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The niece and housekeeper were present at this conversation, and they never tired of giving thanks to God at seeing their lord and master with all his wits; the priest, however, changing his earlier intention, which was not to touch on chivalric matters, wanted a more thorough test of whether or not Don Quixote’s recovery was false or true, and so he gradually began to recount news of the court, and among other things, he said it was thought certain that the Turk would come down with a powerful fleet, but no one knew his plans or where the huge cloud would burst; this fear, which has us on the alert almost every year, had now affected all of Christendom, and His Majesty had fortified the coasts of Naples and Sicily and the island of Malta. To which Don Quixote responded:

“His Majesty has behaved like a most prudent warrior by fortifying his states in good time so that the enemy will not find them unprepared, but if he were to take my advice, I would counsel him to take a precautionary measure that His Majesty is very far from considering at present.”

As soon as the priest heard this, he said to himself:

“May God hold you in his hand, my poor Don Quixote, for it seems to me you have leaped from the high peak of your madness into the profound abyss of your foolishness!”

But the barber, who had already had the same thought as the priest, asked Don Quixote to tell him the precautionary measure he thought it would be good to undertake; perhaps it might be put on the list of the many impertinent proposals that are commonly offered to princes.

“Mine, Señor Shaver,” said Don Quixote, “is not impertinent but completely pertinent.”

“I don’t say it isn’t,” replied the barber, “but experience shows that all or most of the schemes presented to His Majesty are either impossible, or absurd, or harmful to the king and his kingdom.”

“Well, mine,” responded Don Quixote, “is neither impossible nor absurd, but is, rather, the easiest, most just, most practical, and shrewdest that has ever occurred to any planner.”

“Your grace is slow in telling us what it is, Señor Don Quixote,” said the priest.

“I would not want,” said Don Quixote, “to state it here and now, and tomorrow have it find its way to the ears of the king’s advisers so that another receives the thanks and rewards for my labor.”

“As far as I am concerned,” said the barber, “I give my word, here and before God, not to repeat what your grace would tell the king or the rook or any man on earth, a vow I learned in the tale of the priest2 who, in the preface, told the king about the thief who had stolen one hundred doblas from him, as well as his mule with the ambling gait.”

“I know nothing of stories,” said Don Quixote, “but I do know this is a good vow because I know the barber is a trustworthy man.”

“Even if he were not,” said the priest, “I would vouch for him and guarantee that in this case he will say no more than if he were mute, under pain of sentence by the court.”

“And who vouches for your grace, Señor Priest?” said Don Quixote.

“My profession,” responded the priest, “which is to keep secrets.”

“By my faith!” Don Quixote said then. “What else can His Majesty do but command by public proclamation that on a specific day all the knights errant wandering through Spain are to gather at court, and even if no more than half a dozen were to come, there might be one among them who could, by himself, destroy all the power of the Turk. Your graces should listen carefully and follow what I say. Is it by any chance surprising for a single knight errant to vanquish an army of two hundred thousand men, as if all of them together had but one throat or were made of sugar candy? Tell me, then: how many histories are filled with such marvels? If only—to my misfortune, if not to anyone else’s—the famous Don Belianís were alive today, or any one of the countless descendants of Amadís of Gaul! If any of them were here today and confronted the Turk, it would not be to his advantage! But God will look after His people and provide one