About the delightful conversation between don Quixote and Sancho Panza, his squire, with other events.
“N OTHING OF what you say displeases me, Sancho, so keep talking,” said don Quixote. “You got there, and what was that queen of beauty doing? I bet you found her stringing pearls, or embroidering something with golden floss for this her captive knight.”
“I just found her,” responded Sancho, “sifting three bushels of wheat in the yard of her house.”
“You must realize,” said don Quixote, “that those grains of wheat touched by her hands were transformed into pearls. Did you see if it was white wheat or brown?”
“Is was just ordinary red wheat,” responded Sancho.
“Well, I can assure you,” said don Quixote, “that when sifted by her hands it made the whitest bread, without any doubt; but please go on. When you gave her my letter, did she kiss it? Did she put it on her head? Did she perform any ceremony befitting such a letter, or what did she do?
“Just when I was going to give it to her,” responded Sancho, “she was right in the middle of winnowing a great deal of wheat that she had in her screen, and she told me: ‘Put that letter, friend, on that sack—I can’t read it until I finish winnowing everything here.’ ”
“What a wise lady!” said don Quixote. “That must have been so she could read it slowly and savor it. Go on, Sancho, and while engaged in her duties, what conversation did you have? What did she ask you about me? And you, what did you say in response? Come, tell me everything; don’t leave anything in the inkwell.”
“She didn’t ask me anything,” said Sancho, “but I told her how you were doing penance in her service, naked from the waist up, roaming the sierras as if you were a wild man, sleeping on the ground, and not eating bread from a tablecloth or combing your beard, but just weeping, and cursing your luck.”
“When you said that I was cursing my luck,” said don Quixote, “you did wrong, because rather I bless it and I’ll always bless all the days of my life for having been worthy to love so high a lady as the señora Dulcinea del Toboso.”
“She’s so high,” responded Sancho, “that I swear she’s more than a palm taller than I am.”
“Well, Sancho,” said don Quixote, “how did you come to measure yourself against her?”
“I did it this way,” responded Sancho. “When I went to help her lift a sack of wheat onto a mule, we were so close that I could see that she had quite a bit more than half a foot on me.”
“It’s true,” responded don Quixote, “and her stature must be accompanied and adorned by a billion graces of the soul. But don’t deny me this next bit of information—when you were next to her, didn’t she have an exquisite aroma, a fragrance, a certain delicious je ne sais quoi that I find impossible to give a name to. I mean, an aroma as if you were in a fine glovemaker’s shop?”
“All I can say,” said Sancho, “is that I smelled a little odor that was a bit mannish, and it must be because she was sweaty and grimy owing to the physical exercise.”
“It wouldn’t be that,” responded don Quixote, “but rather that you must have a touch of a cold, or you were smelling yourself, because I know very well how that rose among thorns, that lily of the field, that liquid ambergris smells.”
“Maybe you’re right,” responded Sancho, “because I’ve frequently noticed that smell coming from me that I thought was from señora Dulcinea. But that’s no wonder, «for one devil is like the next».”
“So,” continued don Quixote, “now that she’d finished sifting her wheat and sent it off to the mill, what did she do when she read the letter?”
“She didn’t read it,” said Sancho, “because she said she doesn’t know how to read or write. Instead she tore it into small pieces, saying that she didn’t want to give it to anyone to read for her, so that her secrets wouldn’t be known in the village, and it was enough for me to tell her about the love that your grace professes for her and the outlandish penance that you were performing for her sake. She finally told me to tell you that she kisses your hands and she was waiting there with more of a desire to see you than write to you, so she begged and even commanded you to leave these thickets and stop doing these foolish acts, and get on the road to El Toboso immediately, if nothing else more important didn’t prevent you, because she was really eager to see you. She laughed quite a bit when I told her that you were called the WOEBEGONE KNIGHT. I asked her if the Basque from a long time ago had gone to her. She said that he had, and he was a very nice man. I also asked her about the galley slaves but she told me that she hadn’t seen any of them yet.”
“So far, so good,” said don Quixote, “but tell me, what did she give you for telling her the news about me when you took leave of her? It’s an ancient custom among knights and ladies errant to give to squires, maidens, or dwarves who take them news, some rich gift in appreciation for the message.”
“That may be so, and I think it’s a good custom, but that must have been in the old days—nowadays the custom must be to give a piece of bread and some cheese, because that’s what my lady Dulcinea gave me over the corral walls when she bade me farewell, and it seemed to be cheese made from sheep’s milk.”
“She’s liberal in the extreme,” said don Quixote, “and if she didn’t reward you with gold, it’s doubtless because she had none at hand to give you, but «gratuities are good even after Easter». When I see her, I’ll make everything right. Do you know what amazes me, Sancho? It seems to me that you went and came back through the air since it only took you a little more than three days to make that trip to El Toboso, and the distance is greater than thirty leagues, which convinces me that the wizard necromancer who watches over my affairs and is my friend—because there has to be one perforce, otherwise I wouldn’t be a genuine knight errant—must have sped you on your way without your realizing it. There are wizards like that who take a knight errant sleeping in his bed and without his knowing how, he wakes up the next day more than a thousand leagues away from where he fell asleep. And if it weren’t for that, knights errant couldn’t rescue each other as they do all the time. It may be that one will be fighting in the mountains of Armenia with some dragon, or with a fierce monster, or even with another knight, and is getting the worst of the struggle and is on the very verge of death; and when he least expects it, all of a sudden there arrives on a cloud or in a chariot of fire, another knight, his friend, who moments earlier was in England. He succors his friend and rescues him from death, and that night is back home eating dinner very eagerly, and the distance between the two places is frequently two or three thousand leagues. It’s all made possible by the cleverness and ingenuity of the wise enchanters who watch over these brave knights. So, friend Sancho, it’s not hard for me to believe that you went and came back from this place to El Toboso in such a short time. Well, as I’ve told you, some wizard who favors me must have taken you by air without your knowing it.”
“That might well have been,” said Sancho, “because to tell the truth it really seemed that Rocinante traveled like the gypsy’s donkey with quicksilver in its ears.”
“There must have been not only quicksilver,” said don Quixote, “but a legion of devils as well, for devils travel and make others travel without getting tired, however they please. But, leaving this aside for the moment, what do you think I ought to do now about my lady’s command to go see her at once? Although I’m bound to comply with her command, I realize that I’m helpless because of the boon I promised the princess with us—the laws of chivalry require me to fulfill my promise rather than enjoy my pleasure. On the one hand, my desire to see my lady tortures and distresses me, and on the other hand, I’m pressured and summoned by my promise and by the glory that I’ll achieve by taking on this enterprise. But what I think I’ll do will be to hasten the current adventure and go to this giant, and when I’m there I’ll cut off his head and will put the princess peacefully in her estate, and then immediately turn around to go see the light that illuminates my senses, and I’ll explain it all in such a way that she’ll come to sanction my delay, seeing that it redounds to her greater glory and fame, inasmuch as all that I’ve achieved, am now achieving, and will achieve in this life by arms, all come to me from the favor she gives me and by my being hers.”
“Alas!” said Sancho, “how damaged is your grace’s brain? Tell me señor, do you plan to make this voyage for nothing and let such a fine marriage as this slip through your fingers—the dowry is a whole kingdom, and in truth I’ve heard it’s more than twenty thousand leagues around, and it has in abundance all the necessities to sustain human life. And it’s bigger than Castile and Portugal combined! Say no more, for the love of God. You should be ashamed for what you said. Take my advice—forgive me—and get married right away in the first village where there is a priest, and if that doesn’t work, here’s our own licenciado who can do it as fine as can be. Bear in mind that I’m old enough to give advice, and this piece of advice I’m giving you today «fits like a glove»; and «a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush»; and «he that has good but chooses evil, when evil comes, he shouldn’t complain».”
“Look, Sancho,” responded don Quixote, “if the advice you’re giving me is that I should get married so that I can get to be a king as soon as I kill the giant so I’ll be able to give you favors and bestow the promised reward on you, I want you to know that without getting married I can fulfill your desire very easily because I’ll stipulate in advance that when I come out victorious from the battle, they will give me as my honorarium a part of the kingdom to give to whomever I please, and when they give it to me, whom would you have me give it to if not to you?”
“That’s very good,” responded Sancho, “but be careful that the part you choose is on the seacoast, because if I don’t like the lifestyle, I can ship off my black vassals and do with them what I’ve said. And don’t worry about going to see Dulcinea now; just go off to kill the giant and let’s get this business over and done with, because, by God, I think it will bring a great deal of honor and profit.”
“I believe you’re right, Sancho,” said don Quixote, “and I’ll take your advice about going with the princess before seeing Dulcinea. And I warn you not to tell anything to anyone about what you and I have talked about and decided, not even those with us. Since Dulcinea is so modest that she doesn’t want anyone to know her thoughts, it wouldn’t be good for me or anyone else to disclose them.”
“If that’s the case,” said Sancho, “why do you make everyone your mighty arm conquers present himself before my lady Dulcinea? Isn’t that as if your loving her, and that you are her beau, were your signature? And since those sent by you to pay her respect have to go and kneel before her and say they were sent by you, how is it possible for either of you to conceal your thoughts?”
“Oh, what a fool and a simpleton you are!” said don Quixote. “Don’t you see, Sancho, that all of this redounds to her greater exaltation? I want you to know that in our system of chivalry it’s a great honor for a lady to have many knights errant in her service, and their thoughts go no further than just serving her for who she is, without expecting anything in return for their many and worthy desires other than that she be pleased to accept them as her knights.”
“That’s the kind of love,” said Sancho, “I’ve heard our priest say that we should use to love Our Lord, for His own sake, moved neither by hope of glory nor fear of punishment. But I would like and love to serve Him for what He can do for me.”
“May the devil take you for a peasant,” said don Quixote. “What shrewd things you say at times! One might think you’ve been a student.”
“Well, on my faith, I can’t even read.”
At this point, maese Nicolás called to them to say they should delay a bit so that they could all stop to drink at a little spring that was flowing nearby. Don Quixote stopped, with no little pleasure on Sancho’s part, since he was so tired of lying so much, and was afraid that his master would catch him in a lie because, although he knew that Dulcinea was a peasant girl from El Toboso, he’d never seen her in his entire life.
By this time Cardenio had dressed up in the clothing that Dorotea was wearing when they found her, and, although it wasn’t very good, it was a lot better than what he’d been wearing. They all dismounted near the spring, and with what the priest had brought from the inn, they satisfied to a limited extent the hunger they all felt.
While they were sitting there eating, a boy happened to come along the road who stopped to look closely at those who were sitting by the spring, and after a moment he ran to don Quixote and clasped him by the legs and began to weep in earnest saying: “Ay, señor mío, don’t you recognize me? Look carefully! I’m that boy Andrés that your grace freed from that oak tree that I was tied to.”
Don Quixote recognized him and, grasping him by the hand, turned to face his companions and said: “So that your graces can see how important it is for there to be knights errant in the world who can redress the wrongs done by insolent and evil people that dwell in it, I want you to know that a few days ago when I was going through a forest, I heard someone wailing pitifully, and it sounded like a distressed and needy person. I rushed over immediately, as I’m required, to the place where it seemed to me the heart-rending cries were coming from, and I found the boy now before you tied to an oak tree. All of this makes me rejoice in my soul, since he’ll be a witness and will not let me lie about anything. I repeat, the lad was tied to the oak tree, naked from the waist up, and a peasant was whipping him with the reins of a mare. I learned afterwards that he was the boy’s master. As soon as I saw him, I asked him what had caused that outrageous flogging, and the coarse fellow responded that he was whipping him because he was his servant, and certain acts of carelessness on his part showed he was more of a thief than a simpleton. The boy responded to this by saying: ‘Señor, he’s only whipping me because I wanted him to pay me.’ The master responded with some kind of excuse that I heard but didn’t entertain. In short, I had the man untie him and made him swear that he would take the boy home and pay him, real for real, and even with a bit extra added. Isn’t all of this true, Andrés? Didn’t you see with what authority I commanded him, and with what humility he promised to do everything I ordered and required him to do? Speak up. Don’t be embarrassed or hesitate. Tell these people what happened so they can see what a blessing it is for there to be knights errant roaming these roads.”
“Everything your grace has said is very true,” responded the boy, “but it turned out quite differently from what you think.”
“What do you mean ‘it turned out differently’?” replied don Quixote.
“You mean the peasant didn’t pay you?”
“Not only did he not pay me,” responded the boy, “but as soon as you left the forest and we were alone, he tied me up again and gave me so many lashes that I was turned into another flayed St. Bartholomew. And accompanying each lash he said some joke or jibe to make fun of you and, if I hadn’t been feeling so much pain, I would have laughed at what he said. He left me in such a state that until just now I’ve been in a hospital trying to recover from what he did to me. And you’re to blame for all this, because if you’d just kept on going and minded your own business, and not meddled in other people’s affairs, my master would have been content to give me a dozen or two lashes and then would have released me and paid what he owed. But since your grace insulted him without provocation and called him so many names, he got angrier and angrier, and since he couldn’t take it out on you, when he found himself alone, he took out his anger on me to such a point that I’ll never be a man again as long as I live.”
“The problem was,” said don Quixote, “that I went away, and I shouldn’t have until I left you fully paid. I should have realized through long experience that no brute keeps his word if it’s not in his interest to do so. But remember, Andrés, that I swore I would hunt him down, even though he hid in the belly of the whale.”
“That’s true,” said Andrés, “ but it wouldn’t do any good.”
“You’ll see whether it’ll do any good,” said don Quixote.
And when he said this he got up quickly and told Sancho to bridle Rocinante, who was grazing while they ate. Dorotea asked him what he planned to do. He responded that he wanted to find the peasant and punish him for his wicked acts and make him pay Andrés down to the last maravedí, even if all the peasants in the world stood in his way. She responded that he should remember that, in accordance with the boon he’d promised her, he couldn’t take on any new project until he’d settled her affair, and since he knew this better than anyone, he should restrain himself until he returned from her kingdom.
“That’s true,” responded don Quixote, “so Andrés must be patient until I return, as you, señora, say, and I swear and promise him once again not to stop until I see him avenged and paid.”
“I don’t believe these oaths,” said Andrés. “All I want now, more than all the vengeance in the world, is a way to get to Seville. Give me something to eat, if you can—a bit to take with me—and may God go with your grace and all the knights errant, and may they be as errant with themselves as they have been with me.”
Sancho took a piece of bread and some cheese from his supplies and gave them to the boy saying: “Take these, brother Andrés, for a share of your misfortune affects all of us.”
“And what share affects you?” asked Andrés.
“This share of the bread and cheese I’m giving you,” responded Sancho, “and God knows if I’ll need them or not, because I’ll have you know, friend, that we squires of knights errant are subject to great hunger and ill luck, and many other things that are more easily felt than said.”
Andrés grabbed the bread and cheese, and seeing that no one was offering anything else, he lowered his head and took the road in his hands, as they say. It’s true that as he left, he said to don Quixote: “For the love of God, señor knight errant, if you should ever come across me again, even though they are chopping me up into little pieces, don’t try to rescue or help me. Just leave me alone to my fate, because it won’t be as bad as what would result from your help, and may God damn you and all the knights errant ever born in the world!”
Don Quixote rose to chastise him, but he took to his heels in such a way that no one dared follow. Don Quixote was very crestfallen by the story of Andrés, and the others had to hold their laughter in check so that don Quixote wouldn’t be utterly crushed.