me: you know I'm a bachelor from Salamanca, and there's no better babbler than that,"3 responded Carrasco.
And at this the housekeeper left, and the bachelor went immediately to find the priest, in order to communicate to him what will be related in due course.
While Don Quixote and Sancho were shut away together, they had a conversation that is recounted in the history with a good deal of accuracy and attention to detail.
Sancho said to his master:
"Senor, I've already conveyanced my wife to let me go with your grace wherever you want to take me."
"Convinced is what you mean, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "not conveyanced."
"Once or twice," responded Sancho, "if I remember correctly, I've asked your grace not to correct my words if you understand what I mean by them, and when you don't understand, to say: 'Sancho, you devil, I don't understand you,' and if I can't explain, then you can correct me; I'm so plaint...."
"I do not understand you, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "because I do not know what I am so plaint means."
"So plaint means," responded Sancho, "That's just the way I am."
"Now I understand you even less," replied Don Quixote.
"Well, if you can't understand me," responded Sancho, "I don't know any other way to say it; that's all I know, and may God protect me."
"Oh, now I have it," responded Don Quixote. "You mean to say that you are so pliant, so docile and softhearted, that you will accept what I tell you and learn what I teach you."
"I'll bet," said Sancho, "you knew what I was saying and understood me from the beginning, but wanted to mix me up so you could hear me make another two hundred mistakes."
"That may be," replied Don Quixote. "Tell me, then, what does Teresa say?"
"Teresa says," said Sancho, "that I should keep a sharp eye on you, and there's no arguing against written proof, because if you cut the deck you don't deal, and a bird in hand is worth two in the bush. And I say that a woman's advice is no jewel, and the man who doesn't take it is a fool."
"And I say that as well," responded Don Quixote. "Continue, Sancho my friend, go on, for today you are speaking pearls."
"The fact is," responded Sancho, "that as your grace knows very well, we're all subject to death, here today and gone tomorrow, and the lamb goes as quickly as the sheep, and nobody can promise himself more hours of life in this world than the ones God wants to give him, because death is silent, and when she comes knocking at the door of our life, she's always in a hurry, and nothing will stop her, not prayers or struggles or scepters or miters, and that's something that everybody hears, something they tell us from the pulpit."
"All of that is true," said Don Quixote, "but I do not know where it is taking you."
"It's taking me to this," said Sancho. "Your grace should tell me exactly what salary you'll give me for each month I serve you, and this salary should be paid to me from your estate; I don't want to depend on anybody's favors, which come late, or badly, or never; may God help me to tend to my own business. The point is, I want to know what I'm earning, whether it's a lot or a little; a hen sits on her egg, and a lot of littles make a lot, and as long as you're earning you don't lose a thing. And if it should happen, and I don't believe or expect that it will, that your grace gives me the insula you promised, I'm not such an ingrate, and not such a pennypincher, that I won't want the rent from the insula to be added up and deducted from my salary pro rat."
"Sancho my friend," responded Don Quixote, "sometimes a rat is as good as a rata."
"I understand," said Sancho. "I'll bet I should have said rata and not rat, but it doesn't matter at all, because your grace understood me."
"And understood you so well," responded Don Quixote, "that I have penetrated to your most hidden thoughts, and I know the target you are trying to hit with the countless arrows of your proverbs. Look, Sancho: I certainly should have specified a salary for you if I had found in any of the histories of the knights errant an example that would have revealed to me and shown me, by means of the smallest sign, what wages were for a month, or a year, but I have read all or most of their histories, and I do not recall reading that any knight errant ever specified a fixed salary for his squire. I know only that all of them served without pay, and when they least expected it, if things had gone well for their masters, they found themselves rewarded with an insula or something comparable; at the very least, they received a title and nobility. If, with these expectations and addenda, you, Sancho, would like to serve me again, then welcome,4 but if you think I am going to force the ancient usage of knight errantry beyond its limits and boundaries, then you are sadly mistaken. Therefore, my dear Sancho, return to your house and tell your Teresa my intention, and if it pleases her and you to serve me without wages, bene quidem,5 and if not, we shall still be friends, for if the pigeon coop has plenty of feed, it will have plenty of pigeons. And remember, Sancho, that fine hopes are better than miserable possessions, and a good lawsuit better than a bad payment. I am speaking in this manner, Sancho, so you may understand that, like you, I too know how to pour down rainstorms of proverbs. And, finally, I want to tell you, and I do tell you, that if you do not wish to accompany me without pay, and take the same risks I do, then God be with you and turn you into a saint, for I shall have no lack of squires more obedient, more solicitous, less uncouth, and less talkative than you."
When Sancho heard his master's firm resolve, the sky filled with clouds and his heart sank, because he had been certain that his master would not leave without him for all the world's riches, and so he was perplexed and thoughtful when Sanson Carrasco came in, along with the niece,6 who was eager to hear the arguments he would use to persuade their lord and master not to seek adventures again. Sanson, famous for his sly humor, came up to him, embraced him as he had done the first time, and in a loud voice said to him:
"O flower of errant chivalry! O resplendent light of arms! O honor and paragon of the Spanish nation! May it please Almighty God that the person or persons who impede or hinder your third sally never emerge from the labyrinth of their desires, and never be granted what they most wish for."
And turning to the housekeeper, he said:
"The housekeeper can certainly stop reciting St. Apollonia's prayer, for I know it is the clear decision of the heavenly spheres that Senor Don Quixote should once again put into effect his original and noble thoughts, and it would weigh heavily on my conscience if I did not convey to this knight and persuade him that the strength of his valiant arm and the virtue of his valorous spirit should tarry and be constrained no more, for delay thwarts the righting of wrongs, the defense of orphans, the honoring of damsels, the favoring of widows, the protection of married women, and other things of this nature that touch on, relate to, depend on, and are attached to the order of errant chivalry. O Senor Don Quixote, so fair and brave, let it be today rather than tomorrow that your lofty grace sets out on your way! And if anything is needed to make this a reality, here I am to supply it with my person and my fortune, and if it proves necessary to serve your magnificence as squire, I would consider it a most happy stroke of good fortune!"
At this, Don Quixote turned to Sancho and said:
"Did I not tell you, Sancho, that I would have more than enough squires? Look who is offering to fill the position: none other than the extraordinary Bachelor Sanson Carrasco, perpetual diversion and delight of the courtyards of the Salamancan schools, healthy in body, agile of limb, silent, long-suffering of heat as well as cold, hunger as well as thirst, and possessed of all the qualities required to be the squire of a knight errant. But heaven forbid that for the sake of my own pleasure this pillar of letters be weakened, this vessel of sciences broken, this lofty glory of the good and liberal arts cut down. Let this new Samson remain in his native land, and by honoring it may he also honor the white hairs of his aging parents, for I shall be content with any squire at all, since Sancho does not deign to come with me."
"Oh yes, I do, I deign," responded Sancho, deeply moved, his eyes filled with tears, and he continued: "Let nobody say of me, dear master, that when all the bread's eaten he leaves; no, for I don't come from ungrateful stock; everybody knows, especially in my village, what kind of people the Panzas were, and I come from them, and besides, because of your many good actions and even more good words, I know and understand your grace's desire to show me favor; if I tried to work out exactly how much my salary would be, it was to please my wife; when she puts her hand to convincing you of something, no mallet can press down the hoops of a barrel the way she can press you to do what she wants, but the truth is, a man must be a man, and a woman a woman, and since I'm a man everywhere, which I cannot deny, I also want to be a man in my own house, no matter who's inside; and so, there's nothing more to do except for your grace to prepare your will and its codicil so it can't be resoaked, and for us to be on our way soon so that the soul of Senor Sanson doesn't suffer anymore, because he says his conscience demands that he persuade your grace to go out into the world for a third time; and I offer to serve your grace again, faithfully and loyally and as well as and better than all the squires who have ever served knights errant in past or present times."
The bachelor was astonished to hear the manner and fashion in which Sancho Panza spoke, for although he had read the first history of the knight, he never believed the squire was as amusing as he had been depicted there; but when he heard him say will and codicil that can't be resoaked instead of will and codicil that can't be revoked, he believed everything about him that he had read, and took him to be one of the most solemn simpletons of our day, and said to himself that two such madmen as this master and servant had never been known in the world before.
Finally, Don Quixote and Sancho embraced and were friends again, and with the approval and blessing of the great Carrasco, who for the moment was his oracle, Don Quixote declared that his departure would take place in three days, which would give him time to prepare what was needed for the journey, and to find a full sallet helmet, which he said he must have at all costs. Sanson offered him one, because he knew that a friend of his who owned one would not refuse to give it to him, though it was darkened by rust and mold rather than having the brightness of polished steel.
The curses that the two women, the housekeeper and the niece, hurled at the bachelor were beyond number; they tore their hair, scratched their faces, and in the manner of professional mourners bewailed the departure of their lord and master as if it were his death. Sanson's plan when he urged Don Quixote to leave again was to do what the history will recount later, and he did it all on the advice of the priest and the barber, with whom he had consulted earlier.
In short, in those three days Don Quixote and Sancho prepared everything they thought necessary, and Sancho having placated his wife, and Don Quixote his niece and his housekeeper, at nightfall, unseen by anyone except the bachelor, who wanted to accompany them half a league from the village, they set out on the road to Toboso, Don Quixote on his good Rocinante and Sancho on his old donkey, his saddlebags supplied with food and provisions, and his purse with money given to him by Don Quixote for any eventualities. Sanson embraced Don Quixote and asked that he keep him informed regarding his good or bad luck, so that he might rejoice over the first or grieve over the second, as the laws of friendship demanded. Don Quixote promised that he would, Sanson returned to the village, and the two men took the road to the great city of Toboso.
CHAPTER VIII
Which recounts what befell Don Quixote as he was going to see his lady Dulcinea of Toboso
"Blessed be almighty Allah!" says Hamete Benengeli at the beginning of the eighth chapter. "Blessed be Allah!" he repeats three times, and says he gives these blessings at seeing that he now has Don Quixote and Sancho in the countryside, and the readers of his amiable history can assume that from this point on, the feats and exploits of Don Quixote and his squire will commence, and he will persuade them to forget the past knightly deeds of the Ingenious Gentleman and set their eyes upon those that are still to come, for they begin now on the road to Toboso, just as the earlier ones began in the fields of Montiel, and what he asks is very little considering all that he promises, and so he continues, saying:
Don Quixote and Sancho were now alone, and as soon as Sanson rode away Rocinante began to neigh and the donkey to snort, and both knight and squire considered this a good sign and a fortunate omen; although, if truth be told, the donkey snorted and brayed more than the horse neighed, and from this Sancho concluded that his good fortune would exceed and go beyond that of his master, and I do not know if he based this on the astrology he may have known, since the history says nothing about that, although he had been heard to say whenever he stumbled or fell that he would have been happy if he had never left his house, because the only thing one got from stumbling or falling was a torn shoe or broken ribs, and though he was a fool, in this he was not far off the mark. Don Quixote said to him:
"Sancho my friend, night is coming on more hurriedly and more darkly than we require if we are to see Toboso at dawn, for I am determined to go there before I embark on another adventure, and there I shall receive the blessing and approval of the peerless Dulcinea, and with this approval I believe and am certain that I shall finish and bring to a happy conclusion every dangerous adventure, for nothing in this life makes knights errant more valiant than finding themselves favored by their ladies."
"I believe that, too," responded Sancho, "but I think it will be difficult for your grace to talk to her or be with her, at least any place where you can receive her blessing, unless she throws it down to you from the fence around the corral where I saw her the first time, when I brought her the letter with news of the foolish and crazy things your grace was doing in the heart of the Sierra Morena."
"Did you imagine they were corral fences, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "which you looked through or over in order to see that never sufficiently praised elegance and beauty? Surely they were galleries, or passageways, or porticoes, or whatever they are called, of rich and regal palaces."
"Anything's possible," responded Sancho, "but they looked like fences to me, unless my memory fails me."
"Despite everything, Sancho, let us go there," replied Don Quixote. "As long as I see her, it does not matter to me if it is through fences, or windows, or narrow cracks, or the grillework around a garden; any ray of light from the sun of her beauty that reaches my eyes will illuminate my understanding and fortify my heart, so that I shall be unique and incomparable in judgment and valor."
"Well, the truth is, Senor," responded Sancho, "that when I saw the sun of my lady Dulcinea of Toboso, it wasn't bright enough to send out any rays, and it must have been that since her grace was sifting that wheat I told you about, the dust she raised made something like a cloud in front of her face and darkened it."
"Do you still persist, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "in saying, thinking, believing, and insisting that my lady Dulcinea was sifting wheat, when that is a task and a practice far removed from everything that is done and should be done by highborn persons, who are created and intended for other practices and pastimes, which reveal their rank even at a distance...! Oh, Sancho, how badly you remember the verses of our poet1 in which he depicts for us the labors performed in their crystal dwellings by the four nymphs who raised their heads from their beloved river, the Tajo, and sat in a green meadow to embroider those rich cloths which the ingenious poet describes for us there, all of them intertwined and interwoven with gold, silk thread, and pearls. And the work of my lady must have been of this sort when you saw her, but the envy that an evil enchanter feels toward my affairs alters all things that can give me pleasure, and changes their appearance; I fear that in the history of my deeds, which they say has been published, if the author by chance was some wise man who is my enemy, he will have put in certain things instead of others, mixing a thousand lies with one truth, digressing to recount actions other than those required in the coherent narration of a truthful history. O envy, root of infinite evils and woodworm of virtues! All vices, Sancho, bring with them some kind of delight, but envy brings nothing but vexation, rancor, and rage."
"That's what I say, too," responded Sancho, "and I think that in the legend or history about us that Bachelor Carrasco told us he saw, my good name must be turned upside down and dragged helter-skelter and hither and yon, as they say, through the streets. But by my faith as an honest man, I've never said anything bad about any enchanter, and I don't own enough for anybody to envy me; true, I have some guile in me, and a touch of cunning, but all of it is covered and concealed by the great cloak of my simplicity, which is always natural and never sly. And even if I had nothing else, there is my belief, and I've always believed, firmly and truly, in God and in everything that is thought and believed by the Holy Roman Catholic Church, and there is my being, as I am, a mortal enemy of the Jews, and so the historians ought to take pity on me and treat me well in their writings. But let them say whatever they want; naked I was born, I'm naked now: I haven't lost or gained a thing; as long as I've been put in books and passed from hand to hand out in the world, I don't care what they say about me."
"That reminds me, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "of what happened to a famous poet of our day who, having written a malicious satire against all the courtesans, did not include or mention a certain lady because he was not sure if she was one or not; and this lady, seeing that she was not on the list with the rest, complained to the poet, asking what he had seen in her to make him exclude her from their number, and saying that he ought to lengthen the satire and include her, and if he did not, he would wonder why he had ever been born. The poet did as she asked and said the most vicious things about her, and she was satisfied, for she had become famous, though her fame was infamous. And another tale that is relevant here is one they tell about the shepherd who set fire to and burned the famous Temple of Diana, counted as one of the seven wonders of the world, so that his name would live throughout the centuries; and