STORIES OF DON QUIXOTE
BY
JAMES BALDWIN
YESTERDAY’S CLASSICS
CHAPEL HILL, NORTH CAROLINA
GETTING READY FOR ADVENTURES
to know. This gentleman had so many odd ways and
did so many strange things that he not only amused his
neighbors and distressed his friends, but made himself
famous throughout the world.
What his real name was, no one outside of his
village seemed to know. Some said it was this, some
said it was that; but his neighbors called him “the good
Mr. Quixana,”
*
and no doubt this was correct.
He was gentle and kind, and very brave; and all
who knew him loved him. He had neither wife nor
child. He lived with his niece in his own farmhouse
close by a quiet little village in the province of La
Mancha.
His niece was not yet twenty years of age. So the
house was kept and managed by an old servant woman
who was more wrinkled than wise and more talkative
than handsome. A poor man who lived in a cottage
*
Quixana. This word is pronounced as if it were spelled kē hä΄ na. So,
also, Quixote is pronounced kē hō΄ tē. DON QUIXOTE
2
near by was employed to do the work on the farm; and
he did so well that the master had much leisure time
and was troubled but little with the cares of business.
Mr. Quixana was rather odd in his appearance
and dress, as all old-fashioned gentlemen are apt to be.
He was more than fifty years of age, and quite
tall and slender. His face was thin, his nose was long,
his hair was turning gray.
He dressed very plainly. On week days he wore
a coarse blouse and blue trousers of homespun stuff.
On Sundays, however, he put on a plush coat and
short velvet breeches and soft slippers with silver
buckles.
In the hallway of his old-fashioned house a
short, rusty sword was always hanging; and leaning
against the wall were a rusty lance and a big rawhide
shield. These weapons had belonged to his greatgrandfather, long ago, when men knew but little about
guns and gunpowder.
On the kitchen doorstep an old greyhound was
always lying. This dog was very lean and slender, and
his hunting days had long been past. But all oldfashioned gentlemen kept greyhounds in those days.
In the barn there was a horse as old and as lean
as the greyhound. But of this horse I will tell you much
more in the course of my story.
Like many other gentlemen, Mr. Quixana did
not work much. He spent almost all his time in
reading, reading, reading.
3 He was seldom seen without a book in his hand.
When the weather was fine he would sit in his little
library, or under the apple trees in his garden, and read
all day.
He often forgot to come to his meals. He was
so wrapped up in his books that he forgot his horse,
his dog, and even his niece. He forgot his friends; he
forgot himself. Sometimes he sat up and read all night.
Now, what kind of books do you suppose he
read?
He read no histories nor
books of travel. He cared nothing
f o r p o e t r y o r p h i l o s o p h y . H i s
whole mind was given to stories—
stories of knights and their daring
deeds.
H e r e a d s o m a n y o f
these stories that he could
not think of anything else.
4 His head was full of knights and knightly deeds, of
magic and witchcraft, of tournaments and battlefields.
If he had read less, he would have been wiser;
for much reading does not always improve the mind.
At length this old-fashioned gentleman said to
himself, “Why should I always be a plain farmer and sit
here at home? Why may I not become a famous
knight?”
The more he thought about this matter the
more he wished to be a hero like those of whom he
had read in his books.
“Yes, I will be a knight,” he said to himself. “My
mind is fully made up. I will arm myself in a coat of
mail, I will mount my noble steed, I will ride out into
the world to seek adventures.
“No danger shall affright me. With my strong
arm I will go forth to protect the weak and to befriend
the friendless. Yes, I will be a knight, and I will fight
against error wherever I find it.”
So he began at once to get ready for his great
undertaking.
The first thing to be done was to find some
suitable armor. For what knight ever rode out into the
world without being incased in steel?
In the garret of his house there was an old coat
of mail. It had lain there among the dust and cobwebs
for a hundred years and more. It was rusted and
battered, and some of the parts were missing. It was a
poor piece of work at the very best.
5 But he cleaned it as well as he could, and polished it with great care. He cut some pieces of
pasteboard to supply the missing parts, and painted
them to look like steel. When they were properly fitted,
they answered very well, especially when no fighting
was to be done.
With the coat of mail there was an old brass
helmet. It, too, was broken, and the straps for holding
it on were lost. But Mr. Quixana patched it up and
found some green ribbons which served instead of
straps. As he held it up and looked at it from every
side, he felt very proud to think that his head would be
adorned with so rare a piece of workmanship.
And now a steed must be provided; for every
knight must needs have a noble horse.
The poor old creature in the barn was gaunt and
thin and very bony; but he was just the stuff for a war
horse, wiry and very stubborn. As the old-fashioned
gentleman looked at him he fancied that no steed had
ever been so beautiful or so swift.
“He will carry me most gallantly,” he said, “and
I shall be proud of him. But what shall I call him? A
horse that is ridden by a noble knight must needs have
an honorable and high-sounding name.”
So he spent four days in studying what he
should call his steed.
At last he said, “I have it. His name shall be
Rozinante.”
*
*
Rozinante, pronounced rō΄ zǐ nǎn΄ tē
6 “And why do you give him that strange name?”
asked the niece.
“I will tell you,” he answered. “The word
rozin means ‘common horse,’ and the word ante is good
Latin for ‘before’ or ‘formerly.’ Now if I call my gallant
steed ‘Formerly-a-Common-Horse,’ the meaning is
plain; for everybody will understand that he is now no
longer common, but very uncommon. Do you see? So
his name shall be Rozinante.”
Then he patted the horse lovingly, and gently
repeated, “Rozinante! Rozinante!”
He thought that if he could only find as good a
name for himself, he would feel like riding out and
beginning his adventures at once. For what more could
he need?
7 “Every knight,” he said, “has the right to put
Don at the beginning of his name; for that is a title of
honor and respect. Now, I shall call myself Don—
Don—Don something; but what shall it be?”
He studied this question for eight days. Then a
happy thought came into his mind.
“I will call myself Don Quixote,” he cried; “and
since my home is in the district of La Mancha, I shall
be known throughout the world as Don Quixote de la
Mancha. What name is more noble than that? What
title can be more honorable?”
The name was indeed not very different from
his real name. For have we not said that his neighbors
called him Quixana?
The good old gentleman had now mended and
polished his armor and found new names for himself
and his steed. He felt himself well equipped for
adventures. But suddenly the thought came to him that
still another thing must be settled before he could ride
out and do battle as a real and true knight.
In all the stories he had read, every hero who
was worthy of knighthood had claims to some fair lady
whom he invoked in time of peril, and to whom he
brought the prizes which he had won. It was at her
feet that the knight must kneel at the end of every
quest. It was from her that he must receive the victor’s
crown. To him, therefore, a lady friend was as
necessary as a steed or a suit of armor.
Now Don Quixote was not acquainted with
many ladies, but he felt that, as a knight, he must
8 center his thoughts upon some one who would be his
guiding star as he went faring through the world.
Who should it be?
This question troubled him more than any other
had done. He sat in his house for two whole weeks,
and thought of nothing else.
How would his niece do?
Well, she was very young, and he was her uncle.
In all the books in his library there was no account of a
knight kneeling at the feet of his own niece. She was
not to be thought of.
As for his housekeeper, she was too old and
homely. He could never think of doing homage to one
in her humble station.
At length he remembered a handsome, redcheeked maiden who lived in or near the village of
Toboso. Her name was Adonza Lorenzo, and many
years ago she had smiled at him as he was passing her
on the road. He had not seen her since she had grown
up, but she must now be the most charming of
womankind. He fancied that no lady in the world was
better fitted to receive his knightly homage.
“Adonza Lorenzo it shall be!” he cried, rubbing
his hands together.
But what a name! How would it sound when
coupled with that of the valorous Don Quixote de la
Mancha? Surely it was too common, and she must
have a title more like that of a princess. What should it
be?
9 He studied over this for many days, and at last
hit upon a name which pleased him much.
“It shall be Dulcinea,” he cried. “It shall be
Dulcinea del Toboso. No other name is so sweet, so
harmonious, so like the lady herself.”
Thus, after weeks of labor and study, Don Quixote de la Mancha at length felt himself prepared to
ride forth into the world to seek adventures. He waited
only for a suitable opportunity to put his cherished
plans into execution.
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