Emperor of Micamaca
For several months now Don Quijote had been Emperor of Micamaca, and his faithful shield-bearer, Sancho Panza, Governor-Generola. Greater than all modern countries was Micamaca, and more beautiful. An endless garden. A Paradise without a “tree of knowledge,” without a treacherous snake, a silly woman, and an over-bearing lord. A traveller could not tell what struck him most—the deep scarlet of the roses, or the lily-whiteness of the womens’ faces, or the noble bearing of the men. An eternal Summer was Micamaca, where the rain fell only to deepen the lustre of things, and the wind blew only to scatter perfumes of great delight.
Profound were the love and the admiration of the people of Micamaca for their Emperor and their Governor-General. The women like exquisite fruit hanging ripe upon trees implored to be culled and bitten into. The men begged to be dressed as soldiers to wage war against any nation.
But Don Quijote, Emperor, looked in the great silver-mirror, and though he saw himself dazzling
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