At that moment they caught sight of some thirty or forty windmills, which stand on that plain, and as soon as Don Quixote saw them he said to his squire: “Fortune is guiding our affairs better than we could wished. Look over there, friend Sancho Panza, where more than thirty monstrous giants appear. I intend to do battle with them and take all their lives. With their spoils we will begin to get rich, for this is a fair war, and it is a great service to God to wipe such brood from the face of the earth.”
“What giants?” asked Sancho Panza.
“Those you see there,” replied his master, “with their long arms. Some giants have them about six miles long.” “Take care, your worship,” said Sancho; “those things over there are not giants but windmills, and what seem to be their arms are the sails, which are whirled round in the wind and make the millstone turn.”
“It is quite clear,” replied Don Quixote, “that you are not experienced in this matter of adventures. They are giants, and if you are afraid, go away and say your prayers, whilst I advance and engage them in fierce and unequal battle.”

As he spoke, he dug his spurs into his steed Rocinante, paying no attention to his squire´s shouted warning that beyond all doubt they were windmills and no giants he was advancing to attack. But he went on, so positive that they were giants that he neither listened to Sancho´s cries nor notice what they were, even when he got near them. Instead he went on shouting in a loud voice: “Do not fly, cowards, vile creatures, for it is one knight alone who assails you.”

At that moment a slight wind arose, and the great sails began to move. At the sight of which Don Quixote shouted: “Though you wield more arms than the giant Briareus, you shall pay for it!” Saying this, he commended himself with all his soul to his Lady Dulcinea, beseeching her aid in his great peril. Then, covering himself with his shield and putting his lance in the rest, he urged Rocinante forward at a full gallop and attacked the nearest windmill, thrusting his lance into the sail. But the wind turned it with such violence that it shivered his weapon in pieces, dragging the horse and his rider with it, and sent the knight rolling badly injured across the plain. Sancho Panza rushed to his assistance as fast as his ass could trot, but when he came up he found that the knight could not stir. Such a shock had Rocinante given him in their fall.

“Oh my goodness!” cried Sancho. “Didn´t I tell your worship to look what you were doing, for they were only windmills? Nobody could mistake them, unless he had windmills on the brain.”
“Silence, friend Sancho,” replied Don Quixote. “Matters of war are more subject than most to continual change. What is more, I think – and that is the truth – that the same sage Friston who robbed me of my room and my books has turned those giants into windmills, to cheat me of the glory of conquering them. Such is the enmity he bears me; but in the very end his black arts shall avail him little against the goodness of my sword.”
“God send it as He will,” replied Sancho Panza, helping the knight to get up and remount Rocinante, whose shoulders were half dislocated.

As they discussed this last adventure they followed the road to the pass of Lapice where, Don Quixote said, they could not fail to find many and various adventures, as many travellers passed that way. He was much concerned, however, at the loss of his lance, and, speaking of it to his squire, remarked: “I remember reading that a certain Spanish knight called Diego Perez de Vargas, having broken his sword in battle, tore a great bough or limb from an oak, and performed such deeds with it that day, and pounded so many Moors, that he earned the surname of the Pounder, and thus he and his descendants from that day onwards have been called Vargas y Machuca. I mention this because I propose to tear down just such a limb from the first oak we meet, as big and as good as his; and I intend to do such deeds with it that you may consider yourself most fortunate to have won the right to see them. For you will witness things which will scarcely be credited.”

“With God´s help,” replied Sancho, “and I believe it all as your worship says. But sit a bit more upright, sir, for you seem to be riding lop-sided. It must be from the bruises you got when you fell.”
“That is the truth,” replied Don Quixote. “And if I do not complain of the pain, it is because a knight errant is not allowed to complain of any wounds, even though his entrails may be dropping out through them.”
“If that´s so, I have nothing more to say,” said Sancho, “but God knows I should be glad if your worship would complain if anything hurt you. I must say, for my part, that I have to cry out at the slightest twinge, unless this business of not complaining extends to knights errants´ squires as well.”
Don Quixote could not help smiling at his squire´s simplicity, and told him that he could certainly complain how and when he pleased, whether he had any cause or no, for up to that time he had never read anything to the contrary in the law of chivalry.

Sancho reminded him that it was time for dinner, but his master replied that he had need of none, but that his squire might eat whenever he pleased. With this permission Sancho settled himself as comfortably as he could on his ass and, taking out what he had put into the saddlebags, jogged very leisurely along behind his master, eating all the while; and from time to time he raised the bottle with such relish that the best-fed publican in Malaga might have envied him. Now, as he went along like this, taking repeated gulps, he entirely forgot the promise his master had made him, and reckoned that going in search of adventures, however dangerous, was more like pleasure than hard work. (…)

“DON QUIXOTE”, 1605.

By Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra

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En esto descubrieron treinta o cuarenta molinos de viento que hay en aquel campo, y así como Don Quijote los vió, dijo a su escudero: “La ventura va guiando nuestras cosas mejor de lo que acertáramos a desear; porque ves allí, amigo Sancho Panza, donde se descubren treinta o poco más desaforados gigantes con quien pienso hacer batalla, y quitarles a todos las vidas, con cuyos despojos comenzaremos a enriquecer: que esta es buena guerra, y es gran servicio de Dios quitar tan mala simiente de sobre la faz de la tierra.”
“¿Qué gigantes?,” dijo Sancho Panza.
“Aquellos que allí ves,” respondió su amo, “de los brazos largos, que los suelen tener algunos de casi dos leguas.”
“Mire vuestra merced, respondió Sancho, que aquellos que allí se parecen no son gigantes, sino molinos de viento, y lo que en ellos parecen brazos son las aspas, que volteadas del viento hacen andar la piedra del molino.”
“Bien parece, respondió Don Quijote, que no estás cursado en esto de las aventuras; ellos son gigantes, y si tienes miedo quítate de ahí, y ponte en oración en el espacio que yo voy a entrar con ellos en fiera y desigual batalla.”

Y diciendo esto, dio de espuelas a su caballo Rocinante, sin atender a las voces que su escudero Sancho le daba, advirtiéndole que sin duda alguna eran molinos de viento, y no gigantes aquellos que iba a acometer. Pero él iba tan puesto en que eran gigantes, que ni oía las voces de su escudero Sancho, ni echaba de ver, aunque estaba ya bien cerca, lo que eran; antes iba diciendo en voces altas: non fuyades, cobardes y viles criaturas, que un solo caballero es el que os acomete. Levantóse en esto un poco de viento y las grandes aspas comenzaron a moverse, lo cual visto por Don Quijote, dijo: “Pues aunque mováis más brazos que los del gigante Briareo, me lo habéis de pagar.”
Y en diciendo esto, y encomendándose de todo corazón a su señora Dulcinea, pidiéndole que en tal trance le socorriese, bien cubierto de su rodela, con la lanza en ristre, arremetió a todo el galope de Rocinante, y embistió con el primer molino que estaba delante; y dándole una lanzada en el aspa, la volvió el viento con tanta furia, que hizo la lanza pedazos, llevándose tras sí al caballo y al caballero, que fue rodando muy maltrecho por el campo. Acudió Sancho Panza a socorrerle a todo el correr de su asno, y cuando llegó, halló que no se podía menear, tal fue el golpe que dio con él Rocinante.

“¡Válgame Dios!” – dijo Sancho – “¿no le dije yo a vuestra merced que mirase bien lo que hacía, que no eran sino molinos de viento, y no los podía ignorar sino quien llevase otros tales en la cabeza?” “Calla, amigo Sancho,” – respondió Don Quijote – que las cosas de la guerra, más que otras, están sujetas a continua mudanza, cuanto más que yo pienso, y es así verdad, que aquel sabio Frestón, que me robó el aposento y los libros, ha vuelto estos gigantes en molinos por quitarme la gloria de su vencimiento: tal es la enemistad que me tiene; mas al cabo al cabo han de poder poco sus malas artes contra la voluntad de mi espada.”
“Dios lo haga como puede,” respondió Sancho Panza. Y ayudándole a levantar, tornó a subir sobre Rocinante, que medio despaldado estaba; y hablando en la pasada aventura, siguieron el camino del puerto Lápice, porque allí decía Don Quijote que no era posible dejar de hallarse muchas y diversas aventuras, por ser lugar muy pasajero; sino que iba muy pesaroso por haberle faltado la lanza y diciéndoselo a su escudero, dijo: “Yo me acuerdo haber leído que un caballero español, llamado Diego Pérez de Vargas, habiéndosele en una batalla roto la espada, desgajó de una encina un pesado ramo o tronco, y con él hizo tales cosas aquel día, y machacó tantos moros, que le quedó por sobrenombre Machuca, y así él, como sus descendientes, se llamaron desde aquel día en adelante Vargas y Machuca. Hete dicho esto, porque de la primera encina o roble que se me depare, pienso desgajar otro tronco tal y bueno como aquel, que me imagino y pienso hacer con él tales hazañas, que tú te tengas por bien afortunado de haber merecido venir a verlas, y aser testigo de cosas que apenas podrán ser creídas.”

“A la mano de Dios,” dijo Sancho, “yo lo creo todo así como vuestra merced lo dice; pero enderécese un poco, que parece que va de medio lado, y debe de ser del molimiento de la caída.”
“Así es la verdad,” respondió Don Quijote; “y si no me quejo del dolor, es porque no es dado a los caballeros andantes quejarse de herida alguna, aunque se le salgan las tripas por ella.”
“Si eso es así, no tengo yo que replicar,” respondió Sancho;” pero sabe Dios si yo me holgara que vuestra merced se quejara cuando alguna cosa le doliera. De mí sé decir, que me he de quejar del más pequeño dolor que tenga, si ya no se entiende también con los escuderos de los caballeros andantes eso del no quejarse.”

No se dejó de reír Don Quijote de la simplicidad de su escudero; y así le declaró que podía muy bien quejarse, como y cuando quisiese, sin gana o con ella, que hasta entonces no había leído cosa en contrario en la orden de caballería. Díjole Sancho que mirase que era hora de comer. Respondióle su amo que por entonces no le hacía menester; que comiese él cuando se le antojase. Con esta licencia se acomodó Sancho lo mejor que pudo sobre su jumento, y sacando de las alforjas lo que en ellas había puesto, iba caminando y comiendo detrás de su amo muy despacio, y de cuando en cuando empinaba la bota con tanto gusto, que le pudiera envidiar el más regalado bodegonero de Málaga. Y en tanto que él iba de aquella manera menudeando tragos, no se le acordaba de ninguna promesa que su amo le hubiese hecho, ni tenía por ningún trabajo, sino por mucho descanso, andar buscando las aventuras por peligrosas que fuesen. (…)