PART II - CHAPTER XIII.

by Miguel de Cervantes

　　IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GROVE, TOGETHERWITH THE SENSIBLE, ORIGINAL, AND TRANQUIL COLLOQUY THAT PASSED BETWEENTHE TWO SQUIRESThe knights and the squires made two parties, these telling the story oftheir lives, the others the story of their loves; but the history relatesfirst of all the conversation of the servants, and afterwards takes upthat of the masters; and it says that, withdrawing a little from theothers, he of the Grove said to Sancho, "A hard life it is we lead andlive, senor, we that are squires to knights-errant; verily, we eat ourbread in the sweat of our faces, which is one of the curses God laid onour first parents.""It may be said, too," added Sancho, "that we eat it in the chill of ourbodies; for who gets more heat and cold than the miserable squires ofknight-errantry? Even so it would not be so bad if we had something toeat, for woes are lighter if there's bread; but sometimes we go a day ortwo without breaking our fast, except with the wind that blows.""All that," said he of the Grove, "may be endured and put up with when wehave hopes of reward; for, unless the knight-errant he serves isexcessively unlucky, after a few turns the squire will at least findhimself rewarded with a fine government of some island or some faircounty.""I," said Sancho, "have already told my master that I shall be contentwith the government of some island, and he is so noble and generous thathe has promised it to me ever so many times.""I," said he of the Grove, "shall be satisfied with a canonry for myservices, and my master has already assigned me one.""Your master," said Sancho, "no doubt is a knight in the Church line, andcan bestow rewards of that sort on his good squire; but mine is only alayman; though I remember some clever, but, to my mind, designing people,strove to persuade him to try and become an archbishop. He, however,would not be anything but an emperor; but I was trembling all the timelest he should take a fancy to go into the Church, not finding myself fitto hold office in it; for I may tell you, though I seem a man, I am nobetter than a beast for the Church.""Well, then, you are wrong there," said he of the Grove; "for thoseisland governments are not all satisfactory; some are awkward, some arepoor, some are dull, and, in short, the highest and choicest brings withit a heavy burden of cares and troubles which the unhappy wight to whoselot it has fallen bears upon his shoulders. Far better would it be for uswho have adopted this accursed service to go back to our own houses, andthere employ ourselves in pleasanter occupations--in hunting or fishing,for instance; for what squire in the world is there so poor as not tohave a hack and a couple of greyhounds and a fishingrod to amuse himselfwith in his own village?""I am not in want of any of those things," said Sancho; "to be sure Ihave no hack, but I have an ass that is worth my master's horse twiceover; God send me a bad Easter, and that the next one I am to see, if Iwould swap, even if I got four bushels of barley to boot. You will laughat the value I put on my Dapple--for dapple is the colour of my beast. Asto greyhounds, I can't want for them, for there are enough and to sparein my town; and, moreover, there is more pleasure in sport when it is atother people's expense.""In truth and earnest, sir squire," said he of the Grove, "I have made upmy mind and determined to have done with these drunken vagaries of theseknights, and go back to my village, and bring up my children; for I havethree, like three Oriental pearls.""I have two," said Sancho, "that might be presented before the Popehimself, especially a girl whom I am breeding up for a countess, pleaseGod, though in spite of her mother.""And how old is this lady that is being bred up for a countess?" asked heof the Grove."Fifteen, a couple of years more or less," answered Sancho; "but she isas tall as a lance, and as fresh as an April morning, and as strong as aporter.""Those are gifts to fit her to be not only a countess but a nymph of thegreenwood," said he of the Grove; "whoreson strumpet! what pith the roguemust have!"To which Sancho made answer, somewhat sulkily, "She's no strumpet, norwas her mother, nor will either of them be, please God, while I live;speak more civilly; for one bred up among knights-errant, who arecourtesy itself, your words don't seem to me to be very becoming.""O how little you know about compliments, sir squire," returned he of theGrove. "What! don't you know that when a horseman delivers a good lancethrust at the bull in the plaza, or when anyone does anything very well,the people are wont to say, 'Ha, whoreson rip! how well he has done it!'and that what seems to be abuse in the expression is high praise? Disownsons and daughters, senor, who don't do what deserves that compliments ofthis sort should be paid to their parents.""I do disown them," replied Sancho, "and in this way, and by the samereasoning, you might call me and my children and my wife all thestrumpets in the world, for all they do and say is of a kind that in thehighest degree deserves the same praise; and to see them again I pray Godto deliver me from mortal sin, or, what comes to the same thing, todeliver me from this perilous calling of squire into which I have fallena second time, decayed and beguiled by a purse with a hundred ducats thatI found one day in the heart of the Sierra Morena; and the devil isalways putting a bag full of doubloons before my eyes, here, there,everywhere, until I fancy at every stop I am putting my hand on it, andhugging it, and carrying it home with me, and making investments, andgetting interest, and living like a prince; and so long as I think ofthis I make light of all the hardships I endure with this simpleton of amaster of mine, who, I well know, is more of a madman than a knight.""There's why they say that 'covetousness bursts the bag,'" said he of theGrove; "but if you come to talk of that sort, there is not a greater onein the world than my master, for he is one of those of whom they say,'the cares of others kill the ass;' for, in order that another knight mayrecover the senses he has lost, he makes a madman of himself and goeslooking for what, when found, may, for all I know, fly in his own face.""And is he in love perchance?" asked Sancho."He is," said of the Grove, "with one Casildea de Vandalia, the rawestand best roasted lady the whole world could produce; but that rawness isnot the only foot he limps on, for he has greater schemes rumbling in hisbowels, as will be seen before many hours are over.""There's no road so smooth but it has some hole or hindrance in it," saidSancho; "in other houses they cook beans, but in mine it's by the potful;madness will have more followers and hangers-on than sound sense; but ifthere be any truth in the common saying, that to have companions introuble gives some relief, I may take consolation from you, inasmuch asyou serve a master as crazy as my own.""Crazy but valiant," replied he of the Grove, "and more roguish thancrazy or valiant.""Mine is not that," said Sancho; "I mean he has nothing of the rogue inhim; on the contrary, he has the soul of a pitcher; he has no thought ofdoing harm to anyone, only good to all, nor has he any malice whatever inhim; a child might persuade him that it is night at noonday; and for thissimplicity I love him as the core of my heart, and I can't bring myselfto leave him, let him do ever such foolish things.""For all that, brother and senor," said he of the Grove, "if the blindlead the blind, both are in danger of falling into the pit. It is betterfor us to beat a quiet retreat and get back to our own quarters; forthose who seek adventures don't always find good ones."Sancho kept spitting from time to time, and his spittle seemed somewhatropy and dry, observing which the compassionate squire of the Grove said,"It seems to me that with all this talk of ours our tongues are stickingto the roofs of our mouths; but I have a pretty good loosener hangingfrom the saddle-bow of my horse," and getting up he came back the nextminute with a large bota of wine and a pasty half a yard across; and thisis no exaggeration, for it was made of a house rabbit so big that Sancho,as he handled it, took it to be made of a goat, not to say a kid, andlooking at it he said, "And do you carry this with you, senor?""Why, what are you thinking about?" said the other; "do you take me forsome paltry squire? I carry a better larder on my horse's croup than ageneral takes with him when he goes on a march."Sancho ate without requiring to be pressed, and in the dark boltedmouthfuls like the knots on a tether, and said he, "You are a propertrusty squire, one of the right sort, sumptuous and grand, as thisbanquet shows, which, if it has not come here by magic art, at any ratehas the look of it; not like me, unlucky beggar, that have nothing morein my alforjas than a scrap of cheese, so hard that one might brain agiant with it, and, to keep it company, a few dozen carobs and as manymore filberts and walnuts; thanks to the austerity of my master, and theidea he has and the rule he follows, that knights-errant must not live orsustain themselves on anything except dried fruits and the herbs of thefield.""By my faith, brother," said he of the Grove, "my stomach is not made forthistles, or wild pears, or roots of the woods; let our masters do asthey like, with their chivalry notions and laws, and eat what thoseenjoin; I carry my prog-basket and this bota hanging to the saddle-bow,whatever they may say; and it is such an object of worship with me, and Ilove it so, that there is hardly a moment but I am kissing and embracingit over and over again;" and so saying he thrust it into Sancho's hands,who raising it aloft pointed to his mouth, gazed at the stars for aquarter of an hour; and when he had done drinking let his head fall onone side, and giving a deep sigh, exclaimed, "Ah, whoreson rogue, howcatholic it is!""There, you see," said he of the Grove, hearing Sancho's exclamation,"how you have called this wine whoreson by way of praise.""Well," said Sancho, "I own it, and I grant it is no dishonour to callanyone whoreson when it is to be understood as praise. But tell me,senor, by what you love best, is this Ciudad Real wine?""O rare wine-taster!" said he of the Grove; "nowhere else indeed does itcome from, and it has some years' age too.""Leave me alone for that," said Sancho; "never fear but I'll hit upon theplace it came from somehow. What would you say, sir squire, to my havingsuch a great natural instinct in judging wines that you have only to letme smell one and I can tell positively its country, its kind, its flavourand soundness, the changes it will undergo, and everything thatappertains to a wine? But it is no wonder, for I have had in my family,on my father's side, the two best wine-tasters that have been known in LaMancha for many a long year, and to prove it I'll tell you now a thingthat happened them. They gave the two of them some wine out of a cask, totry, asking their opinion as to the condition, quality, goodness orbadness of the wine. One of them tried it with the tip of his tongue, theother did no more than bring it to his nose. The first said the wine hada flavour of iron, the second said it had a stronger flavour of cordovan.The owner said the cask was clean, and that nothing had been added to thewine from which it could have got a flavour of either iron or leather.Nevertheless, these two great wine-tasters held to what they had said.Time went by, the wine was sold, and when they came to clean out thecask, they found in it a small key hanging to a thong of cordovan; seenow if one who comes of the same stock has not a right to give hisopinion in such like cases.""Therefore, I say," said he of the Grove, "let us give up going in questof adventures, and as we have loaves let us not go looking for cakes, butreturn to our cribs, for God will find us there if it be his will.""Until my master reaches Saragossa," said Sancho, "I'll remain in hisservice; after that we'll see."The end of it was that the two squires talked so much and drank so muchthat sleep had to tie their tongues and moderate their thirst, for toquench it was impossible; and so the pair of them fell asleep clinging tothe now nearly empty bota and with half-chewed morsels in their mouths;and there we will leave them for the present, to relate what passedbetween the Knight of the Grove and him of the Rueful Countenance.