Their dainty repast being finished, they saddled at once, and without any adventure worth mentioning they reached next day the inn, the object of Sancho Panza’s fear and dread; but though he would have rather not entered it, there was no help for it. The landlady, the landlord, their daughter, and Maritornes, when they saw Don Quixote and Sancho coming, went out to welcome them with signs of hearty satisfaction, which Don Quixote received with dignity and gravity, and bade them make up a better bed for him than the last time: to which the landlady replied that if he paid better than he did the last time she would give him one fit for a prince. Don Quixote said he would, so they made up a tolerable one for him in the same garret as before; and he lay down at once, being sorely shaken and in want of sleep.
No sooner was the door shut upon him than the landlady made at the barber, and seizing him by the beard, said:
“By my faith you are not going to make a beard of my tail any longer; you must give me back tail, for it is a shame the way that thing of my husband’s goes tossing about on the floor; I mean the comb that I used to stick in my good tail.”
But for all she tugged at it the barber would not give it up until the licentiate told him to let her have it, as there was now no further occasion for that stratagem, because he might declare himself and appear in his own character, and tell Don Quixote that he had fled to this inn when those thieves the galley slaves robbed him; and should he ask for the princess’s squire, they could tell him that she had sent him on before her to give notice to the people of her kingdom that she was coming, and bringing with her the deliverer of them all. On this the barber cheerfully restored the tail to the landlady, and at the same time they returned all the accessories they had borrowed to effect Don Quixote’s deliverance. All the people of the inn were struck with astonishment at the beauty of Dorothea, and even at the comely figure of the shepherd Cardenio. The curate made them get ready such fare as there was in the inn, and the landlord, in hope of better payment, served them up a tolerably good dinner. All this time Don Quixote was asleep, and they thought it best not to waken him, as sleeping would now do him more good than eating.
While at dinner, the company consisting of the landlord, his wife, their daughter, Maritornes, and all the travellers, they discussed the strange craze of Don Quixote and the manner in which he had been found; and the landlady told them what had taken place between him and the carrier; and then, looking round to see if Sancho was there, when she saw he was not, she gave them the whole story of his blanketing, which they received with no little amusement. But on the curate observing that it was the books of chivalry which Don Quixote had read that had turned his brain, the landlord said:
“I cannot understand how that can be, for in truth to my mind there is no better reading in the world, and I have here two or three of them, with other writings that are the very life, not only of myself but of plenty more; for when it is harvest-time, the reapers flock here on holidays, and there is always one among them who can read and who takes up one of these books, and we gather round him, thirty or more of us, and stay listening to him with a delight that makes our grey hairs grow young again. At least I can say for myself that when I hear of what furious and terrible blows the knights deliver, I am seized with the longing to do the same, and I would like to be hearing about them night and day.”
“And I just as much,” said the landlady, “because I never have a quiet moment in my house except when you are listening to some one reading; for then you are so taken up that for the time being you forget to scold.”
“That is true,” said Maritornes; “and, faith, I relish hearing these things greatly too, for they are very pretty; especially when they describe some lady or another in the arms of her knight under the orange trees, and the duenna who is keeping watch for them half dead with envy and fright; all this I say is as good as honey.”
“And you, what do you think, young lady?” said the curate turning to the landlord’s daughter.
“I don’t know indeed, senor,” said she; “I listen too, and to tell the truth, though I do not understand it, I like hearing it; but it is not the blows that my father likes that I like, but the laments the knights utter when they are separated from their ladies; and indeed they sometimes make me weep with the pity I feel for them.”
“Then you would console them if it was for you they wept, young lady?” said Dorothea.
“I don’t know what I should do,” said the girl; “I only know that there are some of those ladies so cruel that they call their knights tigers and lions and a thousand other foul names: and Jesus! I don’t know what sort of folk they can be, so unfeeling and heartless, that rather than bestow a glance upon a worthy man they leave him to die or go mad. I don’t know what is the good of such prudery; if it is for honour’s sake, why not marry them? That’s all they want.”
“Hush, child,” said the landlady; “it seems to me thou knowest a great deal about these things, and it is not fit for girls to know or talk so much.”
“As the gentleman asked me, I could not help answering him,” said the girl.
“Well then,” said the curate, “bring me these books, senor landlord, for I should like to see them.”
“With all my heart,” said he, and going into his own room he brought out an old valise secured with a little chain, on opening which the curate found in it three large books and some manuscripts written in a very good hand. The first that he opened he found to be “Don Cirongilio of Thrace,” and the second “Don Felixmarte of Hircania,” and the other the “History of the Great Captain Gonzalo Hernandez de Cordova, with the Life of Diego Garcia de Paredes.”
When the curate read the two first titles he looked over at the barber and said, “We want my friend’s housekeeper and niece here now.”
“Nay,” said the barber, “I can do just as well to carry them to the yard or to the hearth, and there is a very good fire there.”
“What! your worship would burn my books!” said the landlord.
“Only these two,” said the curate, “Don Cirongilio, and Felixmarte.”
“Are my books, then, heretics or phlegmaties that you want to burn them?” said the landlord.
“Schismatics you mean, friend,” said the barber, “not phlegmatics.”
“That’s it,” said the landlord; “but if you want to burn any, let it be that about the Great Captain and that Diego Garcia; for I would rather have a child of mine burnt than either of the others.”
“Brother,” said the curate, “those two books are made up of lies, and are full of folly and nonsense; but this of the Great Captain is a true history, and contains the deeds of Gonzalo Hernandez of Cordova, who by his many and great achievements earned the title all over the world of the Great Captain, a famous and illustrious name, and deserved by him alone; and this Diego Garcia de Paredes was a distinguished knight of the city of Trujillo in Estremadura, a most gallant soldier, and of such bodily strength that with one finger he stopped a mill-wheel in full motion; and posted with a two-handed sword at the foot of a bridge he kept the whole of an immense army from passing over it, and achieved such other exploits that if, instead of his relating them himself with the modesty of a knight and of one writing his own history, some free and unbiassed writer had recorded them, they would have thrown into the shade all the deeds of the Hectors, Achilleses, and Rolands.”
“Tell that to my father,” said the landlord. “There’s a thing to be astonished at! Stopping a mill-wheel! By God your worship should read what I have read of Felixmarte of Hircania, how with one single backstroke he cleft five giants asunder through the middle as if they had been made of bean-pods like the little friars the children make; and another time he attacked a very great and powerful army, in which there were more than a million six hundred thousand soldiers, all armed from head to foot, and he routed them all as if they had been flocks of sheep.
And then, what do you say to the good Cirongilio of Thrace, that was so stout and bold; as may be seen in the book, where it is related that as he was sailing along a river there came up out of the midst of the water against him a fiery serpent, and he, as soon as he saw it, flung himself upon it and got astride of its scaly shoulders, and squeezed its throat with both hands with such force that the serpent, finding he was throttling it, had nothing for it but to let itself sink to the bottom of the river, carrying with it the knight who would not let go his hold; and when they got down there he found himself among palaces and gardens so pretty that it was a wonder to see; and then the serpent changed itself into an old ancient man, who told him such things as were never heard. Hold your peace, senor; for if you were to hear this you would go mad with delight. A couple of figs for your Great Captain and your Diego Garcia!”
Hearing this Dorothea said in a whisper to Cardenio, “Our landlord is almost fit to play a second part to Don Quixote.”
“I think so,” said Cardenio, “for, as he shows, he accepts it as a certainty that everything those books relate took place exactly as it is written down; and the barefooted friars themselves would not persuade him to the contrary.”
“But consider, brother, said the curate once more, “there never was any Felixmarte of Hircania in the world, nor any Cirongilio of Thrace, or any of the other knights of the same sort, that the books of chivalry talk of; the whole thing is the fabrication and invention of idle wits, devised by them for the purpose you describe of beguiling the time, as your reapers do when they read; for I swear to you in all seriousness there never were any such knights in the world, and no such exploits or nonsense ever happened anywhere.”
“Try that bone on another dog,” said the landlord; “as if I did not know how many make five, and where my shoe pinches me; don’t think to feed me with pap, for by God I am no fool. It is a good joke for your worship to try and persuade me that everything these good books say is nonsense and lies, and they printed by the license of the Lords of the Royal Council, as if they were people who would allow such a lot of lies to be printed all together, and so many battles and enchantments that they take away one’s senses.”
“I have told you, friend,” said the curate, “that this is done to divert our idle thoughts; and as in well-ordered states games of chess, fives, and billiards are allowed for the diversion of those who do not care, or are not obliged, or are unable to work, so books of this kind are allowed to be printed, on the supposition that, what indeed is the truth, there can be nobody so ignorant as to take any of them for true stories; and if it were permitted me now, and the present company desired it, I could say something about the qualities books of chivalry should possess to be good ones, that would be to the advantage and even to the taste of some; but I hope the time will come when I can communicate my ideas to some one who may be able to mend matters; and in the meantime, senor landlord, believe what I have said, and take your books, and make up your mind about their truth or falsehood, and much good may they do you; and God grant you may not fall lame of the same foot your guest Don Quixote halts on.”
“No fear of that,” returned the landlord; “I shall not be so mad as to make a knight-errant of myself; for I see well enough that things are not now as they used to be in those days, when they say those famous knights roamed about the world.”
Sancho had made his appearance in the middle of this conversation, and he was very much troubled and cast down by what he heard said about knights-errant being now no longer in vogue, and all books of chivalry being folly and lies; and he resolved in his heart to wait and see what came of this journey of his master’s , and if it did not turn out as happily as his master expected, he determined to leave him and go back to his wife and children and his ordinary labour.
The landlord was carrying away the valise and the books, but the curate said to him, “Wait; I want to see what those papers are that are written in such a good hand.” The landlord taking them out handed them to him to read, and he perceived they were a work of about eight sheets of manuscript, with, in large letters at the beginning, the title of “Novel of the Ill-advised Curiosity.” The curate read three or four lines to himself, and said, “I must say the title of this novel does not seem to me a bad one, and I feel an inclination to read it all.” To which the landlord replied, “Then your reverence will do well to read it, for I can tell you that some guests who have read it here have been much pleased with it, and have begged it of me very earnestly; but I would not give it, meaning to return it to the person who forgot the valise, books, and papers here, for maybe he will return here some time or other; and though I know I shall miss the books, faith I mean to return them; for though I am an innkeeper, still I am a Christian.”
“You are very right, friend,” said the curate; “but for all that, if the novel pleases me you must let me copy it.”
“With all my heart,” replied the host.
While they were talking Cardenio had taken up the novel and begun to read it, and forming the same opinion of it as the curate, he begged him to read it so that they might all hear it.
“I would read it,” said the curate, “if the time would not be better spent in sleeping.”
“It will be rest enough for me,” said Dorothea, “to while away the time by listening to some tale, for my spirits are not yet tranquil enough to let me sleep when it would be seasonable.”
“Well then, in that case,” said the curate, “I will read it, if it were only out of curiosity; perhaps it may contain something pleasant.”
Master Nicholas added his entreaties to the same effect, and Sancho too; seeing which, and considering that he would give pleasure to all, and receive it himself, the curate said, “Well then, attend to me everyone, for the novel begins thus.”
吃完那顿美餐，大家又上了马，一路上没有什么可叙述的事情，第二天便到了那家让桑乔心惊肉跳的客店。桑乔不想进去，可是又走不脱。客店的主妇、主人、他们的女儿和丑女仆看到唐吉诃德和桑乔来了，都显出高兴的样子出来迎接。唐吉诃德摆出漫不经心的架势，让他们准备一张床，要比上次的那张床更高级。店主妇说，只要他愿意出比上次更高的价钱，可以为他准备一张极其舒适的床。唐吉诃德说他会出个好价钱，于是他们就在唐吉诃德上次住的那间库房里安排了一张还算说得过去的床。唐吉诃德觉得浑身像散了架，便昏沉沉地躺到了床上。
刚关上店门，店主妇就揪住理发师的胡子对他说：
“我凭我的信仰发誓，你不能再用我的尾巴当胡子用了。你得把尾巴还给我。我丈夫的那件东西老放在地上太难看，我是说，他那把插在这条高级尾巴上的梳子。”
尽管店主妇揪着理发师的胡子不放，理发师还是不愿意把胡子还给他。后来，神甫让理发师把东西还给她，说现在已经不必再化装成那模样了，可以除掉这个伪装，还其真相了。可以对唐吉诃德说，理发师因遭到苦役犯们的抢劫，逃到了这个客店。如果唐吉诃德问起公主的侍从，就说公主已派他回她的王国，告诉人们她给大家带来了救星。
理发师这才痛痛快快地把尾巴和所有为解救唐吉诃德而借用的东西还给了客店主妇。大家都惊叹多罗特亚的美貌和卡德尼奥的身材。神甫吩咐用客店里现有的东西给他们做些吃的。店主想多赚些钱，赶紧准备了一顿像样的饭菜。唐吉诃德始终在睡觉，大家觉得不必叫醒他，他目前最需要的不是吃而是睡。饭桌上，大家和店主、他的妻子、女儿、丑女仆以及其他旅客谈起了唐吉诃德莫名其妙的疯癫以及找他的经过。店主妇向他们讲起唐吉诃德和脚夫的事情，见桑乔不在场，又讲了桑乔被扔的事情，大家听得津津有味。神甫说，唐吉诃德是因为读了那些骑士小说才变得不正常的。店主这时说道：
“不知是怎么回事，我也觉得世界上再没有比这更好的书了。我这儿就有两三本，还有一些这方面的手稿。我觉得它不仅给我，也给其他很多人带来了快乐。每到收获季节，这里都会聚集很多来收割的人，其中总有个把识字的。他手里拿着一本这样的书，有三十多人围着他。我们都认真地听他念，仿佛觉得自己也年轻了。至少，当我听到骑士们激烈地拼杀时，我也想来那么几下。哪怕让我不分昼夜地听，我都愿意。”
“这我无所谓。”店主妇说，“反正只有在你去听骑士小说时，我才得安宁。你听得如痴如醉，就忘记吵架了。”
“这倒是真的，”丑女仆说，“我觉得我也很喜欢听这类东西。它特别精彩，尤其是讲到一位姑娘在桔子树下和骑士拥抱时，还有女仆为他们望风，我真是既羡慕又紧张。我觉得这种事挺美滋滋的。”
“你呢，你觉得怎么样，小姐？”神甫问店主的女儿。
“我真的不知道，大人。”姑娘回答，“我也喜欢听。说实话，我虽然听不懂，可是挺爱听。不过，我不喜欢我爸爸爱听的打打杀杀，只喜欢听骑士们离别意中人时那种凄凄切切，真的，有时候我都哭了，他们都很可怜。”
“那么，如果他们为你而哭泣，”神甫问，“你会好好安慰他们吗？”
“我不知道该怎么办，”姑娘说，“我只知道有的姑娘非常残忍，骑士们称她们是老虎、狮子，还有其它许多难听的称呼。天哪，我不知道那是些什么人，没心没肺，为了毁灭一个人，宁愿看着他死或者变疯。我不知道这种人为什么如此装蒜，如果她们为了显示自己正经，同人家结婚就行了，他们图的不就是这个嘛。”
“住嘴，丫头，”店主妇说，“这种事你知道得太多了。姑娘家不该知道，也不该说这种事情。”
“这位大人问我，”姑娘说，“我总得回答人家的问话呀。”
“那好，”神甫说，“店主大人，请您把那些书拿来，我想看看。”
“十分荣幸。”店主说。
说着他走进自己的房间，从屋里拿出一个用锁链锁着的箱子，把箱子打开，从里面拿出几本大部头的书和一些写得很整齐的手稿。他拿出的第一本书是《特拉夏的西龙希利奥》，另一本是《费利克斯马尔特·德伊尔卡尼亚》，还有一本是大将军贡萨洛·费尔南德斯·德科尔多瓦的传记，还附有迭戈·加西亚·德帕雷德斯的生平。神甫看了前面两本书的题目，就回过头来对理发师说：
“现在要是有我那位朋友的女管家和外甥女在这儿就好了。”
“用不着，”理发师说，“我也可以把它们送到畜栏或者壁炉里去，现在火正旺。”
“你想烧我的书？”店主问。
“只是这两本，”神甫说，“《西龙希利奥》和《费利克斯马尔特》。”
“难道我的书是异端邪说或者异教分治，”店主说，“因此您想烧掉它们？”
“应该是异教分支，朋友，”理发师说，“不是异教分治。”
“是这样，”店主说，“不过您要是想烧的话，还是烧那本关于大将军与迭戈·加西亚的书吧。至于这两本书，我宁愿让您烧死我的孩子，也不愿意它们被烧掉。”
“我的兄弟，”神甫说，“这两部书通篇谎话，一派胡言。这本关于大将军的书记载的倒是真人真事，里面还有贡萨洛·费尔南德斯·德利尔多瓦的事迹。他功绩卓著，堪称大将军，这样显赫的称号只有他受之无愧。而迭戈·加西亚·德帕雷德斯则是一位有名的骑士，出生在埃斯特雷马杜拉的特鲁希略市，是一位极其勇猛的战士。他生来力大无比，用一根手指头就顶住了一个正在旋转的磨盘。他手持长剑伫立桥头，大军就难以通过。他还做了其它一些事情。这些都是他自己讲、自己写的，所以有一种骑士和传记家的谦逊。如果由别人来写，那就可以不受什么约束，写得更符合实际，让人把赫克托、阿基莱斯和罗尔丹的事迹都忘了。
“那有什么了不起的，”店主说，“挡住一个磨盘有什么了不起！上帝保佑，您应该读一读我看的有关费利克斯马尔特·德伊尔卡尼亚的书。他反手一剑，就把五个巨人像斩豆角似的拦腰斩断了，就像小孩子们切凤头麦鸡一样。还有一次，他与一支极其强大的军队相遇。那支军队足有一百六十万人，从头到脚全副武装。可是他竟把那支军队打败了，就像打散一群羊一样。至于特拉夏的西龙希利奥，就更没的说了，就像书里说的那样勇猛顽强。有一次他正渡河，忽然从水里窜出一条火蛇。他立刻扑上去。骑到了那条蛇的背上，双手用力掐住蛇的脖子。蛇眼看就要没气了，只好沉入水底。可骑士始终不撒手，于是把骑士也带到了水底。水底有宫殿，有花园，美丽无比，令人叹为观止。后来蛇变成了一位老人，对他讲了许多事情，这些就不用多说了。大人，您如果听到这些，非得乐疯了不可。您说的大将军和那个迭戈·加西亚算老几呀！”
多罗特亚听到这些，悄悄对卡德尼奥说：
“咱们这位店主也快要步唐吉诃德的后尘了。”
“我也这样认为，”卡德尼奥说，“看样子，他把书上写的那些事情都当真了。就连赤脚僧侣也拿他没办法。”
“兄弟，你看，”神甫又说，“世界上没有费利克斯马尔特·德伊尔卡尼亚，没有特拉夏的西龙希利奥，也没有骑士小说里说的其他什么骑士。这些全都是那些无所事事的文人杜撰的，供你们消遣，譬如在收割休息时用来解闷。我发誓，世界上从来没有那样的骑士，那些业绩或者蛮干也都不存在。”
“你别来这套，”店主说，“就好像我们什么都不懂，连自己能吃几碗干饭都不知道似的！上帝保佑，您别哄我们了，以为我们就那么笨。您想让我们相信，经过卡斯蒂利亚议会批准印刷的这些好书都是胡说八道，这未免太天真了。就好像他们同意把这些胡言乱语、打斗和魔法印出来，是为了让人们抽疯似的。”
“我已经对你讲过了，朋友，”神甫说，“那只是我们百无聊赖的时候用来消遣的。这就好比在那些国泰民安的国家里，不愿意、不必要或不能够劳动的人可以下棋、打球、玩台球一样。在我们国家里可以印刷出版这种书，想来不会有人如此无知，竟把这种书当成真实的故事看待。事实也是如此。如果我觉得有必要，诸位又愿意听的话，现在我可以讲讲一部好骑士小说应具有的内容，这也许会对某些人有好处，而且他们也会对此感兴趣。不过，我更愿意将来同某个能够解决这一问题的人共同探讨。至于现在，店主大人，请你听我的，把你的书拿走，不管书上说的是真是假，对你有没有好处，上帝保佑，可别让你变得跟唐吉诃德一样。”
“这不会，”店主说，“我不会疯到去当游侠骑士的地步。我很清楚，现在不像过去了。据说那个时候，著名骑士都到处周游。”
他们正说着话，桑乔出现了。他听人们说现在不时兴游侠骑士那一套了，说所有骑士小说都是一派胡言，不禁感到困惑，有些担心，心里盘算着在主人结束周游之后，看看结果如何。如果没有得到预期的好处，他就离开主人，回去和老婆孩子干自己的活儿去。
店主拿起手提箱和书正要走，神甫对他说：
“等一等，我想看看这是什么手稿，字写得倒很漂亮。”
店主把手稿拿了出来，递给神甫。手稿足有八大张，上方有个大标题，上面写着《无谓的猜疑》。神甫看了三四行便说：
“我觉得这本小说的题目确实不错，想把它全部读完。”
店主说：
“您真应该看看。我可以告诉您，有的客人看过这本书，很喜欢它，非要跟我借不可。但我不想借给他们，只想把它还给它的主人。这一手提箱书和手稿是人家忘在这儿的，说不定什么时候他就会回来取。我虽然也需要这几本书，但还是想物归原主。尽管我是个开店的，可我毕竟还是个基督徒呀。”
“你说得很对，朋友，”神甫说，“但尽管如此，要是我喜欢这本书，你还是得让我抄一下。”
“我很愿意。”店主说。
两人说话的时候，卡德尼奥已经拿着书看起来了。他的看法同神甫一致。他请神甫把书给大家念念。
“念念也好，”神甫说，“至少是出于好奇，我也想念念它。
兴许还有点意思。”
尼古拉斯师傅和桑乔也请求神甫朗读。神甫见大家都喜欢听，就同意了。他说：
“那就请大家注意听，故事开场了。”