The first thing he did was to secure a suit of armour that had belonged to his great-grandfather.  Then he made himself a helmet, which his sword demolished at the first stroke.  After repairing this mischief, he went to visit his horse, whose bones stuck out, but who appeared to his master a finer beast than Alexander’s Bucephalus.  After four days of thought, he decided to call his horse Rozinante, and when the title was decided upon, he spent eight days more before he arrived at Don Quixote as a name for himself.

And now he perceived that nothing was wanting save only a lady, on whom he might bestow the empire of his heart.  There lived close at hand a hard-working country lass, Aldonza Lorenzo, on whom sometimes he had cast an eye, but who was quite unmindful of the gentleman.  Her he selected for his peerless lady, and dubbed her with the sweet-sounding name of Dulcinea del Toboso.

II.—­An Adventure in a Courtyard

One morning, in the hottest part of July, with great secrecy, he armed himself, mounted Rozinante, and rode out of his backyard into the open fields.  He was disturbed to think that the honour of knighthood had not yet been conferred upon him, but determined to rectify this matter at an early opportunity, and rode on soliloquising, after the manner of knight-errants, as happy as a man might be.

Towards evening he arrived at a common inn, before whose door sat two wenches, the companions of some carriers bound for Seville.  Don Quixote instantly imagined the inn to be a castle, and the wenches to be fair ladies taking the air; and as a swine-herd, getting his hogs together in a stubble-field near at hand, chanced at that moment to wind his horn, our gentleman imagined that this was a signal of his approach, and rode forward in the highest spirits.

The extravagant language in which he addressed them astonished the wenches as much as his amazing appearance, and they first would have run from him, but finally stayed to laugh.  Don Quixote rebuked them, whereat they laughed the more, and only the innkeeper’s appearance prevented the knight’s indignation from carrying him to extremities.  This man was for peace, and welcomed the strange apparition to his inn with all civility, marvelling much to find himself addressed as Sir Castellan.  So the knight sat down to supper with strange company, and discoursed of chivalry to the bewilderment of all present, treating the inn as a castle, the host as a noble gentleman, and the wenches as great ladies.

He presently sought the innkeeper alone in the stable, and, kneeling, requested to be dubbed a knight, vowing that he would not move from that place till ’twas done.  The host guessed the distraction of his visitor and complied, counselling Don Quixote—­who had never read of such things in books of chivalry—­to provide himself henceforth with money and clean shirts, and no longer to ride penniless.  That night Don Quixote watched his arms by moonlight, laying them upon the horse-trough in the yard of the inn, while from a distance the innkeeper and his guests watched the gaunt man, now leaning on his lance, and now walking to and fro, with his target on his arm.