_Of the memorable quarrel between Sancho Panza and Don Quixote's Niece
and Housekeeper; with other pleasant passages._
The occasion of the noise which the niece and housekeeper made, was
Sancho Panza's endeavouring to force his way into the house, while
they at the same time held the door against him to keep him out. "What
have you to do in this house?" cried one of them. "Go, keep to your
own home, friend. It is all of you, and nobody else, that my poor
master is distracted, and carried a rambling all the country over."
"Distracted!" replied Sancho; "it is I that am distracted, and carried
a rambling, and not your master. It was he led me the jaunt; so you
are wide of the matter. It was he that inveigled me from my house and
home with his colloguing, and saying he would give me an island,
which is not come yet, and I still wait for." "May'st thou be choked
with thy plaguy islands," cried the niece; "what are your islands? any
thing to eat, good-man greedy-gut, ha?" "Hold you there," answered
Sancho; "they are not to eat, but to govern; and better governments
than any four cities, or as many heads of the king's best
corporations." "For all that," quoth the housekeeper, "thou comest not
within these doors, thou bundle of wickedness and sackful of roguery!
Go, govern your own house; work, you lazy rogue. To the plough, and
never trouble your jolter-head about islands or oylets."
The curate and barber were highly diverted in hearing this dialogue.
But Don Quixote, fearing lest Sancho should not keep within bounds,
but blunder out some discoveries prejudicial to his reputation, while
he ripped up a pack of little foolish slander, called him in, and
enjoined the women to be silent. Sancho entered; and the curate and
the barber took leave of Don Quixote, despairing of his cure. "Well,"
said the curate to the barber, "now I expect nothing better of our
gentleman than to hear shortly that he is gone upon another ramble."
"Nor I," answered the barber; "but I do not wonder so much at the
knight's madness as at the silliness of the squire, who thinks himself
so sure of the island, that I fancy all the art of man can never beat
it out of his skull." "However," said the curate, "let us observe
them; we shall find what will be the event of the extravagance of the
knight and the foolishness of the squire. One would think they had
been cast in one mould; and indeed the master's madness without the
man's impertinence were not worth a rush." "Right," said the barber;
"and now they are together, methinks I long to know what passes
between them. I do not doubt but the two women will be able to give an
account of that, for they are not of a temper to withstand the
temptation of listening."
Meanwhile Don Quixote having locked himself up with his squire, they
had the following colloquy: "I take it very ill," said he, "Sancho,
that you should report as you do, that I enticed you out of your
paltry hut, when you know that I myself left my own mansion-house. We
set out together, continued together, and travelled together. We ran
the same fortune and the same hazards together. If thou hast been
tossed in a blanket once, I have been battered and bruised a hundred
times; and that is all the advantage I have had above thee." "And
reason good," answered Sancho; "for you yourself use to say, that
ill-luck and cross-bitings are oftener to light on the knights than on
the squires." "Thou art mistaken, Sancho," replied Don Quixote; "for
the proverb will tell thee, that _Quando caput dolet_, &c." "Nay,"
quoth Sancho, "I understand no language but my own." "I mean," said
Don Quixote, "that when the head aches, all the members partake of the
pain. So, then, as I am thy master, I am also thy head; and as thou
art my servant, thou art one of my members; it follows, therefore,
that I cannot be sensible of pain, but thou too oughtest to be
affected with it; and likewise, that nothing of ill can befal thee,
but I must bear a share." "Right," quoth Sancho; "but when I, as a
limb of you, was tossed in a blanket, my head was pleased to stay at
the other side of the wall, and saw me frisking in the air, without
going shares in my bodily trouble." "Thou art greatly mistaken,
Sancho," answered Don Quixote, "if thou thinkest I was not sensible of
thy sufferings. For I was then more tortured in mind than thou wast
tormented in body. But let us adjourn this discourse till some other
time, which doubtless will afford us an opportunity to redress past
grievances. I pray thee tell me now what does the town say of me? What
do the neighbours, what do the people think of me? How do the knights
discourse of my high feats of arms, and my courteous behaviour? What
thoughts do they entertain of my design to raise from the grave of
oblivion the order of knight-errantry? In short, tell me freely and
sincerely what thou hast heard; neither enlarged with flattering
commendations, nor lessened by any omission of my dispraise; for it is
the duty of faithful servants to lay truth before their masters in its
honest nakedness. And I would have thee know, Sancho, that if it were
to appear before princes in its native simplicity, and disrobed of the
odious disguise of flattery, we should see happier days; this age
would be changed into an age of gold, and former times compared to
this would be called the iron age. Remember this, and be advised, that
I may hear thee impart a faithful account of these matters."
"Why then," quoth Sancho, "first you are to know that the common
people take you for a madman, and me for one that is no less a fool.
The gentry say, that not being content to keep within the bounds of
gentility, you have taken upon you to be a Don, and set up for a
knight, and a right worshipful, with a small vineyard and two acres of
land. The knights, forsooth, say they do not like to have your small
gentry think themselves as good as they, especially your old-fashioned
country squires that mend and lamp-black their own shoes, and mend
their old black stockings themselves with a needleful of green silk."
"All this does not affect me," said Don Quixote, "for I always wear
good clothes, and never have them patched. It is true they may be a
little torn sometimes, but that is more with my armour than my long
wearing." "As for what relates to your prowess," said Sancho, "there
are several opinions about it. Some say he is mad, but a pleasant sort
of a madman; others say he is valiant, but his luck is nought; others
say he is courteous, but very impertinent. And thus they pass so many
verdicts upon you, and take us both so to pieces, that they leave
neither you nor me a sound bone in our skins." "Consider, Sancho,"
said Don Quixote, "that the more eminently virtue shines, the more it
is exposed to persecution. Few or none of the famous heroes of
antiquity could escape the venomous arrows of calumny. And therefore,
Sancho, well may I be content to bear my share of that calamity, if it
be no more than thou hast told me now." "Ah!" quoth Sancho, "there is
the business; you say well, if this were all; but they don't stop
here." "Why," said Don Quixote, "what can they say more?" "More!"
cried Sancho. "Why you have had nothing yet but apple-pies and
sugar-plums. Sir Bartholomew Carrasco's son came home last night from
his studies at Salamanca, you must know; and as I went to bid him
welcome home, he told me that your worship's history is already in
books, by the name of the most renowned Don Quixote de la Mancha. He
says I am in too, by my own name of Sancho Panza, and also my Lady
Dulcinea del Toboso; nay, and many things that passed betwixt nobody
but us two, which I was amazed to hear, and could not for my soul
imagine how he that set them down could come by the knowledge of
them." "I dare assure thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that the
author of our history must be some sage enchanter, and one of those
from whose universal knowledge none of the things which they have a
mind to record can be concealed." "How should he be a sage and an
enchanter?" quoth Sancho. "The bachelor Samson Carrasco tells me, he
that wrote the history is called Cid Hamet Berengenas." "That is a
Moorish name," said Don Quixote. "Like enough," quoth Sancho; "your
Moors are great lovers of Berengenas."[10] "Certainly, Sancho," said
Don Quixote, "thou art mistaken in the sirname of that Cid, that lord,
I mean; for Cid in Arabic signifies lord." "That may very well be,"
answered Sancho: "but if you will have me fetch you the young
scholard, I will fly to bring him hither." "Truly, friend," said Don
Quixote, "thou wilt do me a particular kindness; for what thou hast
already told me has so filled me with doubts and expectations, that I
shall not eat a bit that will do me good till I am informed of the
whole matter." "I will go and fetch him," said Sancho. With that,
leaving his master, he went to look for the bachelor; and having
brought him along with him a while after, they all had a very pleasant
dialogue.
[10] A sort of fruit in Spain, brought over by the Moors. Sancho meant
Benengeli.