In a vilage in La Mancha in Spain, of which I cannot
remember the name, ther livd not long ago one of thoze
òld-fasiond jentlmen, who ar never without a lanse
upon a stand, an òld shield, a thin hors and a
grayhound. He ate beef mor than muton; and, with minsd
meat on mòst nights, lentils on Fridays, and a
pijon on Sundays, he consùmed three-quorters of
his income. The rest was spent on a plush coat, velvet
briches with velvet sliprs, for holidays ; and a sute of
the best homespun cloth, which he gave himself for
wurking-days. His family was a houskeeper something over
forty, a nese not twenty, and a man that servd in the
hous and in the fèld. The master himself was
nearly fifty years òld, with a helthy and strong
complexion, lean-bodyd and thin-fased, an erly rizer, and
a luvr of hunting. Some say his surname was Quixada, ie.
'lantern-jaws', tho this dus not matr much to us, as long
as we keep strictly to the trùth in every point of
this history.
When our jentlman had nothing to du (which was almost
all the year round), he pasd his time reading books about
nite-errantry, which he did with such delight,that at
last he left off his cuntry sports, and even the cair of
his estate. He grew so strànjly enamord of theze
amuzements that he sòld land to purchas even mor
books, Nothing plezed him mor than the wurks of the
fàmus Feliciano de Sylva; for his briliant proze,
and intricat expressions seemd to him so meny perls,
espesialy the luv-speeches and chalenjes. Meny wer in an
extraordinry stile,
"The sublime hevens, which with yur divinity divinely
fortifì u with the stars, and fix u the desurver
of the desurt that is desurvd bì yur
grandùr."
Rapsodys like this strànjly puzld the poor
jentlman's understanding. He rakd his brain to unravel
thair meaning, which Aristotl himself could never hav
found, tho he wer raizd from the ded to du so. The Knight
oftn dezired to put pen to paper,and finish the
unfinishabl book himself, but he had mor important
plans.
He oftn argùd with the priest of the parish,
who had a ùniversity degree, about which was the
betr nite, Palmerin of England, or Amadis of Gaul. Master
Nicholas, the barber in the toun, would say that non of
them compaird with the Knight of the Sun, exept Amadis'
brother, who was just as brave, but not so fusy, nor such
a whirling luvr.
The Nite red romanses at night until it was day, and
then he would read all day until it was night; and so a
wurld of extraordinary notions, pikd out of his books,
crouded into his imajination. His hed was ful of
enchantments, quorrels, batls, chalenjes, wùnds,
Iuv-pasajes, torments, and abundans of absurd
imposibilitys - so that all the fàbls and
fantasticl tales which he red seemd to him as tru as the
mòst authentic history. He would say that the
Spanish hero,Cid Ruydiaz was a very brave Knight, but not
wurthy to stand in competition with the Knight of the
Burning-Sord, who, with a singl bak-stroke, had cut 2
fèrs and mighty jìants in 2. He liked
èven betr Bernardo Carpio, who deprived of life
the enchanted Orlando, bì lifting him off the
ground, and chòking him in the air, as Hercules
did Antacus, the son of the Erth. As for the jìant
Morgante, he always spoke very sivily about him; for
among that monstrus brood, who wer intolerably proud and
insolent, he alone behaved like a sivil and wel-bred
person. And he so hated that trater Galalon, that for the
plezùr of kiking him hard, he would hav givn up
his houskeeper, and his nese into the bargin.
Having so confùsed his understanding, he
unlukily stumbld upon the odest fansy that ever enterd
into a madman's brain. He thaut that for the sake of onor
and serving the public, he should turn nite-errant, to
roam thru the wurld, armd hed to tò, mounted on
his steed, in quest of adventùrs. Bì
imitàting thoze Knights-errant he red about, and
folòing thair way of life, redressing grievanses,
and expòsing himself to dànjer on all
ocàzions, at last he might hav everlasting onor
and renoun.
The first thing he did was to scrub a suit of armor
that had belongd to his gràt Grandfather, and lain
longr than enyone could remember, cairlesly rusting in a
corner. But insted of a complete helmet, ther was
ònly a singl hedpese. So with some pàstbord
he made a kìnd of vìzer to cuvr his fase.
Then to fìnd out if it was cutlas-proof, he drew
his sord and trìd its edj upon the pàstbord
vìzer. At the very first stroke he unlukily undid
in a mòment what he had taken a hòl week to
du.
So he re-made it, and fensd it with thin plates of
ìon, fixd on the inside. So, without eny mor
experiment, he resolvd that it should pas for a ful
sufisiant helmet. Next he went to vew his hors,
hùz bones stuk out at all corners. However, his
master thaut that nìther Alexander's hors
Bucephalus, nor the Cid's Babieca, could be compaird with
him. He was 4 days considering what name to giv him ;
for, as he argùd with himself, a hors to be ridn
bì so famus a nite as himself, should hav a
spesial name, so, after meny names which he devized,
rejected, chànjd, liked, disliked, and desided
upon again, he concluded to caul it Rozinante.
Having given his hors a name, he next thaut of
choozing one for himself; and having seriusly thaut for 8
ful days mor, at last he desìded to caul himself
Don Quixote.
________________________
In a vilaj in La Mancha in Spain, of which I cannot
remember the name, ther livd not long ago one of thoze
òld-fasiond jentlmen, who ar never without a lanse
upon a stand, an òld shield, a thin hors and a
grayhound. He ate beef mor than muton; and, with minsd
meat on mòst nights, lentils on Fridays, and a
pijon on Sundays, he consùmed three-quorters of
his income. The rest was spent on a plush coat, velvet
briches with velvet sliprs, for holidays ; and a sute of
the best homespun cloth, which he gave himself for
wurking-days. His family was a houskeeper something over
forty, a nese not twenty, and a man that servd in the
hous and in the fèld. The master himself was
nearly fifty years òld, with a helthy and strong
complexion, lean-bodyd and thin-fased, an erly rizer, and
a luvr of hunting. Some say his surname was Quixada, ie.
'lantern-jaws', tho this dus not matr much to us, as long
as we keep strictly to the trùth in every point of
this history.
When our jentlman had nothing to du (which was almost
all the year round), he pasd his time reading books about
nite-errantry, which he did with such delight,that at
last he left off his cuntry sports, and even the cair of
his estate. He grew so strànjly enamord of theze
amuzements that he sòld land to purchas even mor
books, Nothing plezed him mor than the wurks of the
fàmus Feliciano de Sylva; for his briliant proze,
and intricat expressions seemd to him so meny perls,
espesialy the luv-speeches and chalenjes. Meny wer in an
extraordinry stile,
"The sublime hevens, which with yur divinity divinely
fortifì u with the stars, and fix u the desurver
of the desurt that is desurvd bì yur
grandùr."
Rapsodys like this strànjly puzld the poor
jentlman's understanding. He rakd his brain to unravel
thair meaning, which Aristotl himself could never hav
found, tho he wer raizd from the ded to du so. The Knight
oftn dezired to put pen to paper,and finish the
unfinishabl book himself, but he had mor important
plans.
He oftn argùd with the priest of the parish,
who had a ùniversity degree, about which was the
betr nite, Palmerin of England, or Amadis of Gaul. Master
Nicholas, the barber in the toun, would say that non of
them compaird with the Knight of the Sun, exept Amadis'
brother, who was just as brave, but not so fusy, nor such
a whirling luvr.
The Nite red romanses at night until it was day, and
then he would read all day until it was night; and so a
wurld of extraordinary notions, pikd out of his books,
crouded into his imajination. His hed was ful of
enchantments, quorrels, batls, chalenjes, wùnds,
Iuv-pasajes, torments, and abundans of absurd
imposibilitys - so that all the fàbls and
fantasticl tales which he red seemd to him as tru as the
mòst authentic history. He would say that the
Spanish hero,Cid Ruydiaz was a very brave Knight, but not
wurthy to stand in competition with the Knight of the
Burning-Sord, who, with a singl bak-stroke, had cut 2
fèrs and mighty jìants in 2. He liked
èven betr Bernardo Carpio, who deprived of life
the enchanted Orlando, bì lifting him off the
ground, and chòking him in the air, as Hercules
did Antacus, the son of the Erth. As for the jìant
Morgante, he always spoke very sivily about him; for
among that monstrus brood, who wer intolerably proud and
insolent, he alone behaved like a sivil and wel-bred
person. And he so hated that trater Galalon, that for the
plezùr of kiking him hard, he would hav givn up
his houskeeper, and his nese into the bargin.
Having so confùsed his understanding, he
unlukily stumbld upon the odest fansy that ever enterd
into a madman's brain. He thaut that for the sake of onor
and serving the public, he should turn nite-errant, to
roam thru the wurld, armd hed to tò, mounted on
his steed, in quest of adventùrs. Bì
imitàting thoze Knights-errant he red about, and
folòing thair way of life, redressing grievanses,
and expòsing himself to dànjer on all
ocàzions, at last he might hav everlasting onor
and renoun.
The first thing he did was to scrub a suit of armor
that had belongd to his gràt Grandfather, and lain
longr than enyone could remember, cairlesly rusting in a
corner. But insted of a complete helmet, ther was
ònly a singl hedpese. So with some pàstbord
he made a kìnd of vìzer to cuvr his fase.
Then to fìnd out if it was cutlas-proof, he drew
his sord and trìd its edj upon the pàstbord
vìzer. At the very first stroke he unlukily undid
in a mòment what he had taken a hòl week to
du.
So he re-made it, and fensd it with thin plates of
ìon, fixd on the inside. So, without eny mor
experiment, he resolvd that it should pas for a ful
sufisiant helmet. Next he went to vew his hors,
hùz bones stuk out at all corners. However, his
master thaut that nìther Alexander's hors
Bucephalus, nor the Cid's Babieca, could be compaird with
him. He was 4 days considering what name to giv him ;
for, as he argùd with himself, a hors to be ridn
bì so famus a nite as himself, should hav a
spesial name, so, after meny names which he devized,
rejected, chànjd, liked, disliked, and desided
upon again, he concluded to caul it Rozinante.
Having given his hors a name, he next thaut of
choozing one for himself; and having seriusly thaut for 8
ful days mor, at last he desìded to caul himself
Don Quixote.
