第9章 唐·吉诃德 (1)
Don Quixote
In a village of La Mancha，the name of which I have
no desire to call to mind，there lived not long since one of
those gentlemen that keep a lance in the lance-rack，an old
buckler，a lean hack，and a greyhound for coursing. An olla of
rather more beef than mutton，a salad on most night，scraps
on Saturdays，lentils on Fridays，and a pigeon or so extra on
Sundays，made away with three-quarters of his income. The
rest of it went in a doublet of fine cloth and velvet breeches
and shoes to match for holidays，while on week-days he made
a brave figure in his best homespun. He had in his house a
housekeeper past forty，a niece under twenty，and a lad for
the field and market-place，who used to saddle the hack as
well as handle the bill-hook. The age of this gentleman of
ours was bordering of fifty ；he was of a hardy habit，spare，
gauntfeatured，a very early riser and a great sportsman. They
will have it his surname was Quixada or Quesada（for here
there is some difference of opinion among the authors who
write on the subject），although from reasonable conjectures it
seems plain that he was called Quexana. This，however，is of
but little importance to our tale ；it will be enough not to stray
a hair’s breadth from the truth in the telling of it.
You must know，then，that the above-named gentleman
whenever he was at leisure（which was mostly all the year
round）gave himself up to reading books of chivalry with
such ardour and avidity that he almost entirely neglected
the pursuit of his field-sports，and even the management
of his property ；and to such a pitch did his eagerness and
infatuation go that he sold many an acre of tillageland to buy
books of chivalry to read，and brought home as many of
them as he could get. But of all there were none he liked so
well as those of the famous Feliciano de Silva’s. composition，
for their lucidity of style and complicated conceits were
as pearls in his sight，particularly when in his reading he
came upon courtships and cartels，where he often found
passages like“the reason of the unreason with which my
reason is afflicted so weakens my reason that with reason
I murmur at your beauty ；”or again，“the high heavens，
that of your divinity divinely fortify you with the stars，render
you deserving of the desert your greatness deserves.”Over
conceits of this sort the poor gentleman lost his wits，and
used to lie awake striving to understand them and worm
the meaning out of them ；what Aristotle himself could
not have made out or extracted had he come to life again
for that special purpose. He was not at all easy about the
wounds which Don Belianis gave and took，because it
seemed to him that，great as were the surgeons who had
cured him，he must have had his face and body covered all
over with seams and scars. He commended，however，the
author’s way of ending his book with the promise of that
interminable adventure，and many a time was he tempted to
take up his pen and finish it properly as is there proposed，
which no doubt he would have done，and made a successful
piece of work of it too，had not greater and more absorbing
thoughts prevented him.
Many an argument did he have with the curate of his
village (a learned man，and a graduate of Siguenza) as to which
had been the better knight，Palmerin of England or Amadis of
Gaul. Master Nicholas，the village barber，however，used to
say that neither of them came up to the Knight of Phoebus，
and that if there was any that could compare with him it was
Don Galaor，the brother of Amadis of Gaul，because he had
a spirit that was equal to every occasion，and was no finikin