Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (top ten books of all time .TXT) 📕

Till Morning Over The Armour He Had Laid By The Well.  It Was

Here That,  With His Spear,  He Broke The Head Of The Carrier

Whom He Took For Another Knight Bent On The Rape Of The

Virgin Princesses Committed To His Charge.  Here,  Too,  It Was

That The Host Of The Venta Dubbed Him With The Coveted

Knighthood Which Qualified Him For His Noble Deeds.

To Quesada We Wended Our Way.  We Asked The Senor Huesped

Whether He Knew Anything Of The History Of His Venta.  Was It

Not Very Ancient?

'Oh No,  It Was Quite Modern.  But On The Site Of It Had Stood

A Fine Venta Which Was Burnt Down At The Time Of The War.'

'An Old Building?'

'Yes,  Indeed! A Cosa De Siempre - Thing Of Always.  Nothing, 

Was Left Of It Now But That Well,  And The Stone Trough.'

These Bore Marks Of Antiquity,  And Were Doubtless As The

Gallant Knight Had Left Them.  Curiously,  Too,  There Were

Remains Of An Outhouse With A Crenellated Parapet,  Suggestive

Enough Of A Castle.

From Quesada We Rode To Argamasilla Del Alba,  Where Cervantes

Was Imprisoned,  And Where The First Part Of Don Quixote Was

Written.

In His Life Of Cervantes,  Don Gregorio Mayano Throws Some

Doubt Upon This.  Speaking Of The Attacks Of His

Contemporary,  The 'Aragonian,' Don Gregorio Writes (I Give

Ozell's Translation):  'As For This Scandalous Fellow's

Saying That Cervantes Wrote His First Part Of "Don Quixote"

In A Prison,  And That That Might Make It So Dull And

Incorrect,  Cervantes Did Not Think Fit To Give Any Answer

Concerning His Being Imprisoned,  Perhaps To Avoid Giving

Offence To The Ministers Of Justice; For Certainly His

Imprisonment Must Not Have Been Ignominious,  Since Cervantes

Himself Voluntarily Mentions It In His Preface To The First

Part Of "Don Quixote."'

This Reasoning,  However,  Does Not Seem Conclusive; For The

Only Reference To The Subject In The Preface Is As Follows: 

'What Could My Sterile And Uncultivated Genius Produce But

The History Of A Child,  Meagre,  Adust,  And Whimsical,  Full Of

Various Wild Imaginations Never Thought Of Before; Like One

You May Suppose Born In A Prison,  Where Every Inconvenience

Keeps Its Residence,  And Every Dismal Sound Its Habitation?'

We Took Up Our Quarters In The Little Town At The 'Posada De 

La Mina.'  While Our Olla Was Being Prepared; We Asked The

Hostess Whether She Had Ever Heard Of The Celebrated Don

Miguel De Cervantes,  Who Had Been Imprisoned There?  (I Will

Quote Cayley).

'No,  Senores; I Think I Have Heard Of One Cervantes,  But He

Does Not Live Here At Present.'

'Do You Know Anything Of Don Quixote?'

'Oh,  Yes.  He Was A Great Caballero,  Who Lived Here Some

Years Ago.  His House Is Over The Way,  On The Other Side Of

The Plaza,  With The Arms Over The Door.  The Father Of The

Alcalde Is The Oldest Man In The Pueblo; Perhaps He May

Remember Him.'

We Were Amused At His Hero's Fame Outliving That Of The

Author.  But Is It Not So With Others - The Writers Of The

Book Of Job,  Of The Pentateuch,  And Perhaps,  Too,  Of The

'Iliad,' If Not Of The 'Odyssey'?

But,  To Let Cayley Speak:

'While We Were Undressing To Go To Bed,  Three Gentlemen Were

Announced And Shown In.  We Begged Them To Be Seated. . . .

We Sat Opposite On The Ends Of Our Respective Beds To Hear

What They Might Have To Communicate.  A Venerable Old Man

Opened The Conference.

'"We Have Understood,  Gentlemen,  That You Have Come Hither

Seeking For Information Respecting The Famous Don Quixote, 

And We Have Come To Give You Such Information As We May; But, 

Perhaps You Will Understand Me Better If I Speak In Latin."

'"We Have Learnt The Latin At Our Schools,  But Are More

Accustomed To Converse In Castilian; Pray Proceed."

'"I Am The Medico Of The Place,  An Old Man,  As You See; And

What Little I Know Has Reached Me By Tradition.  It Is

Reported That Cervantes Was Paying His Addresses To A Young

Lady,  Whose Name Was Quijana Or Quijada.  The Alcalde, 

Disapproving Of The Suit,  Put Him Into A Dungeon Under His

House,  And Kept Him There A Year.  Once He Escaped And Fled, 

But He Was Taken In Toboso,  And Brought Back.  Cervantes

Wrote 'Don Quixote' As A Satire On The Alcalde,  Who Was A

Very Proud Man,  Full Of Chivalresque Ideas.  You Can See The

Dungeon To-Morrow; But You Should See The Batanes (Water-

Mills) Of The Guadiana,  Whose 'Golpear' So Terrified Sancho

Panza.  They Are At About Three Leagues Distance."'

The Old Gentleman Added That He Was Proud To Receive

Strangers Who Came To Do Honour To The Memory Of His

Illustrious Townsman; And Hoped We Would Visit Him Next Day, 

On Our Return From The Fulling-Mills,  When He Would Have The 

Pleasure Of Conducting Us To The House Of The Quijanas,  In

The Cellars Of Which Cervantes Was Confined.

To The Batanes We Went Next Morning.  Their Historical

Importance Entitles Them To An Accurate Description.  None

Could Be More Lucid Than That Of My Companion.  'These

Clumsy,  Ancient Machines Are Composed Of A Couple Of Huge

Wooden Mallets,  Slung In A Timber Framework,  Which,  Being

Pushed Out Of The Perpendicular By Knobs On A Water-Wheel, 

Clash Back Again Alternately In Two Troughs,  Pounding

Severely Whatever May Be Put In Between The Face Of The

Mallet And The End Of The Trough Into Which The Water Runs.'

It Will Be Remembered That,  After A Copious Meal,  Sancho

Having Neglected To Replenish The Gourd,  Both He And His

Master Suffered Greatly From Thirst.  It Was Now 'So Dark,'

Says The History,  'That They Could See Nothing; But They Had

Not Gone Two Hundred Paces When A Great Noise Of Water

Reached Their Ears. . . . The Sound Rejoiced Them

Exceedingly; And,  Stopping To Listen From Whence It Came, 

They Heard On A Sudden Another Dreadful Noise,  Which Abated

Their Pleasure Occasioned By That Of The Water,  Especially

Sancho's. . . . They Heard A Dreadful Din Of Irons And Chains

Rattling Across One Another,  And Giving Mighty Strokes In

Time And Measure Which,  Together With The Furious Noise Of

The Water,  Would Have Struck Terror Into Any Other Heart Than

That Of Don Quixote.'  For Him It Was But An Opportunity For

Some Valorous Achievement.  So,  Having Braced On His Buckler

And Mounted Rosinante,  He Brandished His Spear,  And Explained

To His Trembling Squire That By The Will Of Heaven He Was

Reserved For Deeds Which Would Obliterate The Memory Of The

Platirs,  Tablantes,  The Olivantes,  And Belianesas,  With The

Whole Tribe Of The Famous Knights-Errant Of Times Past.

'Wherefore,  Straighten Rosinante's Girths A Little,' Said He, 

'And God Be With You.  Stay For Me Here Three Days,  And No

More; If I Do Not Return In That Time You May Go To Toboso, 

Where You Shall Say To My Incomparable Lady Dulcinea That Her

Enthralled Knight Died In Attempting Things That Might Have

Made Him Worthy To Be Styled "Hers."'

Sancho,  More Terrified Than Ever At The Thoughts Of Being

Left Alone,  Reminded His Master That It Was Unwise To Tempt

God By Undertaking Exploits From Which There Was No Escaping

But By A Miracle; And,  In Order To Emphasize This Very

Sensible Remark,  Secretly Tied Rosinante's Hind Legs Together

With His Halter.  Seeing The Success Of His Contrivance,  He

Said:  'Ah,  Sir! Behold How Heaven,  Moved By My Tears And

Prayers,  Has Ordained That Rosinante Cannot Go,' And Then

Warned Him Not To Set Providence At Defiance.  Still Sancho

Was Much Too Frightened By The Infernal Clatter To Relax His

Hold Of The Knight's Saddle.  For Some Time He Strove To

Beguile His Own Fears With A Very Long Story About The

Goatherd Lope Ruiz,  Who Was In Love With The Shepherdess 

Torralva - 'A Jolly,  Strapping Wench,  A Little Scornful,  And

Somewhat Masculine.'  Now,  Whether Owing To The Cold Of The

Morning,  Which Was At Hand,  Or Whether To Some Lenitive Diet

On Which He Had Supped,  It So Befell That Sancho . . . What

Nobody Could Do For Him.  The Truth Is,  The Honest Fellow Was

Overcome By Panic,  And Under No Circumstances Would,  Or Did, 

He For One Instant Leave His Master's Side.  Nay,  When The

Knight Spurred His Steed And Found It Could Not Move,  Sancho

Reminded Him That The Attempt Was Useless,  Since Rosinante

Was Restrained By Enchantment.  This The Knight Readily

Admitted,  But Stoutly Protested That He Himself Was Anything

But Enchanted By The Close Proximity Of His Squire.

We All Remember The Grave Admonitions Of Don Quixote,  And The

Ingenious Endeavours Of Sancho To Lay The Blame Upon The

Knight.  But The Final Words Of The Don Contain A Moral

Apposite To So Many Other Important Situations,  That They

Must Not Be Omitted Here.  'Apostare,  Replico Sancho,  Que

Pensa Vuestra Merced Que Yo He Hecho De Mi Persona Alguna

Cosa Que No Deba.'  'I Will Lay A Wager,' Replied Sancho, 

'That Your Worship Thinks That I Have &C.'  The Brief,  But

Memorable,  Answer Was:  'Peor Es Meneallo,  Amigo Sancho,'

Which,  As No Translation Could Do Justice To It,  Must Be Left

As It Stands.  Quieta Non Movere.

We Were Nearly Meeting With An Adventure Here.  While I Was

Busy Making A Careful Drawing Of The Batanes,  Cayley's Pony

Was As Much Alarmed By The Rushing Waters As Had Been Sancho

Panza.  In His Endeavours To Picket The Animal,  My Friend

Dropped A Pistol Which I Had Lent Him To Practise With, 

Although He Carried A Revolver Of His Own.  Not Till He Had

Tied Up The Pony At Some Little Distance Did He Discover The

Loss.  In Vain He Searched The Spot Where He Knew The Pistol

Must Have Escaped From His Faja.  Near It,  Three Rough-

Looking Knaves In Shaggy Goatskin Garments,  With Guns Over

Their Shoulders,  Were Watching The Progress Of My Sketch.  On

His Return Cayley Asked Two Of These (The Third Moved Away As

He Came Up) Whether They Had Seen The Pistol.  They Declared

They Had Not; Upon Which He Said He Must Search Them.  He Was

Not A Man To Be Trifled With,  And Although They Refused At

First,  They Presently Submitted.  He Then Overtook The Third, 

And At Once Accused Him Of The Theft.  The Man Swore He Knew

Nothing Of The Lost Weapon,  And Brought His Gun To The

Charge.  As He Did So,  Cayley Caught Sight Of The Pistol

Under The Fellow's Sheepskin Jacket,  And With Characteristic

Promptitude Seized It,  While He Presented A Revolver At The

Thief's Head.  All This He Told Me With Great Glee A