THE DUKE and duchess decided that don Quixote’s challenge to his vassal regarding the case already mentioned should move forward. And since the young man was in Flanders, where he’d fled so that he wouldn’t have doña Rodríguez for his mother-in-law, they ordered a lackey from Gascony named Tosilos to stand in for him, and they instructed him first, and very carefully about everything he had to do.
Two days later the duke said to don Quixote that since his opponent would arrive in four days and would present himself in the field armed as a knight, and would maintain that the maiden was lying through half her beard, and even through her whole beard, if she affirmed that he’d given his word to be her husband. Don Quixote was pleased with this news, and he promised himself that he would perform wonders; and he considered it was very good fortune that he’d been offered this occasion in which these people could see how far the might of his powerful arm extended. So, with exhilaration and contentment, he waited those four days, which seemed to him, given his desire, to be four hundred centuries.
Let’s let these days go by, as we have let other things go by, and let’s accompany Sancho, who, somewhere between happy and sad, went along on his grey to look for his master, whose company meant more to him than being the governor of all the ínsulas in the world.
It happened, then, that not too far from the ínsula where he’d governed—and he never was able to tell if what he governed was an ínsula, city, town, or village—he saw coming along the road toward him six pilgrims with their staffs. They were foreigners, of the kind that ask for alms by singing, and when they drew near to him they put themselves in a row, and began to sing in a language that Sancho didn’t understand, except for one word that they clearly said, which was ALMS, by which he understood that they were asking for alms, and since he, according to Cide Hamete, was quite charitable, he took from his saddlebags the half loaf of bread and chunk of cheese that he’d been provided with, and was willing to share it with them, telling them by signs that he had nothing else to give them. They received what he gave with appreciation and said: “Geld, Geld!”
“I don’t understand,” responded Sancho, “what you’re asking me for, good people.”
One of them then took a purse from inside his shirt and showed it to Sancho, by which he understood that they were asking for money, and he, putting his thumb on his throat, with his fingers extended skyward, gave them to understand that he didn’t have any money at all, and spurring on his grey, he broke through the line.
When he went through, one of them who had been looking at him closely, ran over to him and, throwing his arms around his waist, said in a very loud and very Spanish voice: “By God, what am I seeing? Is it possible that I have in my arms my dear friend, my good neighbor Sancho Panza? Yes, I do, without a doubt, because I’m not sleeping nor am I drunk.”
Sancho was amazed to hear himself called by name and to be embraced by that foreign pilgrim, and after having looked at him for some time in silence, he still couldn’t recognize him. Seeing Sancho’s hesitation, the pilgrim said to him: “Is it possible, Sancho Panza, my brother, that you don’t recognize your neighbor Ricote, the Moor, a shopkeeper from your village?”
Then Sancho examined him more attentively and began to recognize him and finally he recognized him fully, and without getting off his donkey, put his arms around the other’s neck and said: “Who the devil could recognize you, Ricote, in that vagabond outfit you’re wearing? Tell me, who made you into a foreigner, and how did you dare to come back to Spain, where—if they catch you and realize who you are—you’ll be in trouble?”
“If you don’t betray me, Sancho,” responded the pilgrim, “I’ll be safe. In this outfit no one will recognize me. Let’s get off the road into that poplar grove over there, where my companions want to eat and have a rest, and you’ll eat with them, for they’re very good folk. I’ll have time to tell you everything that’s happened to me since I left our village, in order to obey his majesty’s edict that so seriously threatened the unfortunates of my race, as you heard.”
Sancho agreed, and after Ricote spoke to the other pilgrims, they went off to the poplar grove nearby, a bit off the royal highway. They threw down their staffs, took off their capes, but not their jackets; all of them were young men, except Ricote, who was a man on in years. All of them had haversacks that, so it seemed, were well-stocked with things that stimulate thirst, and beckon it from two leagues off.
They all lay on the ground and made the grass into tablecloths. They placed on it bread, salt, knives, nuts, slices of cheese, gnawed ham bones—which, if couldn’t be eaten, at least they could be sucked. They also had a black food that they called CAVIAR, made from fish eggs—a great awakener of thirst. There was no lack of olives, although they were dry and with no juices at all, but tasty and able to ward off hunger. But what most abounded in that rustic banquet were six botas of wine that each one took from his bag. Even the good Ricote, who had been transformed from a Moor to a German, or a tudesco, took out his own, which in size could compete with the other five put together. They began to eat with great pleasure and very slowly, savoring each mouthful, which they ate from the point of a knife, taking a little bit of each dish. Then all six of them at one time raised their botas into the air. With the spouts of the wineskins pointing into their mouths, their eyes aiming fixedly on the sky, as if they were aiming it, they spent a long time pouring the contents of their vessels into their stomachs, and by moving their heads from side to side, they confirmed their pleasure.
Sancho took it all in, and «nothing bothered him», but rather, in order to fulfill the proverb he knew very well: «when in Rome do as the Romans», he asked Ricote for the bota, and he took aim like the others, with no less pleasure than the rest. They raised their botas four times to drink from, but the fifth time it wasn’t possible because they were drier than mat-weeds, something that dampened the happiness they had displayed until then.
Once in a while one of them took Sancho by the right hand and said: “Español y tudesqui tutto uno—bon compagno.”
And Sancho responded: “Bon compagno, giura Di” after which he burst forth in a laughter that lasted a whole hour, during which time he didn’t think at all about what had happened to him in his government, because while one is eating and drinking, one forgets about one’s cares. Finally, once the wine was gone, slumber descended over them, and they fell asleep on the tables and tablecloths.
Only Ricote and Sancho remained alert because they had eaten more and drunk less, and they moved away to the foot of a beech tree, leaving the pilgrims buried in sleep, and Ricote, without once stumbling into his Moorish language, in pure Spanish said the following words to Sancho: “You know very well, Sancho, my neighbor and friend, that the proclamation and edict that his majesty had published against those of my race filled us all with terror and fright. At least, I was so frightened that even before the time we were supposed to leave Spain, I felt that the sentence had been carried out on my whole family.
“I resolved, then, in my opinion as a prudent man, as well as one who knows that on a certain date they’re going to take away the house he lives in, to look for another one… I resolved, I say, to leave town alone, without my family, to look for a place to take them comfortably, and without the pressure that others who left were subjected to. Because I saw, and all our friends saw, that the proclamations weren’t idle threats, as some said, but rather were real laws that would be put into effect at the appointed time.
“And what forced me to believe this truth was that I knew what the vile and foolish intentions were that our people had, and it seemed to me it was divine inspiration that moved his majesty to put such a bold resolution into effect, not that we were all to blame, for there were some who were solid and true Christians. But there were so few that they couldn’t compare with those who weren’t, and it would have been unwise to shelter a serpent inside one’s shirt, like keeping enemies in one’s own house. So, with good reason we were punished with the sentence of banishment—which seemed soft and easy in the opinion of some, but to us it was the most terrible sentence that could be given to us. Wherever we are, we weep for Spain, where we were born, after all, and it’s our native country.
“And nowhere did we find the reception that our misfortune yearned for. Everywhere along the Barbary Coast and other places in Africa, where we expected to be welcomed, is where they hurt and mistreated us the most. «We don’t recognize good fortune until we’ve lost it». And so great is the desire we all have to go back to Spain that most of those who speak the language, as I do, return, leaving their wives and children in exile unprovided for, such is the love we have for our country. And now I recognize and know by experience what they say—that the love for the fatherland is sweet.
“I left our town, as I say, and went into France, and although they were friendly enough, I wanted to see all possibilities. So I went through Italy to Germany, and it seemed to me that we could live there with greatest freedom, because its inhabitants don’t care about the fine points, and everyone lives however he wants, because nearly everywhere there’s freedom of worship. I took a house in a town near Augsburg. There I met these pilgrims who go back to Spain, most of them every year, to visit the shrines, and they consider Spain to be their Indies and a place where they can collect some money. They wander through almost the whole country, and there’s no town where they aren’t well fed and sated, as they say, and don’t get at least a real apiece. At the end of their trip they will have earned more than a hundred escudos free and clear, which they exchange for gold, and keep either in their hollowed-out staffs, in the patches on their capes, or in whatever other way they can think of, they take it out of the kingdom and go to their homes, in spite of the guards who search them at the frontiers.
“It’s my intention, Sancho, to take away the treasure that I left buried. Since it’s outside of town I can dig it up with no danger, and I’ll write from Valencia to my wife and daughter, or go to them—I know they’re in Algiers—and make a plan to take them to some French port, and from there I’ll take them to Germany, where we’ll wait and see what God has in store for us. So, Sancho, I know for certain that Ricota, my daughter, and Francisca Ricota, my wife, are Catholic Christians, and although I’m not so much a one, still I’m more Christian than Moor, and I always pray to God to open the eyes of my understanding and make me see how I am to serve Him. What I’m amazed at is that I don’t know why my wife and daughter preferred the Barbary Coast to France, where they could live as Christians.”
To which Sancho responded: “Look, Ricote, that really wasn’t left up to them, since Juan Tiopeyo, your wife’s brother, took them—since he’s such a good Moor—to where he thought best. And I can tell you something else I believe: you’ll look in vain for what you left buried because we heard that the officials had taken a great many pearls and a lot of money in gold from your brother-in-law and wife that they were carrying when they were searched.”
“That may very well be,” replied Ricote, “but I know they didn’t go near my hiding place, because I never told anyone where it was since I was afraid of some misfortune. So, Sancho, if you want to come with me and help me to take it out and conceal it, I’ll give you two hundred escudos with which you can lessen your needs, because you know I know you have many.”
“I would do it,” responded Sancho, “but I’m not at all greedy, for if I had been, I left an office this morning that I held from which I could have covered the walls of my house with gold and eaten off silver plates before six months went by. For that reason, as well as that it seems to me I’d be committing treason to my king to help out his enemies, I wouldn’t go with you, even if you promised me four hundred escudos cash instead of two hundred.”
“And what office did you leave, Sancho?” asked Ricote.
“I was governor of an ínsula,” responded Sancho, “and such a one that I swear you couldn’t find a better one no matter how hard you looked.”
“And where’s this ínsula,” asked Ricote.”
“Where?” responded Sancho. “Two leagues from here, and it’s called the ínsula Barataria.”
“Come on, Sancho,” said Ricote, “ínsulas are in the middle of the sea—there aren’t any on land.”
“How so?” replied Sancho. “I tell you, Ricote, my friend, that this morning I left, and yesterday I was governing as I pleased, like a wise man. But withal, I left it because the office of governor seemed filled with peril.”
“And what did you get out this government?” asked Ricote.
“I learned,” responded Sancho, “that I’m no good for governing, unless it’s over a herd of cattle, and that any wealth that derives from those governments comes at the cost of losing rest and sleep and even nourishment. Because in ínsulas, governors should eat little, especially if they have doctors looking after their health.”
“I don’t understand you, Sancho,” said Ricote. “It seems to me that everything you’ve told me is nonsense. Who would give you ínsulas to govern? Is there such a lack of men in the world more able to govern than you are? Hush, Sancho, get a hold on yourself and see if you want to come with me, like I told you, to help me remove the treasure that I left hidden. In truth, it’s so much that it really can be called a treasure; and I’ll give you some to live on, as I told you.”
“I already said, Ricote,” replied Sancho, “that I don’t want to. Just be satisfied that I don’t turn you in. Continue your journey and good luck to you, and let me continue mine. I know that even honestly-earned gains may be lost, but ill-earned gains may also be lost and take their owner with them.”
“I don’t want to insist, Sancho,” did Ricote, “but tell me—were you in town when my wife, my daughter, and my brother-in-law left?”
“Yes, I was,” responded Sancho, “and I can tell you that when your daughter left, she was so pretty that everyone in town came out to see her go, and they said she was the most beautiful creature in the world. She cried and embraced all her girl friends and acquaintances, and everyone who went to see her, and she asked everyone to commend her to God and Our Lady, his mother. And all this with such feeling that it made me cry, and I’m not usually a cry-baby. I swear that many wanted to seize her on the road and hide her. But the fear of going against the command of the king prevented them. Don Pedro Gregorio, that rich young heir who you know, seemed most affected by her departure, and they say that he loved her very much; and after she left, he was never again seen in our village, and we all thought that he went after her to kidnap her, but up to now nothing more has been learned.”
“I always suspected,” said Ricote, “that young fellow adored my daughter. But I always had confidence in my Ricota, and it never bothered me knowing that he loved her. You’ve heard, Sancho, that Moorish women seldom or never fall in love with Old Christians, and my daughter—the way I see it—who cared more about her Christian religion than being loved, wouldn’t pay heed to the attentions of this young heir.”
“God grant it,” replied Sancho, “for it would be bad for both of them. So, let me leave now, Ricote, my friend. I want to get to where my master don Quixote is by nightfall.”
“God be with you, Sancho, my brother. My companions are stirring and it’s time for us to go as well.”
And then the two embraced, and Sancho got on his grey and Ricote took his staff and they went their different ways.