DON QUIXOTE and Sancho spent the whole day waiting in that village and inn, one of them to finish the tally of his whipping, and the other to see the end of it, since it meant the fulfillment of his desire. In the meantime a traveler on horseback arrived at the inn with three or four servants, one of whom said to the man who appeared to be the master: “Here, your grace, señor don Álvaro Tarfe, can have a siesta. The place seems clean and cool.”
When don Quixote heard this he said to Sancho: “Look, Sancho, as I was looking through the second part of my history, it seems to me that I ran across that name in passing.”
“That may well be,” responded Sancho. “Let’s let him dismount and afterwards we can ask him.”
The horseman got down and the innkeeper’s wife gave him a room on the first floor, decorated with the fabric hangings like those in don Quixote’s room.
The newly-arrived gentlemen put on some cool clothes and went out onto the inn’s porch, which was spacious and cool, where don Quixote was strolling, and asked him: “Where is your grace headed, señor?”
And don Quixote answered: “To a village near here, where I was born—and your grace, where are you going?”
“I, señor,” replied the gentleman, “am going to Granada, my hometown.”
“And a good one it is,” replied don Quixote. “But tell me, for courtesy’s sake, what is your name, because it might be more important to know than I can rightly state.”
“My name is don Álvaro Tarfe,” responded the guest. To which don Quixote replied: “Without any doubt, you must be that don Álvaro Tarfe who’s circulating in the Second Part of don Quixote de La Mancha that was recently published, and written by a modern author.”
“I’m one and the same,” responded the gentleman, “and that don Quixote, the main subject of that history, was a very great friend of mine. I was the one who took him away from his home, or at least inspired him to go with me to Zaragoza for some jousts, and in truth, in truth, I did many things for him as his friend, and even prevented his being whipped because he was too reckless.”
“And tell me, your grace, señor don Álvaro Tarfe, do I look like that don Quixote that you mention?”
“No, you don’t,” responded the guest, “not in the slightest.”
‘And that don Quixote,” said ours, “did he have a squire with him named Sancho Panza?”
“Yes, he did,” responded don Álvaro, “and although he was reputed to be amusing, I never heard him say anything remotely funny.”
“I can well believe that,” interrupted Sancho, “because not everyone can say amusing things, and that Sancho that your grace has mentioned, señor, must be some great scoundrel, dull-witted, and a thief, all rolled up into one. I’m the real Sancho Panza, and I have more witty sayings than there are drops of rain, and if you don’t believe me, try me out and follow me around for at least a year, and you’ll see that they drip off of me with every step, in such a way and so many that often without my knowing how, I make everyone who hears me laugh. And the real don Quixote de La Mancha, the famous one, the brave, the wise, the one who is in love, the righter of wrongs, the guardian of orphans, the protector of widows, the killer of maidens, he who has as the only object of his affection Dulcinea del Toboso, is this señor here present, and he’s my master. Any other don Quixote and any other Sancho Panza are just pranks, jokes, and badly-dreamed-up ones at that.”
“By God, I believe it,” responded don Álvaro, “because you’ve said more witty things, my friend, in four sentences than the other Sancho Panza did in all the times I heard him speak, and there were many of them. He was more of a glutton than well-spoken, and more stupid than witty. And it must be that the enchanters who pursue don Quixote the Good, have tried to pursue me using don Quixote the Bad. But I don’t know what to say. I swear I left him in the Asylum of the Nuncio of Toledo for treatment, and here’s another don Quixote, although quite different from mine.”
“I,” said don Quixote, “don’t know if I’m GOOD, but I do know that I’m not the BAD one, proof for which I want you to know, my señor, don Álvaro Tarfe, that I’ve never stepped in Zaragoza in all the days of my life. Rather, since I was told this trumped-up don Quixote had gone to the jousts in that city, I refused to go there to prove his lie to the world, so I went directly to Barcelona, that treasure house of courtesy, shelter for strangers, abode for the poor, hometown of the brave, avenger of the offended, welcome dwelling of firm friendships, and uniquely beautiful in its location.
“And although what happened to me there was not much to my liking, but rather has caused me a lot of sorrow, I left there with no sorrow, just because I saw that city. Finally, señor don Álvaro Tarfe, I’m don Quixote de La Mancha, the same one proclaimed by Fame, and not that luckless fellow who has attempted to usurp my name and grace himself with my thoughts. I beg you since you’re a gentleman, to make an affidavit before the mayor of this town, stating that this is the first time your worship has seen me in all the days of your life until now, and that I’m not that don Quixote written about in the second part, nor is this Sancho Panza, my squire, the one your grace knew.”
“I’ll be very willing to do that,” responded don Álvaro, “although it’s amazing to have seen two don Quixotes and two Sanchos at practically the same time, so alike in their names yet so different in their actions, and I’ll say once again and confirm that I didn’t see what I saw nor did I experience what I experienced.”
“Your grace,” said Sancho, “must be enchanted like my lady Dulcinea del Toboso. And may it please heaven that your disenchantment could be done by my giving myself three-thousand odd lashes like I’m doing for her, because I’d do it without any pay.”
“I don’t understand this business of lashes,” said don Álvaro. And Sancho responded that it was a long story, but he would tell it to him if they were traveling the same road.
Lunch time came. Don Quixote and don Álvaro ate together; and by chance the mayor of the town with a scribe came into the inn. Don Quixote told him he wanted to make an affidavit, which was his legal right, that don Álvaro Tarfe, that gentleman who was there present, had not previously known don Quixote de La Mancha, who was also present, and that he was not the one who was written about in a history titled Second Part of don Quixote de La Mancha, written by a certain Avellaneda, a native of Tordesillas. The mayor made the affidavit, which was done with all the appropriate legal trimmings, which made don Quixote and Sancho very happy—as if such a deposition were important; as if their deeds and words wouldn’t clearly show the differences between the two don Quixotes and Sanchos. Many courteous words and pledges of service passed between don Álvaro and don Quixote, in which the great Manchegan showed his wisdom, which convinced don Álvaro Tarfe that he’d been deceived, and that he must have been enchanted since he’d touched two so different don Quixotes with his hand.
When late afternoon came, they left the village, and about half a league from there they came to a fork in the road, one leading to don Quixote’s village, and the other, the one don Álvaro needed to take. In that short time, don Quixote told of the misfortune of his vanquishment and Dulcinea’s enchantment and remedy, all of which caused fresh wonder in don Álvaro, who, embracing don Quixote and Sancho, went on his way, as did don Quixote. They spent that night among some trees to give Sancho the chance to finish his whipping, at the expense of the bark of the beech trees, much more than his back, which he preserved so carefully that the lashes wouldn’t have scared off a fly, had one alighted there.
The deceived don Quixote didn’t lose count of a single lash, and found that together with the previous night, the total came to three thousand twenty nine. It seems that the sun came up to shed light on the sacrifice, and at that light, they continued their journey once again, speaking about don Álvaro’s deception, and how wise it was to get an affidavit from the mayor, and one with such authority.
That day and night they traveled without anything worthy of being told, except that Sancho finished his labor, which pleased don Quixote immensely, and he could hardly wait for day to come to see if they would run across the disenchanted Dulcinea, his lady. Along the road he scrutinized every woman he came across to see if she was Dulcinea del Toboso, since he held that the promises of Merlin were infallible.
With these thoughts and desires, they went up a hill from the top of which they could see their village, and when Sancho saw it, he got down on his knees and said: “Open your eyes, longed-for home, and see that Sancho Panza is returning to you, if not very rich, at least well-whipped. Open your arms and receive your son, don Quixote, who, if he’s coming back vanquished at someone else’s hand, at least he has triumphed over himself, and he says that it’s the victory most to be desired. I’m coming with money, because «if they gave me lashes, at least I had a fine mount».”4
“Stop that nonsense,” said don Quixote, “and let’s go, right foot in front,5 into our village, where we’ll give a truce to our imagination, and start planning for the pastoral life we expect to lead.” With this they went down the slope and approached their village,