Don Quixote: Compare Translations

In a certain village of La Mancha, whose name I will not recall, there lived not long ago: a gentleman, one of those who keep a lance in the rack, an ancient target, a lean hackney, and a greyhound for coursing. A mess of somewhat more beef than mutton, a salad on most nights, a hotch-potch on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, with the addition of a pigeon on Sundays, consumed three parts of his substance. The rest of it was spent on a doublet of fine broad-cloth, a pair of velvet breeches for holidays, with slippers of the same, and his home-spun of the finest, with which he decked himself on week-days. He kept at home a housekeeper, who was past forty, and a niece who had not reached twenty, besides a lad for the field and market, who saddled the nag and handled the pruning-hook. The age of our gentleman bordered upon fifty years. He was of a vigorous constitution, spare of flesh, dry of visage, a great early riser, and a lover of the chase. They affirm that his surname was Quejada or Quesada (and in this there is some variance among the authors who treat of the matter), although by very probable conjectures we are led to conclude that he was called Quijana. But this is of small import to our story; enough that in the telling of it we swerve not a jot from the truth.

In a village of La Mancha, whose name l do not care to recall, there lately lived one of those gentlemen that keep a lance in the rack, an ancient shield, a rake of a horse and one lone harrier-bound. A stew of rather more beef than mutton, usually appearing at supper as a salad, lentils Friday, ‘tripe and trouble, Saturday and young pigeon as a delicacy on Sunday, relieved him of three-fourths of his income; whilst a doublet of broadcloth with velvet breeches and slippers for feast-days and a week-day livery of the finest homespun made away with the rest. His family comprised a housekeeper past forty, a niece under twenty and a yokel for field and mart, who saddled the nag as nimbly as he handled the pruning-hook. The age of our hidalgo bordered on fifty years, but though dry of visage and spare of flesh he boasted a vigorous constitution, was a great early-riser and a lover of the chase. Authors differ as to his name, whether Quijada or Quesada, though there is reason to suppose that it really was Quijana. But this matters little to our story: enough that in its telling we swerve not a jot from the truth.

In a certain corner of la Mancha, the name of which I do not choose to remember, there lately lived one of those country gentlemen, who adorn their halls with a rusty lance and worm-eaten target, and ride forth on the skeleton of a horse, to course with a sort of a starved greyhound. Three fourths of his income were scarce sufficient to afford a dish of hodge-podge, in which the mutton bore no proportion to the beef, for dinner; a plate of salmagundy, commonly at supper; gripes and grumblings on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and the addition of a pigeon or some such thing on the Lord’s-day. The remaining part of his revenue was consumed in the purchase of a fine black suit, with velvet breeches and slippers of the same, for holy-days; and a coat of home-spun, which he wore in honour of his country, during the rest of the week. He maintained a female housekeeper turned of forty, a niece of about half that age, and a trusty young fellow, fit for field and market, who could turn his hand to anything, either to saddle the horse or handle the hough. Our squire, who bordered upon fifty, was of a tough constitution, extremely meagre, and hard-featured, an early riser, and in point of exercise, another Nimrod. He is said to have gone by the name of Quixada, or Quesada, (for in this particular, the authors who mention that circumstance, disagree) though from the most probable conjectures, we may conclude, that he was called by the significant name of Quixada; but this is of small importance to the history, in the course of which it will be sufficient if we swerve not farther from the truth.

In a certain corner of la Mancha, the name of which I do not choose to remember, there lately lived one of those country gentlemen, who adorn their halls with a rusty lance and worm-eaten target, and ride forth on the skeleton of a horse, to course with a sort of a starved greyhound. Three fourths of his income were scarce sufficient to afford a dish of hodge-podge, in which the mutton bore no proportion to the beef, for dinner; a plate of salmagundy, commonly at supper; gripes and grumblings on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and the addition of a pigeon or some such thing on the Lord’s-day. The remaining part of his revenue was consumed in the purchase of a fine black suit, with velvet breeches and slippers of the same, for holy-days; and a coat of home-spun, which he wore in honour of his country, during the rest of the week. He maintained a female house-keeper turned of forty, a niece of about half that age, and a trusty young fellow, fit for field and market, who could turn his hand to anything, either to saddle the horse or handle the hough. Our squire, who bordered upon fifty, was of a tough constitution, extremely meagre, and hard-featured, an early riser, and in point of exercise, another Nimrod. He is said to have gone by the name of Quixada, or Quesada, (for in this particular, the authors who mention that circumstance, disagree) though from the most probable conjectures, we may conclude, that he was called by the significant name of Quixada; but this is of small importance to the history, in the course of which it will be sufficient if we swerve not farther from the truth.

There lived, not long since, in a certain village of the Mancha, the name whereof I purposely omit, a gentleman of their calling that used to pile up in their halls old lances, halberts, morions and such other armours and weapons. He was, besides, master of an ancient target, a lean stallion and a swift greyhound. His pot consisted daily of somewhat more beef than mutton; a gallimaufry each night, collops and eggs on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and now and then a lean pigeon on Sundays, did consume three parts of his rents. The rest and remnant thereof was spent on a jerkin of fine puke, a pair of velvet hose, with pantofles of the same for the holidays, and one suit of the finest vesture; for therewithal he honoured and set out his person for the work-days. He had in his house a woman-servant of about some forty years old, and a niece not yet twenty, and a man that served him both in field and at home, and could saddle his horse and likewise manage a pruning-hook. The master himself was about fifty years old, of a strong complexion, dry flesh and a withered face. He was an early riser and a great friend of hunting. Some affirm that his surname was Quixada or Quesada (for in this there is some variance among the authors that write his life), although it may be gathered by very probable conjectures that he was called Quixana. Yet all this concerns our historical relation but little: let it then suffice that in the narration thereof we will not vary a jot from the truth.

In a village in La Mancha (I don’t want to bother you with its name) there lived, not very long ago, one of those gentlemen who keep a lance in the lance-rack, an ancient shield, a skinny old horse, and a fast greyhound. Three quarters of his income went into his pot of stew (which contained a good deal more cow than sheep), the cold salt beef he ate most nights, Friday’s beans and lentils and Saturday’s leftover scraps, and sometimes a slender young pigeon for Sunday. All the rest ended up in a heavy broadcloth coat, velvet breeches he wore on feast days (with velvet slippers to match), and the fine quality homespun he wore, with great dignity, during the week. He lived with a housekeeper who was over forty, and a niece who hadn’t reached twenty, plus a boy for the fields and the market, who spent as much time saddling the old horse as wielding the pruning knife. Our gentleman was getting close to fifty, but strong, lean, his face sharp, always up at dawn, and a devoted hunter. It’s said his family name was Quijada, or maybe Quesada: there’s some disagreement among the writers who’ve discussed the matter. But more than likely his name was really Quejana. Not that this makes much difference in our story; it’s just important to tell things as faithfully as you can.

Somewhere in La Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing. An occasional stew, beef more often than lamb, hash most nights, eggs and abstinence on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, sometimes squab as a treat on Sundays—these consumed three-fourths of his income. The rest went for a light woolen tunic and velvet breeches and hose of the same material for feast days, while weekdays were honored with dun-colored coarse cloth. He had a housekeeper past forty, a niece not yet twenty, and a man-of-all-work who did everything from saddling the horse to pruning the trees. Our gentleman was approximately fifty years old; his complexion was weathered, his flesh scrawny, his face gaunt, and he was a very early riser and a great lover of the hunt. Some claim that his family name was Quixada, or Quexada, for there is a certain amount of disagreement among the authors who write of this matter, although reliable conjecture seems to indicate that his name was Quexana. But this does not matter very much to our story; in its telling there is absolutely no deviation from the truth.

In a village in La Mancha, the name of which I cannot quite recall, there lived not long ago one of those country gentlemen or hidalgos who keep a lance in a rack, an ancient leather shield, a scrawny hack and a greyhound for coursing. A midday stew with rather more shin of beef than leg of lamb, the leftovers for supper most nights, lardy eggs on Saturdays, lentil broth on Fridays and an occasional pigeon as a Sunday treat ate up three-quarters of his income. The rest went on a cape of black broadcloth, with breeches of velvet and slippers to match for holy days, and on weekdays he walked proudly in the finest homespun. He maintained a housekeeper the wrong side of forty, a niece the right side of twenty and a jack of all trades who was as good at saddling the nag as at plying the pruning shears. Our hidalgo himself was nearly fifty; he had a robust constitution, dried-up flesh and a withered face, and he was an early riser and a keen huntsman. His surname’s said to have been Quixada, or Quesada (as if he were a jawbone, or a cheesecake): concerning this detail there’s some discrepancy among the authors who have written on the subject, although a credible conjecture does suggest he might have been a plaintive Quexana. But this doesn’t matter much, as far as our little tale’s concerned, provided that the narrator doesn’t stray one inch from the truth.

In a village of La Mancha, whose name I have no intention of recalling, there lived not long ago one of those old-fashioned hidalgos who always have a lance in the rack, an ancient buckler, a skinny nag, and a swift greyhound for hunting. A daily stew consisting of more beef than mutton, hash almost every evening. “grief and sorrows” on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a pigeon or so extra on Sundays consumed three-fourths of his income, the remainder going for a doublet of broadcloth, velvet breeches with their matching slippers for feast days, and the finest homespun suit, which he sported on weekdays. His household consisted of a housekeeper past forty, a niece not yet twenty, and a servant lad for town and country, who did everything from saddling his horse to pruning his trees. Our hidalgo, who was just this side of fifty, had a robust constitution, a wizened face, little flesh on his bones, an ingrained habit of rising early, and a passion for the hunt. There are those who would have us believe his family name was Quijada or Quesada (there being some difference of opinion among the authorities writing on the subject), though by plausible conjectures one is forced to conclude that his name was Quejana, but since none of this is of the slightest importance to our story, it will suffice if our narration of it does not stray one iota from the truth.

Down in a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to recollect, there lived, not long ago, one of those gentlemen who usually keep a lance upon a rack, an old buckler, a lean horse, and a coursing grayhound. Soup, composed of somewhat more mutton than beef, the fragments served up cold on most nights, lentils on Fridays, collops and eggs on Saturdays, and a pigeon by way of addition on Sundays, consumed three-fourths of his income; the remainder of it supplied him with a cloak of fine cloth, velvet breeches, with slippers of the same for holidays, and a suit of the best homespun, in which he adorned himself on week-days. His family consisted of a house-keeper above forty, a niece not quite twenty, and a lad who served him both in the field and at home, who could saddle the horse or handle the pruning hook. The age of our gentleman bordered upon fifty years: he was of a strong constitution, spare-bodied, of a meagre visage, a very early riser, and a lover of the chase. Some pretend to say that his surname was Quixada, or Quesada, for on this point his historians differ; though, from very probable conjectures, we may conclude that his name was Quixana. This is, however, of little importance to our history; let it suffice that, in relating it, we do not swerve a jot from the truth.

In a certain village in La Mancha, which I do not wish to name, there lived not long ago a gentleman – one of those who have always a lance in the rack, an ancient shield, a lean hack and a greyhound for coursing. His habitual diet consisted of a stew, more beef than mutton, of hash most nights, boiled bones on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a young pigeon as a Sunday treat; and on this he spent three-quarters of his income. The rest of it went on a fine cloth doublet, velvet breeches and slippers for holidays, and a homespun suit of the best in which he decked himself on weekdays. His household consisted of a housekeeper of rather more than forty, a niece not yet twenty, and a lad for the field and market, who saddled his horse and wielded the pruning-hook. Our gentleman was verging on fifty, of tough constitution, lean-bodied, thin-faced, a great early riser and a lover of hunting. They say that his surname was Quixada or Quesada – for there is some difference of opinion amongst authors on this point. However, by very reasonable conjecture we may take it that he was called Quexana. But this does not much concern our story; enough that we do not depart by so much as an inch from the truth in the telling of it.

In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I do not care to recollect, there lived not long ago a knight, one of those who kept lance in rack, an ancient targe, a lank stallion, and a swift greyhound. A pot which consisted somewhat more of beef than mutton, cold spiced meat and onions on most nights, resurrection pie ‘on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and some pigeon by way of a treat for Sundays, ate up three-fourths of his estate. The rest of it went in a doublet of fine cloth, breeches of velvet, and slippers of the same for Sundays, while on week-days he dressed himself out in his finest homespun. He retained at home a housekeeper who had passed forty, a niece who had not reached twenty, and a man-servant for field and market, who could saddle the rouncy as well as he could handle a bill-book. The age of our knight rose nigh upon fifty years; he was of vigorous habit, spare of flesh, lean of visage, a notable early riser, and fond of the chase. There are people who say that his family name was Quixada or Quesada (for in this there is some difference among authors who have written on the case), although by probable conjectures we are led to believe that his name was Quixana. Yet does this concern our story but little; enough that in telling it we do not swerve one jot from the truth.

In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to call to mind, there lived not long since one of those gentlemen that keep a lance in the lance rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and a greyhound for coursing. An olla of rather more beef than mutton, a salad on most nights, scraps on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a pigeon or so extra on Sundays, made away with three-quarters of his income. The rest of it went in a doublet of fine cloth and velvet breeches and shoes to match for holidays, while on weekdays he made a brave figure in his best homespun. He had in his house a housekeeper past forty, a niece under twenty, and a lad for the field and marketplace, who used to saddle the hack as well as handle the billhook. The age of this gentleman of ours was bordering on fifty; he was of a hardy habit, spare, gaunt-featured, a very early riser and a great sportsman. They will have it his surname was Quixada or Quesada (for here there is some difference of opinion among the authors who write on the subject), although from reasonable conjectures it seems plain that he was called Quexana. This, however, is of but little importance to our tale; it will be enough not to stray a hair’s breadth from the truth in the telling of it.

In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I purposely omit, there lived not long ago, one of those gentlemen, who usually keep a lance upon a rack, an old target, a lean horse, and a greyhound for coursing. A dish of boiled meat, consisting of somewhat more beef than mutton, the fragments served up cold on most nights, an omelet. on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a small pigeon by way of addition on Sundays, consumed three-fourths of his income. The rest was laid out in a surtout of fine black cloth, a pair of velvet breeches for holidays, with slippers of the same; and on week-days he prided himself in the very best of his own homespun cloth. His family consisted of a housekeeper somewhat above forty, a niece not quite twenty, and a lad for the field and the market, who both saddled the horse and handled the pruning-hook. The age of our gentleman bordered upon fifty years. He was of a robust constitution, spare-bodied, of a meagre visage; a very early riser, and a keen sportsman. It is said his surname was Quixada, or Quesada (for in this there is some difference among the authors who have written upon this subject), though by probable conjectures it may be gathered that he was called Quixana. But this is of little importance to our story; let it suffice that in relating we do not swerve a jot from the truth.

At a certain village in La Mancha, of which I cannot remember the name, there lived not long ago one of those old-fashioned gentlemen who are never without a lance upon a rack, an old target, a lean horse, and a greyhound. His diet consisted more of beef than mutton; and with minced meat on most nights, lentiles on Fridays, griefs and groans on Saturdays, and a pigeon extraordinary on Sundays, he consumed three-quarters of his revenue; the rest was laid out in a plush coat, velvet breeches, with slippers of the same for holidays; and a suit of the very best home-spun cloth, which he bestowed on himself for working days. His whole family was a house-keeper something turned of forty; a niece not twenty, and a man that served him in the house and in the field, and could saddle a horse and handle the pruning-hook. The master himself was nigh fifty years of age, of a hale and strong complexion, lean-bodied, and thin-faced—an early riser and a lover of hunting. Some say his sir-name was Quixada or Quesada (for authors differ in this particular); however, we may reasonably conjecture he was called Quixada (i.e. lantern-jaws), though this concerns us but little, provided we keep strictly to the truth in every point of this history.

In some part of Mancha, of which the Name is at present slipt out of my Memory, not many years ago, there liv’d a certain Country Squire, of the Race of King Arthur’s Tilters, that formerly wander’d from Town to Town, Cas’d up in Rusty old Iron, with Lance in Rest, and a Knight-Templers Target; bestriding a forlorn Pegasus, as Lean as a Dover Post-Horse, and a confounded Founder’d Jade to boot. Beef-steaks stew’d in a Nasty Pipkin, with a Red-Herring to taste his Liquor a Nights; Fasting and Prayer a Fridays, parch’d Pease a Saturdays, with a Lark now and then a Sundays to mend his Commons, consum’d three parts of his Estate. The rest he as prodigally wasted in an extravagant Wardrobe: In which was an ancient Plush-Jacket, purchas’d from a Mountebanks Widow; a Pair of Black Bays Breeches for Holidays, purchas’d of the Hangman; and a Pair of Boots, first Exchang’d for Heath-Brooms, and then new Vamp’t by the Cobler; with one Spur and Spur-Leather; well knowing, that if one side of the Horse went forward, the other must follow. And you may add to these his Extravagances, one Sute more of Irish Frize for Worky-days. He kept in his House a grave Matron of Fifty for Service, a Niece of Twenty for private Recreation, and a Skip-kennel to Saddle his Horse, and Rob Orchards for Second Course. The Master himself was in his Fortieth year; strong of Constitution, but the Skin of his Face wither’d like a Winter-Pippin; an Early Riser, and a great Night-Walker. Some there are who assert, that he bore the Sirname of Quixada, or Quesada tho they who write his Life are at great variance one amongst another as to this particular), yet by most probable conjectures the Addition of Quixada may be well enough allow’d him. But let that pass, it not being a straw matter to our purpose what his Sirname was, or whether he had a Sirname or no; For it is our business to Write the Truth, the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth.

In a village in La Mancha, which I won’t name, there lived not long ago an hidalgo of the kind that have a lance in the lance rack, an old shield, a lean nag, and a fleet greyhound. A stew of a bit more beef than mutton, hash most nights, bacon and eggs on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and an occasional pigeon on Sundays consumed three-quarters of his income. The rest of it went for a broadcloth tunic with velvet undertunic for holidays, with matching slippers; and on weekdays, he adorned himself with his finest homespun outfit. In his house he had a housekeeper who was past forty, a niece who was not yet twenty, and a houseboy who saddled his horse and did the gardening. The age of our hidalgo was close to fifty. He was of sturdy constitution, but a bit thin, lean of face, a great early riser, and fond of hunting. They say that his last name was Quijada or Quesada—for there’s some difference of opinion among the authorities who write on this subject—although by credible conjecture we are led to believe that he was named Quejana. But this is of little importance to our story—it’s enough that in the telling of it we don’t stray one iota from the truth.

At a village of La Mancha, whose name I do not wish to remember, there lived a little while ago one of those gentlemen who are wont to keep a lance in the rack, an old buckler, a lean horse, and a swift greyhound. His stew had more beef than mutton in it and most nights he ate a hodge- podge, pickled and cold. Lentil soup on Fridays, “tripe and trouble” on Saturdays, and an occasional pigeon as an extra delicacy on Sundays consumed three quarters of his income. The remainder was spent on a jerkin of fine puce, velvet breeches, and slippers of the same stuff for holidays, and a suit of good, honest homespun for weekdays. His family consisted of a housekeeper about forty, a niece not yet twenty, and a lad who served him both in the field and at home and could saddle the horse or use the pruning knife. Our gentleman was about fifty years of age, of a sturdy constitution, but wizened and gaunt-featured, an early riser and a devotee of the chase. They say that his surname was Quixada or Quesada (for on this point the authors who have written on this subject differ), but we may reasonably conjecture that his name was Quixana. This, however, has very little to do with our story; enough that in its telling we swerve not a jot from the truth.

In a village in La Mancha (I don’t want to bother you with its name) there lived, not very long ago, one of those gentlemen who keep a lance in the lance-rack, an ancient shield, a skinny old horse, and a fast greyhound. Three quarters of his income went into his pot of stew (which contained a good deal more cow than sheep), the cold salt beef he ate most nights, Friday’s beans and lentils and Saturday’s leftover scraps, and sometimes a slender young pigeon for Sunday. All the rest ended up in a heavy broadcloth coat, velvet breeches he wore on feast days (with velvet slippers to match), and the fine quality homespun he wore, with great dignity, during the week. He lived with a housekeeper who was over forty, and a niece who hadn’t reached twenty, plus a boy for the fields and the market, who spent as much time saddling the old horse as wielding the pruning knife. Our gentleman was getting close to fifty, but strong, lean, his face sharp, always up at dawn, and a devoted hunter. It’s said his family name was Quijada, or maybe Quesada: there’s some disagreement among the writers who’ve discussed the matter. But more than likely his name was really Quejana. Not that this makes much difference in our story; it’s just important to tell things as faithfully as you can.

In a village of La Mancha, which I prefer to leave un-named, there lived not long ago one of those gentlemen that keep a lance in the lance-rack, an old shield, a lean hack, and a greyhound for hunting. A stew of rather more beef than mutton, hash on most nights, bacon and eggs on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a pigeon or so extra on Sundays consumed three quarters of his income. The rest went for a coat of fine cloth and velvet breeches and shoes to match for holidays, while on weekdays he cut a fine figure in his best homespun. He had in his house a housekeeper past forty, a niece under twenty, and a lad for the field and marketplace, who saddled the hack as well as handled the pruning knife. The age of this gentleman of ours was bordering on fifty. He was of a hardy constitution, spare, gaunt-featured, a very early riser, and fond of hunting. Some say that his surname was Quixada or Quesada (for there is no unanimity among those who write on the subject), although rea- sonable conjectures tend to show that he was called Quexana. But this scarcely affects our story; it will be enough not to stray a hair’s breadth from the truth in telling it.

In a village of La Mancha the name of which I have no desire to recall, there lived not so long ago one of those gentlemen who always have a lance in the rack, an ancient buckler, a skinny nag, and a greyhound for the chase. A stew with more beef than mutton in it, chopped meat for his evening meal, scraps for a Saturday, lentils on Friday, and a young pigeon as a special delicacy for Sunday, went to account for three-quarters of his income. The rest of it he laid out on a broadcloth greatcoat and velvet stockings for feast days, with slippers to match, while the other days of the week he cut a figure in a suit of the finest homespun. Living with him were a housekeeper in her forties, a niece who was not yet twenty, and a lad of the field and market place who saddled his horse for him and wielded the pruning knife. This gentleman of ours was close on to fifty, of a robust constitution but with little flesh on his bones and a face that was lean and gaunt. He was noted for his early rising, being very fond of the hunt. They will try to tell you that his surname was Quijada or Quesada—there is some difference of opinion among those who have written on the subject—but according to the most likely conjectures we are to understand that it was really Quejana. But all this means very little so far as our story is concerned, providing that in the telling of it we do not depart one iota from the truth.

En un lugar de la Mancha, de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme, no ha mucho tiempo que vivía un hidalgo de los de lanza en astillero, adarga antigua, rocín flaco y galgo corredor. Una olla de algo más vaca que carnero, salpicón las más noches, duelos y quebrantos los sábados, lantejas los viernes, algún palomino de añadidura los domingos, consumían las tres partes de su hacienda. El resto della concluían sayo de velarte, calzas de velludo para las fiestas, con sus pantuflos de lo mesmo, y los días de entresemana se honraba con su vellorí de lo más fino. Tenía en su casa una ama que pasaba de los cuarenta, y una sobrina que no llegaba a los veinte, y un mozo de campo y plaza, que así ensillaba el rocín como tomaba la podadera. Frisaba la edad de nuestro hidalgo con los cincuenta años; era de complexión recia, seco de carnes, enjuto de rostro, gran madrugador y amigo de la caza. Quieren decir que tenía el sobrenombre de Quijada, o Quesada, que en esto hay alguna diferencia en los autores que deste caso escriben; aunque, por conjeturas verosímiles, se deja entender que se llamaba Quejana. Pero esto importa poco a nuestro cuento; basta que en la narración dél no se salga un punto de la verdad.