orit shall cost me my life, or even more, if it can possibly cost memore."
Many were the compliments and expressions of politeness thatpassed between Don Quixote and Don Fernando; but they were broughtto an end by a traveller who at this moment entered the inn, and whoseemed from his attire to be a Christian lately come from thecountry of the Moors, for he was dressed in a short-skirted coat ofblue cloth with half-sleeves and without a collar; his breeches werealso of blue cloth, and his cap of the same colour, and he wore yellowbuskins and had a Moorish cutlass slung from a baldric across hisbreast. Behind him, mounted upon an ass, there came a woman dressed inMoorish fashion, with her face veiled and a scarf on her head, andwearing a little brocaded cap, and a mantle that covered her fromher shoulders to her feet. The man was of a robust andwell-proportioned frame, in age a little over forty, rather swarthy incomplexion, with long moustaches and a full beard, and, in short,his appearance was such that if he had been well dressed he would havebeen taken for a person of quality and good birth. On entering heasked for a room, and when they told him there was none in the innhe seemed distressed, and approaching her who by her dress seemed tobe a Moor he her down from saddle in his arms. Luscinda, Dorothea, thelandlady, her daughter and Maritornes, attracted by the strange, andto them entirely new costume, gathered round her; and Dorothea, whowas always kindly, courteous, and quick-witted, perceiving that bothshe and the man who had brought her were annoyed at not finding aroom, said to her, "Do not be put out, senora, by the discomfort andwant of luxuries here, for it is the way of road-side inns to bewithout them; still, if you will be pleased to share our lodgingwith us （pointing to Luscinda） perhaps you will have found worseaccommodation in the course of your journey."
To this the veiled lady made no reply; all she did was to risefrom her seat, crossing her hands upon her bosom, bowing her headand bending her body as a sign that she returned thanks. From hersilence they concluded that she must be a Moor and unable to speak aChristian tongue.
At this moment the captive came up, having been until nowotherwise engaged, and seeing that they all stood round hiscompanion and that she made no reply to what they addressed to her, hesaid, "Ladies, this damsel hardly understands my language and canspeak none but that of her own country, for which reason she doesnot and cannot answer what has been asked of her."
"Nothing has been asked of her," returned Luscinda; "she has onlybeen offered our company for this evening and a share of thequarters we occupy, where she shall be made as comfortable as thecircumstances allow, with the good-will we are bound to show allstrangers that stand in need of it, especially if it be a woman towhom the service is rendered."
"On her part and my own, senora," replied the captive, "I kissyour hands, and I esteem highly, as I ought, the favour you haveoffered, which, on such an occasion and coming from persons of yourappearance, is, it is plain to see, a very great one."
"Tell me, senor," said Dorothea, "is this lady a Christian or aMoor? for her dress and her silence lead us to imagine that she iswhat we could wish she was not."
"In dress and outwardly," said he, "she is a Moor, but at heartshe is a thoroughly good Christian, for she has the greatest desire tobecome one."
"Then she has not been baptised?" returned Luscinda.
"There has been no opportunity for that," replied the captive,"since she left Algiers, her native country and home; and up to thepresent she has not found herself in any such imminent danger of deathas to make it necessary to baptise her before she has beeninstructed in all the ceremonies our holy mother Church ordains;but, please God, ere long she shall be baptised with the solemnitybefitting her which is higher than her dress or mine indicates."
By these words he excited a desire in all who heard him, to know whothe Moorish lady and the captive were, but no one liked to ask justthen, seeing that it was a fitter moment for helping them to restthemselves than for questioning them about their lives. Dorotheatook the Moorish lady by the hand and leading her to a seat besideherself, requested her to remove her veil. She looked at the captiveas if to ask him what they meant and what she was to do. He said toher in Arabic that they asked her to take off her veil, andthereupon she removed it and disclosed a countenance so lovely, thatto Dorothea she seemed more beautiful than Luscinda, and to Luscindamore beautiful than Dorothea, and all the bystanders felt that ifany beauty could compare with theirs it was the Moorish lady's, andthere were even those who were inclined to give it somewhat thepreference. And as it is the privilege and charm of beauty to winthe heart and secure good-will, all forthwith became eager to showkindness and attention to the lovely Moor.
Don Fernando asked the captive what her name was, and he repliedthat it was Lela Zoraida; but the instant she heard him, she guessedwhat the Christian had asked, and said hastily, with somedispleasure and energy, "No, not Zoraida; Maria, Maria!" giving themto understand that she was called "Maria" and not "Zoraida." Thesewords, and the touching earnestness with which she uttered them,drew more than one tear from some of the listeners, particularly thewomen, who are by nature tender-hearted and compassionate. Luscindaembraced her affectionately, saying, "Yes, yes, Maria, Maria," towhich the Moor replied, "Yes, yes, Maria; Zoraida macange," whichmeans "not Zoraida."
Night was now approaching, and by the orders of those whoaccompanied Don Fernando the landlord had taken care and pains toprepare for them the best supper that was in his power. The hourtherefore having arrived they all took their seats at a long tablelike a refectory one, for round or square table there was none inthe inn, and the seat of honour at the head of it, though he was forrefusing it, they assigned to Don Quixote, who desired the ladyMicomicona to place herself by his side, as he was her protector.Luscinda and Zoraida took their places next her, opposite to them wereDon Fernando and Cardenio, and next the captive and the othergentlemen, and by the side of the ladies, the curate and the barber.And so they supped in high enjoyment, which was increased when theyobserved Don Quixote leave off eating, and, moved by an impulse likethat which made him deliver himself at such length when he supped withthe goatherds, begin to address them:
"Verily, gentlemen, if we reflect upon it, great and marvellousare the things they see, who make profession of the order ofknight-errantry. Say, what being is there in this world, whoentering the gate of this castle at this moment, and seeing us as weare here, would suppose or imagine us to be what we are? Who would saythat this lady who is beside me was the great queen that we all knowher to be, or that I am that Knight of the Rueful Countenance,trumpeted far and wide by the mouth of Fame? Now, there can be nodoubt that this art and calling surpasses all those that mankind hasinvented, and is the more deserving of being held in honour inproportion as it is the more exposed to peril. Away with those whoassert that letters have the preeminence over arms; I will tellthem, whosoever they may be, that they know not what they say. For thereason which such persons commonly assign, and upon which they chieflyrest, is, that the labours of the mind are greater than those of thebody, and that arms give employment to the body alone; as if thecalling were a porter's trade, for which nothing more is required thansturdy strength; or as if, in what we who profess them call arms,there were not included acts of vigour for the execution of which highintelligence is requisite; or as if the soul of the warrior, when hehas an army, or the defence of a city under his care, did not exertitself as much by mind as by body. Nay; see whether by bodily strengthit be possible to learn or divine the intentions of the enemy, hisplans, stratagems, or obstacles, or to ward off impending mischief;for all these are the work of the mind, and in them the body has noshare whatever. Since, therefore, arms have need of the mind, asmuch as letters, let us see now which of the two minds, that of theman of letters or that of the warrior, has most to do; and this willbe seen by the end and goal that each seeks to attain; for thatpurpose is the more estimable which has for its aim the nobler object.The end and goal of letters- I am not speaking now of divineletters, the aim of which is to raise and direct the soul to Heaven;for with an end so infinite no other can be compared- I speak of humanletters, the end of which is to establish distributive justice, giveto every man that which is his, and see and take care that good lawsare observed: an end undoubtedly noble, lofty, and deserving of highpraise, but not such as should be given to that sought by arms,which have for their end and object peace, the greatest boon thatmen can desire in this life. The first good news the world and mankindreceived was that which the angels announced on the night that was ourday, when they sang in the air, 'Glory to God in the highest, andpeace on earth to men of good-will;' and the salutation which thegreat Master of heaven and earth taught his disciples and chosenfollowers when they entered any house, was to say, 'Peace be on thishouse;' and many other times he said to them, 'My peace I give untoyou, my peace I leave you, peace be with you;' a jewel and aprecious gift given and left by such a hand: a jewel without whichthere can be no happiness either on earth or in heaven. This peaceis the true end of war; and war is only another name for arms. This,then, being admitted, that the end of war is peace, and that so far ithas the advantage of the end of letters, let us turn to the bodilylabours of the man of letters, and those of him who follows theprofession of arms, and see which are the greater."