PART I - CHAPTER XVII.

by Miguel de Cervantes

　　IN WHICH ARE CONTAINED THE INNUMERABLE TROUBLES WHICH THE BRAVE DONQUIXOTE AND HIS GOOD SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA ENDURED IN THE INN, WHICH TO HISMISFORTUNE HE TOOK TO BE A CASTLEBy this time Don Quixote had recovered from his swoon; and in the sametone of voice in which he had called to his squire the day before when helay stretched "in the vale of the stakes," he began calling to him now,"Sancho, my friend, art thou asleep? sleepest thou, friend Sancho?""How can I sleep, curses on it!" returned Sancho discontentedly andbitterly, "when it is plain that all the devils have been at me thisnight?""Thou mayest well believe that," answered Don Quixote, "because, either Iknow little, or this castle is enchanted, for thou must know-but thisthat I am now about to tell thee thou must swear to keep secret untilafter my death.""I swear it," answered Sancho."I say so," continued Don Quixote, "because I hate taking away anyone'sgood name.""I say," replied Sancho, "that I swear to hold my tongue about it tillthe end of your worship's days, and God grant I may be able to let it outtomorrow.""Do I do thee such injuries, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that thouwouldst see me dead so soon?""It is not for that," replied Sancho, "but because I hate keeping thingslong, and I don't want them to grow rotten with me from over-keeping.""At any rate," said Don Quixote, "I have more confidence in thy affectionand good nature; and so I would have thee know that this night therebefell me one of the strangest adventures that I could describe, and torelate it to thee briefly thou must know that a little while ago thedaughter of the lord of this castle came to me, and that she is the mostelegant and beautiful damsel that could be found in the wide world. WhatI could tell thee of the charms of her person! of her lively wit! ofother secret matters which, to preserve the fealty I owe to my ladyDulcinea del Toboso, I shall pass over unnoticed and in silence! I willonly tell thee that, either fate being envious of so great a boon placedin my hands by good fortune, or perhaps (and this is more probable) thiscastle being, as I have already said, enchanted, at the time when I wasengaged in the sweetest and most amorous discourse with her, there came,without my seeing or knowing whence it came, a hand attached to some armof some huge giant, that planted such a cuff on my jaws that I have themall bathed in blood, and then pummelled me in such a way that I am in aworse plight than yesterday when the carriers, on account of Rocinante'smisbehaviour, inflicted on us the injury thou knowest of; whenceconjecture that there must be some enchanted Moor guarding the treasureof this damsel's beauty, and that it is not for me.""Not for me either," said Sancho, "for more than four hundred Moors haveso thrashed me that the drubbing of the stakes was cakes and fancy-breadto it. But tell me, senor, what do you call this excellent and rareadventure that has left us as we are left now? Though your worship wasnot so badly off, having in your arms that incomparable beauty you spokeof; but I, what did I have, except the heaviest whacks I think I had inall my life? Unlucky me and the mother that bore me! for I am not aknight-errant and never expect to be one, and of all the mishaps, thegreater part falls to my share.""Then thou hast been thrashed too?" said Don Quixote."Didn't I say so? worse luck to my line!" said Sancho."Be not distressed, friend," said Don Quixote, "for I will now make theprecious balsam with which we shall cure ourselves in the twinkling of aneye."By this time the cuadrillero had succeeded in lighting the lamp, and camein to see the man that he thought had been killed; and as Sancho caughtsight of him at the door, seeing him coming in his shirt, with a cloth onhis head, and a lamp in his hand, and a very forbidding countenance, hesaid to his master, "Senor, can it be that this is the enchanted Moorcoming back to give us more castigation if there be anything still leftin the ink-bottle?""It cannot be the Moor," answered Don Quixote, "for those underenchantment do not let themselves be seen by anyone.""If they don't let themselves be seen, they let themselves be felt," saidSancho; "if not, let my shoulders speak to the point.""Mine could speak too," said Don Quixote, "but that is not a sufficientreason for believing that what we see is the enchanted Moor."The officer came up, and finding them engaged in such a peacefulconversation, stood amazed; though Don Quixote, to be sure, still lay onhis back unable to move from pure pummelling and plasters. The officerturned to him and said, "Well, how goes it, good man?""I would speak more politely if I were you," replied Don Quixote; "is itthe way of this country to address knights-errant in that style, youbooby?"The cuadrillero finding himself so disrespectfully treated by such asorry-looking individual, lost his temper, and raising the lamp full ofoil, smote Don Quixote such a blow with it on the head that he gave him abadly broken pate; then, all being in darkness, he went out, and SanchoPanza said, "That is certainly the enchanted Moor, Senor, and he keepsthe treasure for others, and for us only the cuffs and lamp-whacks.""That is the truth," answered Don Quixote, "and there is no use introubling oneself about these matters of enchantment or being angry orvexed at them, for as they are invisible and visionary we shall find noone on whom to avenge ourselves, do what we may; rise, Sancho, if thoucanst, and call the alcaide of this fortress, and get him to give me alittle oil, wine, salt, and rosemary to make the salutiferous balsam, forindeed I believe I have great need of it now, because I am losing muchblood from the wound that phantom gave me."Sancho got up with pain enough in his bones, and went after the innkeeperin the dark, and meeting the officer, who was looking to see what hadbecome of his enemy, he said to him, "Senor, whoever you are, do us thefavour and kindness to give us a little rosemary, oil, salt, and wine,for it is wanted to cure one of the best knights-errant on earth, wholies on yonder bed wounded by the hands of the enchanted Moor that is inthis inn."When the officer heard him talk in this way, he took him for a man out ofhis senses, and as day was now beginning to break, he opened the inngate, and calling the host, he told him what this good man wanted. Thehost furnished him with what he required, and Sancho brought it to DonQuixote, who, with his hand to his head, was bewailing the pain of theblow of the lamp, which had done him no more harm than raising a coupleof rather large lumps, and what he fancied blood was only the sweat thatflowed from him in his sufferings during the late storm. To be brief, hetook the materials, of which he made a compound, mixing them all andboiling them a good while until it seemed to him they had come toperfection. He then asked for some vial to pour it into, and as there wasnot one in the inn, he decided on putting it into a tin oil-bottle orflask of which the host made him a free gift; and over the flask herepeated more than eighty paternosters and as many more ave-marias,salves, and credos, accompanying each word with a cross by way ofbenediction, at all which there were present Sancho, the innkeeper, andthe cuadrillero; for the carrier was now peacefully engaged in attendingto the comfort of his mules.This being accomplished, he felt anxious to make trial himself, on thespot, of the virtue of this precious balsam, as he considered it, and sohe drank near a quart of what could not be put into the flask andremained in the pigskin in which it had been boiled; but scarcely had hedone drinking when he began to vomit in such a way that nothing was leftin his stomach, and with the pangs and spasms of vomiting he broke into aprofuse sweat, on account of which he bade them cover him up and leavehim alone. They did so, and he lay sleeping more than three hours, at theend of which he awoke and felt very great bodily relief and so much easefrom his bruises that he thought himself quite cured, and verily believedhe had hit upon the balsam of Fierabras; and that with this remedy hemight thenceforward, without any fear, face any kind of destruction,battle, or combat, however perilous it might be.Sancho Panza, who also regarded the amendment of his master asmiraculous, begged him to give him what was left in the pigskin, whichwas no small quantity. Don Quixote consented, and he, taking it with bothhands, in good faith and with a better will, gulped down and drained offvery little less than his master. But the fact is, that the stomach ofpoor Sancho was of necessity not so delicate as that of his master, andso, before vomiting, he was seized with such gripings and retchings, andsuch sweats and faintness, that verily and truly be believed his lasthour had come, and finding himself so racked and tormented he cursed thebalsam and the thief that had given it to him.Don Quixote seeing him in this state said, "It is my belief, Sancho, thatthis mischief comes of thy not being dubbed a knight, for I am persuadedthis liquor cannot be good for those who are not so.""If your worship knew that," returned Sancho--"woe betide me and all mykindred!--why did you let me taste it?"At this moment the draught took effect, and the poor squire began todischarge both ways at such a rate that the rush mat on which he hadthrown himself and the canvas blanket he had covering him were fit fornothing afterwards. He sweated and perspired with such paroxysms andconvulsions that not only he himself but all present thought his end hadcome. This tempest and tribulation lasted about two hours, at the end ofwhich he was left, not like his master, but so weak and exhausted that hecould not stand. Don Quixote, however, who, as has been said, felthimself relieved and well, was eager to take his departure at once inquest of adventures, as it seemed to him that all the time he loiteredthere was a fraud upon the world and those in it who stood in need of hishelp and protection, all the more when he had the security and confidencehis balsam afforded him; and so, urged by this impulse, he saddledRocinante himself and put the pack-saddle on his squire's beast, whomlikewise he helped to dress and mount the ass; after which he mounted hishorse and turning to a corner of the inn he laid hold of a pike thatstood there, to serve him by way of a lance. All that were in the inn,who were more than twenty persons, stood watching him; the innkeeper'sdaughter was likewise observing him, and he too never took his eyes offher, and from time to time fetched a sigh that he seemed to pluck up fromthe depths of his bowels; but they all thought it must be from the painhe felt in his ribs; at any rate they who had seen him plastered thenight before thought so.As soon as they were both mounted, at the gate of the inn, he called tothe host and said in a very grave and measured voice, "Many and great arethe favours, Senor Alcaide, that I have received in this castle of yours,and I remain under the deepest obligation to be grateful to you for themall the days of my life; if I can repay them in avenging you of anyarrogant foe who may have wronged you, know that my calling is no otherthan to aid the weak, to avenge those who suffer wrong, and to chastiseperfidy. Search your memory, and if you find anything of this kind youneed only tell me of it, and I promise you by the order of knighthoodwhich I have received to procure you satisfaction and reparation to theutmost of your desire."The innkeeper replied to him with equal calmness, "Sir Knight, I do notwant your worship to avenge me of any wrong, because when any is done meI can take what vengeance seems good to me; the only thing I want is thatyou pay me the score that you have run up in the inn last night, as wellfor the straw and barley for your two beasts, as for supper and beds.""Then this is an inn?" said Don Quixote."And a very respectable one," said the innkeeper."I have been under a mistake all this time," answered Don Quixote, "forin truth I thought it was a castle, and not a bad one; but since itappears that it is not a castle but an inn, all that can be done now isthat you should excuse the payment, for I cannot contravene the rule ofknights-errant, of whom I know as a fact (and up to the present I haveread nothing to the contrary) that they never paid for lodging oranything else in the inn where they might be; for any hospitality thatmight be offered them is their due by law and right in return for theinsufferable toil they endure in seeking adventures by night and by day,in summer and in winter, on foot and on horseback, in hunger and thirst,cold and heat, exposed to all the inclemencies of heaven and all thehardships of earth.""I have little to do with that," replied the innkeeper; "pay me what youowe me, and let us have no more talk of chivalry, for all I care about isto get my money.""You are a stupid, scurvy innkeeper," said Don Quixote, and putting spursto Rocinante and bringing his pike to the slope he rode out of the innbefore anyone could stop him, and pushed on some distance without lookingto see if his squire was following him.The innkeeper when he saw him go without paying him ran to get payment ofSancho, who said that as his master would not pay neither would he,because, being as he was squire to a knight-errant, the same rule andreason held good for him as for his master with regard to not payinganything in inns and hostelries. At this the innkeeper waxed very wroth,and threatened if he did not pay to compel him in a way that he would notlike. To which Sancho made answer that by the law of chivalry his masterhad received he would not pay a rap, though it cost him his life; for theexcellent and ancient usage of knights-errant was not going to beviolated by him, nor should the squires of such as were yet to come intothe world ever complain of him or reproach him with breaking so just aprivilege.The ill-luck of the unfortunate Sancho so ordered it that among thecompany in the inn there were four woolcarders from Segovia, threeneedle-makers from the Colt of Cordova, and two lodgers from the Fair ofSeville, lively fellows, tender-hearted, fond of a joke, and playful,who, almost as if instigated and moved by a common impulse, made up toSancho and dismounted him from his ass, while one of them went in for theblanket of the host's bed; but on flinging him into it they looked up,and seeing that the ceiling was somewhat lower what they required fortheir work, they decided upon going out into the yard, which was boundedby the sky, and there, putting Sancho in the middle of the blanket, theybegan to raise him high, making sport with him as they would with a dogat Shrovetide.The cries of the poor blanketed wretch were so loud that they reached theears of his master, who, halting to listen attentively, was persuadedthat some new adventure was coming, until he clearly perceived that itwas his squire who uttered them. Wheeling about he came up to the innwith a laborious gallop, and finding it shut went round it to see if hecould find some way of getting in; but as soon as he came to the wall ofthe yard, which was not very high, he discovered the game that was beingplayed with his squire. He saw him rising and falling in the air withsuch grace and nimbleness that, had his rage allowed him, it is my beliefhe would have laughed. He tried to climb from his horse on to the top ofthe wall, but he was so bruised and battered that he could not evendismount; and so from the back of his horse he began to utter suchmaledictions and objurgations against those who were blanketing Sancho asit would be impossible to write down accurately: they, however, did notstay their laughter or their work for this, nor did the flying Sanchocease his lamentations, mingled now with threats, now with entreaties butall to little purpose, or none at all, until from pure weariness theyleft off. They then brought him his ass, and mounting him on top of itthey put his jacket round him; and the compassionate Maritornes, seeinghim so exhausted, thought fit to refresh him with a jug of water, andthat it might be all the cooler she fetched it from the well. Sancho tookit, and as he was raising it to his mouth he was stopped by the cries ofhis master exclaiming, "Sancho, my son, drink not water; drink it not, myson, for it will kill thee; see, here I have the blessed balsam (and heheld up the flask of liquor), and with drinking two drops of it thou wiltcertainly be restored."At these words Sancho turned his eyes asquint, and in a still loudervoice said, "Can it be your worship has forgotten that I am not a knight,or do you want me to end by vomiting up what bowels I have left afterlast night? Keep your liquor in the name of all the devils, and leave meto myself!" and at one and the same instant he left off talking and begandrinking; but as at the first sup he perceived it was water he did notcare to go on with it, and begged Maritornes to fetch him some wine,which she did with right good will, and paid for it with her own money;for indeed they say of her that, though she was in that line of life,there was some faint and distant resemblance to a Christian about her.When Sancho had done drinking he dug his heels into his ass, and the gateof the inn being thrown open he passed out very well pleased at havingpaid nothing and carried his point, though it had been at the expense ofhis usual sureties, his shoulders. It is true that the innkeeper detainedhis alforjas in payment of what was owing to him, but Sancho took hisdeparture in such a flurry that he never missed them. The innkeeper, assoon as he saw him off, wanted to bar the gate close, but the blanketerswould not agree to it, for they were fellows who would not have cared twofarthings for Don Quixote, even had he been really one of theknights-errant of the Round Table.