A TEI Project

Chapter XVIII

About things that Benengeli says that whoever reads them will learn, if he reads attentively.

IF THE BRAVE MAN flees, foul play is at its root, and prudent men save themselves for future battles. This truth was manifested in don Quixote, who, giving time for the fury of the braying town and the bad intentions of that indignant squadron to settle down, made haste to get away, without thinking about Sancho or of the danger in which he left him, went far enough away so he would be safe. Sancho followed him, slung across the donkey’s back, as has been mentioned, now having come to more or less, and when he got to his master, he let himself slide off the donkey at Rocinante’s feet, in anguish, battered, and beaten up.

Don Quixote got off Rocinante to examine his wounds, but as he found him sound from head to foot, with some anger said to him: “It was most unfortunate when you learned how to bray, Sancho! Where did you get the idea that it was a good idea to «mention rope in the house of the hanged man»? And to the music of braying, what counterpoint could there be but that of a beating. Give thanks to God, Sancho, that they crossed your back with a stake and that they didn’t make the per signum crucis with a scimitar.”

“I’m in no condition to answer,” responded Sancho, “because I feel like I’m talking through my back. Let’s mount our animals and get out of here, and I won’t bray again, but I won’t keep silent about knights errant who flee and leave their good squires ground up like a sack of wheat, in the hands of his enemies.”

“«He that retires doesn’t flee»,” responded don Quixote, “because you should know, Sancho, that courage that’s not based on prudence is called recklessness, and the deeds of the reckless person can more be attributed to good luck than to bravery. So, I confess that I retired but not that I fled, and in this I’ve imitated many brave men who have saved themselves for better occasions, and the histories are full of this. I won’t tell you what histories I’m referring to now since it won’t do you any good and it won’t give me any pleasure.”

By this time, Sancho was sitting on his donkey, having been helped up by don Quixote, who then got on Rocinante all by himself, and they headed off slowly toward a poplar grove a quarter of a league away. Once in a while Sancho gave deep sighs and painful groans. Don Quixote asked him what was causing him such bitter distress, and he responded that from the base of his spine to the nape of his neck it was so painful he thought it would drive him crazy.

“The cause must be, doubtless,” said don Quixote, “that since the stake they were pounding you with was long and straight, and they hit you all over your back, that’s the area where you hurt. And if they hit you elsewhere, it’d hurt you there, too.”

“By God,” said Sancho, “your grace has cleared up a great doubt I had and you’ve revealed the truth to me in brilliant terms. I swear, was the cause of my pain so hidden that you had to tell me that the areas that hurt me are where I was pummeled with the stake? If my ankles hurt me it’d be worthwhile to try to find out why they hurt. But to tell me that it hurts me where they pounded me is no great feat to guess. On my faith, señor our master, «other people’s grief doesn’t affect us», and every day I’m finding out how little I can expect from keeping company with you, because if this time you let me get beaten up, another and a hundred more times we’ll go back to the blanketings and other pranks of bygone days, and if it’s my back that pays the price this time, next time it may be my eyes. I’d do a lot better—but I’m a barbarian and I’ll never do anything good in my whole life—I’d do a lot better, I repeat, to go home to my wife and children, supporting her and raising them with what God was pleased to give me, and not go running around following you along non-existent roads and paths that aren’t there, drinking poorly and eating worse. And as for sleeping, ‘Measure off six feet of ground, brother, and if you need more, take double that amount, for you can take as much as you like, and stretch out as much as you want,’ and may I see the first person who started knight errantry, burned up and made into dust; or at least the first person who wanted to be a squire to those dimwits, as all the ancient knights errant must have been. About the contemporary knights, I say nothing because, since your grace is one of them, I respect them, and since I know that your grace knows a bit more than the devil when you talk and think.”

“I bet, Sancho,” said don Quixote, “that now that you’re talking without anyone stopping you, your body doesn’t hurt anywhere. Keep on talking, my son, and say anything that comes to your mind or your mouth, because in exchange for relieving you of your pains, I’ll consider the vexation that your impudence causes me to be a pleasure, and if you want to go back home so much to be with your wife and children, may God not prevent me from stopping you. You have my money—figure out how long we’ve been on this third quest since we left our town, and calculate how much you can and should earn every month, and pay yourself with your own hand.”

“When I worked for Tomé Carrasco,” responded Sancho, “the bachelor Sansón’s father, who your grace knows well, I earned two ducados every month, in addition to lunch. With your grace I can’t figure out how much I should earn since I know it’s more work to be a squire to a knight errant than it is to work for a farmer. So, in sum, those of us who work for farmers, no matter how much we work by day, no matter what happens, at night we eat stew and sleep at home. I haven’t slept in a bed since I started working for your grace, except the short time we were in Diego de Miranda’s house, during the banquet I had with the skimmings that I got from Camacho’s stew pots, and what I ate and drank in Basilio’s house. The rest of the time I’ve slept on the hard ground in the open air, subject to what they call inclemencies of the heavens, feeding myself on pieces of cheese and crumbs of bread, and drinking water from streams or fountains that we come across along the by-roads of our travels.”

“I concede,” said don Quixote, “that everything you’ve said may be true. How much more should I give you than what Tomé Carrasco gave you?”

“In my view,” said Sancho, “if your grace adds two reales more per month, I’ll consider myself well paid. This is insofar as the salary for my labor goes. But as for your promise that your grace made to give me the government of an ínsula it would be proper to add six more reales, and that would bring the total to thirty.”

“That’s fine,” replied don Quixote, “and in accordance with the salary that you’ve calculated, it’s been 25 days since we left our town. Figure out how much I owe you pro-rated and pay yourself, as I’ve said, with your own hand.”

“Oh, good God!” said Sancho, “you’re very mistaken in your numbers, because insofar as the promise of the ínsula goes, you have to count from the day you promised it to me up to the present moment.”

“So, how long has it been since I promised it to you?” said don Quixote.

“If I remember correctly,” responded Sancho, “it must have been more than 20 years—three days more or less.”

Don Quixote gave himself a slap on the forehead and began to laugh heartily and said: “But I didn’t go to the Sierra Morena—indeed I didn’t begin any of my adventures at all—until just two months ago. And you say, Sancho, that I promised the ínsula to you 20 years ago? I say that you want to take all my money that you have, and if that’s so and that’s your pleasure, I give it all to you right now—and may it do you good—because in exchange for seeing myself without such a bad squire, I’ll be pleased to become poor and without a blanca. But tell me, you corruptor of all squirely laws of knight errantry, where have you ever seen or read that any squire of a knight errant has bargained with his master for ‘You’ll give me so much every month so that I’ll serve you’? Go, go, you brigand, you rogue, you monster—for you seem to be all three—set sail, I say, into the mare magnum of their histories, and if you find that some squire has said or thought what you’ve said, I’d like you to nail it to my forehead, and in addition you can give me four slaps on the face. Turn your reins or halter on the donkey, and go back home, because you won’t go one step further with me. Oh, ungrateful person! Oh, promises ill-placed! Oh, man more beast than human! You’re leaving just when I was getting ready to set you up, and in such a way that in spite of your wife they would call you LORDSHIP? You’re quitting now, when I had the firm and worthy intention of making you the lord of the best ínsula in the world? As you’ve said many times, «Honey wasn’t meant,». A donkey you are and a donkey you’ll remain, and a donkey you’ll be when the course of your life ends, since I maintain that it’ll come to an end before you realize that you’re a beast.”

Sancho looked at don Quixote fixedly while he was saying those reproaches. And he was pierced with remorse and tears came to his eyes and with a doleful and feeble voice he said: “Señor mío, I confess that the only thing I lack to turn me into a donkey is a tail. If your grace wants to put one on me, I’ll accept it and will serve you as a beast of burden for the remaining days of my life. Pardon me, and take pity on my inexperience, and be aware that I don’t know very much, and if I talk a lot, it comes more from weakness than from malice. But «he who errs and mends, to God himself commends».”

“I would be surprised, Sancho, if you didn’t mix a proverb into your speech. All right, I forgive you provided that you do mend your ways and from now on show yourself less interested in money, and that you try to open your heart a bit and take hope in waiting for my promise to be fulfilled, for even though it may be late, it isn’t impossible.”

Sancho responded that he would, although he’d have to draw strength from weakness. With this, they went into the poplar grove, and don Quixote made himself comfortable at the foot of an elm tree and Sancho at a beech, for these and similar trees always have feet but not hands. Sancho spent the night in pain because the effects of the beating were more acute in the night air. Don Quixote spent the night with a succession of memories, but even so did finally sleep, and at dawn they continued their journey looking for the banks of the famous Ebro, where what happened to them will be told in the next chapter.


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Date: June 1, 2009
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