第9章 唐·吉诃德 (1)

[ 西班牙] 米盖儿·塞万提斯（ Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra）

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