CHAPTER XV

IN WHICH IS RELATED THE UNFORTUNATE ADVENTURE THAT DON QUIXOTE FELL IN WITH WHEN HE FELL OUT WITH CERTAIN HEARTLESS YANGUESANS

When Don Quixote had taken leave of his hosts, he set off with his squire into the woods where he had seen Marcela disappear. They wandered about for some time and found no trace of the shepherdess.

Then they came to a pasture through which a brook was running, and as they were both thirsty, warm, and tired, they decided to remain there for their noontide meal. They feasted on the sc.r.a.ps that remained in the _alforjas_, while Rocinante and Sancho's a.s.s were left free to pluck all the gra.s.s they desired.

Now, Fate would have it that at that very hour a band of Yanguesans were resting nearby, with their ponies let loose in the pasture. As soon as the ponies were discovered by Rocinante, he wanted to exchange friendly greetings with them, so he set off at a brisk trot in their direction. But the ponies seemed to have no desire to strike up an acquaintance with an unknown hack, for they arrogantly turned their backs on him and commenced to snort and kick and bite until the saddle fell off Rocinante and he was left quite naked. By this time the Yanguesans had heard the commotion and rushed up, armed with sticks, and with these they thrashed poor Rocinante so soundly that he fell to the ground in a heap.

Just at this time Don Quixote and Sancho, having finished their repast, went to look for their chargers. As soon as Don Quixote had taken in the situation, he realized that these were no knights errant and confided this to his squire, charging him to help him in his battle for Rocinante's honor. Sancho made vehement pleas for abstaining from vengeance, seeing the great numbers of the enemy; but his master's conviction that he alone counted for a hundred eased his mind.

Don Quixote attacked at once and cut off a portion of his opponent's shoulder; Sancho fought bravely too. But when the men saw that they were fighting such a small number they set upon them, all at one time, and after a few thrusts they had unseated our knight and his squire, both sorely battered. Then, fearing the hand of the law, the Yanguesans set off in great haste.

When Sancho came to, he was certain that all his bones were broken, and he feebly turned to his master saying that he only wished that he had at hand the marvelous balsam of Fierabras, of which his master had spoken. Sancho lamented the lack of it no more than Don Quixote, who swore that within two days he would have the potion in his possession.

As to his wounds, he took all the blame upon himself: he felt that it was G.o.d's punishment for having engaged in battle with ordinary rabble like these carriers, and decided that henceforth he would have Sancho alone chastise those who had not been dubbed knights.

To this Sancho took exception, for he maintained that he had wife and children to support, and was by nature a peaceful, meek and timid man.

He called upon G.o.d to forgive in advance all the insults man or beast might offer him in the future and for all times; but at this Don Quixote took him to task and admonished him not to lose his valor in attacking and defending himself in all sorts of emergencies.

Sancho's soft heart now turned to Rocinante, who had been the cause of all the trouble. The poor horse was in a sorry plight. So it was considered best that Don Quixote--who could not sit upright--should be slung across his servant's donkey. This decision was reached when Don Quixote remembered that Silenus, the teacher of the G.o.d of Laughter, had entered the city of the hundred gates mounted on a handsome a.s.s.

When his master had been secured and Rocinante raised from the ground, Sancho took the two beasts by the halter and led them out to the road, and from there they proceeded on their way. Soon Sancho saw the outlines of an inn, which Don Quixote insisted must be a castle, and before they had finished their dispute, they found themselves at the gate and entered.

CHAPTER XVI

OF WHAT HAPPENED TO THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN IN THE INN WHICH HE TOOK TO BE A CASTLE

When the keeper of the inn saw the sorry body of the knight on the a.s.s, he became anxious to learn what had happened to him. His wife was a kindly and good-natured woman, and when Sancho had explained that his master had fallen from a rock, she and her pretty daughter offered to care for him. The daughter, and a one-eyed Asturian servant-girl, with turned-up nose and high cheek-bones, made a bed for Don Quixote on four rough boards in a garret, where a carrier was also quartered.

Stretched on this bed Don Quixote was attended by the innkeeper's wife, who soon covered him with more plasters than he had quilts. In the meantime she, her daughter, and the Asturian girl, all curious, questioned Sancho about his master.

Sancho told, in as thrilling words as he could command, of their marvelous adventures; to all of which they listened with astonishment.

The Asturian servant nearly stared her one eye out of her head. She asked Sancho Panza, trembling with excitement, what a knight errant was. To this Sancho replied that a knight was an adventurer, who one day might be the poorest and meanest of men, and the next day emperor, with crowns and kingdoms in abundance to give away to his squire and underlings. Here the women expressed surprise that he himself, judging by appearance, did not possess even so much as a small strip of land. He then confided to them that he and his master had been going but a short time; that as yet it was much too soon; that the adventures they had met with so far were but a beginning and not worthy of mention.

Don Quixote, who had been listening to everything his squire said, now sat up in bed and informed them of the great honor he had conferred upon them by being in their house; he told them of his indescribable grat.i.tude to them; and of his love for his Dulcinea del Toboso of La Mancha.

The women, not being accustomed to such language, which seemed to them more difficult to understand than Greek, stared at him in bewilderment; then, thanking him for his courtesy, they left him while the Asturian plastered Sancho, who seemed to be in need of treatment as sadly as his master.

CHAPTER XVII

IN WHICH ARE CONTAINED THE INNUMERABLE TROUBLES WHICH THE BRAVE DON QUIXOTE AND HIS GOOD SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA ENDURED AT THE INN, WHICH TO HIS MISFORTUNE HE TOOK TO BE A CASTLE

The following morning Sancho, feeling his pains even more, reminded his master of the famous balsam he was to make. Don Quixote himself was anxious for it too, so he sent Sancho to an imagined fortress for some oil, wine, rosemary and salt. He mixed these ingredients in a pot, and boiled them. Then he poured the mixture into a tin flask, crossed himself and repeated innumerable paternosters and ave-marias.

When he had nearly exhausted himself doing that, he swallowed a good portion of the liquid; and immediately he began to vomit and perspire, while his face and body contracted in the most horrible spasms. He asked to be put to bed at once, and they let him sleep for three hours. When he woke he felt so relieved that he really thought he had hit upon the remedy of Fierabras.

Seeing his master's miraculous recovery, Sancho begged to be permitted to drink some of the wonderful liquid, and Don Quixote gave him a dose of it. Unlike his master, Sancho retained what he had drunk for some time before letting it all come up again, but in the meantime his agony was insufferable. He was seized with such gripings and faintness that he was sure his last hour had come. He even cursed his master for having given him such terrible stuff; but Don Quixote said that he had only now come to realize that the remedy was made solely for those who had been dubbed knights: whereupon Sancho, writhing in convulsions cursed him still more. Sancho's agony lasted for several hours.

In the meantime Don Quixote himself, being anxious for new adventures, had saddled Rocinante. He had to help his squire mount the a.s.s, for Sancho still was in a sorry condition. All the folk at the inn had gathered to see them depart, and when Don Quixote's eyes fell on the beautiful young daughter of the innkeeper, he heaved a heavy sigh; but no one there realized the soul or the reason of it, for they all thought it must be from the pain in his ribs.

As he was about to leave, the valiant knight called the innkeeper and asked him with profound gravity whether he had any enemies that remained unpunished; if so, he, Don Quixote, would chastise them for him. The innkeeper answered shortly that he could take care of his own grudges; all he asked of our knight was payment for lodging and for what he and the beasts and the squire had consumed.

"Then this is an inn?" cried Don Quixote, who could hardly believe his ears. He ransacked his memory for any incident when knight had ever paid for food and lodging, and, unable to remember one, raised his lance, turned Rocinante, and set off at a quick gallop, leaving Sancho behind.

The innkeeper immediately took steps to attach the squire for the unpaid debt; but Sancho's stolid indifference to his representations only tended to prove the truth of the old proverb: like master, like servant. He argued that it was not for him to tear down traditions of n.o.ble knighthood.

Unfortunately for Sancho, he was overheard by a good many guests at the inn, rollicking fellows, who were on the alert for amus.e.m.e.nt. These men seized a blanket, dismounted the squire unceremoniously, placed him in the middle of the blanket, and proceeded to hoist him, not gently, high in the air. This movement no doubt caused a return of Sancho's stomach-ache, for he commenced to groan and scream helplessly. His screams were heard far off by his master, who, believing that some new and glorious adventure was at hand, spurred his hack into a playful gallop and returned to the inn.

The gates were closed, but over the wall the knight could see the tricks that his faithful follower was made to perform in the air and on the blanket, and he boiled with rage, unable to come to the rescue, for he could not dismount because of stiffness. Finally, when the men had been sufficiently amused, they stopped their sport, then mounted Sancho with no little kindness on his a.s.s and bade him G.o.dspeed on his journey. The one-eyed Asturian compa.s.sionately offered the poor fellow some water to drink; but seeing this, Don Quixote commenced to gesticulate wildly, waving a tin flask in the air, and crying: "Sancho, my son, drink not water, for it will kill thee! See, here I have the blessed balsam: two drops of it will restore thee!"

His master's advice did not appeal to the squire, and he replied rather cuttingly that Don Quixote ought to remember that he was not a knight. Saying this he put the cup the la.s.s had offered him to his lips. But he found that it was not wine but water. He begged her to exchange it, which she did with Christian spirit, paying for it herself. The squire, having drunk the wine, spurred his a.s.s toward the gate, and the innkeeper let him depart without further payment, having, unbeknown to Sancho, appropriated his _alforjas_.

CHAPTER XVIII

IN WHICH IS RELATED THE DISCOURSE SANCHO PANZA HELD WITH HIS MASTER, DON QUIXOTE, TOGETHER WITH OTHER ADVENTURES WORTH RELATING

Don Quixote told his squire he was certain that the inn was an enchanted castle, and blamed his transgressions of the laws of chivalry for all their mishaps; for he imagined that, had he abstained from laying hands on the rabble and base folk, these would not have occurred. His being unable to get out of the saddle and climb over the wall, he ascribed to enchantment as well. Sancho thought this might be the moment for reforming his master. He suggested that it was harvest time at home; and reminded the knight of the fact that of all his battles he had come out victorious but once, when he fought with the Biscayan, and then with half of his ear lost, not to speak of all the damage done to his armor.

But Don Quixote was in no mood to contemplate past disasters, for in the distance he suddenly perceived rising clouds of dust, and what could it be but two opposing armies making ready for battle; since the clouds were seen on either side of the road! He made Sancho believe they were the great armies of the mighty emperor Alifanfaron and his enemy, the king of the Garamantas, Pentapolin of the Bare Arm, explaining--on seeing a bare-armed shepherd--that this lord always went into battle in this manner.

Sancho Panza asked what they should do. His master replied that their duty was clear: they should, of course, help the weak and needy. Then he went on to explain that the reason for the feud was the pagan Alifanfaron's wish to marry the beautiful and Christian daughter of Pentapolin, and her father's refusal to sanction the marriage unless the emperor became a convert. Immediately Sancho's instinct for righteousness made him declare himself for Pentapolin, and he wanted to fight for him. This spirit pleased Don Quixote tremendously, for, he said, it was not required of dubbed knights to engage in feuds of this sort; thus Sancho would have a chance to distinguish himself all alone.

Scratching his head, Sancho now began to worry about his faithful donkey, for he believed it was not good taste to go into battle mounted on an a.s.s, and if he dismounted, he was afraid his Dapple would be lost in the ensuing tumult. Don Quixote, however, calmed his fears. There would be hundreds of riderless horses after the battle, from which both of them might choose; and he asked Sancho to follow him to a hill nearby that he might point out to his valiant squire the great and ill.u.s.trious knights of the two armies. He cried out name after name, the last one always more ill.u.s.trious than the previous one. But Sancho could see nothing but the two flocks of sheep and the shepherds, and he said so.

"How can you say that!" cried Don Quixote. "Do you not hear the neighing of the steeds, the braying of the trumpets, the roll of the drums?"

Sancho answered in despair that he could hear nothing but the bleating of ewes and sheep. To this his master explained that often fear deranged the senses and made things appear different from what they were. Therefore, being certain that Sancho had suddenly become possessed of fear, he put the spurs in Rocinante and charged down the hill like a flash of lightning, determined to down the pagan emperor.

Lifting his lance, he galloped into the midst of the sheep, and commenced spearing right and left. The shepherds, panic-stricken, used their slings. Stones. .h.i.t his head and body, but it was not until a large one struck him in the ribs that he imagined himself really wounded. He stopped in the midst of the furious battle, and suddenly remembering his flask of balsam, drew it out, put it to his mouth, and was about to swallow a quant.i.ty of it when there came a stone that took the flask out of his hand, and another one that smashed out three or four of his teeth. Don Quixote was so astonished and the force of the blow was so sudden that he lost his reins and fell backwards off his horse. When the shepherds came up and saw what they had done to him, they quickly gathered their flocks and hastened away, taking with them the seven sheep that Don Quixote killed with his spear.

During this rampage, Sancho Panza was nearly beside himself where he stood on the hill. He was tearing his hair and beard, wishing he had never laid eyes on his master, and berating himself for ever having joined in his mad adventures. When the shepherds had disappeared, he ran to his master's side.

"Did I not tell your worship," he reproached the prostrate knight, "that they were not armies, but droves of sheep!"

But again our hero blamed his misfortune on his arch-enemy, that cursed Sage Friston, who had falsified the armies in such a way that they looked like meek and harmless sheep. Then he begged his squire to pursue the enemy by stealth that he might ascertain for himself that what he had said was true; for he was sure that ere they had gone very far they would resume their original shape.