Don Quixote

OF THE PLEASANT DISCOURSE THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS
SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA
Now by this time Sancho had risen, rather the worse for the handling of
the friars’ muleteers, and stood watching the battle of his master, Don
Quixote, and praying to God in his heart that it might be his will to
grant him the victory, and that he might thereby win some island to
make him governor of, as he had promised. Seeing, therefore, that the
struggle was now over, and that his master was returning to mount
Rocinante, he approached to hold the stirrup for him, and, before he
could mount, he went on his knees before him, and taking his hand,
kissed it saying, “May it please your worship, Señor Don Quixote, to
give me the government of that island which has been won in this hard
fight, for be it ever so big I feel myself in sufficient force to be
able to govern it as much and as well as anyone in the world who has
ever governed islands.”

To which Don Quixote replied, “Thou must take notice, brother Sancho,
that this adventure and those like it are not adventures of islands,
but of cross-roads, in which nothing is got except a broken head or an
ear the less: have patience, for adventures will present themselves
from which I may make you, not only a governor, but something more.”

Sancho gave him many thanks, and again kissing his hand and the skirt
of his hauberk, helped him to mount Rocinante, and mounting his ass
himself, proceeded to follow his master, who at a brisk pace, without
taking leave, or saying anything further to the ladies belonging to the
coach, turned into a wood that was hard by. Sancho followed him at his
ass’s best trot, but Rocinante stepped out so that, seeing himself left
behind, he was forced to call to his master to wait for him. Don
Quixote did so, reining in Rocinante until his weary squire came up,
who on reaching him said, “It seems to me, señor, it would be prudent
in us to go and take refuge in some church, for, seeing how mauled he
with whom you fought has been left, it will be no wonder if they give
information of the affair to the Holy Brotherhood and arrest us, and,
faith, if they do, before we come out of gaol we shall have to sweat
for it.”

“Peace,” said Don Quixote; “where hast thou ever seen or heard that a
knight-errant has been arraigned before a court of justice, however
many homicides he may have committed?”

“I know nothing about omecils,” answered Sancho, “nor in my life have
had anything to do with one; I only know that the Holy Brotherhood
looks after those who fight in the fields, and in that other matter I
do not meddle.”

“Then thou needst have no uneasiness, my friend,” said Don Quixote,
“for I will deliver thee out of the hands of the Chaldeans, much more
out of those of the Brotherhood. But tell me, as thou livest, hast thou
seen a more valiant knight than I in all the known world; hast thou
read in history of any who has or had higher mettle in attack, more
spirit in maintaining it, more dexterity in wounding or skill in
overthrowing?”

“The truth is,” answered Sancho, “that I have never read any history,
for I can neither read nor write, but what I will venture to bet is
that a more daring master than your worship I have never served in all
the days of my life, and God grant that this daring be not paid for
where I have said; what I beg of your worship is to dress your wound,
for a great deal of blood flows from that ear, and I have here some
lint and a little white ointment in the alforjas.”

“All that might be well dispensed with,” said Don Quixote, “if I had
remembered to make a vial of the balsam of Fierabras, for time and
medicine are saved by one single drop.”

“What vial and what balsam is that?” said Sancho Panza.

“It is a balsam,” answered Don Quixote, “the receipt of which I have in
my memory, with which one need have no fear of death, or dread dying of
any wound; and so when I make it and give it to thee thou hast nothing
to do when in some battle thou seest they have cut me in half through
the middle of the body—as is wont to happen frequently—but neatly and
with great nicety, ere the blood congeal, to place that portion of the
body which shall have fallen to the ground upon the other half which
remains in the saddle, taking care to fit it on evenly and exactly.
Then thou shalt give me to drink but two drops of the balsam I have
mentioned, and thou shalt see me become sounder than an apple.”

“If that be so,” said Panza, “I renounce henceforth the government of
the promised island, and desire nothing more in payment of my many and
faithful services than that your worship give me the receipt of this
supreme liquor, for I am persuaded it will be worth more than two reals
an ounce anywhere, and I want no more to pass the rest of my life in
ease and honour; but it remains to be told if it costs much to make
it.”

“With less than three reals, six quarts of it may be made,” said Don
Quixote.

“Sinner that I am!” said Sancho, “then why does your worship put off
making it and teaching it to me?”

“Peace, friend,” answered Don Quixote; “greater secrets I mean to teach
thee and greater favours to bestow upon thee; and for the present let
us see to the dressing, for my ear pains me more than I could wish.”

Sancho took out some lint and ointment from the alforjas; but when Don
Quixote came to see his helmet shattered, he was like to lose his
senses, and clapping his hand upon his sword and raising his eyes to
heaven, he said, “I swear by the Creator of all things and the four
Gospels in their fullest extent, to do as the great Marquis of Mantua
did when he swore to avenge the death of his nephew Baldwin (and that
was not to eat bread from a table-cloth, nor embrace his wife, and
other points which, though I cannot now call them to mind, I here grant
as expressed) until I take complete vengeance upon him who has
committed such an offence against me.”

Hearing this, Sancho said to him, “Your worship should bear in mind,
Señor Don Quixote, that if the knight has done what was commanded him
in going to present himself before my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he will
have done all that he was bound to do, and does not deserve further
punishment unless he commits some new offence.”

“Thou hast said well and hit the point,” answered Don Quixote; and so I
recall the oath in so far as relates to taking fresh vengeance on him,
but I make and confirm it anew to lead the life I have said until such
time as I take by force from some knight another helmet such as this
and as good; and think not, Sancho, that I am raising smoke with straw
in doing so, for I have one to imitate in the matter, since the very
same thing to a hair happened in the case of Mambrino’s helmet, which
cost Sacripante so dear.”

“Señor,” replied Sancho, “let your worship send all such oaths to the
devil, for they are very pernicious to salvation and prejudicial to the
conscience; just tell me now, if for several days to come we fall in
with no man armed with a helmet, what are we to do? Is the oath to be
observed in spite of all the inconvenience and discomfort it will be to
sleep in your clothes, and not to sleep in a house, and a thousand
other mortifications contained in the oath of that old fool the Marquis
of Mantua, which your worship is now wanting to revive? Let your
worship observe that there are no men in armour travelling on any of
these roads, nothing but carriers and carters, who not only do not wear
helmets, but perhaps never heard tell of them all their lives.”

“Thou art wrong there,” said Don Quixote, “for we shall not have been
above two hours among these cross-roads before we see more men in
armour than came to Albraca to win the fair Angelica.”

“Enough,” said Sancho; “so be it then, and God grant us success, and
that the time for winning that island which is costing me so dear may
soon come, and then let me die.”

“I have already told thee, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “not to give
thyself any uneasiness on that score; for if an island should fail,
there is the kingdom of Denmark, or of Sobradisa, which will fit thee
as a ring fits the finger, and all the more that, being on terra
firma, thou wilt all the better enjoy thyself. But let us leave that
to its own time; see if thou hast anything for us to eat in those
alforjas, because we must presently go in quest of some castle where we
may lodge to-night and make the balsam I told thee of, for I swear to
thee by God, this ear is giving me great pain.”

“I have here an onion and a little cheese and a few scraps of bread,”
said Sancho, “but they are not victuals fit for a valiant knight like
your worship.”

“How little thou knowest about it,” answered Don Quixote; “I would have
thee to know, Sancho, that it is the glory of knights-errant to go
without eating for a month, and even when they do eat, that it should
be of what comes first to hand; and this would have been clear to thee
hadst thou read as many histories as I have, for, though they are very
many, among them all I have found no mention made of knights-errant
eating, unless by accident or at some sumptuous banquets prepared for
them, and the rest of the time they passed in dalliance. And though it
is plain they could not do without eating and performing all the other
natural functions, because, in fact, they were men like ourselves, it
is plain too that, wandering as they did the most part of their lives
through woods and wilds and without a cook, their most usual fare would
be rustic viands such as those thou now offer me; so that, friend
Sancho, let not that distress thee which pleases me, and do not seek to
make a new world or pervert knight-errantry.”

“Pardon me, your worship,” said Sancho, “for, as I cannot read or
write, as I said just now, I neither know nor comprehend the rules of
the profession of chivalry: henceforward I will stock the alforjas with
every kind of dry fruit for your worship, as you are a knight; and for
myself, as I am not one, I will furnish them with poultry and other
things more substantial.”

“I do not say, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “that it is imperative on
knights-errant not to eat anything else but the fruits thou speakest
of; only that their more usual diet must be those, and certain herbs
they found in the fields which they knew and I know too.”

“A good thing it is,” answered Sancho, “to know those herbs, for to my
thinking it will be needful some day to put that knowledge into
practice.”

And here taking out what he said he had brought, the pair made their
repast peaceably and sociably. But anxious to find quarters for the
night, they with all despatch made an end of their poor dry fare,
mounted at once, and made haste to reach some habitation before night
set in; but daylight and the hope of succeeding in their object failed
them close by the huts of some goatherds, so they determined to pass
the night there, and it was as much to Sancho’s discontent not to have
reached a house, as it was to his master’s satisfaction to sleep under
the open heaven, for he fancied that each time this happened to him he
performed an act of ownership that helped to prove his chivalry.

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