OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE, TOGETHER
WITH OTHER VERY NOTABLE INCIDENTS
As soon as the housekeeper heard Don Quixote turn the key in the door,
she realized the urgency of the situation, put on her shawl, and ran
to the house of the bachelor Samson Carrasco. She knew that her master
had taken a fancy to this learned young man and thought he might be
able to persuade him to give up the crazy idea. She fell on her knees
before Samson and told him in excited language that her master had
broken out again.
"Where is he breaking out?" asked the roguish bachelor.
"He is breaking out at the door of his madness," replied the
bewildered housekeeper. "I mean he is going to break out again, for
the third time, to hunt all over the world for what he calls
adventures."
And then she went on to say that his first sally ended in his being
brought back home, slung across the back of a donkey. The second time
he made his entry into the village in an ox-cart, shut up in a cage,
and looking so worn and emaciated that his own mother would not have
known him. The last escapade had been an extremely expensive one, for
it had taken no less than six hundred eggs to cover up his bones
again.
The bachelor quieted the housekeeper, and promised her to do all he
could for her master. Then he advised her to return home and prepare
something hot for breakfast, and on her way home to repeat the prayer of
Santa Appolonia. He himself would be there in time for breakfast, he
said. The housekeeper remonstrated with the bachelor for prescribing the
prayer of Santa Appolonia, which, she declared, was for toothache and not
for brains; but Samson told her to do as he bade her, reminding her that
he was a learned bachelor of Salamanca and knew what he was talking
about. The housekeeper then left, saying her prayer, and the bachelor
went to look for the curate that they might decide what to do.
In the meantime Don Quixote and Sancho were discussing what the future
was holding for them, and Sancho gave the glad news to his master that
he had induced his wife to sanction his departure and his becoming
governor. Sancho was very much annoyed by his master's continual
interruptions and corrections. Whenever Sancho would misuse or abuse a
word, as he did in almost every sentence, Don Quixote would stop and
ask him what he meant, until poor Sancho was so confused that he did
not know what he had meant. Finally Don Quixote asked him to tell him
all that his wife had said, and as soon as Sancho had a chance to use
proverbs again, he felt more at home. "Teresa says," he repeated,
"that I should make sure with your Worship, and let papers speak and
beards be still. One _take_ is better than two _I'll give thee's_."
"And so say I," said Don Quixote. "Continue, Sancho my friend. Go on;
thou talkest pearls to-day."
"The fact is," continued Sancho, "that, as your Worship knows better
than I do, we are all of us liable to death, and to-day we are, and
to-morrow we are not. The lamb goes as soon as the sheep, and nobody
can promise himself more hours of life in this world than God may be
pleased to give him; for death is deaf, and when it comes to knock at
our life's door, it is always insistent, and neither prayers, nor
struggles, nor scepters, nor miters, can keep it back, as they tell us
from the pulpits every day."
Here Don Quixote felt he ought to ask a question. "Sancho," said he,
"all that is true; but what art thou driving at?"
And then came the reason for all these long-winded preliminaries.
Sancho wanted his master to make definite arrangements with him for
compensation. But here was the drawback. Don Quixote could recall no
incident in any of the many books he had read, when a knight errant
had given his squire fixed wages. How could he possibly establish a
precedent now? And so it became his sad and solemn duty to refuse his
squire's miserly request, and inform him that his services were no
longer wanted. Not only that, but our valiant hero was cruel enough to
remark that there would be any number of people who would be only too
eager to serve him; and, what was more, he was convinced that no one
could be less careful and diligent, or more thick-headed and talkative
than Sancho.
Poor Sancho stood thunderstruck. He had expected his master would
address him in a much more gracious manner; and had taken for granted
that his own person was indispensable to his master. As he stood there
gaping in amazement, the bachelor, Samson, suddenly entered, followed
by the niece and the housekeeper. Samson threw himself on his knees
before the knight, passionately declaiming:
"O flower of knight-errantry! O shining light of arms! O honor and
mirror of the Spanish nation! May God Almighty grant that any person
or persons who would impede or hinder thy third sally, may find no way
out of the labyrinth of their schemes, nor ever accomplish what they
most desire!"
Then he rose and turned to the housekeeper, who was distressed and
astonished beyond words, telling her it was no use gainsaying her
master; that he had made up his mind, and no Santa Appolonia or any
other prayer would cause him to change it. Whereupon he addressed Don
Quixote again in the same lofty way, and slyly asked him whether he
would deign to accept him as his squire or as his meanest servant.
Sancho's eyes nearly bulged out of his head at this, and filled with
tears. Fearing that he might lose both his master and his island, he
embraced Don Quixote's knees and kissed his hand, begging Don Quixote
not to give him up. Then he began to plead with him to leave the
village at once. Don Quixote, having taken the squire into his fold
again, embraced him, and then conferred with the bachelor and decided
that they would set out three days hence. Samson promised to obtain a
helmet for Don Quixote before the departure.
In the meantime the bachelor had daily conferences with the curate and
the barber. The niece and the housekeeper were cursing the evil and
learned bachelor of Salamanca, and hardly slept at night for fear
that Don Quixote would steal away in the darkness.
Finally the night of the third day arrived, and Don Quixote and
Sancho, accompanied by Samson, quietly and secretly stole out of the
village, in the direction of El Toboso. When they had ridden half a
league, Samson wished the knight errant godspeed, embraced him
tenderly, begged him to let him hear of his good fortune, and then he
returned to the village.