PART II - CHAPTER LXXI.

by Miguel de Cervantes

　　OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE SANCHO ON THE WAY TOTHEIR VILLAGEThe vanquished and afflicted Don Quixote went along very downcast in onerespect and very happy in another. His sadness arose from his defeat, andhis satisfaction from the thought of the virtue that lay in Sancho, ashad been proved by the resurrection of Altisidora; though it was withdifficulty he could persuade himself that the love-smitten damsel hadbeen really dead. Sancho went along anything but cheerful, for it grievedhim that Altisidora had not kept her promise of giving him the smocks;and turning this over in his mind he said to his master, "Surely, senor,I'm the most unlucky doctor in the world; there's many a physician that,after killing the sick man he had to cure, requires to be paid for hiswork, though it is only signing a bit of a list of medicines, that theapothecary and not he makes up, and, there, his labour is over; but withme though to cure somebody else costs me drops of blood, smacks, pinches,pinproddings, and whippings, nobody gives me a farthing. Well, I swear byall that's good if they put another patient into my hands, they'll haveto grease them for me before I cure him; for, as they say, 'it's by hissinging the abbot gets his dinner,' and I'm not going to believe thatheaven has bestowed upon me the virtue I have, that I should be dealingit out to others all for nothing.""Thou art right, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote, "and Altisidora hasbehaved very badly in not giving thee the smocks she promised; andalthough that virtue of thine is gratis data--as it has cost thee nostudy whatever, any more than such study as thy personal sufferings maybe--I can say for myself that if thou wouldst have payment for the lasheson account of the disenchant of Dulcinea, I would have given it to theefreely ere this. I am not sure, however, whether payment will comportwith the cure, and I would not have the reward interfere with themedicine. I think there will be nothing lost by trying it; consider howmuch thou wouldst have, Sancho, and whip thyself at once, and pay thyselfdown with thine own hand, as thou hast money of mine."At this proposal Sancho opened his eyes and his ears a palm's breadthwide, and in his heart very readily acquiesced in whipping himself, andsaid he to his master, "Very well then, senor, I'll hold myself inreadiness to gratify your worship's wishes if I'm to profit by it; forthe love of my wife and children forces me to seem grasping. Let yourworship say how much you will pay me for each lash I give myself.""If Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "I were to requite thee as theimportance and nature of the cure deserves, the treasures of Venice, themines of Potosi, would be insufficient to pay thee. See what thou hast ofmine, and put a price on each lash.""Of them," said Sancho, "there are three thousand three hundred and odd;of these I have given myself five, the rest remain; let the five go forthe odd ones, and let us take the three thousand three hundred, which ata quarter real apiece (for I will not take less though the whole worldshould bid me) make three thousand three hundred quarter reals; the threethousand are one thousand five hundred half reals, which make sevenhundred and fifty reals; and the three hundred make a hundred and fiftyhalf reals, which come to seventy-five reals, which added to the sevenhundred and fifty make eight hundred and twenty-five reals in all. TheseI will stop out of what I have belonging to your worship, and I'll returnhome rich and content, though well whipped, for 'there's no takingtrout'--but I say no more.""O blessed Sancho! O dear Sancho!" said Don Quixote; "how we shall bebound to serve thee, Dulcinea and I, all the days of our lives thatheaven may grant us! If she returns to her lost shape (and it cannot bebut that she will) her misfortune will have been good fortune, and mydefeat a most happy triumph. But look here, Sancho; when wilt thou beginthe scourging? For if thou wilt make short work of it, I will give thee ahundred reals over and above.""When?" said Sancho; "this night without fail. Let your worship order itso that we pass it out of doors and in the open air, and I'll scarifymyself."Night, longed for by Don Quixote with the greatest anxiety in the world,came at last, though it seemed to him that the wheels of Apollo's car hadbroken down, and that the day was drawing itself out longer than usual,just as is the case with lovers, who never make the reckoning of theirdesires agree with time. They made their way at length in among somepleasant trees that stood a little distance from the road, and therevacating Rocinante's saddle and Dapple's pack-saddle, they stretchedthemselves on the green grass and made their supper off Sancho's stores,and he making a powerful and flexible whip out of Dapple's halter andheadstall retreated about twenty paces from his master among some beechtrees. Don Quixote seeing him march off with such resolution and spirit,said to him, "Take care, my friend, not to cut thyself to pieces; allowthe lashes to wait for one another, and do not be in so great a hurry asto run thyself out of breath midway; I mean, do not lay on so strenuouslyas to make thy life fail thee before thou hast reached the desirednumber; and that thou mayest not lose by a card too much or too little, Iwill station myself apart and count on my rosary here the lashes thougivest thyself. May heaven help thee as thy good intention deserves.""'Pledges don't distress a good payer,'" said Sancho; "I mean to lay onin such a way as without killing myself to hurt myself, for in that, nodoubt, lies the essence of this miracle."He then stripped himself from the waist upwards, and snatching up therope he began to lay on and Don Quixote to count the lashes. He mighthave given himself six or eight when he began to think the joke notrifle, and its price very low; and holding his hand for a moment, hetold his master that he cried off on the score of a blind bargain, foreach of those lashes ought to be paid for at the rate of half a realinstead of a quarter."Go on, Sancho my friend, and be not disheartened," said Don Quixote;"for I double the stakes as to price.""In that case," said Sancho, "in God's hand be it, and let it rainlashes." But the rogue no longer laid them on his shoulders, but laid onto the trees, with such groans every now and then, that one would havethought at each of them his soul was being plucked up by the roots. DonQuixote, touched to the heart, and fearing he might make an end ofhimself, and that through Sancho's imprudence he might miss his ownobject, said to him, "As thou livest, my friend, let the matter restwhere it is, for the remedy seems to me a very rough one, and it will bewell to have patience; 'Zamora was not won in an hour.' If I have notreckoned wrong thou hast given thyself over a thousand lashes; that isenough for the present; 'for the ass,' to put it in homely phrase, 'bearsthe load, but not the overload.'""No, no, senor," replied Sancho; "it shall never be said of me, 'Themoney paid, the arms broken;' go back a little further, your worship, andlet me give myself at any rate a thousand lashes more; for in a couple ofbouts like this we shall have finished off the lot, and there will beeven cloth to spare.""As thou art in such a willing mood," said Don Quixote, "may heaven aidthee; lay on and I'll retire."Sancho returned to his task with so much resolution that he soon had thebark stripped off several trees, such was the severity with which hewhipped himself; and one time, raising his voice, and giving a beech atremendous lash, he cried out, "Here dies Samson, and all with him!"At the sound of his piteous cry and of the stroke of the cruel lash, DonQuixote ran to him at once, and seizing the twisted halter that servedhim for a courbash, said to him, "Heaven forbid, Sancho my friend, thatto please me thou shouldst lose thy life, which is needed for the supportof thy wife and children; let Dulcinea wait for a better opportunity, andI will content myself with a hope soon to be realised, and have patienceuntil thou hast gained fresh strength so as to finish off this businessto the satisfaction of everybody.""As your worship will have it so, senor," said Sancho, "so be it; butthrow your cloak over my shoulders, for I'm sweating and I don't want totake cold; it's a risk that novice disciplinants run."Don Quixote obeyed, and stripping himself covered Sancho, who slept untilthe sun woke him; they then resumed their journey, which for the timebeing they brought to an end at a village that lay three leagues fartheron. They dismounted at a hostelry which Don Quixote recognised as suchand did not take to be a castle with moat, turrets, portcullis, anddrawbridge; for ever since he had been vanquished he talked morerationally about everything, as will be shown presently. They quarteredhim in a room on the ground floor, where in place of leather hangingsthere were pieces of painted serge such as they commonly use in villages.On one of them was painted by some very poor hand the Rape of Helen, whenthe bold guest carried her off from Menelaus, and on the other was thestory of Dido and AEneas, she on a high tower, as though she were makingsignals with a half sheet to her fugitive guest who was out at sea flyingin a frigate or brigantine. He noticed in the two stories that Helen didnot go very reluctantly, for she was laughing slyly and roguishly; butthe fair Dido was shown dropping tears the size of walnuts from her eyes.Don Quixote as he looked at them observed, "Those two ladies were veryunfortunate not to have been born in this age, and I unfortunate aboveall men not to have been born in theirs. Had I fallen in with thosegentlemen, Troy would not have been burned or Carthage destroyed, for itwould have been only for me to slay Paris, and all these misfortuneswould have been avoided.""I'll lay a bet," said Sancho, "that before long there won't be a tavern,roadside inn, hostelry, or barber's shop where the story of our doingswon't be painted up; but I'd like it painted by the hand of a betterpainter than painted these.""Thou art right, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for this painter is likeOrbaneja, a painter there was at Ubeda, who when they asked him what hewas painting, used to say, 'Whatever it may turn out; and if he chancedto paint a cock he would write under it, 'This is a cock,' for fear theymight think it was a fox. The painter or writer, for it's all the same,who published the history of this new Don Quixote that has come out, musthave been one of this sort I think, Sancho, for he painted or wrote'whatever it might turn out;' or perhaps he is like a poet called Mauleonthat was about the Court some years ago, who used to answer at haphazardwhatever he was asked, and on one asking him what Deum de Deo meant, hereplied De donde diere. But, putting this aside, tell me, Sancho, hastthou a mind to have another turn at thyself to-night, and wouldst thourather have it indoors or in the open air?""Egad, senor," said Sancho, "for what I'm going to give myself, it comesall the same to me whether it is in a house or in the fields; still I'dlike it to be among trees; for I think they are company for me and helpme to bear my pain wonderfully.""And yet it must not be, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote; "but, toenable thee to recover strength, we must keep it for our own village; forat the latest we shall get there the day after tomorrow."Sancho said he might do as he pleased; but that for his own part he wouldlike to finish off the business quickly before his blood cooled and whilehe had an appetite, because "in delay there is apt to be danger" veryoften, and "praying to God and plying the hammer," and "one take wasbetter than two I'll give thee's," and "a sparrow in the hand than avulture on the wing.""For God's sake, Sancho, no more proverbs!" exclaimed Don Quixote; "itseems to me thou art becoming sicut erat again; speak in a plain, simple,straight-forward way, as I have often told thee, and thou wilt find thegood of it.""I don't know what bad luck it is of mine," argument to my mind; however,I mean to mend said Sancho, "but I can't utter a word without a proverbthat is not as good as an argument to my mind; however, I mean to mend ifI can;" and so for the present the conversation ended.