Bab Bab 10 · OF THE PLEASANT DISCOURSE THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA

. OF THE PLEASANT DISCOURSE THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA

CHAPTER X.

OF THE PLEASANT DISCOURSE THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS

SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA

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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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