Which deals with the shrewd conversation that Sancho Panza had with his master don Quixote.
“H A!” SAID Sancho, “I’ve got you there! That’s what I wanted to find out with all my heart and soul. Come, then, señor, can you deny what they commonly say when a person is indisposed:
‘I don’t know what’s the matter with So-and-So, who doesn’t eat or drink anything, nor answer properly anything put to him—why, it seems like he’s enchanted,’ from which one can gather that those who don’t eat or drink, or sleep, or perform those bodily functions I mentioned earlier, are enchanted; but not those who feel like doing what you do, and who drink when they’re given something to drink, and eat when they can, and answer anything they’re asked.”
“You speak the truth, Sancho,” responded don Quixote, “but I’ve already told you that there are many kinds of enchantments, and it may be that in time some have changed into others, and nowadays enchanted people do what I do, even though they didn’t use to. So, there’s no way of arguing against customs since they change through time, or of drawing inferences either, based on the way things used to be. I know and hold to be true that I’m enchanted, and it would weigh heavily on my conscience if I weren’t so, since I’d be lying in this cage out of sloth and cowardice, cheating many needy people out of the help I could be giving them, and who may be, this very minute, in need of that help.”
“For all that,” replied Sancho, “I say that it would be good if your grace tried to get out of this jail, and I promise to do everything I can to help, and even to get you out and see if I can put you on Rocinante once again. It seems that he’s enchanted, too, since he’s so sullen and sad. Once this is done, we can try our luck at more adventures, and if things don’t work out right, there’ll be plenty of time to return to the cage, and I promise as a good and faithful squire to lock myself up with your grace if you were so unfortunate, or I so dumb, to fail in what I’ve proposed.”
“I’m happy to do what you say, brother Sancho,” replied don Quixote, “and when you see the chance to free me, I’ll obey you in every way. But you’ll see, Sancho, how mistaken you are in your notion about of my undoing.”
The knight errant and ill-errant squire were talking this way when they arrived where the priest, canon, and barber—who were already dismounted—were waiting. The carter had unyoked the oxen and let them graze freely in that green and peaceful place, whose coolness invited not only persons as enchanted as don Quixote, but also as rational and sensible a fellow as Sancho, to enjoy it. Sancho begged the priest to allow his master to leave the cage for a while, because if they didn’t, the prison wouldn’t be as clean as the decency of such a knight as his master required.
The priest understood and said that he would be pleased to grant the favor, but he feared that when his master found himself free, he might try to do what he wanted, and go away to where no one would ever see him again.
“I’ll guarantee that he won’t flee,” responded Sancho.
“Me, too,” said the canon, “especially if he gives me his word as a knight not to go away until it’s our pleasure.”
“I so give,” responded don Quixote, who was listening to everything, “and more so because a person who is enchanted—as I am—hasn’t the freedom to do what he pleases, because the one who has enchanted him may make him not be able to budge for three centuries; and if he did flee, the enchanter would bring him back through the air.”
This being so, they could safely set him free, since it was to everyone’s advantage to do so. And if they didn’t let him out, he assured them that it would offend their sense of smell unless they kept their distance. The canon took his hand, although they were tied together, and on his good faith and promise, they took him out of the cage, which made him very happy. The first thing he did was to stretch his whole body, and then went over to Rocinante and gave him two slaps on his haunches, and said: “I still trust in God and His Blessed Mother, flower and mirror of horses, that soon we’ll be back doing what we want to—you with your master on your back and I mounted on my steed—following the calling for which God placed me on the earth.”
And saying this, don Quixote went off in Sancho’s company to a remote area, from where he came back much relieved, and very willing to do what his squire might command. The canon looked at him and was amazed at the curious nature of his great madness, and how when he spoke and answered questions, he showed that he had a fine intellect. It was only when he dealt with chivalry that he «lost his stirrups», as has been said on occasion. So, moved by compassion, after everyone was seated on the green grass to wait for the provisions to arrive, he said: “Is it possible, señor hidalgo, that the bitter and idle reading of books of chivalry have been so powerful that they have impaired your sanity so that you believe you’re enchanted, along with those other things, all of which are so far from the truth as are lies? And how is it possible that anyone can really believe that there existed in the world that multitude of Amadises, and that horde of famous knights, emperors of Trebizond, Felixmartes de Hyrcania, palfreys, maidens errant, serpents and dragons, giants, incredible adventures, all kinds of enchantments, battles, outrageous encounters, bizarre garb, princesses in love, squire-counts, amusing dwarves, love letters, flirting, valiant women, and finally, all the foolish things that books of chivalry contain? I’ll tell you that when I read them, as long as I don’t get to thinking that they’re all lies and frivolity, I think they’re all right. But when I realize what they are, I fling the best of them against the wall, and I’d toss them into a fire if one were nearby, deserving of such a punishment since they’re false and impostors, and outside of the bounds of human nature, and as inventors of new sects and a new way of life, and causing the ignorant masses to believe and hold as true all the foolishness that they contain.
“And they’re so insolent that they dare to confuse the wits of intelligent and well-born hidalgos, as can be seen by what happened to your grace, since they brought you to the point where you had to be shut up in a cage and transported on an oxcart, just like they’d haul a lion or a tiger from place to place, to earn money by letting people see them. Come on, señor don Quixote, take pity on yourself and return to the bosom of wisdom, and make use of what heaven gave you, using your keen intelligence for other kinds of reading that will redound to the benefit of your mind and will increase your honor. And if you still want, guided by your nature, to read books of great feats and true chivalry, read the Holy Scripture in the Book of Judges where you’ll find grandiose truths and deeds as true as they are valiant. Lusitania had a Viriathus, Rome a Cæsar, Carthage a Hannibal, Greece an Alexander, Castile a count Fernán González, Valencia a Cid, Andalusia a Gonzalo Fernández, Extremadura a Diego Pérez de Paredes, Jérez a Garci Pérez, Toledo a Garcilaso, Seville a don Manuel de León, reading about whose valiant deeds can entertain, instruct, delight, and amaze even the finest of intellects who would read them. This would certainly be reading worthy of your keen understanding, my dear señor don Quixote, from which you’ll become apprised of history, enamored of virtue, instructed in goodness, bettered in manners, brave without being rash, daring without cowardice, and all this to honor God, to your own benefit and glory of La Mancha, from where—I’ve learned—your grace had his birth and origin.”
Don Quixote was very attentive listening to the words of the canon, and when he saw that he’d finished, and after looking at him for some time, he said: “It seems to me, señor hidalgo, that the reason for your grace’s speech was to lead me to understand that there were never any knights errant in the world, and that all of the books of chivalry are false, full of lies, damaging, and useless in our republic; and that I’ve done ill in reading them, worse in believing them, and worst of all in imitating them, by taking on the difficult profession of knight-errantry that they teach; and you deny that there were ever any Amadises—either from Gaula or from Greece—or any of the other knights that those writings are filled with.”
“That’s exactly what I said and meant,” said the canon. And don Quixote responded: “You grace also added that these books had done me a lot of damage since they had made me crazy and placed me in a cage, and that it would be better for me to change my reading habits by studying other, truer books that would better entertain and instruct.”
“That’s also right,” said the canon.
“In that case,” said don Quixote, “I find that your grace is the crazy and enchanted one since you’ve blasphemed a thing so universally accepted and held as true, and anyone who denies it—as your grace has—deserves the same sentence that you say the books of chivalry deserve when you read them and they vex you. Because to make someone think that Amadís didn’t exist in the world, nor any of the other knight adventurers of which the histories are filled, is like saying that the sun doesn’t shine, or ice isn’t cold, or the earth gives no nourishment. Is there an intelligent person who can convince another that the history of the princess Floripes and Guy of Burgundy wasn’t true? And what happened to Fierabrás on the Bridge of Mantible during the time of Charlemagne, which I swear is as true as it’s day right now?
“And if that’s not true, it must be that there was no Hector, nor Achilles, nor a Trojan War, nor the Twelve Peers of France, nor a King Arthur of England—who still lives, changed into a raven, and they’re waiting for him to return to rule at any moment. And also they will dare to say that the story of Guarino Mezquino and the one about the quest for the Holy Grail, and that the love between Tristan and Iseult are also apocryphal, as is the love between Lancelot and Queen Guinevere, when there are people nowadays who can almost swear they have seen duenna Quintañona, who was the best wine pourer in Great Britain. I remember my grandmother on my father’s side used to tell me when she saw a duenna in traditional headdress: ‘That woman, grandson, looks like dueña Quintañona.’ On the basis of that I argue that she must have known her, or at least, she must have managed to see a portrait of her. And who can deny that the story of Pierres and the beautiful Magalona isn’t true? Even today one can see in the Royal Armory the peg that the valiant Pierres used to guide his wooden horse through the air—it’s a bit larger than a cart pole—and next to it is Babieca’s saddle.
“And at Roncesvalles is Roland’s horn, which is as large as a beam, from which it can be inferred that there were the Twelve Peers, that there was a Pierres, that there were Cids, and other such knights
“And I suppose you’ll tell me that there was no such knight errant as the brave Portuguese Juan de Merlo, who went to Burgundy and fought in the city of Arras with the famous Lord of Charny called Sir Pierres, and afterwards in the city of Basel, with Sir Henri de Remestan, emerged from both battles victorious and crowned with honor and fame. And do they doubt the adventures and challenges of the brave Spaniards Pedro Barba and Gutierre Quijada —from whose lineage I’m descended in the direct male line—vanquishing the sons of the Count St. Pol. Will they deny that don Fernando de Guevara went off looking for adventures in Germany, where he fought with Monsieur Giorgio, a knight in the house of the Duke of Austria? Let them say that the jousts of Suero de Quiñones, the one of the «Paso», were just a joke. Will they say the same about the accomplishments of Sir Luis de Falces against don Gonzalo de Guzmán, a Christian knight, with many other deeds done by Christian knights, of this and foreign realms, which are so authentic and true, I say once again, that anyone who would deny them lacks both reason and common sense.”
The canon was amazed at the mixture of truths and fiction don Quixote concocted, as well as to see how much he really knew about all those things concerning the facts of his knight-errantry, and so he answered: “I can’t deny, señor don Quixote, that something of what you said is true, especially in the matter dealing with Spanish knights errant, and I also grant that there were the Twelve Peers of France, but I can’t believe that they did all of those things that Archbishop Turpin writes about them, because the truth of the matter is that they were knights selected by the kings of France, and they were called PEERs because they were all equal in courage, rank, and prowess, at least, and if they weren’t, they should have been. It was like a religious order such as those of Santiago or Calatrava, where it’s assumed that those who are in those orders are, or should be, brave and valiant knights, and well-born. And as we speak of a KNIGHT OF SAN JUAn or OF ALCÁNTARA, they spoke, in those times, of Knights of the Twelve Peers, because they were twelve of equal skill chosen for that military-religious order. As for the Cid, there is no doubt, nor is there for Bernardo del Carpio, but about the deeds attributed to them there is serious doubt. And as far as the peg that your grace says belonged to Count Pierres, and which is next to Babieca’s saddle in the Royal Armory, I confess my sin, that I’m so ignorant or short-sighted that—although I’ve seen the saddle—I didn’t notice the peg, even if it’s as big as your grace says it is.”
“Well, it’s there, with no doubt,” replied don Quixote, “and what’s more, they say it’s in a leather sheath so it won’t rust.”
“Anything is possible,” said the canon, “but, by the orders I received, I don’t remember having seen it. Even if I concede that it’s there, I’m not obliged to believe the stories of so many Amadises nor of that multitude of knights they tell us about, nor should a man such as yourself, so honored and with such good qualities, and endowed with such fine intelligence, think that extravagant nonsense in those foolish books is true.”