Chap. XIV Treating of That Which Will Be Seen by Him Who Reads, and Known by Him Who Hears It Read
Don Quixote, in leaving Barcelona, turned about to survey the fatal spot in which he had fallen, and thus exclaimed: ‘Here Troy once stood! here, by misfortune, not by cowardice, was I despoiled of all the glory I had acquired! Here did I feel the vicissitudes of fortune! here all my atchievements were eclipsed! and, finally, here fell my fortune, never more to rise!’ Sancho hearing this effusion, ‘Signior,’ said he, ‘it is the part of a valiant man to bear with patience his sufferings and adversity, as well as to enjoy his prosperity with good humour. I judge from my own feeling; for, if I was merry when a governor, I am not melancholy now that I am a poor squire travelling a-foot; and I have often heard, that she we call Fortune is a drunken, fickle female, and so blind withal, that she sees not what she does, and knows not whom she is abusing, or whom exalting.’—‘Sancho,’ answered the knight, ‘thou art very philosophical, and hast spoke with great discretion, which I know not where thou hast learned; I can tell thee, however, there is no such thing as fortune in the whole world; nor do those things which happen, whether good or evil, proceed from chance, but solely from the particular providence of Heaven; and hence comes the usual saying, That every man is the maker of his own fortune. I at least have been the maker of mine, though not with sufficient prudence, and therefore my presumptuous hopes miscarried. I ought to have considered that Rozinante’s weakness could not resist the weight and magnitude of my adversary’s horse; in a word, I tried my fortune, did what I could, found myself vanquished and overthrown, and though I lost mine honour, I neither did nor can forfeit my integrity, and the merit of fulfilling my promise; while I was a knight-errant valiant and intrepid, my hand and my performance gave credit to my exploits; and now that I am no more than a pedestrian squire, my word shall be confirmed by the accomplishment of my promise. Make haste, then, friend Sancho, let us return to our own country, and pass the year of our probation, and during that term of confinement acquire fresh vigour and virtue, to resume the never by me forgotten exercise of arms.’—‘Signior,’ answered the squire, ‘the pastime of trudging a-foot is not quite so pleasant, as to move and instigate me to travel a great pace; let us leave these arms of yours, hanging like a malefactor on some tree; and then I, occupying the back of Dapple, with my feet no longer in the mire, we may travel just as your worship shall desire or demand; but, to think that I can make long marches a-foot, is a vain supposition.’—‘Thou art in the right, Sancho,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘let my arms be suspended in form of a trophy; and beneath, or around them, we will engrave upon the tree, an inscription like that which appeared under the armour of Orlando—
‘“Let him alone these arms displace,
Who dares Orlando’s fury face.”’
‘A most excellent device!’ cried the squire; ‘and if it were not that we should feel the want of him in our journey, it would not be amiss to hang up Rozinante at the same time.’—‘Nevertheless,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘neither Rozinante nor my arms will I suffer to be hung up; for it shall never be said of me, that a good service met with a bad remuneration.’—‘Your worship talks very much to the purpose,’ said Sancho; ‘for according to the opinion of wise men, The pannel ought not to suffer for the fault of the ass; and since your worship alone was to blame for the bad success of the last adventure, you ought to punish yourself only, and not vent your indignation upon your bloody and already rusted arms, or upon the meekness of Rozinante, or, lastly, upon the tenderness of my feet, in desiring them to walk at a pace which they cannot maintain.’
In this conversation, and other such discourse, they passed that whole day and the next four, without meeting with any incident that could interrupt their journey: on the fifth, which was a holiday, they entered a village where they saw a number of people making merry at the gate of an inn; and when Don Quixote approached, a countryman exclaimed, ‘One of these gentlemen travellers, who are unacquainted with the parties, shall decide our wager.’ The knight assuring them he would give his opinion freely and honestly, as soon as he should be informed of the matter, the peasant replied, ‘Worthy Signior, this here is the case: One of our townsmen, who is so fat and bulky that he weighs little less than three hundred weight, has challenged one of his neighbours, a thin creature, not half so heavy, to run with him one hundred yards with equal weight. The match was accordingly made; but when the challenger was asked how the weight of both should be made equal, he insisted on the other’s carrying the difference in bars of iron, by which means, Limberham would be upon a footing with Loggerhead.’—‘By no means,’ cried Sancho, interposing before his master could answer one word, ‘to me, who have been lately a governor and a judge, as all the world knows, it belongs to resolve these doubts, and give my opinion in every dispute.’—‘Speak, then, in happy time, friend Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘for my judgment is so confounded and disturbed, that I am hardly fit to throw crumbs to a cat.’ With this permission, Sancho addressing himself to the peasants, who had assembled around him, and waited his decision with open mouths, ‘Brothers,’ said he, ‘the demand of Loggerhead will not hold water, and is indeed without the least shadow of justice; for if what all the world says be true, namely, that the challenged party has the choice of the weapons, it is not reasonable that the said Loggerhead should pretend to chuse such arms as will encumber his adversary, and secure the victory to himself; it is therefore my opinion, that Loggerhead, the challenger, shall scrape, shave, pare, polish, slice, and take away, one hundred and fifty pounds weight of his own individual flesh from different parts of his body, according to his own fancy and convenience; so that, leaving the other moiety, which will be sufficient to counterbalance his antagonist, the parties may run with equal advantage.’—‘’Fore God!’ cried one of the countrymen, hearing this wise decision, ‘the gentleman has spoken like a saint, and given sentence like a canon; but, sure I am, Loggerhead will not part with an ounce, much less one hundred and fifty pounds of his flesh.’—‘The best part of the joke,’ replied another peasant, ’is, that the match cannot be run; for Limberham will not touch a bar of iron, and Loggerhead will not pare himself; let us therefore spend the half of the money in treating these gentlemen at the tavern with some of the best wine; and, when it rains, let the shower fall upon my cloak.’—‘Gentlemen,’ said Don Quixote, ‘I thank you for your invitation, but I really cannot tarry a moment; for melancholy thoughts and unlucky adventures oblige me to appear uncivil on this occasion, and to travel faster than the ordinary pace.’ So saying, he clapped spurs to Rozinante, and set on; leaving them astonished in consequence of having seen and observed the strange figure of the master, and the sagacity of the servant, for such they supposed Sancho to be. One of them could not help saying, ‘If the servant is so wise, what must the master be? I’ll lay a wager if they go to study at Salamanca, they will in a trice be created alcaldes of the court; for it is nothing but children’s play, studying and poring, and having interest and good luck: and when a man thinks least about the matter, he finds himself with a white rod in his hand, or a mitre upon his head.’
That night our adventurer and his squire passed in the middle of an open field, under the spacious cope of heaven; and next day, proceeding on their journey, they saw coming towards them a man on foot, with a javelin or half-pike in his hand, and a wallet on his back; circumstances from which they judged he was a post or courier. As he advanced he quickened his pace, and running to Don Quixote, embraced his right thigh, for he could reach no higher, exclaiming, with marks of extraordinary satisfaction, ‘O my good Signior Don Quixote! how will the heart of my lord duke be rejoiced when he knows your worship is returning to his castle, where he still continues with my lady duchess!’—‘Friend,’ said the knight, ‘I do not recollect your features, nor do I know who you are, unless you will be pleased to tell me.’—‘Signior Don Quixote,’ replied the courier, ‘I am my lord duke’s lacquey Tosilos, who refused to fight with your worship concerning the marriage of the duenna’s daughter.’—‘God in heaven protect me!’ cried the knight, ’is it possible that you are he whom my enemies the enchanters transformed into that same lacquey you mention, to deprive me of the glory of that combat?’—‘No more of that, worthy Signior,’ replied the post; ‘there was no inchantment in the case, nor any sort of transformation; I was as much the lacquey Tosilos when I entered the lists, as when I left them. I thought the girl handsome, and therefore would have married her without fighting, but the event did not answer my expectation. Your worship was no sooner gone from the castle, than my lord duke ordered me to be severely bastinadoed, for having contradicted the instructions he had given me before I entered the lists; and this is the upshot of the whole affair: the girl is by this time a nun, Donna Rodriguez is gone back to Castile, and I am now bound for Barcelona with a packet of letters from his grace to the viceroy. If your worship is inclined to take a small draught of good wine, though not very cool, I have here a calabash full of the best, and some slices of Tronchon cheese, which will serve as provocatives and rouzers of thirst, if perchance it should be asleep.’—‘Your invitation is accepted,’ cried Sancho; ‘truce with your compliments and skink away, honest Tosilos, maugre and in despite of all the inchanters of the Indies.’—‘Verily, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote, ‘thou art the most insatiate glutton in the universe, and the most ignorant animal upon earth: but, as thou art not persuaded that this courier is inchanted, and no other than a counterfeit Tosilos, thou mayst tarry along with him and fill thy belly, and I will jog on at a slow pace until thou shalt overtake me.’ The lacquey smiled at his infatuation, unsheathed his calabash, unwalletted his cheese, and producing a small loaf, he and Sancho sat down upon the grass, where in peace and harmony they dispatched and discussed the contents of the wallet with great perseverance and good-will, and even licked the packet, because it smelled of cheese. During the repast, Tosilos said to the squire, ‘Doubtless, friend Sancho, thy master is bankrupt in common-sense.’—‘How, bankrupt!’ answered Panza; ‘he owes no man a farthing, but pays like a prince, especially where madness is the current coin; I see the matter plain enough, and tell him my opinion freely: but to what purpose? Now, indeed, he is going home in despair, for having been vanquished by the Knight of the White Moon.’ Tosilos earnestly begged he would recount that adventure; but Sancho declined the talk, observing, that it would be unmannerly to let his master wait for him; though at their next meeting he should have more leisure. He accordingly started up, and shaking the crumbs from his garment and beard, bade adieu to Tosilos; then driving Dapple before him, soon came up with his master, whom he found waiting for him under the shade of a tree.