CHAPTER XXXI
Regarding the delectable words that passed between Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, his squire, as well as other events
"All this does not displease me; go on," said Don Quixote. "When you arrived, what was that queen of beauty doing? Surely you found her stringing pearls, or embroidering some heraldic device in gold thread for this her captive knight."
"I didn't find her doing anything," responded Sancho, "except winnowing two fanegas 1 of wheat in a corral of her house."
"Well, you may be sure," said Don Quixote, "that, touched by her hands, the grains of wheat were pearls. And did you notice, my friend, if it was white wheat or ordinary spring wheat?"
"It was just buckwheat," responded Sancho.
"Well, I assure you," said Don Quixote, "that winnowed by her hands, it undoubtedly made the finest white bread. But go on: when you gave her my letter, did she kiss it? Did she place it on her head?2 Did she engage in some ceremony worthy of such a letter? What did she do?"
"When I was about to give it to her," responded Sancho, "she was in the middle of shaking a good part of the wheat that she had in the sieve, and she said to me: 'Friend, put the letter on that sack; I can't read it until I finish sifting everything I have here.'"
"A wise lady!" said Don Quixote. "That must have been so that she could read it slowly and savor it. Go on, Sancho. And while she was engaged in her task, what discourse did she have with you? What did she ask about me? And you, what did you respond? Come, tell me everything; do not leave even a half-note in the inkwell."
"She didn't ask me anything," said Sancho. "But I told her how your grace, to serve her, was doing penance, naked from the waist up, here in this sierra like a savage, sleeping on the ground, not eating your bread from a cloth or combing your beard, crying and cursing your fate."
"When you said that I cursed my fate, you misspoke," said Don Quixote. "Rather, I bless it and shall bless it all the days of my life for making me worthy of loving so high a lady as Dulcinea of Toboso."
"She's so high," responded Sancho, "that by my faith she's a whole span taller than I am."
"How do you know, Sancho?" said Don Quixote. "Did you measure yourself against her?"
"I measured myself this way," responded Sancho. "When I went over to her to help her load a sack of wheat onto a donkey, we were so close that I could see she was a good span taller than me."
"Well, it is true," replied Don Quixote, "that her great height is accompanied and adorned by a thousand million graces of the soul! But there is one thing you will not deny, Sancho: when you approached her, did you not smell the perfume of Sheba, an aromatic, somehow pleasing fragrance whose name I cannot recall? I mean, an essence or scent as if you were in the shop of some rare glover?"
"What I can say," said Sancho, "is that I smelled a mannish kind of odor, and it must have been that with all that moving around, she was sweaty and sort of sour."
"That could not be," responded Don Quixote. "You must have had a head cold or else you were smelling yourself, because I know very well the fragrance of that rose among thorns, that lily of the field, that delicate liquid ambergris."
"That may be," responded Sancho, "because very often the same smell comes from me, though at the time I thought it was coming from her grace the lady Dulcinea, but there's no reason to be surprised, since one devil looks like another."
"All right, then," Don Quixote went on, "she finished sifting the wheat and sent it to the mill. What did she do when she read the letter?"
"She didn't read the letter," said Sancho, "because she said she didn't know how to read or write; instead, she tore it into tiny pieces, saying that she didn't want to give it to anybody else to read because she didn't want people in the village knowing her secrets, and she was satisfied with what I had told her about the love your grace had for her and the special penance you were doing for her sake. Finally, she told me to tell your grace that she kissed your hands, and had more desire to see you than to write to you, and so she begged and commanded, in view of your letter, that you leave these wild places, and stop doing crazy things, and set out right away for Toboso, if something more important didn't come along, because she wanted to see your grace very much. She laughed a lot when I told her that your grace was called The Knight of the Sorrowful Face. I asked her if the Basque we met so long ago had come there, and she said he had, and that he was a very fine man. I also asked her about the galley slaves, but she said that so far she hadn't seen a single one."
"Everything is fine to this point," said Don Quixote. "But tell me: when she said goodbye, what jewel did she give you as a reward for the news of me that you brought to her? Because it is a traditional and ancient custom among knights errant and their ladies to give the squires, maidens, or dwarves who bring the knights news of their ladies, or the ladies news of their knights, the gift of a precious jewel in gratitude for the message."
"That may be true, and I think it's a good custom; but that must have been in the past; nowadays the custom must be just to give a piece of bread and some cheese, for that's what my lady Dulcinea handed me over the corral fence when she said goodbye; and it even looked like the cheese was made of sheep's milk."
"She is liberal in the extreme," said Don Quixote, "and if she did not present you with a jewel of gold, no doubt it was because she did not have one near at hand, but it is never the wrong time for a gift: I shall see her and you will have your reward. Do you know what astounds me, Sancho? It seems to me that you flew there and back, because it has taken you a little more than three days to go to Toboso and come back here again, a distance of more than thirty leagues; which leads me to believe that the wise necromancer who watches over my affairs and is my friend (because perforce there is one, there must be one, else I should not be a good knight errant), I say that he must have helped you on your journey without your realizing it, for there are wise men who pick up a knight errant sleeping in his bed, and without his knowing how or by what means, the knight awakens the following day more than a thousand leagues distant from where he went to sleep. If not for this, knights errant could not help each other when they are in danger, as they do constantly. For one may be doing battle in the mountains of Armenia with a dragon, or a fierce monster, or another knight, and matters are going badly for him and he is on the point of death, and then, when you least expect it, another knight appears on a cloud or in a chariot of fire, a knight who is his friend and was in England just a short while before, and who comes to his aid and saves him from death and that night finds himself at home, enjoying his supper; and the distance between the two places is usually two or three thousand leagues. All of this is accomplished through the skill and wisdom of the wise enchanters who watch over these valiant knights. And so, Sancho my friend, it is not difficult for me to believe that you have traveled back and forth in so short a time between here and Toboso, for, as I have said, some friendly sorcerer must have carried you through the air without your realizing it."
"That must be it," said Sancho, "because, by my faith, Rocinante was galloping like a Gypsy's donkey with quicksilver in its ear."3
"And not just quicksilver," said Don Quixote, "but a legion of demons, too, who can run and make others run, without growing tired, whenever they want to! But, leaving that aside, what do you think I ought to do now with regard to my lady commanding that I go to see her? For, although it is clear that I am obliged to obey her command, I am also prevented from doing so by the boon I have promised to the princess who is traveling with us, and the law of chivalry demands that I keep my word before I satisfy my wishes. On the one hand, I am pursued and hounded by the desire to see my lady; on the other, I am stirred and called by the promise I have made and the glory I shall gain in this undertaking. But what I intend to do is to travel swiftly and come without delay to the place where this giant is, and as soon as I arrive I shall cut off his head, and restore the princess peacefully to her kingdom, and immediately return to see the light that illumines my senses, and to her I shall give such excuses that she will come to consider my delay as a good thing, for she will see that it all redounds to her greater glory and fame, for everything I have achieved, achieve now, and shall achieve by force of arms in this life, comes to me because she favors me, and because I am hers."
"Oh," said Sancho, "those ideas of yours do you so much harm! Tell me, Senor: does your grace intend to make this trip for nothing, and let slip away and lose a marriage as profitable and distinguished as this one, where the dowry is a kingdom? The truth is I've heard it's more than twenty thousand leagues around, and overflowing with all the things needed to sustain human life, and bigger than Portugal and Castilla together. Be quiet, for the love of God, and shame on what you've said, and take my advice, and forgive me, and get married right away in the first town where there's a priest, or else here's our own licentiate, and he'll do a wonderful job. Remember that I'm old enough to give advice, and the advice I'm giving you now is exactly right, and a bird in the hand is better than a vulture in the air, and if you have something good and choose something evil, you can't complain about the good that happens to you."4
"Look, Sancho," responded Don Quixote, "if your advice to marry is because I shall become king when I kill the giant and can easily grant you favors and give you what I have promised, you should know that without marrying I shall be able to satisfy your desire, because I shall request as my reward, before I go into battle, that when I emerge victorious, even though I do not marry I shall be given part of the kingdom and then may give it to whomever I wish, and when they have given it to me, to whom shall I give it but to you?"
"That's clear enough," responded Sancho, "but your grace should be sure to choose the part along the coast, because if I'm not happy with the life, I can put my black vassals on a ship and do with them the things I said I would do. Your grace shouldn't take the time to see my lady Dulcinea now; you ought to go and kill the giant, and let's finish up this business, because, by God, it seems to me there's a lot of honor and profit in it."
"I say to you, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "that you are correct, and I shall take your advice with regard to going with the princess before I see Dulcinea. I warn you not to say anything to anyone, not even those who are with us, regarding what we have discussed and deliberated upon, for since Dulcinea is so modest and does not wish her thoughts to be known, it would not be right for me, or anyone speaking for me, to reveal them."
"Well, if that's true," said Sancho, "why does your grace make all those vanquished by your arm present themselves before my lady Dulcinea, when that's as sure as your signature that you love and serve her? And since they have to fall to their knees in her presence and say that they've been sent by your grace to be her servant, how can her thoughts or yours be hidden?"
"Oh, how foolish and simple you are," said Don Quixote. "Do you not see, Sancho, that all of this redounds to her greater glory? Because you should know that in our style of chivalry, it is a great honor for a lady to have many knights errant who serve her, and whose thoughts go no further than to serve her simply because she is who she is, not hoping for any other reward for their many and virtuous desires but that she be willing to accept them as her knights."
"That's the way," said Sancho, "I've heard it said in sermons, we should love Our Lord: for Himself alone, not because we hope for glory or are afraid of punishment. But I'd rather love and serve Him for what He can do."
"Devil take you for a peasant!" said Don Quixote. "What intelligent things you say sometimes! One would think you had studied."
"By my faith, I don't know how to read," responded Sancho.
At this point, Master Nicolas called to them to wait because the others wanted to stop and drink at a small spring. Don Quixote stopped, much to Sancho's delight; he was tired of telling so many lies and feared that his master would catch him in one, for although he knew that Dulcinea was a peasant from Toboso, he had never seen her in his life.
Cardenio, in the meantime, had put on the clothes worn by Dorotea when they found her, and although they were not very good, they were much better than the ones he discarded. They dismounted beside the spring, and with the food the priest had acquired at the inn, they managed to satisfy to some extent the great hunger they all felt.
As they were eating, a boy traveling along the road happened to pass by, and he began to look very carefully at the people around the spring, and then he ran to Don Quixote, threw his arms around his legs, and burst into tears, saying:
"Oh, Senor! Doesn't your grace know me? Look closely; I'm Andres, the boy your grace freed from the oak tree where I was tied."
Don Quixote recognized him, and grasping him by the hand, he turned to his companions and said:
"So that your graces may see how important it is that there be knights errant in the world to right the wrongs and offenses committed by the insolent and evil men who live in it, your graces should know that some days ago, as I was passing through a wood, I heard shouts and very pitiful cries that seemed to come from a person in distress and in need; moved by my obligation, I immediately went to the place from which the heartrending cries seemed to come, and there I found this boy tied to an oak, and now you see him before you, which pleases my soul because he will be a witness who will not allow me to lie. I say that he was tied to the oak, naked from the waist up, and a peasant, who I learned later was his master, was beating him with the reins of his mare; as soon as I saw this I asked the reason for so savage a thrashing; the villain replied that he was beating him because he was his servant, and that certain of his careless acts were more a question of thievery than simplemindedness, to which this child said: 'Senor, he's only beating me because I asked for my wages.' The master answered with all kinds of arguments and excuses, which I heard but did not believe. In short, I obliged the peasant to untie him and made him swear that he would take him back with him and pay him one real after another, even more than he owed. Is this not true, Andres my son? Did you not notice how forcefully I commanded him, and how humbly he promised to do everything I ordered him and told him and wanted him to do? Respond; do not be shy or hesitant about anything; tell these gentlefolk what happened, so that they may see and consider the benefit, as I say, of having knights errant wandering the roads."
"Everything that your grace has said is very true," responded the boy, "but the matter ended in a way that was very different from what your grace imagines."
"What do you mean, different?" replied Don Quixote. "Do you mean the peasant did not pay you?"
"He not only didn't pay me," responded the boy, "but as soon as your grace crossed the wood and we were alone, he tied me to the same oak tree again and gave me so many more lashes that I was flayed like St. Bartholomew, and with each lash he mocked you and made a joke about how he had fooled your grace, and if I hadn't been feeling so much pain, I'd have laughed at what he said. But the fact is he raised so many welts that until now I've been in a hospital because of the harm that wicked peasant did to me. Your grace is to blame for everything, because if you had continued on your way and not come when nobody was calling you or mixed into other people's business, my master would have been satisfied with giving me one or two dozen lashes, and then he would have let me go and paid me what he owed me. But your grace dishonored him for no reason, and called him so many names that he lost his temper, and since he couldn't take his revenge on your grace, when we were alone he vented his anger on me, so that it seems to me I won't be the same man again for the rest of my life."
"The mistake," said Don Quixote, "was in my leaving, for I should not have gone until you were paid; I ought to have known, from long experience, that no peasant keeps his word if he sees that it is not to his advantage to do so. But remember, Andres: I swore that if he did not pay you, I would go in search of him and find him even if he hid in the belly of the whale."
"That's true," said Andres, "but it didn't do any good."
"Now you will tell me if it does," said Don Quixote.
And having said this, he stood up very quickly and ordered Sancho to put the bridle on Rocinante, who was grazing while they ate.
Dorotea asked what he intended to do. He responded that he wanted to find the peasant, and punish him for behaving so badly, and oblige him to pay Andres down to the last maravedi, in spite of and despite all the peasants in the world. To which she responded that according to the boon he had promised, he could not become involved in any other enterprise until hers was concluded, and since he knew this better than anyone, he must hold his fury in check until he returned from her kingdom.
"That is true," responded Don Quixote, "and it is necessary for Andres to be patient until my return, as you, Senora, have said; to him I vow and promise again that I shall not rest until I see him avenged and paid."
"I don't believe those vows." said Andres. "I'd rather have enough to get to Sevilla than all the revenge in the world: if you can spare it, give me some food to take with me, and God bless your grace and all the other knights errant, and I hope they're errant enough to find a punishment as good as the one I got."
Sancho took a piece of bread and some cheese from his bag, and handing them to the boy, he said:
"Take this, brother Andres, for all of us have a part in your misfortune."
"Which part do you have?" asked Andres.
"This part, the cheese and bread I'm giving you," responded Sancho, "for God only knows if I'll need it or not, because I'm telling you, my friend, the squires of knights errant are subject to a good deal of hunger and misfortune, and even other things that are felt more easily than said."
Andres took the bread and cheese, and seeing that no one gave him anything else, he lowered his head and, as they say, seized the road with both hands. It is certainly true that when he left, he said to Don Quixote:
"For the love of God, Senor Knight Errant, if you ever run into me again, even if you see them chopping me to pieces, don't help me and don't come to my aid, but leave me alone with my misfortune; no