Chapter LVI. Of the monstrous and never-seen battle that took place between Don Quixote of La Mancha and the lackey Tosilos, in defense of the daughter of the duenna Doña Rodríguez

The duke and duchess did not repent of the jest played on Sancho Panza with the government they had given him; all the more since that very day their steward came and told them, point by point, nearly all the words and actions Sancho had said and done in those days, and at last he made much of the assault on the isle, and Sancho’s fear, and his departure, at which they took no small pleasure.

After this, the history tells, the day of the appointed battle arrived, and the duke, having warned his lackey Tosilos once and very many times over how he was to deal with Don Quixote so as to defeat him without killing or wounding him, ordered the iron heads to be taken off the lances, telling Don Quixote that the Christian spirit on which he prided himself did not permit that battle to put lives at such risk and hazard, and that he should be content that he was giving him a free field on his land, though it went against the decree of the Holy Council that forbids such challenges, and should not wish to carry so hard an encounter to the utmost rigor.

Don Quixote said that His Excellency might arrange the matters of that business as he best pleased; that he would obey him in everything. The dreadful day having come, then, and the duke having ordered a spacious stand to be built before the courtyard of the castle, where the judges of the field and the duennas, mother and daughter, the plaintiffs, were to sit, a countless crowd had come from all the surrounding towns and villages to see the novelty of that battle; for nothing like it had ever been seen or heard tell of in that land, either by those living or by those who had died.

The first to enter the field and the lists was the master of ceremonies, who sounded out the field and walked over all of it, so that there should be no trick in it, nor anything hidden that one might stumble over and fall; then the duennas came in and sat down in their seats, covered with their mantles to the eyes and even to the breast, with signs of no small grief. Don Quixote being present in the lists, shortly afterward, accompanied by many trumpets, there appeared on one side of the courtyard, on a powerful horse, shaking the whole place, the great lackey Tosilos, his visor down and all stiff and braced in a suit of strong and shining armor. The horse looked to be a Frisian, broad and dapple-gray; from each forefoot and hind foot hung an arroba of wool.

The valiant combatant came well instructed by the duke his lord in how he was to behave with the valiant Don Quixote of La Mancha, warned that he was by no means to kill him, but to try to avoid the first encounter so as to escape the danger of his death, which was certain if he met him full on. He paraded around the courtyard, and, coming to where the duennas were, he stopped a little to look at the one who was asking for him as a husband. The master of the field called Don Quixote, who had already presented himself in the courtyard, and together with Tosilos spoke to the duennas, asking them whether they consented that Don Quixote of La Mancha should take up the defense of their right. They said yes, and that whatever he might do in that case they held as well done, binding, and valid.

By this time the duke and duchess were seated in a gallery that overlooked the lists, all of which was crowned with a countless crowd waiting to see the harsh and never-seen encounter. It was a condition of the combatants that if Don Quixote won, his opponent was to marry Doña Rodríguez’s daughter; and if he were beaten, his adversary was free of the word that was being claimed from him, without giving any other satisfaction.

The master of ceremonies divided the sun between them and put each of the two in the place where he was to stand. The drums sounded, the blare of the trumpets filled the air, the earth trembled underfoot; the hearts of the watching throng were in suspense, some fearing and others hoping for the good or bad outcome of that affair. At last Don Quixote, who had commended himself wholeheartedly to God our Lord and to the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, was waiting for the exact signal to charge to be given him; our lackey, however, had different thoughts: he was thinking of nothing but what I will now tell:

It seems that when he was looking at his enemy, she struck him as the most beautiful woman he had seen in all his life, and the little blind boy whom people commonly call Love in the streets would not lose the chance that offered itself of triumphing over a lackeyish soul and putting it on the list of his trophies; and so, stealing up to him prettily, without anyone seeing him, he thrust into the poor lackey’s left side an arrow two yards long, and ran him through the heart from side to side; and he could do it in perfect safety, because Love is invisible, and comes and goes where he pleases, with no one calling him to account for his deeds.

I say, then, that when they gave the signal to charge, our lackey was transported, thinking of the beauty of the one whom he had already made mistress of his freedom, and so he paid no heed to the sound of the trumpet, as Don Quixote did, who had scarcely heard it when he charged and, at the fullest gallop Rocinante allowed, set off against his enemy; and his good squire Sancho, seeing him set off, cried out in a loud voice:

“God guide you, cream and flower of knights-errant! God give you the victory, for you have right on your side!”

And though Tosilos saw Don Quixote coming at him, he did not stir a step from his place; rather, in a loud voice, he called the master of the field, who came to see what he wanted, and to whom he said:

“Sir, isn’t this battle being fought over whether I marry, or don’t marry, that lady?”

“That is so,” came the answer.

“Well, I,” said the lackey, “am fearful for my conscience, and I would lay a great weight on it if I went on with this battle; and so I say that I yield myself beaten and that I want to marry that lady at once.”

The master of the field was amazed at Tosilos’s words; and since he was one of those in the secret of the contrivance of that affair, he could not find a word to answer him. Don Quixote stopped halfway through his charge, seeing that his enemy was not attacking him. The duke did not know the reason why the battle was not going forward, but the master of the field went and explained to him what Tosilos was saying, at which he was left in suspense and extremely angry.

While this was going on, Tosilos went up to where Doña Rodríguez was, and said in a loud voice:

“I, madam, want to marry your daughter, and I don’t want to get by lawsuits or fights what I can get in peace and without danger of death.”

The valiant Don Quixote heard this, and said:

“Since this is so, I am free and released from my promise: let them marry, and good luck to them, and since God our Lord gave her to him, may Saint Peter bless her for him.”

The duke had come down into the courtyard of the castle, and, going up to Tosilos, said to him:

“Is it true, sir knight, that you yield yourself beaten, and that, urged on by your fearful conscience, you wish to marry this damsel?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Tosilos.

“He’s doing very right,” said Sancho Panza at this point, “because what you have to give the mouse, give to the cat, and it’ll rid you of care.”

Tosilos was busy unlacing his helmet, and begged them to help him quickly, because the spirits of his breath were failing him, and he could not bear to be shut up so long in the narrowness of that lodging. They took it off quickly, and his lackey’s face was left uncovered and plain to see. Seeing which, Doña Rodríguez and her daughter, raising a great outcry, said:

“This is a fraud, a fraud is this! They’ve put Tosilos, the lackey of the duke my lord, in the place of my true husband! Justice from God and the King against such malice, not to say knavery!”

“Be not in woe, ladies,” said Don Quixote, “for this is neither malice nor knavery; or if it is, the cause has not been the duke, but the wicked enchanters who persecute me, who, envious that I should win the glory of this victory, have changed your husband’s face into that of this man you say is the duke’s lackey. Take my advice, and in spite of the malice of my enemies, marry him, for he is without a doubt the very man you desire to win as a husband.”

The duke, who heard this, was on the point of bursting all his anger into laughter, and said:

“The things that happen to Señor Don Quixote are so extraordinary that I am inclined to believe this lackey of mine is not one; but let us use this stratagem and device: let us put off the marriage for a fortnight, if they like, and keep this personage who has us in doubt shut up, during which time it might be that he returns to his pristine shape; for the rancor the enchanters bear Señor Don Quixote cannot last so long, all the more since they gain so little by using these deceptions and transformations.”

“Oh, sir!” said Sancho. “These miscreants have made it their use and custom to change things that concern my master from one into another. A knight he defeated the other day, called the Knight of the Mirrors, they changed so he looked like the bachelor Sansón Carrasco, a native of our village and a great friend of ours, and my lady Dulcinea del Toboso they’ve turned into a rustic village girl; and so I imagine this lackey is going to die and live a lackey all the days of his life.”

To which Rodríguez’s daughter said:

“Be he whoever he may, this man who asks for me as his wife, I thank him for it; for I would rather be the lawful wife of a lackey than the mistress and dupe of a gentleman, though the one who deceived me is no gentleman.”

In short, all these tales and happenings came to this, that Tosilos was to be kept in seclusion until it could be seen where his transformation would end; they all acclaimed the victory as Don Quixote’s, and most of them were left sad and downcast at seeing that the so long-awaited combatants had not hacked each other to pieces, just as boys are left sad when the hanged man they have been waiting for fails to appear, because either the injured party or the law has pardoned him. The people went away, the duke and Don Quixote went back to the castle, they shut Tosilos up, and Doña Rodríguez and her daughter were left most content at seeing that, one way or another, that affair was bound to end in marriage, and Tosilos hoped for no less.