“who is drunk or mad now?  See if my master has not already put the giant in pickle?  Here are the bulls, and I am an earl.”  The whole company, except the innkeeper, were like to split at the extravagances of master and man.  At last, the barber, Cardenio, and the curate having with much ado got Don Quixote to bed, he presently fell asleep, being heartily tired; and then they left him to comfort Sancho Panza for the loss of the giant’s head; but it was no easy matter to appease the innkeeper, who was at his wit’s end for the unexpected and sudden fate of his wine skins.

DON QUIXOTE MEETS THE LIONS

By Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

The history relates, that Sancho was chaffering with the shepherds for some curds, when Don Quixote called to him to bring his helmet; and finding that his master was in haste, he did not know what to do with them, nor what to bring them in; yet loth to lose his purchase (for he had already paid for them), he bethought himself at last of clapping them into the helmet, where having them safe, he went to know his master’s pleasure.  As soon as he came up to him, “Give me that helmet, friend,” said the knight, “for if I understand anything of adventures, I descry one yonder that obliges me to arm.”

The gentleman in green, hearing this, looked about to see what was the matter, but could perceive nothing but a wagon, which made towards them; and by the little flags about it, he judged it to be one of his majesty’s treasure vans, and so he told Don Quixote.  But his head was too much possessed with notions of adventures to give any credit to what the gentleman said.  “Sir,” answered he, “forewarned, forearmed; a man loses nothing by standing on his guard.  I know by experience that I have enemies visible and invisible, and I cannot tell when nor where nor in what shape they may attack me.”  At the same time he snatched the helmet out of Sancho’s hands, before he could discharge it of the curds, and clapped it on his head, without examining the contents.  The curds being thus squeezed, the whey began to run all about his face and beard; which so frighted him that, calling to Sancho, “What’s this,” cried he, “Sancho?  What’s the matter with me?  Sure my skull is growing soft, or my brains are melting, or else I sweat from head to foot!  But if I do, I am sure it is not for fear.  This certainly must be a dreadful adventure that is approaching.  Give me something to wipe me, if thou canst, for I am almost blinded with the torrent of sweat.”

Sancho did not say a word, but giving him a cloth, thanked Heaven that his master had not found him out.  Don Quixote dried himself, and taking off the helmet to see what it should be that felt so cold on his head, perceiving some white morsels, and putting it to his nose, soon found what it was.  “Now, by the life of my lady Dulcinea del Toboso,” cried he, “thou hast put curds in my helmet, vile traitor and unmannerly squire!”—­replied