of the Holy Brotherhood of Toledo, whose duty it was to travel the
roads and inquire into cases of highway robbery. He hearing some time
later that a man was lying in the house sorely wounded must needs go
and make an examination of the matter. He therefore lighted his lamp
and made his way to Don Quixote's garret.
As soon as Sancho Panza saw him enter arrayed in a shirt and a
nightcap with the lamp in his hand, which showed him to be a very ugly
man, he asked his master: "Will this by chance be some wizard Moor
come to torment us?"
"A wizard it cannot be," said Don Quixote, "for those under
enchantment never let themselves be seen."
The officer could make nothing of their talk, and came up to Don
Quixote, who lay face upwards encased in his plasters. "Well," said
the officer roughly, "how goes it, my good fellow?"
"I would speak more politely if I were you," answered Don Quixote. "Is
it the custom in this country, lout, to speak in that way to a
knight-errant?"
The officer, finding himself thus rudely addressed, could not endure
it, and, lifting up the lamp, oil and all, gave Don Quixote such a
blow on the head with it that he broke his lamp in one or two places,
and, leaving all in darkness, left the room.
"Ah!" groaned Sancho, "this is indeed the wizard Moor, and he must be
keeping his treasures for others, and for us nothing but blows."
"It is ever so," replied Don Quixote; "and we must take no notice of
these things of enchantment, nor must we be angry or vexed with them,
for since they are invisible, there is no one on whom to take
vengeance. Rise, Sancho, if thou canst, and call the constable of this
fortress, and try to get him to give me a little wine, oil, salt, and
rosemary to prepare the health-giving balsam, of which I have grievous
need, for there comes much blood from the wound which the phantom hath
given me."
Sancho arose, not without aching bones, and crept in the dark to where
the innkeeper was, and said to him: "My lord constable, do us the
favour and courtesy to give me a little rosemary, oil, wine, and salt
to cure one of the best knights-errant in the world, who lies yonder
in bed sorely wounded at the hands of a Moorish enchanter." When the
innkeeper heard this he took Sancho Panza for a man out of his wits,
but nevertheless gave him what he wanted, and Sancho carried it to Don
Quixote. His master was lying with his hands to his head, groaning
with pain from the blows of the lamp, which, however, had only raised
two big lumps; what he thought was blood being only the perspiration
running down his face.
He now took the things Sancho had brought, of which he made a
compound, mixing them together and boiling them a good while until
they came to perfection.
Then he asked for a bottle into which to pour this precious liquor,
but as there was not one to be had in the inn, he decided to pour it
into a tin oil-vessel which the innkeeper had given him.
This being done, he at once made an experiment on himself of the
virtue of this precious balsam, as he imagined it to be, and drank off
a whole quart of what was left in the boiling-pot.
The only result of this was that it made him very sick indeed, as well
it might, and, what with the sickness and the bruising and the
weariness of body, he fell fast asleep for several hours, and at the
end of his sleep awoke so refreshed and so much the better of his
bruises that he took himself to be cured and verily believed he had
hit upon the balsam of Fierabras.
Sancho Panza, to whom his master's recovery seemed little short of a
miracle, begged that he might have what was left in the boiling-pot,
which was no small quantity. Don Quixote consenting, he took the pot
in both hands, and tossed it down, swallowing very little less than
his master had done.
It happened, however, that Sancho's stomach was not so delicate as his
master's and he suffered such terrible pains and misery before he was
sick that he thought his last hour was come, and cursed the balsam and
the thief who had given it to him.
Don Quixote, seeing him in this bad way, said: "I believe, Sancho,
that all this evil befalleth thee because thou art not dubbed knight,
for I am persuaded that this balsam may not benefit any one that is
not."
"If your worship knew that," replied poor Sancho "bad luck to me and
mine, why did you let me taste it?"
Before Don Quixote could reply to this, Sancho became so terribly sick
that he could only lie groaning and moaning for two hours, at the end
of which he felt so shaken and shattered that he could scarcely stand,
and sadly wished that he had never become squire to a knight-errant.
HOW SANCHO PAID THE RECKONING AT THE INN
Retold by Judge Parry
Now whilst Sancho Panza lay groaning in his bed, Don Quixote, who, as
we have said, felt somewhat eased and cured, made up his mind to set
off in search of new adventures. And full of this desire he himself
saddled Rozinante and put the pack-saddle on his squire's beast, and
helped Sancho to dress and to mount his ass. Then getting a-horseback
he rode over to the corner of the inn and seized hold of a pike which
stood there, to make it serve him instead of a lance.
All the people that were staying at the inn, some twenty in number,
stood staring at him, and among these was the innkeeper's
daughter. Don Quixote kept turning his eyes towards her and sighing
dolefully, which every one, or at least all who had seen him the night
before, thought must be caused by the pain he was in from his bruises.
When they were both mounted and standing by the inn gate, he called to
the innkeeper and said in a grave voice: "Many and great are the
favours, sir constable, which I have received in this your castle,
arid I shall remain deeply grateful for them all the days of my
life. If I am able to repay you by avenging you on some proud
miscreant that hath done you any wrong, know that it is my office to
help the weak, to revenge the wronged, and to punish traitors. Ransack
your memory, and if you find anything of this sort for me to do, you
have but to utter it, and I promise you, by the Order of Knighthood
which I have received, to procure you satisfaction to your heart's
content,"
"Sir knight," replied the innkeeper with equal gravity, "I have no
need that your worship should avenge me any wrong, for I know how to
take what revenge I think good when an injury is done. All I want is
that your worship should pay me the score you have run up this night
in mine inn, both for the straw and barley of your two beasts, and
your suppers and your beds."
"This then is an inn?" exclaimed Don Quixote.
"Ay, that it is, and a very respectable one, too," replied the
innkeeper.
"All this time then I have been deceived," said Don Quixote, "for in
truth I thought it was a castle and no mean one. But since it is
indeed an inn and no castle, all that can be done now is to ask you to
forgive me any payment, for I cannot break the laws of knights-errant,
of whom I know for certain that they never paid for lodging or
anything else in the inns where they stayed. For the good
entertainment that is given them is their due reward for the
sufferings they endure, seeking adventures both day and night, winter
and summer, a-foot and a-horseback, in thirst and hunger, in heat and
cold, being exposed to all the storms of heaven and the hardships of
earth."
"All that is no business of mine," retorted the innkeeper. "Pay me
what you owe me, and keep your tales of knights-errant for those who
want them. My business is to earn my living."
"You are a fool and a saucy fellow," said Don Quixote angrily, and,
spurring Rozinante and brandishing his lance, he swept out of the inn
yard before any one could stop him, and rode on a good distance
without waiting to see if his squire was following.
The innkeeper, when he saw him go without paying, ran up to get his
due from Sancho Panza, who also refused to pay, and said to him: "Sir,
seeing I am squire to a knight-errant, the same rule and reason for
not paying at inns and taverns hold as good for me as for my master."
The innkeeper grew angry at these words, and threatened that if he did
not pay speedily he would get it from him in a way he would not like.
Sancho replied that by the Order of Knighthood which his lord and
master had received, he would not pay a penny though it cost him his
life.
But his bad fortune so managed it, that there happened to be at the
inn at this time four woolcombers of Segovia, and three needlemakers
of Cordova, and two neighbours from Seville, all merry fellows, very
mischievous and playsome. And as if they were all moved with one
idea, they came up to Sancho, and pulling him down off his ass, one of
them ran in for the innkeeper's blanket, and they flung him into
it. But looking up and seeing that the ceiling was somewhat lower than
they needed for their business, they determined to go out into the
yard, which had no roof but the sky, and there placing Sancho in the
middle of the blanket, they began to toss him aloft and to make sport
with him by throwing him up and down. The outcries of the miserable
be-tossed squire were so many and so loud that they reached the ears
of his master, who, standing awhile to listen what it was, believed
that some new adventure was at hand, until he clearly recognised the
shrieks to come from poor Sancho. Immediately turning his horse, he
rode back at a gallop to the inn gate, and finding it closed, rode
round the wall to see if he could find any place at which he might
enter. But he scarcely got to the wall of the inn yard, which was not
very high, when he beheld the wicked sport they were making with his
squire. He saw him go up and down with such grace and agility, that,
had his anger allowed him, I make no doubt he would have burst with
laughter. He tried to climb the wall from his horse, but he was so
bruised and broken that he could by no means alight from his saddle,
and therefore from on top of his horse he used such terrible threats
against those that were tossing Sancho that one could not set them
down in writing.
But in spite of his reproaches they did not cease from their laughter
or labour, nor did the flying Sancho stop his lamentations, mingled
now with threats and now with prayers. Thus they carried on their
merry game, until at last from sheer weariness they stopped and let
him be. And then they brought him his ass, and, helping him to mount
it, wrapped him in his coat, and the kind-hearted Maritornes, seeing
him so exhausted, gave him a pitcher of water, which, that it might be
the cooler, she fetched from the well.
Just as he was going to drink he heard his master's voice calling to
him, saying: "Son Sancho, drink not water, drink it not, my son, for
it will kill thee. Behold, here I have that most holy balsam,"--and he
showed him the can of liquor,--"two drops of which if thou drinkest
thou wilt undoubtedly be cured."
At these words Sancho shuddered, and replied to his master: "You
forget surely that I am no knight, or else you do not remember the
pains I suffered last evening. Keep your liquor to yourself, and let
me be in peace."
At the conclusion of this speech he began to drink, but finding it was
only water he would not taste it, and called for wine, which
Maritornes very kindly fetched for him, and likewise paid for it out
of her own purse.
As soon as Sancho had finished drinking, he stuck his heels into his
ass, and the inn gate being thrown wide open he rode out, highly
pleased at having paid for nothing, even at the price of a tossing.
The innkeeper, however, had kept his wallet, but Sancho was so
distracted when he departed that he never missed it.
When Sancho reached his master, he was almost too jaded and faint to
ride his beast. Don Quixote, seeing him in this plight, said to him:
"Now I am certain that yon castle or inn is without doubt enchanted,
for those who made sport with thee so cruelly, what else could they
be but phantoms, and beings of another world? And I am the more sure
of this, because when I was by the wall of the inn yard I was not able
to mount it, or to alight from Rozinante, and therefore I must have
been enchanted. For if I could have moved, I would have avenged thee
in a way to make those scoundrels remember the jest for ever, even
although to do it I should have had to disobey the rules of
knighthood."
"So would I also have avenged myself," said Sancho, "knight or no
knight, but I could not. And yet I believe that those who amused
themselves with me were no phantoms or enchanted beings, but men of
flesh and bones as we are, for one was called Pedro, and another
Tenorio, and the innkeeper called a third Juan. But what I make out of
all this, is that those adventures which we go in search of, will
bring us at last so many misadventures that we shall not know our
right foot from our left. And the best thing for us to do, in my
humble opinion, is to return us again to our village and look after
our own affairs, and not go jumping, as the saying is, 'out of the
frying-pan into the fire.'"
"How little dost thou know of knighthood, friend Sancho," replied Don
Quixote. "Peace, and have patience, for a day will come when thou
shalt see with thine own eyes how fine a thing it is to follow this
calling. What pleasure can equal that of winning a battle or
triumphing over an enemy?"
"I cannot tell," answered Sancho; "but this I know, that since we are
knights-errant, we have never won any battle, unless it was that with
the Biscayan, and even then your worship lost half an ear. And ever
after that time it has been nothing but cudgels and more cudgels,
blows and more blows,--I getting the tossing in the blanket to boot.
And all this happens to me from enchanted people on whom I cannot take
vengeance."
"That grieves me," replied Don Quixote; "but who knows what may
happen? Fortune may bring me a sword like that of Amadis, which did
not only cut like a razor, but there was no armour however strong or
enchanted which could stand before it."
"It will be like my luck," said Sancho, "that when your worship finds
such a sword it will, like the balsam, be of use only to those who are
knights, whilst poor squires will still have to sup sorrow."
"Fear not that, Sancho," replied his master; and he rode ahead, his
mind full of adventures, followed at a little distance by his unhappy
squire.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE TWO ARMIES
Retold by Judge Parry
Whilst they were riding on their way, Don Quixote saw a large, dense
cloud of dust rolling towards them, and turning to Sancho said: "This
is the day on which shall be shown the might of my arm and on which I
am to do deeds which shall be written in the books of fame. Dost thou
see the dust which arises there? Know then that it is caused by a
mighty army composed of various and numberless nations that are
marching this way." "If that be so," replied Sancho, "then must there
be two armies, for on this other side there is as great a dust."
Don Quixote turned round to behold it, and seeing that it was so, he
was marvellous glad, for he imagined that there were indeed two armies
coming to fight each other in the midst of that spacious plain. For at
every hour and moment his fancy was full of battles, enchantments, and
adventures, such as are related in the books of knighthood, and all
his thoughts and wishes were turned towards such things.
As for the clouds he had seen, they were raised by two large flocks of
sheep which were being driven along the same road from two opposite
sides, and these by reason of the dust could not be seen until they
came near.
Don Quixote was so much in earnest when he called them armies that
Sancho at once believed it, asking: "What then shall we do, good
master?"
"What!" cried Don Quixote. "Why, favour and help those who are in
distress and need. Thou must know, Sancho, that this which comes on
our front is led by the mighty Emperor Alifamfaron, lord of the great
island of Trapobana. This other which is marching at our back is the
army of his foe, the King of the Garamantes, Pentapolin of the Naked
Arm, for he always goes into battle with his right arm bare."
"But why do these two princes hate each other so much?" asked Sancho.
"They are enemies," replied Don Quixote, "because Alifamfaron is a
furious pagan and is deeply in love with Pentapolin's daughter, who is
a beautiful and gracious princess and a Christian. Her father refuses
to give her to the pagan king until he abandons Mahomet's false
religion and becomes a convert to his own."
"By my beard," said Sancho, "Pentapolin does right well, and I will
help him all I can."
"Then thou wilt but do thy duty," said Don Quixote, "for it is not
necessary to be a dubbed knight to engage in battles such as these."
"Right!" replied Sancho, "but where shall we stow this ass that we may
be sure of finding him after the fight is over, for I think it is not
the custom to enter into battle mounted on such a beast."
"That is true," said Don Quixote; "but thou mayest safely leave it to
chance whether he be lost or found, for after this battle we shall
have so many horses that even Rozinante runs a risk of being changed
for another. And now let us withdraw to that hillock yonder that we
may get a better view of both those great armies."
They did so, and standing on the top of a hill gazed at the two great
clouds of dust which the imagination of Don Quixote had turned into
armies. And then Don Quixote, with all the eloquence he could muster,
described to Sancho the names of the different knights in the two
armies, with their colours and devices and mottoes, and the numbers of
their squadrons, and the countries and provinces from which they came.
But though Sancho stood and listened in wonder he could see nothing as
yet of knights or armies, and at last he cried out: "Where are all
these grand knights, good my master? For myself, I can see none of
them. But perhaps it is all enchantment, as so many things have been."
"How! Sayest them so?" said Don Quixote. "Dost thou not hear the
horses neigh and the trumpets sound and the noise of the drums?"
"I hear nothing else," said Sancho, "but the great bleating of sheep."
And so it was, indeed, for by this time the two flocks were
approaching very near to them.
"The fear thou art in," said Don Quixote, "permits thee neither to see
nor hear aright, for one of the effects of fear is to disturb the
senses and make things seem different from what they are. If thou art
afraid, stand to one side and leave me to myself, for I alone can give
the victory to the side which I assist."
So saying he clapped spurs to Rozinante, and, setting his lance in
rest, rode down the hillside like a thunderbolt.
Sancho shouted after him as loud as he could: "Return, good Sir Don
Quixote! Return! For verily all those you go to charge are but sheep
and muttons. Return, I say! Alas that ever I was born! What madness is
this? Look, there are neither knights, nor arms, nor shields, nor
soldiers, nor emperors, but only sheep. What is it you do, Wretch that
I am?"
For all this Don Quixote did not turn back, but rode on, shouting in a
loud voice: "So ho! knights! Ye that serve and fight under the banner
of Pentapolin of the Naked Arm, follow me, all of you. Ye shall see
how easily I will revenge him on his enemy Alifamfaron of Trapobana!"
With these words he dashed into the midst of the flock of sheep, and
began to spear them with as much courage and fury as if he were
fighting his mortal enemies.
The shepherds that came with the flock cried to him to leave off, but
seeing their words had no effect, they unloosed their slings and began
to salute his head with stones as big as one's fist.
But Don Quixote made no account of their stones, and galloping to and
fro everywhere cried out: "Where art thou, proud Alifamfaron? Where
art thou? Come to me, for I am but one knight alone, who desires to
prove my strength with thee, man to man, and make thee yield thy life
for the wrong thou hast done to the valorous Pentapolin."
At that instant a stone gave him such a blow that it buried two of his
ribs in his body. Finding himself so ill-treated he thought for
certain that he was killed or sorely wounded, and recollecting his
balsam, he drew out his oil pot and set it to his mouth to drink. But
before he could take as much as he wanted, another stone struck him
full on the hand, broke the oil pot into pieces, and carried away with
it three or four teeth out of his mouth, and sorely crushed two
fingers of his hand. So badly was he wounded by these two blows that
he now fell off his horse on to the ground.
The shepherds ran up, and believing that they had killed him, they
collected their flocks in great haste, and carrying away their dead
muttons, of which there were seven, they went away without caring to
inquire into things any further.
Sancho was all this time standing on the hill looking at the mad
pranks his master was performing, and tearing his beard and cursing
the hour when they had first met. Seeing, however, that he was fallen
on the ground, and the shepherds had gone away, he came down the hill
and went up to his master, and found him in a very bad way, although
not quite insensible.
"Did I not tell you, Sir Don Quixote," said Sancho mournfully, "did I
not tell you to come back, for those you went to attack were not
armies but sheep?"
"That thief of an enchanter, my enemy, can alter things and make men
vanish away as he pleases. Know, Sancho, that it is very easy for
those kind of men to make us seem what they please, and this malicious
being who persecutes me, envious of the glory that I was to reap from
this battle, hath changed the squadrons of the foe into flocks of
sheep. If thou dost not believe me, Sancho, get on thine ass and
follow them fair and softly, and thou shalt see that when they have
gone a little way off they will return to their original shapes, and,
ceasing to be sheep, become men as right and straight as I painted
them to you at first."
At this moment the balsam that Don Quixote had swallowed began to make
him very sick, and Sancho Panza ran off to search in his wallet for
something that might cure him. But when he found that his wallet was
not upon his ass, and remembered for the first time that it was left
at the inn, he was on the point of losing his wits. He cursed himself
anew, and resolved in his heart to leave his master and return to his
house, even though he should lose his wages and the government of the
promised island.
Don Quixote had now risen, and with his left hand to his mouth that
the rest of his teeth might not fall out, with the other he took
Rozinante by the bridle, and went up to where his squire stood leaning
against his ass with his head in his hand, looking the picture of
misery.
Don Quixote, seeing him look so miserable, said to him: "Learn,
Sancho, not to be so easily downcast, for these storms that befall us
are signs that the weather will soon be fair. Therefore thou shouldst
not vex thyself about my misfortunes, for sure thou dost not share in
them."
"How not?" replied Sancho; "mayhap he they tossed in a blanket
yesterday was not my father's son? And the wallet which is missing
to-day with all my chattels, is not that my misfortune?"
"What, is the wallet missing, Sancho?" said Don Quixote,
"Yes, it is missing," answered Sancho.
"In that case we have nothing to eat to-day," said Don Quixote.
"It would be so," said Sancho, "should the herbs of the field fail us,
which your worship says you know of, and with which you have told me
knights-errant must supply their wants."
"Nevertheless," answered Don Quixote, "I would rather just now have a
hunch of bread, or a cottage loaf and a couple of pilchards' heads,
than all the herbs that Dioscorides has described. But before thou
mountest thine ass, lend me here thy hand and see how many teeth are
lacking on this right side of my upper jaw, for there I feel the
pain."
Sancho put his fingers in, and, feeling about, asked: "How many teeth
did your worship have before, on this side?"
"Four," replied Don Quixote, "besides the wisdom tooth, all whole and
sound."
"Mind well what you say, sir," answered Sancho.
"Four, say I, if not five," said Don Quixote, "for in all my life I
never had tooth drawn from my mouth, nor has any fallen out or been
destroyed by decay."
"Well, then, in this lower part," said Sancho, "your worship has but
two teeth and a half, and in the upper, neither a half nor any, for
all is as smooth as the palm of my hand."