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Stories of Don Quixote Written Anew for Children Chapter 23: The Duke and the Duchess
Chapter 23: The Duke and the Duchess
One fine day, just before sunset, our travelers came suddenly into a broad, green meadow which was bordered on three sides by a wood. In this meadow they saw a company of men and women whom Don Quixote guessed to be fine people out for a hunt. Nor was he at all mistaken.
He stopped and watched them from a distance. The chief person in the company was a lady, dressed in green attire so rich that nothing could be richer. She was riding on a white horse appareled with a silver saddle and trappings of green. On her left wrist sat a hawk; and by this sign Don Quixote knew her to be the mistress of the company.
Presently, he called softly to his squire. “Friend Sancho,” he said, “go quickly and tell that lady on the white palfrey that I, the Knight of the Lions, humbly salute her great beauty. But be careful what you say, and don’t make a show of yourself by quoting proverbs.”
“Your command shall be obeyed,” said Sancho; and he at once set forward as fast as his donkey would carry him. As he drew near to the fair huntress he alighted and fell on his knees before her.
“Fair lady,” he said, “yonder knight is called the Knight of the Lions, and he is my master. I am his squire, and my name is Sancho Panza. He has sent me to tell you that he has no mind but to serve your hawking beauty and—and—”
“Pray rise, good squire,” said the lady. “I have heard of this Knight of the Lions, and it is not at all fitting that his squire should remain on his knees. Rise, sir, rise.”
Sancho got up. He was surprised at the lady’s beauty. He was also surprised to learn that she had heard of his master. He stood before her with wide-open mouth, waiting for her further commands.
“Tell me,” she said, “is not your master the ingenious gentleman, Don Quixote de la Mancha?”
“The very same, may it please your worship,” answered Sancho; “and that squire of his is Sancho Panza by name, my own self.”
“I am very glad to hear all this,” said the lady.
“And I, too,” said Sancho.
“Now, go, friend Panza,” said the lady, “and tell your master that I am glad to welcome him to my estates. Nothing could give me more happiness.”
Sancho was overjoyed. He hastened back to his master and repeated every word that had been said to him.
Don Quixote listened quietly. Then he fixed himself in his saddle, and arranged his armor. He roused up Rozinante, and set off at a good round pace to kiss the hand of the fair huntress.
By this time, the lady, who was indeed a duchess, had been joined by her husband, the duke, and both stood waiting for his coming; for they had heard of his many exploits, and they wished to become acquainted with him.
As Don Quixote rode up and was about to alight, Sancho hastened to be ready to hold his stirrup. But as he was sliding from the donkey’s back his foot was caught in the pack saddle, and there he hung by the heel with head on the ground.
It was a funny sight, but everybody was looking at Don Quixote, and Sancho was left to struggle as he might.
Don Quixote, who was used to having his stirrup held, now made bold to alight without his squire’s help. He came suddenly down into the stirrup with all his weight; and Rozinante’s saddle girth turning, he tumbled upon the ground between the poor horse’s feet.
The duke’s men ran to help Don Quixote to his feet. He was not hurt much. He brushed the dust from his hands and went limping toward the spot where the duke and duchess were waiting.
The duke met him and embraced him. “I am sorry,” he said, “that such a mischance should happen to you here on my territories.”
“Valorous prince,” said Don Quixote, “I count it no mischance when I may have the happiness of seeing your grace. My squire is much more apt to let his tongue loose than to tighten my saddle girth. But, whether I be down or up, on horseback or on foot, I am always at your command.”
Then he went on to salute the duchess and to pay many a pretty compliment to her beauty and her wisdom.
The end of the whole matter was that the duke invited him to stay for a while at his castle, which was not far away.
“I entreat you, most valorous Knight of the Lions,” he said, “to favor us with your company. You shall have such entertainment as is due to a person so justly famous.”
Don Quixote thereupon mounted his Rozinante again, the duke got upon his own stately steed, and the duchess riding between them, they moved toward the castle, which was situated among the hills not far away.
The duchess was delighted with Sancho. He was always so ready with an excuse or a proverb that he amused her beyond measure.
“Why not let your squire ride with us?” she presently asked.
Sancho needed no further invitation. He crowded in between the duke and the duchess, and thus made a fourth rider in the notable procession that was ambling toward the duke’s castle.
They were yet some little distance from the gates when the duke gave spurs to his steed and galloped on ahead. He hastened homeward to put things in readiness for his guests and to direct his people how to behave themselves toward the valorous knight, Don Quixote.
When at length the party arrived at the gate of the castle, they were met by two of the duke’s servants. These servants were dressed in long vests of crimson satin, cut and shaped like nightgowns.
They went directly to Don Quixote. They took him in their arms, and lifted him from the saddle to the ground.
Then they said to him, “Go, great and mighty sir, and help our Lady Duchess down.”
Don Quixote hastened to obey, but the lady objected. Many pretty compliments were passed back and forth while the fair duchess sat upon her palfrey.
“I will not alight,” she said, “except in my husband’s arms.”
So the duke came and took her down; and Don Quixote bowed his apologies and walked by her side through the broad gateway. As they entered the courtyard they were met by two beautiful girls who threw a mantle of fine scarlet over Don Quixote’s shoulders. Then all the servants of the duke, both men and women, shouted, “Welcome, welcome, flower and cream of knight-errantry!”
All these things pleased Don Quixote amazingly. For this was the first time he had felt that he was really and truly a knight. He now found himself treated just like the famous heroes he had read about, and it did his heart good.
They led him up a stately staircase and into a noble hall, all hung with rich gold brocade. There his armor was taken off by six young ladies, who served him instead of pages.
“This is, indeed, like the glorious days of chivalry,” he said to himself.
But what a poor piece of humanity he was when unarmed! Raw-boned and meager, tall and lank, lantern-jawed and toothless, he was indeed an odd-looking figure. The young ladies who waited on him had much ado to stifle their laughter.
With much dignity, however, he retired to his own room, where he dressed himself for dinner. He put on his belt and sword, threw a scarlet cloak over his shoulders, and set a jaunty cap of green velvet upon his head. When he came back into the hall you would not have known him.
Twelve pages at once came forward to lead him to the dinner table. Some walked before, some followed behind, and all waited upon him with the greatest show of respect.
The table was set for four persons only, and there Don Quixote was received by the duke and the duchess and a priest who was with them. Courtly compliments were passed on all sides, and then they seated themselves, one at each of the four sides of the table.
Now the reason for all the kindness shown to Don Quixote was this: The duke and duchess had nothing to do but to pass away the time, and they had found this to be the very hardest kind of work. They had become tired of hunting, tired of playing chess, tired of watching the servants at work, tired of music, tired of everything.
“Oh, life is so dull and wearisome!” they said to each other. “Can’t something be done to make it more enjoyable?”
So, when Don Quixote and his squire happened to come to them, they were overjoyed. “We shall have great sport with this rare couple,” said the duke. “We shall have something to laugh at for the rest of our lives.”
The duchess agreed to all his plans, and Don Quixote was therefore invited to make his home in the castle. He would give them more amusement than any fool at the king’s court. And every day of his stay with them, the duke and the duchess studied how they might invent some new and pleasant joke upon the knight or his squire. Everything was done kindly so as to hurt no one’s feelings; and so many tricks were played that it would take more pages than there are in this book to tell about them all.
I will relate only one or two.
Stories of Don Quixote Written Anew for Children Chapter 22: The Enchanted Bark
Chapter 22: The Enchanted Bark
Fair and softly, and step by step, did Don Quixote and his squire wend their way through field and wood and village and farmland. Many and strange were their adventures — so many and strange, indeed, that I shall not try to relate the half of them.
At length, on a sunny day, they came to the banks of the river Ebro. As the knight sat on Rozinante’s back and gazed at the flowing water and at the grass and trees which bordered the banks with living green, he felt very happy. His squire, however, was in no pleasant humor; for the last few days had been days of weary toil.
Presently Don Quixote observed a little boat which was lying in the water near by, being moored by a rope to the trunk of a small tree. It had neither oars nor sail, and for that reason it seemed all the more inviting.
The knight dismounted from his steed, calling at the same time to his squire to do the same.
“Alight, Sancho,” he said. “Let us tie our beasts to the branches of this willow.”
Sancho obeyed, asking, “Why do we alight here, master?”
“You are to know,” answered Don Quixote, “that this boat lies here for us. It invites me to embark in it and hasten to the relief of some knight, or other person of high degree, who is in distress.”
“I wonder if that is so,” said Sancho.
“Certainly,” answered his master. “In all the books that I have read, enchanters are forever doing such things. If a knight happens to be in danger, there is sometimes only one other knight that can rescue him. So a boat is provided for that other knight, and, in the twinkling of an eye, he is whisked away to the scene of trouble, even though it be two or three thousand leagues.”
“That is wonderful,” said Sancho.
“Most assuredly,” answered Don Quixote; “and it is for just such a purpose that this enchanted bark lies here. Therefore let us leave our steeds here in the shade and embark in it.”
“Well, well,” said Sancho, “since you are the master, I must obey. But I tell you this is no enchanted bark. It is some fisherman’s boat.”
“They are usually fishermen’s boats,” said Don Quixote. “So, let us begin our voyage without delay.”
He leaped into the little vessel. Sancho followed, and untied the rope. The boat drifted slowly out into the stream.
When Sancho saw that they were out of reach of the shore and had no means of pushing back, he began to quake with fear.
“We shall never see our noble steeds again,” he cried. “Hear how the poor donkey brays and moans because we are leaving him. See how Rozinante tugs at his bridle. Oh, my poor, dear friends, goodbye!”
Then he began such a moaning and howling that Don Quixote lost all patience with him.
“Coward!” he cried. “What are you afraid of? Who is after you? Who hurts you? Why, we have already floated some seven or eight hundred leagues. If I’m not mistaken, we shall soon pass the equinoctial line which divides the earth into two parts.”
“And when we come to that line, how far have we gone then?” asked Sancho.
“A mighty way,” answered the knight.
They were now floating down the river with some speed. Below them were two great water mills near the middle of the stream.
“Look! look, my Sancho!” cried Don Quixote. “Do you see yon city or castle? That is where some knight lies in prison, or some princess is detained against her will.”
“What do you mean?” asked Sancho. “Don’t you see that those are no castles? They are only water mills for grinding corn.”
“Peace, Sancho! I know they look like water mills, but that is a trick of the enchanters. Why, those vile fellows can change and overturn everything from its natural form. You know how they transformed my Dulcinea.”
The boat was now moving quite rapidly with the current. The people in the mills saw it and came out with long poles to keep it clear of the great water wheels. They were powdered with flour dust, as millers commonly are, and therefore looked quite uncanny.
“Hello, there!” they cried. “Are you mad, in that boat? Push off, or you’ll be cut to pieces by the mill wheels.”
“Didn’t I tell you, Sancho, that this is the place where I must show my strength?” said Don Quixote. “See how those hobgoblins come out against us! But I’ll show them what sort of person I am.”
Then he stood up in the boat and began to call the millers all sorts of bad names.
“You paltry cowards!” he cried. “Release at once the captive whom you are detaining within your castle. For I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, the Knight of the Lions, whom heaven has sent to set your prisoner free.”
He drew his sword and began to thrust the air with it, as though fighting with an invisible enemy. But the millers gave little heed to his actions, and stood ready with their poles to stop the boat.
Sancho threw himself on his knees in the bottom of the boat and began to pray for deliverance. And, indeed, it seemed as though their time had come, for they were drifting straight into the wheel. Quickly the millers bestirred themselves, and thrusting out their poles, they overturned the boat.
Don Quixote and Sancho were, of course, spilled out into the stream. It was lucky that both could swim. The weight of the knight’s armor dragged him twice to the bottom and both he and his squire would have been drowned had not two of the millers jumped in and pulled them out by main force.
Hardly had our exhausted heroes recovered their senses when the fisherman who owned the boat came running down to the shore. When he saw that the little craft had been broken to pieces in the mill wheel, he fell upon Sancho and began to beat him unmercifully.
“You shall pay me for that boat,” he cried.
“I am ready to pay for it,” said Don Quixote, “provided these people will fairly and immediately surrender the prisoners whom they have unjustly detained in their castle.”
“What castle do you mean? and what prisoners?” asked the millers. “Explain yourself, sir. We don’t know what you are talking about.”
“I might as well talk to a stump as try to persuade you to do a good act,” answered Don Quixote. “Now, I see that two rival enchanters have clashed in this adventure. One sent me a boat, the other overwhelmed it in the river. It is very plain that I can do nothing where there is such plotting and counter-plotting.”
Then he turned his face toward the mill and raised his eyes to the window above the wheel.
“My friends!” he cried at the top of his voice; “my friends, whoever you are who lie immured in that prison, hear me! Pardon my ill luck, for I cannot set you free. You must needs wait for some other knight to perform that adventure.”
Having said this, he ordered Sancho to pay the fisherman fifty reals for the boat.
Sancho obeyed sullenly, for he was very unwilling to part with the money.
“Two voyages like that will sink all our stock,” he muttered.
The fisherman and the millers stood with their mouths open, wondering what sort of men these were who had come so strangely into their midst. Then, concluding that they were madmen, they left them, the millers going to their mill, and the fisherman to his hut.
As for Don Quixote and Sancho, they trudged sorrowfully back to their beasts; and thus ended the adventure of the enchanted bark.
The Children’s Six Minutes: Letters
LETTERS
Who is the most popular man in your town? The Postman. Who is the man who is most eagerly looked for as he comes down the street? The Postman. Who receives, at every door where he stops, a most cordial welcome? The Postman. I wonder if the thrill of getting a letter will ever pass away. When you come home from school the first thing you do is to look on the hall table to see if the Postman has brought you a letter. It is the same when we grow up. No matter how many letters we may receive we never get over the keen delight at having the Postman bring us letters.
Last Sunday afternoon you wrote your grandmother. You said, “Only two months more of school and then I am coming to see you, and all the summer vacation I am going to play around your big house, and in the barn, and across the fields, and through the woods.” On your way to school Monday morning, you posted that letter. Monday afternoon you began looking for an answer. Tuesday you were impatient [59]that you had not received a reply. Wednesday you were almost in tears, though, had you only stopped to think you would have known that it takes two days for a letter to get to your grandmother, she lives so far away. Thursday the answer came. “I am eager for vacation time to come so that you, my dear grandchild, may be here with me.”
I have here an unusual book. It is a book of letters. All the letters were written by a big man, a father, to little children, his children. The man who wrote them was Theodore Roosevelt. What fortunate children were his! Not many fathers take time to write to their children as did our great president. Oh, for more fathers like Roosevelt! Oh, for appreciative children, who will not only gladly receive, but cheerfully write, letters of love!
MEMORY VERSE, I John 2: 12
“I write unto you, fathers, because ye have known him that is from the beginning. I write unto you, little children, because ye have known the Father.”
MEMORY HYMN
“I love to tell the story.”
1 I love to tell the story
of unseen things above,
of Jesus and His glory,
of Jesus and His love.
I love to tell the story
because I know it’s true.
it satisfies my longings
as nothing else can do.
Refrain:
I love to tell the story!
‘Twill be my theme in glory
to tell the old, old story
of Jesus and His love.
2 I love to tell the story;
more wonderful it seems
than all the golden fancies
of all our golden dreams.
I love to tell the story;
it did so much for me,
and that is just the reason
I tell it now to thee. [Refrain]
3 I love to tell the story;
’tis pleasant to repeat
what seems, each time I tell it
more wonderfully sweet.
I love to tell the story;
for some have never heard
the message of salvation
from God’s own holy Word. [Refrain]
4 I love to tell the story,
for those who know it best
seem hungering and thirsting
to hear it like the rest.
And when in scenes of glory
I sing the new, new song,
’twill be the old, old story
that I have loved so long. [Refrain]
Source: Our Great Redeemer’s Praise #160
The Tale of Jolly Robin chapter 16 JEALOUS JASPER JAY
JEALOUS JASPER JAY
The feathered folk in Pleasant Valley were all aflutter. They had heard a strange tale–the oddest tale, almost, that had ever been told in their neighborhood.
It was Jolly Robin who had started the story. And since he was not in the habit of playing jokes on people, everybody believed what he said–at least, everybody except Jasper Jay. He declared from the first that Jolly Robin’s tale was a hoax.
“I claim that there’s not a word of truth in it!” Jasper Jay said.
Now, there was a reason why Jasper spoke in that disagreeable way. He didn’t want the story to be true. And, somehow, he felt that if he said it was a hoax, it would really prove to be one.
“I know well enough,” said Jasper, “that there’s no golden bird in Pleasant Valley–and nowhere else, either!”
You see, Jolly Robin had hurried to the woods one day and told everyone he met that a wonderful golden bird had come to Pleasant Valley.
“He’s not just yellow, like a goldfinch. He’s solid gold all over, from the tip of his bill to the tip of his tail. Even his feet are golden. And he glistens in the sunshine as if he were afire!” That was the way Jolly Robin described the marvellous newcomer. “He’s the handsomest bird that ever was seen,” he added.
Perhaps Jasper Jay was jealous. You know he was a great dandy, being very proud of his blue suit, which was really quite beautiful. Anyhow, Jasper Jay began to sulk as soon as he heard the news.
“Where is this magnificent person?” he asked Jolly Robin with a sneer. “Do let me see him! And if he wants to fight, I’ll soon spoil his finery for him. He won’t look so elegant after I’ve pulled out his tail-feathers.”
But Jolly Robin wouldn’t tell anybody where he had seen the wonderful bird. He said the golden bird was three times as big as Jasper Jay. And he didn’t want Jasper to get hurt, even if he was so disagreeable.
Anyone can see, just from that, that Jolly Robin was very kind.
“You’d better be careful, or I’ll fight you, too!” Jasper warned him.
But Jolly was not afraid. He knew that Jasper was something of a braggart and a bully. He had chased Jasper once. And he thought he could do it again, if he had to.
“My cousin will tell me where to find this yellow fellow,” said Jasper Jay at last. “There’s not much that happens in Pleasant Valley that my cousin doesn’t know about.” So he flew off to find old Mr. Crow—for he was the cousin of whom Jasper was speaking.
Jasper found Mr. Crow in his favorite tree in the pine woods. And sure enough! the old gentleman seemed to know all about the golden bird. But like Jolly Robin, he refused to say where he had seen him. To tell the truth, Mr. Crow had never set eyes on the strange bird. But he did not like to admit it. “He’s a great credit to the neighborhood,” said old Mr. Crow. “And you’d better let him alone, if you should happen to find him, because he’s solid gold, you know. And if you flew at him and tried to peck him, just as likely as not you’d break your bill on him, he’s so hard.” Old Mr. Crow’s warning, however, had no effect at all upon Jasper Jay.
“I’m going to search every corner in the valley until I find this fop. And I’ll teach him that he’d better get out of our neighborhood with his fine airs.”
When he heard that, old Mr. Crow shook his head.
“You’re going to have trouble!” he told Jasper. And then he hurried away to tell Jolly Robin that he ought to advise the golden bird to leave Pleasant Valley.
But Jolly Robin said he had not spoken with the stranger. And never having talked with a golden bird, he felt a bit shy about saying anything to him.
“Then there’ll be a terrible fight, I’m afraid,” said Mr. Crow.
“I’m afraid so,” Jolly Robin agreed. And strange as it may seem, they both said that if there was going to be a fight they didn’t want to miss seeing it.
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