Chap. XIX Of What Happened to Don Quixote and His Squire, in Their Journey to Their Own Village
The perplexed and vanquished Don Quixote travelled along, extremely chagrined on one account, though greatly rejoiced on another: his melancholy was occasioned by his overthrow, and his joy produced from the consideration of that virtue inherent in his squire, which he had seen demonstrated in the resurrection of Altisidora, though he had some scruples in persuading himself that the enamoured damsel was actually dead. As for Sancho, he felt no sort of pleasure; but, on the contrary, was much mortified to find that Altisidora had failed in performing her promise touching the present of the shifts; and his imagination dwelling upon this circumstance, he said to his master—‘Truly, Signior, I must certainly be the most unfortunate physician that ever lived upon the earth, in which there are many leeches, who, though they kill their patients, insist upon being paid for their trouble, which, by the bye, is no more than writing and signing a list of medicines upon a scrap of paper; for the apothecary makes up the prescription, and so the farce is acted; whereas, I receive not a doit, though I cure other people’s maladies at the expence of pinches, twitches, pin-pricks, lashes, and drops of blood; but, I vow to God! if any other patient is put into my hands, they shall be well anointed before I undertake the cure; for, The abbot chants but to supply his wants: and I cannot believe that Heaven hath bestowed such virtue upon me, in order that I should throw it away upon the undeserving.’—‘Thou art in the right, friend Sancho,’ replied Don Quixote; ’and Altisidora is much to blame in having witheld the promised shifts, although thy virtue is gratis data, without having put thee to the trouble of studying aught but the art of enduring personal torture; for my own part, I can say, that if thou hadst demanded payment for the disinchanting stripes, I should have allowed it to thy own satisfaction; though I know not how such hire might interfere with the cure; and I should not wish that the premium might impede the effect of the medicine: nevertheless, I do not think the experiment could be attended with any bad consequence. Consider, Sancho, what thou wouldst have; then proceed to the flagellation, and pay thyself fairly out of my money which is in thy own hands.’
At this proposal, the squire opened his eyes and ears a full span, and resolving in his heart to scourge himself with good will, answered in these words—‘Aye, now, Signior, I find myself extremely well disposed to comply with your worship’s desire, since my compliance will be attended with some profit; and, I own, my regard for my poor wife and children makes me seem a little selfish.—Pray what will your worship chuse to give for every stripe?’—‘Were I to pay thee, Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘according to the greatness of thy deserts, and the quality of the cure, the bank of Venice and mines of Potosi would not afford a sufficient recompence: but, see how much of my money thou hast got, and set thy own price upon every lash.’—‘The number of stripes to be given,’ answered the squire, ‘amounts to three thousand three hundred and odd: of these I have received about five, which shall stand for the odd; so that three thousand three hundred remain. Now, if we value each lash at a quarter of a rial, and I would not bate a doit though the whole world should desire me, the sum will be three thousand three hundred quartillos; the three thousand quartillos make fifteen hundred half-rials, which are equal to seven hundred and fifty rials, and the other three hundred quartillos make one hundred and fifty half-rials, which are equal to seventy five rials, and these being added to the former seven hundred and fifty, the whole reckoning amounts to eight hundred and twenty five rials. These I will deduct from your cash that is in my hands, and then I will return to my own house, rich and satisfied, though well scourged; for, We cannot catch trouts without wetting our clouts: and I will say no more upon the subject.’—‘O blessed Sancho! O lovely Sancho!’ cried Don Quixote; ‘Dulcinea and I will be bound to serve thee all the days that Heaven shall permit us to live; provided she shall retrieve her lost-form: and, in this hope, we cannot possibly be mistaken; her misfortune will prove fortunate, and my overthrow a most happy triumph. And now, Sancho, consider when thou wilt begin this discipline; towards the speedy performance of which, I add another hundred rials.’—‘When?’ replied the squire; ‘this very night, without fail: if your worship will take care to chuse our lodging in the open field, I will take care to open my own carcase.’
At length the night arrived, after it had been impatiently expected by Don Quixote, who thought the wheels of Apollo’s car had broken down, and that the day was extended to an unusual length; like those lovers whose desires ever outstrip the career of time.
In the evening, they betook themselves to the covert of some pleasant trees at a little distance from the highway, and vacating the saddle of Rozinante, and the pannel of the ass, sat down together upon the grass, and supped upon the store contained in the wallet of Sancho; who, forming a strong and flexible scourge with Dapple’s halter, retired into a tuft of beeches about twenty paces from his master. The knight seeing him withdraw so brisk and resolute—‘Beware, friend Sancho,’ said he, ‘of scourging thyself to pieces; perform thy discipline at leisure; let the stripes follow one another in regular succession, and do not run so fast as to be out of breath in the middle of thy career; I mean, do not lash thyself so severely, as to destroy thy own life before the number be compleated; and, that thou mayest not lose it by a card too many, or too few, I will stand aside and count the stripes upon my rosary. Mayest thou enjoy the protection of Heaven, which thy christian intention so richly deserves!’—‘A good paymaster needs no bail,’ answered the squire: ‘I intend to scourge myself in such a manner as will mortify my flesh, without any hazard of my life; for, in that medium the substance of the miracle must consist.’ He forthwith stripped himself naked from the waist upwards, and snatching the scourge, began to whip himself, while his master reckoned the stripes. About half a dozen or eight lashes had Sancho bestowed upon himself, when he found the joke very expensive, and the reward dog cheap; and suspending the instrument, told the knight he had been deceived, and claimed the benefit of an appeal; for every one of these stripes was worth half a rial instead of a quartillo. ‘Proceed, friend Sancho, without dismay,’ replied Don Quixote, ’and I will double the allowance.’—‘At that rate,’ replied the squire, ‘to it again, by the grace of God, and let it rain lashes.’ But, the cunning knave no longer made application to his own shoulders, in lieu of which he began to scourge the trees, venting between whiles such dismal groans as seemed to tear his very soul up by the roots. The knight, from the tenderness of his own disposition, being apprehensive that he would actually put an end to his life, and of consequence defeat the purpose of his flagellation by his imprudence, exclaimed—‘I conjure thee, by thy life, friend Sancho, to let the business rest where it now stands: the medicine seems to have a very rough operation, and it will be better to proceed leisurely; for Zamora was not taken in one hour. Above a thousand stripes hast thou already inflicted upon thyself, if my reckoning is just, and these shall suffice for the present; for, if I may use a vulgar expression, Though the load must lie over the ass, he must not be overloaded.’—‘No, no, Signior,’ replied Sancho, ‘they shall never say of me, When money’s paid before its due, a broken limb will straight ensue. Pray stand aside a little, Signior, and let me lay on another thousand, if you please: two such bouts will perform the bargain, and leave something to boot.’—‘Since thou findest thyself in such an excellent frame and disposition,’ said the knight, ‘Heaven protect thee; stick to the stuff, and I shall withdraw.’ Sancho, resuming his task and reckoning, had already disbarked a number of trees, with the rigorous application of his scourge; when, bestowing a dreadful stroke upon an unfortunate beech, he exclaimed with great vociferation—‘Here, Sampson, shalt thou die, with all thine abettors.’ Don Quixote hearing this dismal ejaculation, and the terrible sound of the stroke, ran up to the spot, and seizing the twisted halter that Sancho used instead of a bull’s pizzle—‘Fate,’ said he, ‘friend Sancho, will not permit that for my pleasure thou shouldst lose that life on which the sustenance of thy wife and family must depend. Dulcinea shall wait for a more favourable conjuncture, and I will contain myself within the limits of the nearest hope, until thou shalt recover new strength to conclude this affair to the satisfaction of all parties.’—‘Since your worship is so inclined,’ answered the squire, ‘so be it in happy time; and pray, good Signior, throw your cloak, about my shoulders; for I am all in a sweat, and would not willingly catch cold, which is so often the case with new disciplinants.’ The knight, in compliance with this request, stripped himself of his upper garment, with which he covered up Sancho, who slept until he was wakened by the sun; then they proceeded on their journey, which, for that day, did not exceed three leagues.
They alighted at an inn; for such it was acknowledged by Don Quixote, who did not, as usual, suppose it a castle furnished with a fosse, turrets, portcullices, and draw-bridges: indeed, since his defeat, he had talked with more sanity on all subjects, as will presently appear. He was shewn into a low apartment, hung with old painted serge, instead of tapestry, such as is used in country places, in one piece of which some wretched hand had drawn the rape of Helen, who was carried off from Menelaus by his presumptuous guest; and in another was represented the story of Dido and Æneas, the unhappy queen standing upon a lofty tower, making signals with a white sheet to her fugitive lover, who, in a frigate or brigantine, was flying from her coast. He observed, of these two history pieces, that Helen shewed no marks of compulsion; but rather exhibited her satisfaction in a roguish smile; whereas, from the eyes of the beautiful Dido, tears as big as walnuts seemed to fall. Don Quixote having considered both pictures, ‘These two ladies,’ said he, ‘were most unfortunate, because they did not live in this our age; and I, above all men unhappy, because I did not live in theirs. Had I encountered these gentlemen, Troy had ne’er been burnt, nor Carthage laid in ruins; for, by killing Paris only, I should have prevented such disasters.’—‘I’ll lay a wager,’ said Sancho, ‘that in a very little time, every cook’s cellar, tavern, inn, and barber’s shop in the kingdom, will be ornamented with pictures containing the history of our atchievements; but I should be glad to see them painted by a better workman than him who made these daubings.’—‘Thou art in the right,’ replied Don Quixote; ‘he that painted these pieces is just such another as Orbaneja, a painter of Ubeda, who being asked what he was about, answered, “Just as it happens;” and if he chanced to represent a cock, he wrote under it, “This is a cock,” that it might not be mistaken for a fox. Such a person, I suppose, is that same painter or author, for it is the same thing, who ushered into the world the lately published history of the new Don Quixote: for he has painted or described whatever came uppermost; or, perhaps, he resembles an old court poet called Mauleon, who pretended to answer every question extempore; and being one day asked the meaning of Deum del Deo, replied, “De doude diere211.” But, waving this subject, tell me, Sancho, if thou art resolved to take the other turn to-night, and whether thou wouldst chuse to go to work under an humble roof, or beneath the high canopy of Heaven?’—‘’Fore God! Signior,’ replied the squire, ’as to what I intend to take, it matters not much, whether it be taken within doors or without: nevertheless, I should chuse to go to work among trees; for they seem to accompany and assist me wonderfully in bearing the brunt of the application.’—‘But it must not be so at present, friend Sancho,’ answered the knight; ‘in order to recruit your strength, the execution shall be postponed until we arrive at our own village, which we shall reach the day after to-morrow, at farthest.’ Sancho said he might take his own way; though he himself should be glad to dispatch the business now he was warm, and while the mill was a going; ‘For, Delay breeds danger; and We ought still to be doing while to God we are suing. I will give thee, is good; but, Here, take it, is better. A sparrow in hand is worth an eagle on wing.’—‘No more proverbs, Sancho, for the love of God!’ cried the knight; thou seemest to be returning to sicut erat. Speak plainly and perspicuously, without such intricate mazes, as I have often advised thee, and thou wilt find thyself one loaf per cent. in pocket.’—‘I am so unlucky,’ answered the squire, ‘that I cannot give a reason without a proverb, nor a proverb that I do not think a good reason; but I will mend if I can!’ And here the conversation ended for that time.