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The Third BookChapter III.
Chapter III.
Wherein Are Rehearsed the Innumerable Misfortunes Which Don Quixote and His
Good Squire Sancho Suffered in the Inn, Which He, to His Harm, Thought to Be
a Castle.
By this time Don Quixote was come to himself again out of his trance,
and, with the like lamentable notes as that wherewithal he had called his
squire the day before, when he was overthrown in the vale of the pack -
staves, he called to him, saying, `Friend Sancho, art thou asleep? sleepest
thou, friend Sancho?` `What! I asleep? I renounce myself,` quoth Sancho, full
of grief and despite, `if I think not all the devils in hell have been
visiting of me here this night!` `Thou mayst certainly believe it,` replied
Don Quixote; `for either I know very little, or else this castle is enchanted.
For I let thee to wit - but thou must first swear to keep secret that which I
mean to tell thee now, until after my death.` `So I swear,` quoth Sancho. `I
say it.` quoth Don Quixote, `because I cannot abide to take away anybody`s
honour.` `Why,` quoth Sancho again, `I swear that I will conceal it until
after your worships days; and I pray God that I may discover it to - morrow.`
`Have I wrought thee such harm, Sancho,`replied the knight, `as thou wouldst
desire to see me end so soon?` `It is not for that, sir,` quoth Sancho; `but
because I cannot abide to keep things long, lest they should rot in my
custody.` `Let it be for what thou pleasest,` said Don Quixote; `for I do
trust greater matters than that to thy love and courtesy. And that I may
rehearse it unto thee briefly, know that, a little while since, the lord of
this castle`s daughter came unto me, who is the most fair and beautiful damsel
that can be found in a great part of the earth. What could I say unto thee of
the ornaments of her person? what of her excellent wit? what of other secret
things? which, that I may preserve the faith due unto my Lady Dulcinea of
Toboso, I pass over in silence. I will only tell thee that Heaven, envious of
the inestimable good that fortune had put in my hands; or perhaps (and that is
most probable) this castle, as I have said, is enchanted, just at the time
when we were in most sweet and amorous speech, I being not able to see or know
from whence it came, there arrived a hand, joined to the arm of some mighty
giant, and gave me such a blow on the jaws as they remain all bathed in blood,
and did after so thump and bruise me as I feel myself worse now than
yesterday, when the carriers, through Rozinantes madness, did used us thou
knowest how. By which I conjecture that the treasure of this damsel`s beauty
is kept by some enchanted Moor, and is not reserved for me.` `Nor for me.,`
quoth Sancho; `for I have been bombasted by more than four hundred Moors,
which have hammered me in such sort as the bruising of the pack - staves was
gilded bread and spice - cakes in comparison of it. But, sir, I pray you tell
me, how can you call this a good and rare adventure, seeing we remain so
pitifully used after it? And yet your harms may be accounted less, in respect
you have held, as you said, that incomparable beauty between your arms. But I,
what have I had other than the greatest blows that I shall ever have in my
life? Unfortunate that I am, and the mother that bare me! that neither am an
errant - knight, nor ever means to be any, and yet the greatest part of our
mishaps still falls to my lot.` `It seems that thou wast likewise beaten,`
replied Don Quixote. `Evil befal my lineage!` quoth Sancho; `have not I told
you I was? `Be not grieved, friend,` replied the knight; `for I will now
compound the precious balsam, which will cure us in the twinkling of an eye.`
The officer having by this time lighted his lamp, entered into the room
to see him whom he accounted to be dead; and as soon as Sancho saw him, seeing
him come in in his shirt, his head wrapped up in a kerchief, the lamp in his
hand, having withal a very evil - favoured countenance, he demanded of his
lord, - `Sir, is this by chance the enchanted Moor, that turns anew to torment
us for somewhat that is yet unpunished?` `He cannot be the Moor,` answered Don
Quixote; `for necromancers suffer not themselves to be seen by any.` `If they
suffer not themselves to be seen,` quoth Sancho, `they suffer themselves at
least to felt; if not, let my shoulders bear witness.` `So might mine also,`
said Don Quixote; `but, notwithstanding, this is no sufficient argument to
prove him whom we see to be the enchanted Moor.` As thus they discoursed, the
officer arrived, and, finding them to commune in so peaceable and quiet
manner, he rested admired. Yet Don Quixote lay with his face upward as he had
left him, and was not able to stir himself, he was so beaten and beplaistered.
The officer approaching, demanded of him, `Well, how dost thou, good fellow?`
`I would speak more mannerly,` quoth Don Quixote, `if I were but such a one as
thou art. Is it the custom of this country, you bottle - head! to talk after
so rude a manner to knights - errant?` The other, impatient to see one of so
vile presence use him with that bad language, could not endure it; but,
lifting up the lamp, oil and all, gave Don Quixote such a blow on the pate
with it as he broke his head in one or two places, and, leaving all in
darkness behind him, departed presently out of the chamber. `Without doubt,`
quoth Sancho, seeing this accident, `sir, that was the enchanted Moor; and I
think he keepeth the treasure for others, and reserveth only for us fists and
lampblows.` `It is as thou sayst,` quoth Don Quixote; `and therefore we are
not to make account of these enchantments, or be wroth and angry at them; for,
in respect that they are invisible and fantastical, we shall not find him on
whom we may take revenge, though we labour ever so much to do it. Arise,
therefore, Sancho, if thou beest able, and call to the constable of this
fortress, and procure me some oil, wine, salt, and vinegar, that I make the
wholesome balsam; for verily I believe that I do need it very much at this
time, the blood runneth so fast out of the wound which the spirit gave me even
now.` Sancho then got up, with grief enough of his bones, and went without
light towards the innkeeper`s, and encountered on the way the officer of the
holy brotherhood, who stood harkening what did become of his enemy; to whom he
said, `Sir, whosoever thou beest, I desire thee, do us the favour and benefit
to give me a little rosemary, oil, wine, and salt, to cure one of the best
knights - errant that is in the earth, who lieth now in that bed, sorely
wounded by the hands of an enchanted Moor that is in this inn.` When the
officer heard him speak in that manner, he held him to be out of his wits; and
because the dawning began, he opened the inn - door, and told unto the host
that which Sancho demanded. The innkeeper presently provided all that he
wanted, and Sancho carried it to his master, who held his head between both
his hands, and complained much of the grief that the blow of his head caused,
which did him no other hurt than to raise up two blisters somewhat great, and
that which he supposed to be blood was only the humour which the anxiety and
labour of mind he passed in this last dark adventure had made him to sweat.
[See Made A Compound: He took his simples, and made a compound of them,
boiling them until he thought the mixture had arrived at the exact point.]
In resolution, Don Quixote took his simples, of which he made a compound,
mixing them all together, and then boiling of them a good while, until they
came (as he thought) to their perfection. He asked for a vial wherein he might
lay this precious liquor; but, the inn being unable to afford him any such, he
resolved at last to put it into a tin oil - pot, which the host did freely
give him, and forthwith he said over the pot eighty paternosters, and as many
aves, salves, and creeds, and accompanied every word with a cross, in form of
benediction; at all which ceremonies, Sancho, the innkeeper, and the officer
of the holy brotherhood were present; for the carrier went very soberly to
dress and make ready his mules.
The liquor being made, he himself would presently make experience of the
virtue of that precious balsam, as he did imagine it to be, and so did drink a
good draught of the overplus that could not enter into his pot, being a quart
or thereabouts; and scarce had he done it when he began to vomit so extremely
as he left nothing uncast up in his stomach; and, through the pain and
agitation caused by his vomits, he fell into a very abundant and great sweat,
and therefore commanded himself to be well covered, and left alone to take his
ease. Which was done forthwith and he slept three hours, and then, awaking,
found himself so wonderfully eased and free from all bruising and pain, as he
doubted not but that he was thoroughly whole; and therefore did verily
persuade himself that he had happened on the right manner of compounding the
Balsam of Fierabras; and that, having that medicine, he might boldly from
thenceforth undertake any ruins, battles, conflicts, or adventures, how
dangerous soever.
Sancho Panza, who likewise attributed the sudden cure of his master to
miracle, requested that it would please him to give him leave to sup up the
remainder of the balsam which rested in the kettle, and was no small quantity;
which Don Quixote granted; and he, lifting up between both hands, did, with a
good faith and better talent, quaff it off all, being little less than his
master had drunk. The success, then, of the history is, that poor Sancho`s
stomach was not so delicate as his lord`s, wherefore, before he could cast, he
was tormented with so many cruel pangs, loathings, sweats, and dismays, as he
did verily persuade himself that his last hour was come; and, perceiving
himself to be so afflicted and troubled, he cursed the balsam, and the thief
which had given it to him. Don Quixote, seeing of him in that pitiful taking,
said: `I believe, Sancho, all this evil befalleth thee because thou art not
dubbed knight; for I persuade myself that this liquor cannot help any one that
is not.` `If your worship knew that,` quoth Sancho, - `evil befall me and all
my lineage! - why did you therefore consent that I should taste it?`
In this time the drench had made his operation, and the poor squire did
so swift and vehemently discharge himself by both channels, as neither his mat
or canvas covering could serve after to any use. He sweat and sweat again,
with such excessive swoonings, as not only himself, but likewise all the
beholders, did verily deem that his life was ending. This storm and mishap
endured about some two hours, after which he remained not cured as his master,
but so weary and indisposed as he was not able to stand.
But Don Quixote, who, as we have said, felt himself eased and cured,
would presently depart to seek adventures, it seeming unto him that all the
time which he abode there was no other than a depriving both of the world and
needful people of his favour and assistance; and more, through the security
and confidence that he had in his balsam. And carried thus away by this
desire, he himself saddled his horse Rozinante, and did empannel his squire`s
beast, whom he likewise helped to apparel himself and to mount upon his ass;
and presently, getting a - horseback, he rode over to a corner of the inn, and
laid hand on a javelin that was there, to make it serve him instead of a
lance. All the people that were in the inn stood beholding him, which were
above twenty in number.
The innkeeper`s daughter did also look upon him, and he did never
withdraw his eye from her, and would ever and anon breathe forth so doleful a
sigh as if he had plucked it out of the bottom of his heart; which all the
beholders took to proceed from the grief of his ribs, but especially such as
had seen him plaistered the night before. And, being both mounted thus a
horseback, he called the innkeeper, and said unto him, with a grave and staid
voice: `Many and great are the favours, sir constable, which I have received
in this your castle, and do remain most obliged to gratify you for them all
the days of my life. And if I may pay or recompense them by revenging of you
upon any proud miscreant that hath done you any wrongs, know that it is mine
office to help the weak, to revenge the wronged, and to chastise traitors.
Call therefore to memory, and if you find anything of this kind to commend to
my correction, you need not but once to say it; for I do promise you, by the
order of knighthood which I have received, to satisfy and apay you according
to your own desire.`
The innkeeper answered him again, with like gravity and staidness,
saying, `Sir knight, I shall not need your assistance when any wrong is done
to me; for I know very well myself how to take the revenge that I shall think
good, when the injury is offered. That only which I require is, that you
defray the charges whereat you have been here in the inn this night, as well
for the straw and barley given to your horses, as also for both your beds.`
`This, then, is an inn?` quoth Don Quixote. `That it is, and an honourable one
too,` replied the innkeeper. `Then have I hitherto lived in an error,` quoth
Don Quixote; `for, in very good sooth, I took it till now to be a castle, and
that no mean one neither. But since that it is no castle, but an inn, that
which you may do for the present time is, to forgive me those expenses; for I
cannot do aught against the custom of knights - errant; of all which I most
certainly know (without ever having read until this present anything to the
contrary) that they never paid for their lodging, or other thing, in any inn
wheresoever they lay; for, by all law and right, any good entertainment that
is given unto them is their due, in recompense of the insupportable travels
they endure, seeking of adventures both day and night, in summer and winter, a
- foot and a - horseback, with thirst and hunger, in heat and cold, being
subject to all the distemperatures of heaven and all the discommodities of the
earth.` `All that concerns me nothing,` replied the innkeeper. `Pay unto me my
due, and leave these tales and knighthoods apart; for I care for nothing else
but how I may come by mine own.` `Thou art a mad and a bad host,` quoth Don
Quixote. And, saying so, he spurred Rozinante, and, flourishing with his
javelin, he issued out of the inn in despite of them all, and, without looking
behind him to see once whether his squire followed, he rode a good way off
from it.
The innkeeper, seeing he departed without satisfying him, came to Sancho
Panza to get his money of him, who answered that, since his lord would not
pay, he would likewise give nothing; for being, as he was, squire to a knight
- errant, the very same rules and reason that exempted his master from
payments in inns and taverns ought also to serve and be understood as well of
him. The innkeeper grew wroth at these words, and threatened him that, if he
did not pay him speedily, he would recover it in manner that would grieve him.
Sancho replied, swearing by the order of knighthood which his lord had
received, that he would not pay one denier, though it cost him his life; for
the good and ancient customs of knights - errant should never, through his
default, be infringed; nor should their squires which are yet to come into the
world ever complain on him, or upbraid him for transgressing or breaking so
just a duty. But his bad fortune ordained that there were at the very time in
the same inn four clothiers of Segovia, and three point - makers of the stews
of Cordova, and two neighbours of the market of Seville, all pleasant folk,
well - minded, malicious, and playsome; all which, pricked and in a manner
moved all at one time, and by the very same spirit, came near to Sancho, and,
pulling him down off his ass, one of them ran in for the innkeeper`s coverlet,
and, casting him into it, they looked up, and, seeing the house was somewhat
too low for their intended business, they determined to go into the base -
court, which was overhead only limited by heaven; and then, Sancho being laid
in the midst of the blanket, they began to toss him aloft and sport themselves
with him, in the manner they were wont to use dogs at Shrovetide.
The outcries of the miserable betossed squire were so many and so loud as
they arrived at last to his lord`s hearing, who, standing awhile to listen
attentively what it was, believed that some new adventure did approach, until
he perceived at last that he which cried was his squire; wherefore, turning
the reins, he made towards the inn with a loathsome gallop, and, finding it
shut, he rode all about it to see whether he might enter into it. But scarce
was he arrived at the walls of the base - court, which were not very high,
when he perceived the foul play that was used toward his squire; for he saw
him descend and ascend into the air again, with such grace and agility, that,
did his choler permit, I certainly persuade myself, he would have burst for
laughter. He assayed to mount the wall from his horse, but he was so bruised
and broken as he could not do so much as alight from his back; wherefore, from
his back, he used such reproachful and vile language to those which tossed
Sancho, as it is impossible to lay them down in writing. And, notwithstanding
all his scornful speech, yet did not they cease from their laughter and
labour; nor the flying Sancho from his complaints, now and then meddled with
threats, now and then with entreaties; but availed very little, nor could
prevail, until they were constrained by weariness to give him over. Then did
they bring him his ass again, and, helping him up upon it, they lapped him in
his mantle; and the compassionate Maritornes, beholding him so afflicted and
o`erlaboured, thought it needful to help him to a draught of water, and so
brought it him from the well, because the water thereof was coolest. Sancho
took the pot, and, laying it to his lips, he abstained from drinking by his
lord`s persuasion, who cried to him aloud, saying, `Son Sancho, drink not
water; drink it not, son; for it will kill thee. Behold, I have here with me
the most holy balsam` (and showed him the oil - pot of the drenches he had
compounded); `for, with only two drops that thou drinkest, thou shalt, without
all doubt, remain whole and sound.` At those words, Sancho, looking behind
him, answered his master, with a louder voice: `Have you forgotten so soon how
that I am no knight, or do you desire that I vomit the remnant of the poor
bowels that remain in me since yesternight? Keep your liquor for yourself, in
the devil`s name, and permit me to live in peace.` And the conclusion of this
speech and his beginning to drink was done all in one instant; but, finding at
the first draught that it was water, he would not state it any more, but
requested Maritornes that she would give him some wine, which she did straight
with a very good will, and likewise paid for it out her own purse; for in
effect it is written of her, that though she followed that trade, yet had she
some shadows and lineaments in her of Christianity. As soon as Sancho had
drunken, he visited his ass` ribs with his heels twice or thrice; and, the
inn being opened, he issued out of it, very glad that he had paid nothing, and
gotten his desire, although it were to the cost of his ordinary sureties, to
wit, his shoulders. Yet did the innkeeper remain possessed of his wallets, as
a payment for that he owed him; but Sancho was so distracted when he departed
as he never missed them. After he departed, the innkeeper thought to have shut
up the inn - door again; but the gentlemen - tossers would not permit, being
such folk that, if Don Quixote were verily one of the knights of the Round
Table, yet would not they esteem him two chips.
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