Chapter LXIV. Which deals with the adventure that gave Don Quixote more sorrow than any that had befallen him until then

Don Antonio Moreno’s wife, the history tells, was overjoyed to see Ana Félix in her house. She received her with great kindness, taken as much with her beauty as with her good sense, for in the one and in the other the Morisca was outstanding, and all the people of the city came to see her as if summoned by the ringing of a bell.

Don Quixote told Don Antonio that the course they had taken for the freeing of Don Gregorio was not a good one, because it had more of danger than of advantage, and that it would be better to set him down in Barbary with his arms and his horse; for he would bring the young man out in spite of all Moordom, as Don Gaiferos had done with his wife Melisendra.

“Let your grace take note,” said Sancho, hearing this, “that Señor Don Gaiferos took his wife out of the mainland and carried her to France over the mainland; but here, if by chance we get Don Gregorio out, we’ve no way to bring him to Spain, since there’s the sea in between.”

“There is a remedy for everything except death,” answered Don Quixote; “for when the boat comes to the shore, we can go aboard it, though the whole world stand in the way.”

“Your grace paints it very nicely and makes it sound very easy,” said Sancho, “but from saying to doing is a long road, and I’ll stick with the renegade, who seems to me a very decent man with a very good heart.”

Don Antonio said that if the renegade did not come off well in the affair, they would fall back on the expedient of the great Don Quixote crossing over to Barbary.

Two days later the renegade set out in a light boat with six oars to a side, manned by a most valiant crew; and two days after that the galleys left for the Levant, the general having asked the viceroy to be so good as to let him know what happened in the freeing of Don Gregorio and in the case of Ana Félix; and the viceroy agreed to do just as he asked.

And one morning, as Don Quixote went out to walk on the beach armed with all his arms, because, as he often said, they were his finery and fighting was his rest, and he could not be without them for a moment, he saw coming toward him a knight, likewise armed from head to foot, who bore painted on his shield a shining moon; and, coming within earshot, he directed his words to Don Quixote and said in a loud voice:

“Illustrious knight and never-duly-lauded Don Quixote of La Mancha, I am the Knight of the White Moon, whose unheard-of deeds have perhaps brought him to your memory. I come to contend with you and to prove the strength of your arms, to make you know and confess that my lady, whoever she may be, is beyond compare more beautiful than your Dulcinea del Toboso; and if you confess this truth plainly and openly, you will spare yourself your death and spare me the trouble I must take in giving it to you; and if you fight and I vanquish you, I want no other satisfaction than that, laying down your arms and refraining from seeking adventures, you withdraw and retire to your village for the space of a year, where you are to live without laying hand to your sword, in tranquil peace and profitable quiet, for so it befits the increase of your estate and the salvation of your soul; and if you vanquish me, my head shall be at your discretion, and the spoils of my arms and horse shall be yours, and the fame of my deeds shall pass to yours. See what suits you best, and answer me at once, for I have this whole day as my term for dispatching this business.”

Don Quixote was left astonished and amazed, as much at the arrogance of the Knight of the White Moon as at the cause for which he challenged him; and with composure and a stern bearing he answered him:

“Knight of the White Moon, whose deeds have not until now come to my notice, I will dare to swear that you have never seen the illustrious Dulcinea; for if you had seen her, I know you would have taken care not to engage in this suit, because the sight of her would have undeceived you, and shown you that there has never been nor can be any beauty to compare with hers; and so, not telling you that you lie, but that you are mistaken in what you propose, I accept your challenge on the conditions you have stated, and at once, so that the day you have set may not go by; and from the conditions I except only the one that the fame of your deeds should pass to me, because I know not which they are nor of what sort: I am content with my own, such as they are. Take, then, whatever part of the field you please, and I will do the same, and whom God gives it to, may Saint Peter bless it for him.”

From the city they had sighted the Knight of the White Moon, and had told the viceroy that he was talking with Don Quixote of La Mancha. The viceroy, believing it must be some new adventure contrived by Don Antonio Moreno or by some other gentleman of the city, came out at once to the beach with Don Antonio and with many other gentlemen who were with him, just as Don Quixote was wheeling Rocinante about to take the ground he needed.

The viceroy, then, seeing that the two were giving signs of turning to charge each other, put himself between them, asking them what cause moved them to do battle so suddenly. The Knight of the White Moon answered that it was a question of precedence in beauty, and in a few words told him the same thing he had told Don Quixote, together with the acceptance of the conditions of the challenge made by both parties. The viceroy went over to Don Antonio and asked him quietly whether he knew who this Knight of the White Moon was, or whether it was some jest they meant to play on Don Quixote. Don Antonio answered that he knew neither who he was nor whether the challenge was in jest or in earnest. This answer left the viceroy perplexed whether to let them go on with the battle or not; but, since he could not bring himself to believe it was other than a jest, he drew aside, saying:

“Sir knights, if there is no other remedy here than to confess or die, and Señor Don Quixote is set on his thirteen and your grace of the White Moon on your fourteen, in God’s hands, then, and have at it.”

The Knight of the White Moon thanked the viceroy in courteous and sensible words for the leave he gave them, and Don Quixote did the same; and he, commending himself with all his heart to heaven and to his Dulcinea—as was his custom at the start of the battles that came his way—went back to take a little more of the field, because he saw that his adversary was doing the same; and, with no trumpet or other instrument of war sounding to give them the signal to charge, both wheeled their horses at the same moment; and, as the horse of the Knight of the White Moon was the swifter, he reached Don Quixote two thirds of the way down the course, and there he met him with such mighty force, without touching him with the lance (for he raised it, it seems, on purpose), that he brought Rocinante and Don Quixote to the ground in a perilous fall. He was upon him at once, and, setting the lance against his visor, said to him:

“You are vanquished, knight, and dead besides, if you do not confess the conditions of our challenge.”

Don Quixote, battered and stunned, without raising his visor, as if he were speaking from inside a tomb, said in a weak and sickly voice:

“Dulcinea del Toboso is the most beautiful woman in the world, and I the most unfortunate knight on earth, and it is not right that my weakness should defraud this truth. Drive home your lance, knight, and take my life, since you have taken away my honor.”

“That I will surely not do,” said the Knight of the White Moon. “Let the fame of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso’s beauty live, live on unimpaired; for I am content only that the great Don Quixote retire to his village for a year, or until such time as I shall command him, as we agreed before we entered on this battle.”

All this the viceroy and Don Antonio heard, with many others who were there, and they heard as well that Don Quixote answered that, so long as he asked nothing of him that would be to the prejudice of Dulcinea, he would fulfill all the rest as a punctilious and true knight.

This confession made, the Knight of the White Moon turned his horse’s head, and, bowing to the viceroy, rode into the city at a half gallop.

The viceroy ordered Don Antonio to go after him and find out by every means who he was. They raised Don Quixote and uncovered his face and found him pale and in a sweat. Rocinante, from sheer ill usage, could not move for the time being. Sancho, all sad and all sorrowful, did not know what to say or what to do: it seemed to him that the whole affair was happening in a dream and that all that business was a thing of enchantment. He saw his master vanquished and bound not to take up arms for a year; he imagined the light of the glory of his deeds darkened, the hopes of his new promises undone, as smoke is undone by the wind. He feared whether Rocinante would be left crippled or his master put out of joint; and it would have been no small luck if he had been put out of his madness. At last, in a sedan chair the viceroy had sent for, they carried him to the city, and the viceroy went back there too, wishing to know who the Knight of the White Moon might be who had left Don Quixote in so sorry a state.