_Of some things which he that reads shall know, if he reads them with
attention._
When the valiant man flies, he must have discovered some foul play,
and it is the part of prudent persons to reserve themselves for more
favourable opportunities. This truth is verified in Don Quixote; who,
rather than expose himself to the fury of an incensed and
ill-designing multitude, prudently took himself out of their reach.
Sancho came after him, as already narrated, laid across his ass, and
having recovered his senses, overtook him at last, and let himself
drop from his pack-saddle at Rozinante's feet, all battered and
bruised, and in a sorrowful condition. Don Quixote presently
dismounted to search his wounds, and finding no bones broken, but his
skin whole from head to feet, "You must bray," cried he angrily; "you
must bray, must you! It is a piece of excellent discretion to talk of
halters in the house of a man whose father was hanged. What
counter-part could you expect to your music, blockhead, but a
thorough-bass of bastinadoes? Thank Providence, sirrah, that as they
gave you a dry benediction with a quarter-staff, they did not cross
you with a cutlass." "I havn't breath to answer you at present," quoth
Sancho, "but my back and shoulders speak enough for me. Pray let us
make the best of our way from this cursed place, and whene'er I bray
again, may I be as well punished for it. Yet I cannot help saying,
that your knights-errant can betake themselves to their heels, and yet
leave their trusty squires to be beaten like stock-fish in the midst
of their enemies." "A retreat is not to be accounted a flight,"
replied Don Quixote; "for know, Sancho, that courage which has not
wisdom for its guide falls under the name of temerity; and the rash
man's successful actions are rather owing to his good fortune than to
his bravery. I own I did retire, but I deny that I fled; and in such a
retreat I did but imitate many valiant men, who, not to hazard their
persons indiscreetly, reserved themselves for a more fortunate hour.
Histories are full of examples of this nature, which I do not care to
relate at present, because they would be more tedious to me than
profitable to thee."
By this time Don Quixote had helped Sancho to bestride his ass; and
being himself mounted on Rozinante, they paced softly along, and got
into a grove of poplar-trees, about a quarter of a league from the
place where they mounted. Yet as softly as they rode, Sancho could not
help now and then heaving up deep sighs and lamentable groans. Don
Quixote asked him why he made such a heavy moan? Sancho told him, that
from his neck to his back-bone he felt such grievous pains that he was
ready to sink. "Without doubt," said Don Quixote, "that is by reason
that the staff by which thou wert struck was broad and long; and so,
having fallen on those parts of thy back, caused a contusion there,
and affects them all with pain; and had it been of a greater
magnitude, thy grievances had been so much the greater."
"Truly," quoth Sancho, "you have cleared that in very pithy words, of
which nobody made any doubt. Was the cause of my ailing so hard to be
guessed, that you must tell me that so much of me was sore as was hit
by the weapon? But I find you are like all the world, that lay to
heart nobody's harms but their own. I find whereabouts we are, and
what I am like to get by you; for even as you left me now in the
lurch, to be belaboured, and the other day to dance the caper-galliard
in the blanket you wot of, so I must expect a hundred and a hundred
more of these good things in your service; and as the mischief has now
lighted on my shoulders, next time it may fly at my eyes. Would it not
be better for me to trudge home to my wife and children, and look
after my house, with that little wit that Heaven has given me, without
galloping after your tail, high and low, through crossroads and
by-ways, eating ill, and drinking worse? Then, after a man has tired
himself off his legs, when he would be glad of a good bed, to have a
master cry, 'Here, are you sleepy? lie down, Mr. Squire, your bed is
made: take six feet of good hard ground, and measure your body there;
and if that won't serve you, take as much more, and welcome.'"
"I durst lay a wager," said Don Quixote, interrupting him, "that now
thou art suffered to prate without interruption, thou feelest no
manner of pain in thy whole body. Prithee talk on, my child; say
anything that comes uppermost to thy mouth, or is burdensome to thy
brain; so it but alleviates thy pain, thy impertinences will rather
please than offend me; and if thou hast such a longing desire to be
at home with thy wife and children, Heaven forbid I should be against
it. Thou hast money of mine in thy hands: see how long it is since we
sallied out last from home, and cast up thy wages by the month, and
pay thyself."
"An' it like your worship," quoth Sancho, "when I served my master
Carrasco, father to the bachelor, your worship's acquaintance, I had
two ducats a-month, besides my victuals: I don't know what you'll give
me; though I am sure there is more trouble in being squire to a
knight-errant than in being servant to a farmer; for truly, we that go
to plough and cart in a farmer's service, though we moil and sweat so
a-days as not to have a dry thread to our backs, let the worst come to
the worst, are sure of a supper from the pot, and to sleep soundly in
a bed. But I don't know when I have had a good meal's meat, or a good
night's rest, in all your service, unless it were that short time when
we were at Don Diego's house, and when I made a feast on the savoury
skimming of Camacho's cauldron, and eat, drank, and slept at Mr.
Basil's."
"I grant all this, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "then how much more dost
thou expect from me than thou hadst from thy master Carrasco?" "Why,
truly," quoth Sancho, "if your worship will pay me twelvepence a-month
more than Thomas Carrasco gave me, I shall think it very fair, and
tolerable wages; but then, instead of the island which, you know, you
promised me, I think you cannot in conscience give me less than
six-and-thirty pence a-month more, which will make in all thirty
reals, neither more nor less." "Very well," said Don Quixote, "let us
see then; it is now twenty-five days since we set out from
home--reckon what this comes to, according to the wages thou hast
allowed thyself, and be thy own paymaster." "Ah, but," quoth Sancho,
"we are quite out in our account; for as to the governor of an
island's place, which you promised to help me to, we ought to reckon
from the time you made the promise to this very day." "Well, and pray
how long is it?" asked Don Quixote. "If I remember rightly," quoth
Sancho, "it is about some twenty years ago, two or three days more or
less."
With that Don Quixote fell a-laughing heartily. "Why," cried he, "all
my sallies, including the time I spent in the Sierra Morena, have
hardly taken up two months; and hast thou the impudence to affirm it
is twenty years since I promised the grant of the island? I am now
convinced thou hast a mind to make all the money which thou hast of
mine in thy keeping go for the payment of thy wages. If this be thy
meaning, well and good; e'en take it, and much good may it do thee;
for rather than be troubled any longer with such a varlet, I would
contentedly see myself without a penny. Away, then, pack off with thy
ass this moment, and get thee home; for thou shalt never stay in my
service any longer. Oh, how much bread, how many promises, have I now
ill bestowed on thee! Vile grovelling wretch, thou hast more of the
beast than of the man! when I was just going to prefer thee to such a
post, that in spite of thy wife thou hadst been called my lord, thou
sneakest away from me. Well mightest thou say, indeed, that honey is
not for the mouth of an ass. Thou art indeed a very ass; an ass thou
wilt live, and an ass thou wilt die; for I dare say, thou wilt never
have sense enough while thou livest to know thou art a brute."
While Don Quixote thus upbraided and railed at Sancho, the poor
fellow, all dismayed, and touched to the quick, beheld him with a
wistful look; and the tears standing in his eyes for grief, "Good
sir," cried he, with a doleful voice, "I confess I want nothing but a
tail to be a perfect ass; if your worship will be pleased but to put
on one, I shall deem it well set on, and be your most faithful ass all
the days of my life: but forgive me, I beseech you, and take pity on
my youth. Consider I have but a dull head-piece of my own; and if
tongue runs at random sometimes, it is because I am more fool than
knave, sir:
'He who errs and mends,
To heaven himself commends.'
"I should wonder much," said Don Quixote, "if thou shouldst not
interlard thy discourse with some pretty proverb. Well, I will pardon
thee this once, provided thou correct those imperfections, and shewest
thyself of a less craving temper. Take heart, then, and let the hopes
which thou mayest entertain of the performance of my promise raise in
thee a nobler spirit."
Matters being thus amicably adjusted, they put into the grove, where
the Don laid himself at the foot of an elm, and his squire at the foot
of a beech; for every one of those trees, and such others, has always
a foot, though never a hand. Sancho had but an ill night's rest of it,
for his bruises made his bones more than ordinarily sensible of the
cold. As for Don Quixote, he entertained himself with his usual
imaginations. However, they both slept, and by break of day were ready
to continue their journey.