Where Sancho Panza satisfies the bachelor Sansón Carrasco’s doubts and questions, with other events worthy of being known and told.
SANCHO RETURNED to don Quixote’s house, and going back to the conversation they were having, he said: “To answer what señor Sansón said he wanted to know about who, or how, or when my donkey was stolen. In response I’ll say that the same night we were fleeing from the Holy Brotherhood, we went into the Sierra Morena; after the unfortunate adventure of the galley slaves and of the dead body that was being taken to Segovia, my master and I went into a dense forest where my master, leaning against his lance and I on my donkey, beaten up and weary from the recent frays, went to sleep as if we were on four feather mattresses. I especially slept with such a deep sleep that whoever he was found it possible to come and prop me up on four stakes that he put under the four corners of the packsaddle, in such a way that he left me propped up in the saddle and was able to slip the donkey out from under me without my noticing it.”
“That’s something easy and it’s nothing new. The same thing happened to Sacripante, when, he was at the siege of Albraca, the famous thief Brunelo was able to take his horse from under him using this same device.”
“At dawn,” Sancho went on, “hardly had I stretched when the stakes gave way and I fell to the ground. I looked for the donkey and when I didn’t see him, tears came to my eyes and I made such a lamentation that if the author of our history didn’t include it, he left out something good, you can depend on that. I don’t know how many days later, when I was going along with the Princess Micomicona, I recognized my donkey, and saw riding it that trickster and rogue that my master and I set free from his chains, Ginés de Pasamonte, dressed as a gypsy.”
“That’s not the mistake,” replied Sansón, “ but rather that before the donkey came back, the author says that Sancho was riding it.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that,” said Sancho, “except that maybe the historian made a mistake or the printer was careless.”
“That must be it,” said Sansón, “but what happened to the hundred escudos? Did they disappear?”
Sancho responded: “I spent them for the benefit of myself and my wife and my children, and they’re the reason that my wife is patient while I travel the highways and byways serving my master, señor don Quixote. If I’d come home after so much time without a blanca and without my donkey, it would have been rough going. And if you want to find out anything else, here I am, and I’ll answer to the king himself in person, though it’s nobody’s business if I brought or didn’t bring, if I spent or didn’t spend. If the thwacks they gave me in these trips were to be paid in money, even if they were paid at the rate of four maravedís each, another hundred escudos wouldn’t even pay the half. Let each one put his hand over his heart, and not try to say that «white is black and black is white», for «everyone is as God made him, and even worse at times».”
“I’ll make sure,” said Carrasco, “to tell the author if he prints it again, not to forget what good Sancho has said, and the book will be enhanced by a great deal over what it is.”
“Is there anything else to fix in the text, señor bachelor?” asked don Quixote.
“There must be,” he answered, “but none is as important as what was already mentioned.”
“And, by chance,” said don Quixote, “does the author promise a second part?”
“Yes, he does,” responded Sansón, “but he says that he hasn’t found it nor does he know who has it, and so we’re in doubt as to if it will come out or not. So, for that reason, and also because, as some say: «Second parts were never good» and others say: «What has been written about don Quixote is enough», so it’s doubtful that there will be a second part, although some, more jovial than saturnine, say: «Let’s have more quixoteries, let don Quixote charge and let Sancho Panza talk, and whatever comes of it, we’ll be content.»”
“And, what is the author waiting for?”
“He’s waiting,” responded Sansón, “to find the story he’s looking for with such diligence, and when he finds it he’ll take it to the printer right away, moved more by the profit he’ll make than from any praise that might come.”
To which Sancho said: “The author is just looking for profit and income? It’ll be a wonder if he can succeed, because he’ll just work fast like the tailor the night before Easter, and work you do in a hurry is never done with the perfection that it requires. Let this señor Moor, or whatever he is, take his time, and be careful about what he’s doing, and me and my master will give him such an abundance of adventures and different incidents that he’ll be able to write not only a second part, but a hundred of them. The good fellow must doubtless be thinking that we’re just loafing—well, just «let him hold up our hooves to be shod and he’ll see which one we limp on». What I know is that if my master would take my advice we should be out in the open right now redressing grievances and righting wrongs, as is the custom with knights errant.”
Sancho had barely said these words when the neighs of Rocinante reached their ears. Don Quixote took them as a very good omen, and he resolved to initiate another expedition in three or four days. Declaring his intention to the bachelor, he asked his advice where he should begin his journey. The bachelor answered that he thought he should go to the kingdom of Aragón and to the city of Zaragoza, where a few days hence they were going to hold some very solemn jousts for the festival of Saint George in which he could gain renown over all the Aragonese knights, which would be like gaining it over all the knights in the world. He praised don Quixote’s very honorable and very valiant resolve, and told him to be careful when he engaged in dangerous undertakings since his life was not his own, but rather belonged to those who needed him so he could protect and rescue them in their misfortunes.
“That’s what I’m complaining about, señor Sansón,” Sancho said at this point, “for my master will attack a hundred men in armor just like a sweet-toothed boy will attack half a dozen watermelons. By golly, señor bachelor, there are times to attack and times to withdraw. And not everything has to be «Saint James, and close in, Spain!» And there’s more, for I’ve heard tell, and I believe it was my master who said it, if I’m not mistaken, that between the extremes of cowardice and recklessness is the middle ground of valor, and if this is so, he shouldn’t attack when the odds are against him. But above all if my master wants me to go with him, it has to be on the condition that he has to do all the fighting, and that I’m obliged only to look after his person in matters of cleanliness and comfort, and in this I’ll see that his desires are taken care of. But to think that I’ll put my hand on my sword, even against rustic brigands with hatchets and wearing leather helmets, is to think the unthinkable. I, señor Sansón, don’t plan to get famous as a brave person, but rather as the best and most loyal squire that ever served a knight errant. And if my master don Quixote, obliged by my many and good services, should want to give me an ínsula from the many he said he’s bound to come across out there, I’ll get great pleasure in it. And if he doesn’t give me one, I’m alive, and a man shouldn’t live under another’s protection, only God’s; and what’s more, my bread will taste as good, if not better, without a government than if I’m a governor. And do I know, by chance, if the devil hasn’t planted some stumbling block where I’ll trip and fall and break my teeth? I was born Sancho and Sancho I plan to die—but with all this, suddenly, without a lot of bother and risk, if heaven should present me with some ínsula or something like it, I’m not so stupid that I wouldn’t accept it. They also say: «when they give you the heifer, go fetch the halter» and «when good luck comes, take it home».”
“You, Sancho,” said Carrasco, “have spoken like a professor, but still, trust in God and in señor don Quixote, who will give you a kingdom, not just an ínsula.”
“It’s all the same to me,” responded Sancho, “although I can tell señor Carrasco that my master won’t be putting the kingdom that he might give me into a bag with a hole in the bottom. I’ve taken my pulse and I find that I’m healthy enough to govern kingdoms and ínsulas, and I’ve told this to my master on other occasions.”
“Look Sancho,” said Sansón, “professions change one’s customs, and it might be that when you see yourself a governor, you would even shun the mother who bore you.”
“That may be true,” responded Sancho, “with those of low birth, but not with those who have three inches of Old Christian fat on their souls, as I do. Look at me—would I be ungrateful to anyone?”
“Let’s put it in God’s hands,” said don Quixote. “We’ll see when the government comes—I can practically see it now right in front of my eyes.”
After he said this, he asked the bachelor, if he was a poet, to do him the favor of writing some farewell verses he hoped to deliver to his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, and told him that each verse should begin with a letter from her name, so that, when it was all written the first letters would spell out DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO.
The bachelor answered that although he was not one of the famous poets in Spain—for there were only three and a half such—that he wouldn’t fail to write those verses; although there was one difficulty about its composition, and that was that there were seventeen letters in her name, and if he made four stanzas of four lines each, it would be one letter short, and if they were of five lines, such as décimas or redondillas, there would be three letters left over. But even so he promised to try to suppress a letter somewhere so that four four-line stanzas would work out for the name Dulcinea del Toboso.
“That has to be done in any case,” said don Quixote, “because if the name isn’t obvious and clear, there’s no woman who would believe those verses were written for her.”
They settled on this and agreed that the departure would be a week hence. Don Quixote charged the bachelor to keep it a secret, especially from the priest and maese Nicolás, and from his niece and the housekeeper, so they wouldn’t thwart his honorable and brave resolve. Carrasco so promised and took his leave, requesting that don Quixote keep him apprised of his good or bad fortunes when he could, and so they all said good bye, and Sancho went to get things in order for their journey.