Chap. III Containing the Sequel of Those Incredible Grievances Which the Valiant Don Quixote, and His Trusty Squire Sancho Panza, Underwent at the Inn, Which for Their Misfortune the Knight Mistook for a Castle
About this time, Don Quixote recovering the use of his tongue, began to call in the same feeble tone with which he spoke the preceding day, when he lay stretched in the pack-staff valley—‘Art thou asleep, friend Sancho? friend Sancho, art thou asleep?’—‘God’s my life!’ replied Sancho, full of peevishness and pain, ‘how should I be asleep, seeing all the devils in hell have been upon me this whole night?’—‘That thou mayest assure thyself of,’ answered the knight: ‘for either I understand nothing at all, or this castle is inchanted. Thou must know, Sancho, (but what I am going to disclose to thee, thou shalt swear to keep secret till after my death.)’—‘I do swear,’ said Sancho. ‘This secrecy I insist upon,’ replied his master, ‘because I would by no means take away the reputation of any person.’—‘Well then,’ cried the squire, ‘I swear to keep it secret till the days of your worship be past and gone; and God grant that I may be at liberty to reveal it to-morrow.’—‘Have I done you so much mischief, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote, ‘that you wish to see me dead so soon?’—‘It is not for that,’ replied the squire, ‘but because I am an enemy to all secrets, and would not have any thing rot in my keeping.’—‘Be that as it may,’ said the knight, ‘I will trust greater things to thy love and fidelity. Know, therefore, that this very night I have been engaged in a most rare and wonderful adventure; which, that I may briefly relate, take notice, that a little while ago, I was visited by the constable’s daughter, than whom a more beautiful and gracious young lady is scarce to be found on this terraqueous globe. How shall I paint to thee the comeliness of her person? how delineate the acuteness of her understanding? or, how shall I describe those mysterious charms which, that I may preserve the fealty I have sworn to my own sovereign mistress Dulcinea del Toboso, I must pass over in sacred silence? I shall only tell thee, that Heaven itself was jealous of the happiness which fortune had put into my power; or, perhaps, which is more probable, this castle, as I have already observed, is inchanted: for, while I was engaged with her in a most delightful and amorous conversation, an unseen hand, belonging, doubtless, to the arm of some monstrous giant, descended, I know not whence, upon my jaws, leaving my whole face bathed in gore; and afterwards bruised me in such a manner, that I am infinitely worse than I was yesterday, when the carriers maltreated us, as thou knowest, for the excesses of Rozinante; from whence I conjecture, that the treasure of this fair damsel’s beauty is guarded by some inchanted Moor, and not destined for my possession.’—‘Nor for mine neither,’ cried Sancho; ‘for I have been drubbed by five hundred Moors, so unmercifully, that the pack-stave threshing was but cakes and gingerbread to what I now feel: so that I see no great cause you have to brag of that rare adventure, which has left us in this comfortable pickle. Indeed, your worship was not so badly off, because you had that same incomparable beauty in your arms; but what had I, except the hardest knocks, which, I hope, I shall ever feel in my born days? Cursed am I, and the mother that bore me; for though I neither am knight errant, nor ever design to be one, the greatest part of the mischief that betides us for ever falls to my share.’—‘It seems, then, thou hast suffered too,’ said Don Quixote. ‘Woe be unto me and my whole pedigree!’ cried Sancho; ‘have I not been telling you so all this time?’—‘Give thyself no concern about that matter,’ answered the knight; ‘for now I am determined to prepare that precious balsam, which will cure us both in the twinkling of an eye.’
About this time the officer of the holy brotherhood, having made shift to light his candle, came back to examine the person whom he supposed murdered; and Sancho, seeing him approach in his shirt and woollen night-cap, with a very unfavourable aspect, and a light in his hand, said to his master, ‘Pray, Sir, is this the inchanted Moor returned to spend the last drop of his vengeance upon us57?’—‘That cannot be the Moor,’ answered Don Quixote, ‘for inchanters never suffer themselves to be seen.’—‘If they won’t allow themselves to be seen,’ cried the squire, ‘they make no bones of letting themselves be felt; that my shoulders can testify.’—’And mine too,’ said the knight; ‘but we have no sufficient reason to believe that he whom we now see is the inchanted Moor.’
Meanwhile, the trooper drawing near, and hearing them talk so deliberately, remained some time in suspence; then observing Don Quixote, who still lay on his back, unable to stir, on account of his bruises and plaisters, he went up to him, saying, ‘How do’st do, honest friend?’—‘I would speak more submissively,’ answered the knight, ‘were I such a plebeian as you. Is that the language used in this country to knights-errant, you blockhead?’ The officer finding himself treated with so little ceremony, by such a miserable wight, could not bear the reproach, but lifting up his lamp, oil and all, discharged it upon Don Quixote’s pate, which suffered greatly in the encounter; and the light being again extinguished, slipped away in the dark. Things being in this situation, ‘Sir,’ said Sancho Panza, ‘without doubt, that was the inchanted Moor, who keeps the treasure for other people, and the fisty-cuffs and lamp-leavings for us.’—‘It must be so,’ replied the knight; ‘but we must not mind those affairs of inchantment so much, as to let them ruffle or inflame us; because, they being invisible and fantastical, do what we can we shall never be able to take vengeance upon the authors of them: get up, therefore, Sancho, if thou canst, and desire the constable of this castle to supply me with some oil, wine, salt, and rosemary; that I may prepare the salutiferous balsam, which, really, I believe, I stand in great need of at present, for the wound which the phantom hath given me bleeds apace.’
Accordingly the squire made shift to rise, notwithstanding the intolerable aching of his bones; and creeping in the dark towards the innkeeper’s bed-chamber, happened to meet with the trooper, who stood listening, to know the intention of his adversary. ‘Signior,’ cried he, ‘whosoever you are, do us the benefit and favour to assist us with some rosemary, salt, wine, and oil; in order to cure one of the most mighty knights errant upon earth, who lies in that bed, desperately wounded by the hands of an inchanted Moor that frequents this inn.’ The officer, hearing such an address, concluded that the man had lost his senses; and it being by this time dawn, opened the inn-gate, and calling to the landlord, told him what this honest man wanted. The innkeeper having provided Sancho with the ingredients, he immediately carried them to his master; who lay holding his head between his two hands, and complaining very much of the effect of the lamp; which, however, had done no farther damage than that of raising a couple of large tumours upon his pate; that which he took for blood being no other than sweat forced out by the anguish and pain he had undergone. In short, he made a composition, by mixing the materials together, and boiling them a good while, until he found he had brought the whole to a due consistence: then he asked for a phial to contain the balsam; but as there was none in the house, he resolved to cork it up in a tin oil-flask, of which the landlord made him a present. Which being done, he repeated over it more than fourscore pater-nosters, with the like number of ave-maria’s, salve’s and credo’s, accompanying every word with the sign of the cross, by way of benediction: and this whole ceremony was performed in presence of Sancho, the innkeeper, and officer; the carrier having very quietly gone to take care of his beasts.
This precious balsam being thus composed, the knight was determined to make instant trial of the efficacy with which he imagined it endued; and accordingly swallowed about a pint and a half of what remained in the pot, after the oil-flask was full; which had scarce got down his throat, when he began to vomit in such a manner, as left nothing in his stomach; and a most copious sweat breaking out upon him, in consequence of the violent operation, he desired they would wrap him up warm, and leave him to his repose. They complied with his request, and he fell into a profound sleep that lasted three hours; at the end of which awaking, he found himself exceedingly refreshed, and so well recovered of his bruises, that he seemed perfectly well; and implicitly believed that he had now made sure of the balsam of Fierabras; which, while he possessed, he might, with the utmost confidence and safety, engage in the most perilous quarrels, combats, and havock, that could possibly happen.
Sancho Panza seeing his master recovered to a miracle, begged he would bestow upon him the sediment of the pot, which was no small quantity: and his request being granted, he laid hold of it with both hands, and setting it to his head, drank off, with strong faith and eager inclination, almost as much as his master had swallowed before. But the poor squire’s stomach chanced to be not quite so delicate as that of the knight; and therefore, before he could discharge a drop, he suffered such pangs and reachings, such qualms and cold sweats, that he verily believed his last hour was come; and in the midst of his wamblings and affliction cursed the balsam and the miscreant that made it. Don Quixote perceiving his situation, said, ‘I believe that all this mischief happens to thee, Sancho, because thou art not a knight; for I am persuaded, that this liquor will be of service to none but such as are of the order of knighthood.’—‘If your worship knew so much,’ cried Sancho, ‘woe be unto me and my whole generation! why did you allow me to taste it?’ At this instant the potion began to operate, and the poor squire to unload at both ends with such fury, that the mat upon which he had thrown himself, and the sheet that covered him, were soon in a woeful pickle: he sweated and shivered with such violent motions and fits, that not only he himself, but every body present, thought he would have given up the ghost.
This tempest of evacuation lasted near two hours; at the expiration of which, he found himself far from being relieved like his master, but, on the contrary, so much fatigued that he was not able to stand. The knight, as we have already observed, finding himself in good health and excellent spirits, longed fervently to depart in quest of adventures, thinking every minute he spent in that place was an injury to the world in general, and to those miserable objects who wanted his favour and protection; especially as he was now in possession of the certain means of safety and confidence, in that efficacious balsam he had made. Prompted by these suggestions, he himself saddled Rozinante, and with his own hands put the pannel upon the beast of the squire, whom he also assisted in getting on his cloaths, and mounting his ass. He then bestrode his own steed; and laying hold of a pitchfork that stood in the corner of the yard, appropriated it to the use of a lance; while all the people in the house, exceeding twenty persons, beheld him with admiration: the landlord’s daughter being among the spectators, he fixed his eyes upon her, and from time to time uttered a profound sigh, which seemed to be heaved from the very bottom of his bowels; and which, in the opinion of all those who had seen him anointed over night, was occasioned by the aching of his bones.
He and his squire being by this time mounted, he halted at the gate, and calling to the innkeeper, pronounced, in a grave and solemn tone, ‘Numerous and mighty are the favours, Sir Constable, which I have received in this castle of yours; and I shall think myself under the highest obligation to retain a grateful remembrance of your courtesy all the days of my life. If I can make you any return, in taking vengeance on some insolent adversary, who hath, perhaps, aggrieved you; know, that it is my province and profession to assist the helpless, avenge the injured, and chastise the false: recollect, therefore; and if you have any boon of that sort to ask, speak the word; I promise, by the order of knighthood which I have received, that you shall be righted and redressed to your heart’s content.’—‘Sir knight,’ replied the innkeeper, with the same deliberation, ‘I have no occasion for your worship’s assistance, to redress any grievance of mine; for I know how to revenge my own wrongs when I suffer any: all I desire is, that you will pay the score you have run up in this inn, for provender to your cattle, and food and lodging to yourself and servant.’—‘It seems, then, this is an inn,’ answered the knight. ‘Aye, and a well-respected one,’ said the landlord. ‘I have been in a mistake all this time,’ resumed Don Quixote, ‘for I really thought it was a castle; and that none of the meanest neither: but since it is no other than a house of publick entertainment, you have nothing to do but excuse me from paying a farthing; for I can by no means transgress the custom of knights-errant, who, I am sure, as having read nothing to the contrary58, never paid for lodging nor any thing else, in any inn or house whatsoever, because they had a right and title to the best of entertainment, in recompence for the intolerable sufferings they underwent, in seeking adventures by night and by day, in winter as well as summer, on foot and on horseback, exposed to hunger and thirst, to heat and cold, and to all the inclemencies of heaven, as well as the inconveniencies of earth.’—‘All this is nothing to my purpose,’ said the innkeeper; ‘pay me what you owe, and save all your idle tales of knight-errantry for those who will be amused with them; for my own part, I mind no tale but that of the money I take.’—‘You are a saucy publican, and a blockhead to boot,’ cried Don Quixote; who, putting spurs to Rozinante, and brandishing his pitchfork, sallied out of the inn without opposition; and was a good way off before he looked behind to see if he was followed by his squire.
The landlord, seeing the knight depart without paying, ran up to seize Sancho; who told him, that since his master had refused to discharge the bill, he must not expect any money from him, who being the squire of a knight-errant, was, as well as his master, bound by the same laws to pay for nothing in taverns and inns. The publican, irritated at this answer, threatened, if he would not pay him, to indemnify himself in a manner that should not be so much to the squire’s liking: but Panza swore by the laws of chivalry his master professed, that he would not pay a doit, though it should cost him his life; for he was resolved that the honourable and ancient customs of knight-errantry should not be lost through his misbehaviour; neither should those squires, who were to come into the world after him, have occasion to complain of his conduct, or reproach him with the breach of so just a privilege.
As the unfortunate Sancho’s evil genius would have it, there were among the company that lodged that night in the house, four clothiers of Segovia, three pin-makers from the great square of Cordova, and a couple of shopkeepers from the market-place of Seville; all of them brisk jolly fellows, and mischievous wags. These companions, as if they had been inspired and instigated by the same spirit, came up to the squire, and pulled him from his ass; then, one of them fetching a blanket from the landlord’s bed, they put Sancho into it, and lifting up their eyes, perceived the roof was too low for their purpose; therefore determined to carry him out into the yard, which had no other ceiling than the sky: there placing Panza in the middle of the blanket, they began to toss him on high, and divert themselves with his capers, as the mob do with dogs at Shrove-tide. The cries uttered by this miserable vaulter, were so piercing as to reach the ears of his master, who halting to listen the more attentively, believed that some new adventure was approaching, until he clearly recognized the shrieks of his squire: he immediately turned his horse, and with infinite straining, made shift to gallop back to the inn; but finding the gate shut, rode round in search of some other entrance; and when he approached the yard-wall, which was not very high, perceived the disagreeable joke they were practising upon his squire, who rose in the air, and sunk again with such grace and celerity, that if his indignation would have allowed him, I verily believe the knight himself would have laughed at the occasion. He attempted to step from his horse upon the wall, but was so bruised and battered, that he could not move from his seat; and therefore, situated as he was, began to vent such a torrent of reproachful and opprobrious language against Sancho’s executioners, that it is impossible to repeat the half of what he said. This, however, neither interrupted their mirth nor their diversion, nor gave the least truce to the lamentations of Sancho, who prayed and threatened by turns, as he flew. Indeed, nothing of this sort either could or did avail him, until leaving off, out of pure weariness, they thought fit to wrap him up in his great coat, and set him on his ass again. The compassionate Maritornes seeing him so much fatigued, thought he would be the better for a draught of water, which, that it might be the cooler, she fetched from the well; and Sancho had just put the mug to his lips, when his draught was retarded by the voice of his master, who cried aloud, ‘Son Sancho, drink not water, drink not that which will be the occasion of thy death, my son; behold this most sacred balsam,’ holding up the cruse of potion in his hand, ‘two drops of which will effectually cure thee.’ At these words the squire eyed him, as it were, askance, and in a tone still more vociferous, replied, ‘Perchance your worship has forgot that I am no knight; or may be, you want to see me vomit up all the entrails I have left, after last night’s quandary. Keep your liquor for yourself, and may all the devils in hell give you joy of it; and leave me to my own discretion!’ He had no sooner pronounced these words than he began to swallow; and perceiving at the first draught, that the cordial was no other than water, he did not chuse to repeat it; but desired Maritornes to bring him some wine. This request she complied with very chearfully, and paid for it with her own money; for it was reported of her, that although she was reduced to that low degree in life, she actually retained some faint sketches and shadows of the Christian.
Sancho having finished his draught, clapped heels to his ass, and the inn-gate being thrown wide open, sallied forth very well satisfied with having got off without paying any thing, although he had succeeded at the expence of his shoulders, which were indeed his usual sureties. True it is, the landlord had detained his bags for the reckoning; but these Sancho did not miss in the confusion of his retreat. As soon as he was clear of the house, the innkeeper would have barricadoed the gate, had he not been prevented by the blanket companions, who were of that sort of people, who would not have valued Don Quixote a farthing, even if he had been actually one of the knights of the round-table.