Chap. VII Of What Passed Between Don Quixote and His Squire; With Other Surprizing Incidents
The housekeeper seeing that her master and Sancho were locked up together, immediately guessed the subject of the conversation; and imagining, that the result of this confutation would be a third sally, she put on her veil, and full of trouble and anxiety, went in quest of the batchelor Sampson Carrasco, thinking, that as he was a well spoken man, and her master’s new friend, he might persuade him to lay aside such an extravagant design: accordingly, she found him taking a turn in his own yard, and fell upon her knees before him, in a cold sweat, occasioned by her vexation. Carrasco seeing her appear with such marks of sorrow and consternation, said, ‘What is the matter, Mrs. Housekeeper? what hath befallen you? something seems to have harrowed up your very soul!’—‘Nothing at all, dear Mr. Sampson,’ cried the housekeeper, ‘only my master is breaking out; he is certainly breaking out!’—‘How breaking out?’ said Sampson; ’is any part of his body unsound?’—‘Where should it break out,’ replied the other, ‘but through the gate of his madness? My meaning, dear batchelor of my soul! is, that he is going to make another sally, (and that will be the third) searching up and down the world for what he calls adventures, though I cannot imagine why they should have that name147: the first time, he returned so battered and bruised, that they were fain to lay him across an ass, like a sack of oats, because he could not sit upright; the second time, he was brought home in a waggon, stretched and cooped up in a cage, in which he imagined himself inchanted, in such a woeful plight, that he could scarce be known by the mother that bore him, so lank and meagre, with his eyes sunk into the lowest pit of his brain; so that before I could bring him into any tolerable degree of strength, I expended more than six hundred new-laid eggs, as God and all the world know, as well as my hens, that will not suffer me to tell a lye.’—‘That I verily believe,’ said the batchelor; ‘your hens are so good, plump, and well bred, that they would rather burst than say one thing, and mean another. Well, then, Mrs. Housekeeper, nothing else hath happened, neither have you met with any other misfortune, but the apprehension of what your master Don Quixote will do?’—‘Nothing else,’ said she. ‘Give yourself no trouble then,’ resumed the batchelor, ‘but go home a-God’s name, and get ready something hot for my breakfast; and in your way, repeat St. Apollonia’s prayer, if you can; I will follow in a little time, and then you shall see wonders.’—‘Dear heart!’ cried the housekeeper, ‘St. Apollonia’s prayer, say you? that I should repeat if my master had the tooth-ach; but, lack-a-day! his distemper lies in his skull.’—‘I know what I say,’ answered Sampson: ‘take my advice, Mrs. Housekeeper, and do not pretend to dispute with me; for I would have thee to know that I am a batchelor of Salamanca; there’s no higher batcheleering than that.’ She accordingly moved homeward, while Sampson went to communicate to the curate that which will be in due time disclosed.
While Don Quixote and Sancho were closeted together, there passed between them a conversation which the history recounts with great punctuality and truth. ‘Signior,’ said the squire, ‘I have at length traduced my wife to consent that I shall attend your worship wheresoever you please to carry me.’-‘Say reduced, and not traduced, Sancho,’ replied the knight. ‘I have once or twice, if my memory serves me,’ said Sancho, ‘intreated your worship not to correct my words, if you understand my meaning; and when you can’t make it out, I desire you would say, “Sancho,” or “devil, I don’t understand thee:” then if I fail in explaining myself, you may correct me as much as you please; for I am so fossile.’—‘I do not understand thee now,’ cried Don Quixote, ‘nor can I comprehend what thou wouldst be at, in saying I am so fossile.’—‘So fossile!’ said the squire; ‘that is, whereby as how I am just so.’—‘Nay, now thou art more and more unintelligible,’ replied the knight. ‘If your worship does not understand me now,’ answered Sancho, ‘I know not how to express it; for I am already at my wit’s end, and Lord have mercy upon me.’—‘O! now I conceive thy meaning,’ said the knight; ‘thou wouldst say thou art so docile, gentle, and tractable, as to comprehend every thing I say, and retain whatsoever I shall teach thee.’—‘I’ll lay a wager,’ said the squire, ‘that from the beginning, you knew my meaning by my mumping, but wanted to confound me by leading me into a thousand more blunders.’—‘It may be so,’ said the knight; ‘but in reality, what says Teresa?’—‘Teresa,’ answered Sancho, ‘says I must be sharp with your worship. Fast bind, fast find; He that shuffles does not always cut; and that, A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush: now I know that A wife’s counsel is bad, but he that will not take it is mad.’—‘So say I,’ replied Don Quixote; ‘proceed, friend Sancho, you speak like an oracle to-day.’—‘Why then the case is this,’ resumed Sancho; ‘your worship very well knows we are all mortal, here to-day, and gone to-morrow; for the lamb goes as fast as the dam; and no man in this world can promise himself more hours of life than God is pleased to grant him; because death is deaf, and when he knocks at the door of life is always in a hurry, and will not be detained either by fair means or force, by sceptres or mitres, as the report goes, and as we have often heard it declared from the pulpit.’—‘All this is very true,’ said the knight; ‘but I cannot guess what you drive at.’—‘What I drive at,’ answered Sancho, ’is, that your worship would appoint me a certain monthly salary for the time I shall serve you, to be paid out of your estate; for I do not chuse to depend upon recompences that come late, or low, or never. God will protect me with my own. In short, I would know what I have to trust to, whether little or much; for, The hen clucks though but on one egg; Many littles make a mickle; and, He that is getting aught, is losing nought. True it is, if it should happen, which I neither believe nor expect, that your worship can give me that island you have promised me so long; I am not so greedy or ungrateful, but that I will suffer my rent to be appraised, and my salary deducted in due portion148’.—‘To be sure, friend Sancho,’ said the knight, ‘all portions ought to be proportioned.’—‘I understand you,’ replied the squire, ‘I should have said proportion instead of portion; but that is of no signification, since my meaning is comprehended by your worship.’—‘Aye, and so thoroughly comprehended,’ said Don Quixote, ‘that I have penetrated into the inmost recesses of thy thoughts, and perceive the mark at which those innumerable shafts of thy proverbs are aimed. Look you, Sancho, I would appoint thee a salary, if I could find in any history of knights-errant, one precedent, by which I might discover, or have the least glimpse of what they used to give monthly or yearly; but I have carefully perused all, or the greatest part or those histories, and cannot remember to have read, that any knight-errant ever paid a certain salary to his squire. I only know that all of them trusted to favour, and when it was least in their thoughts, provided their masters chanced to be fortunate, they found themselves rewarded with an island or something equivalent, and at least were honoured with rank and title. If with these hopes and expectations, you are willing to return to my service, do it a-God’s name; but if you think I will unhinge and deviate from the ancient customs of chivalry, you are grievously mistaken: wherefore, friend Sancho, you may go home again, and declare my intention to your wife Teresa; and if she is pleased, and you are willing to depend upon my favour, bene quidem; if not, let us shake hands and part: while there are peas in the dove-house, I shall never want pigeons; and remember, my child, that it is better to be rich in hope than poor in possession; and that a good claim is preferable to bad pay. I talk in this manner, Sancho, to show that I can pour forth a volley of proverbs as well as you; and finally, I must and will give you to understand, that if you do not chuse to serve me on those terms, and share my fortune, whatsoever it may be, I pray God may prosper and make a saint of you; for my part, I shall not want squires more obedient and careful, though less troublesome and talkative than your worship.’
When Sancho heard this firm resolution of his master, the sky began to lour, and down flagged the wings of his heart in a moment: for he had believed that the knight would not set out without him for all the wealth in the world. While he thus remained pensive and dejected, in came Sampson Carrasco, followed by the niece, who was very desirous to hear with what arguments he would dissuade her uncle from going again in quest of adventures. Sampson, who was a notable wag, no sooner entered, than embracing the knight, as at first, he pronounced with an audible voice, ‘O flower of knight-errantry, resplendent sun of arms, thou glory and mirrour of the Spanish nation! may it please the Almighty, of his infinite power, that if any person or persons shall raise any impediment to obstruct thy third sally, they may never extricate themselves from the labyrinth of their desires, or accomplish what they so unjustly wish!’ Then turning to the duenna, ‘Mrs. Housekeeper,’ said he, ‘you need not now repeat St. Apollonia’s prayer; for I know it is the precise determination of the stars, that Signior Don Quixote shall again execute his new and lofty plan: and I should greatly burden my confidence if I forbore to intimate, and desire, that this knight will no longer withold and detain the force of his valiant arm, and the virtue of his heroick soul; because, by his delay he retards the righting of wrongs, the protection of orphans, the honour of maidens, the favour of widows, the support of wives, with many other things of that nature, which regard, concern, depend upon, and appertain, to the order of knight-errantry. Courage! Signior Don Quixote, beautiful and brave; may your worship and grandeur set out before to morrow morning; and if any thing be wanting to forward your expedition, here am I, ready to make it good with my person and fortune; and, if need be, to serve your magnificence in quality of squire; an office in the execution of which I should think myself extremely happy.’
Don Quixote hearing this proffer, turned to Sancho, saying, ‘Did not I tell thee, Sancho, that I should not want for squires? Take notice who it is that offers to attend me; who, but the unheard of batchelor Sampson Carrasco; the perpetual darling and delight of the court-yards belonging to the Salamancan schools; sound of body, strong of limb, a silent sufferer of heat and cold, hunger and thirst, and endued with all those qualifications which are requisite in the squire of a knight-errant: but Heaven will not permit me, for my own satisfaction, to break and demolish this pillar of learning, this urn of sciences, and to hew down such an eminent branch of the liberal arts. No, let this new Sampson stay at home, and honour the place of his nativity, together with the grey hairs of his ancient parents; while I make shift with any sort of squire, since Sancho will not vouchsafe to go along with me.’
‘Y—yes, I do vouchsafe!’ cried Sancho, blubbering; ‘it shall never be said of me, dear master, that when the victuals were eaten up, the company sneaked off; I am not come of such an ungrateful stock; for all the world, and especially my own townsmen, know what sort of people the Panzas were, of whom I am descended; besides, I have perceived, and am sensible, by many good works, and more good words, that your worship is actually inclined to do for me; and if I have haggled more than enough about my wages, it was to please my wife, who, if she once takes in hand to persuade me to any thing, no cooper’s adze drives the hoops of a barrel as she drives at her purpose, until she hath gained it; but, after all, a man must be a man, and a woman a woman: now I being a man every inch of me, when or wheresoever I please to shew myself, (that I cannot deny) I am resolved to be master in my own house, in spite of the devil, the world, and the flesh; and therefore your worship has no more to do but prepare your will, with the codicil, so as that it cannot be rebuked; and then let us take our departure, that we may not endanger the soul of Mr. Sampson, whose conscience, he says, prompts him to persuade your worship to make a third sally through the world; and here I promise again to serve your worship faithfully and lawfully, as well as, and better than, all the squires that ever attended the knights-errant, either in past or present time.’
The batchelor was astonished at hearing the manner and conclusion of Sancho’s speech; for although he had read the first part of his master’s history, he never believed him so diverting as he is there represented; but now, hearing him talk of the will and codicil that could not be rebuked, instead of revoked, he was convinced of the truth of what he had read, and confirmed in the opinion of his being one of the most solemn simpletons of the present age; saying, within himself, two such madmen as the master and his squire are not to be paralleled upon earth. In fine, Don Quixote and Sancho were reconciled, and embraced each other; and, in consequence of the opinion and assent of the great Carrasco, whom they looked upon as an oracle, it was determined that they should depart in three days, during which they would have time to provide themselves with necessaries for the journey, and find a compleat helmet for the knight, who insisted upon carrying one along with him into the field. Sampson, accordingly, undertook to accommodate him, saying he could command an helmet that was in possession of a friend of his; though the brightness of the metal was not a little obscured by the rust and mould which it had contracted.
Innumerable were the curses which were vented against the batchelor by the housekeeper and niece, who tore their hair, and scratched their faces; and like the hired mourners, formerly in use, lamented the departure, as if it had been the death of their master. But Sampson’s view in persuading him to another sally, was to execute a design which he had concerted with the curate and barber, as will appear in the sequel. In short, during those three days, Don Quixote and Sancho furnished themselves with every thing they thought they should have occasion for; the squire pacified his wife, the knight appeased his niece and housekeeper; and on the evening of the fourth day, without being perceived by any living soul but the batchelor, who insisted upon accompanying them half a league out of town, they set out, and took the road to Toboso; Don Quixote mounted on his trusty Rozinante, and Sancho throned upon his old friend Dapple, with a pair of bags well lined with belly-timber, and a purse of money, which his master deposited in his hands, in case of accidents in their expedition.
Sampson, embracing the knight, intreated him to write an account of his good or evil fortune, that he might congratulate or sympathize with him, as the laws of friendship require. Don Quixote assured him, he would comply with his request; the batchelor returned to the village, and the other two pursued their way towards the great city of Toboso.