Gavilan College celebrates 400 years of Don Quijote

Don Quixote de la Mancha, translated by Charles Jarvis

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The Life and Exploits
of the Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha

By Miguel de Cervantes, Translated by Charles Jarvis, Esq.

The First Part

CHAPTER VII: Wherein are continued the numberless Hardships
which the brave Don Quixote and his good Squire Sancho Panza underwent in the Inn, which he unhappily took for a Castle.


By this time Don Quixote was come to himself, and with the very same tone of voice with which the day before he had called to his squire when he lay stretched along in the valley of pack-staves, he began to call to him, saying: "Sancho, friend, sleepest thou; sleepest thou, friend Sancho?" — "How should I sleep, woe is me?" answered Sancho, full of trouble and vexation; "I cannot but think all the devils in hell have been in my company to-night." — "You may well believe so," answered Don Quixote, "and either I know little, or this castle is enchanted. For you must know—but what I am now going to tell you, you must swear to keep secret, until after my death." — "Yes, I swear," answered Sancho. "I say it," replied Don Quixote, "because I am an enemy to the taking away anybody's reputation." — "I do swear," said Sancho again, "I will keep it secret, until after your decease, and God grant I may discover it to-morrow." — "Have I done you so many ill turns, Sancho," answered Don Quixote, "that you -[66]- would willingly see me dead so very soon?" — "It is not for that," answered Sancho; "but I am an enemy to keeping things long, and I would not have them rot with keeping."

"Be it for what it will," said Don Quixote, "I trust for greater matters than that, to your love and kindness, and therefore you must know, that this night there has befallen me one of the strangest adventures imaginable, and to tell it you in few words, know, that a little while ago there came to me the daughter of the lord of this castle, who is the most accomplished and beautiful damsel that is to be found in a great part of the habitable earth. What could I not tell you of the gracefulness of her person? What of the sprightliness of her wit? What of other hidden charms, which, to preserve the fidelity I owe to my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, I will pass over untouched and in silence? Only I must tell you, that heaven, envying so great happiness as fortune had put into my hands, or perhaps, which is more probable, this castle, as I said before, being enchanted at the time that she and I were engaged in the sweetest and most amorous conversation, without my seeing it or knowing whence it came, comes a hand, fastened to the arm of some monstrous giant, and gave me such a dowse on the chaps, that they were all bathed in blood; and it afterwards pounded me in such sort, that I am in a worse case than yesterday, when the carriers, for Rozinante's frolic, did us the mischief you know. Whence I conjecture, that the treasure of this damsel's beauty is guarded by some enchanted Moor, and is not reserved for me." — "Nor for me neither," answered Sancho; "for more than four hundred Moors have cudgelled me in such a manner, that the basting of the pack-staves was tarts and cheesecakes to it. But tell me, pray, Sir, call you this an excellent and rare adventure, which has left us in such a pickle? Though it was not quite so bad with your worship, who had between your arms that incomparable beauty aforesaid. But I, what had I, besides the heaviest blows that I hope I shall ever feel as long as I live? Woe is me, and the mother that bore me! for I am no knight-errant, nor ever mean to be one; and yet, of all the misadventures, the greater part still falls to my share." — "What! have you been pounded too?" answered Don Quixote.— "Evil befall my lineage! "quoth Sancho, "have I not told you I have?" — "Be in no pain, friend," said Don Quixote; "for I will now make the precious balsam with which we will cure ourselves in the twinkling of an eye." By this time the officer had lighted his lamp, and entered to see the person he thought was killed; and Sancho, seeing him come in, and perceiving him to be in his shirt, with a nightcap on his head, a lamp in his hand, and a very ill-favoured countenance, he demanded of his master: "Pray, Sir, is this the enchanted Moor, coming to finish the correction he has bestowed upon us?" — "It cannot be the Moor," answered Don Quixote; "for the enchanted suffer not themselves to be seen by anybody." — "If they will not be seen, they will be felt," said Sancho; "witness my shoulders." — "Mine might speak too," answered Don Quixote; "but this is not sufficient evidence to convince us that what we see is the enchanted Moor."

The officer entered, and finding them communing in so calm a manner, stood in suspense. It is true indeed Don Quixote still lay flat on his back, without being able to stir, through mere pounding and plastering. The officer approached him, and said: "How fares it, honest friend?" — "I would speak more respectfully," answered Don Quixote, "were I in your place. Is it the fashion of this country to talk in this manner to -[67]- knights-errant, blockhead?" The officer, seeing himself so ill-treated by one of so scurvy an appearance, could not bear it, and lifting up the brass lamp, with all its oil, gave it Don Quixote over the pate in such a manner that he broke his head, and all being in the dark, he ran instantly out of the room. "Doubtless, Sir," quoth Sancho Panza, "this is the enchanted Moor; and he reserves the treasure for others, and for us only blows and lamp-knocks." — "It is even so," answered Don Quixote: "and it is to no purpose to regard this business of enchantments, or to be out of humour or angry with them; for as they are invisible and fantastical only, we shall find nothing to be revenged on though we endeavour it never so much. Get you up, Sancho, if you can, and call the governor of this fortress; and take care to get me some oil, wine, salt, and rosemary, to make the healing balsam: for, in truth, I believe I want it very much at this time; for the wound this phantom has given me bleeds very fast."

Sancho got up, with pain enough of his bones, and went in the dark towards the landlord's chamber; and meeting with the officer, who was listening to discover what his enemy would be at, said to him, "Sir, whoever you are, do us the favour and kindness to help us to a little rosemary, oil, salt, and wine; for they are wanted to cure one of the best knights-errant in the world, who lies in yon bed, sorely wounded by the hands of the enchanted Moor that is in this inn." The officer hearing him talk at this rate took him for one out of his senses; and the day beginning to dawn he opened the inn-door, and calling the host, told him what the honest man wanted. The innkeeper furnished him with what he desired, and Sancho carried them to Don Quixote, who lay with his hands on his head, complaining of the pain of the lamp-knock, which had done him no other hurt than the raising a couple of bumps pretty much swelled: and what he took for blood was nothing but sweat, occasioned by the anguish of the past storm. In short, he took his simples, and made a compound of them, mixing them together, and boiling them a good while, until he thought they were enough. Then he asked for a phial to put it in; and there being no such thing in the inn, he resolved to put it in a cruise, or oil-flask of tin, which the host made him a present of. And immediately he said over the cruise above fourscore Paternosters, and as many Ave Marias, Salves, and Credos, and every word was accompanied with a cross by way of benediction: at all which were present, Sancho, the innkeeper, and the officer; as for the carrier, he was gone soberly about the business of tending his mules.

This done, he resolved immediately to make trial of the virtue of that precious balsam, as he imagined it to be; and so he drank about a pint and a half of what the cruise could not contain, and which remained in the pot it was infused and boiled in: and scarcely had he done drinking, when he began to vomit so violently, that nothing was left in his stomach; and through the convulsive strainings and agitation of the vomit, he fell into a most copious sweat; wherefore he ordered them to cover him up warm and to leave him alone. They did so, and he continued fast asleep above three hours, when he awoke, and found himself greatly relieved in his body, and so much recovered of his bruising, that he thought himself as good as cured; and he was thoroughly persuaded that he had hit on the true balsam of Fierabras, and that, with this remedy, he might thenceforward encounter, without fear, any dangers, battles, and conflicts whatever, though never so perilous. -[68]-

Sancho Panza, who likewise took his master's amendment for a miracle, desired he would give him what remained in the pipkin, which was no small quantity. Don Quixote granting his request, he took it in both hands, and with a good faith, and better will, tossed it down into his stomach, swallowing very little less than his master had done. Now the case was, that poor Sancho's stomach was not so nice and squeamish as his master's, and, therefore, before he could throw it up it gave him such pangs and loathings, with such cold sweats and faintings, that he verily thought his last hour was come; and finding himself so afflicted and tormented, he cursed the balsam, and the thief that had given it him. Don Quixote, seeing him in that condition, said to him, "I believe, Sancho, that all this mischief has befallen you because you are not dubbed a knight: for I am of opinion this liquor can do no good to those who are not."— "If your worship knew that," replied Sancho, "evil betide me and all my generation! why did you suffer me to drink it?" By this time the drench operated effectually, and the poor squire began to discharge at both ends with so much precipitation, that the flag mat upon which he lay, and the blanket in which he wrapped himself, were never after fit for use. He sweated and sweated again, with such faintings and fits, that not only himself but everybody else thought he was expiring. This hurricane and evacuation lasted him near two hours; at the end of which he did not remain as his master did, but so shattered and broken that he was not able to stand. But Don Quixote, who, as is said, found himself at ease and whole, would needs depart immediately in quest of adventures, believing that all the time he loitered away there was depriving the world, and the distressed in it, of his aid and protection; and the rather, through the security and confidence he placed in the balsam: and thus, hurried away by this strong desire, he saddled Rozinante with his own hands, and pannelled his squire's beast, whom he also helped to dress, and to mount him upon the ass. He presently got on horseback; and coming to a corner of the inn he laid hold of a pike that stood there, to serve him for a lance. All the folks in the inn stood gazing at him, being somewhat above twenty persons: among the rest, the host's daughter stared at him, and he on his part removed not his eyes from her, and now and then sent forth a sigh, which he seemed to tear up from the bottom of his bowels; all imagining it to proceed from the pain he felt in his ribs, at least those who the night before had seen how he was plastered.

They being now both mounted, and standing at the door of the inn, he called to the host, and, with a very solemn and grave voice, said to him, "Many and great are the favours, Signor Governor, which in this your castle I have received, and I remain under infinite obligations to acknowledge them all the days of my life. If I could make you a return, by revenging you on any insolent who has done you outrage, know that the duty of my profession is no other than to strengthen the weak, to revenge the injured, and to chastise the perfidious. Run over your memory, and if you find anything of this nature to recommend to me, you need only declare it; for I promise you, by the order of knighthood I have received, to procure you satisfaction and amends to your heart's desire." The host answered with the same gravity: "Sir Knight, I have no need of your worship's avenging any wrong for me; I know how to take the proper revenge when any injury is done me: I only desire your worship to pay me for what you have had in the inn, as well for the straw and barley for your -[69]- two beasts as for your supper and lodging." — "What then, is this an inn?" replied Don Quixote. "And a very creditable one," answered the host. — "Hitherto then I have been in an error," answered Don Quixote; "for in truth I took it for a castle, and no bad one neither: but since it is so, that it is no castle but an inn, all that can now be done is that you excuse the payment; for I cannot act contrary to the law of knights-errant, of whom I certainly know, having hitherto read nothing to the contrary, that they never paid for lodging or anything else in any inn where they have lain; and that because, of right and good reason, all possible good accommodation is due to them, in recompense of the insufferable hardships they endure in quest of adventures by night and by day, in winter and in summer, on foot and on horseback, with thirst and with hunger, with heat and with cold, subject to all the inclemencies of heaven, and to all the inconveniences upon earth." — "I see little to my purpose in all this," answered the host: "pay me what is my due, and let us have none of your stories and knight-errantries; for I make no account of anything but how to come by my own." — "Thou art a blockhead, and a pitiful innkeeper," answered Don Quixote: so clapping spurs to Rozinante, and brandishing his lance, he sallied out of the inn, without anybody's opposing him; and without looking to see whether his squire followed him or not, got a good way off.

The host seeing him go off without paying him ran to seize on Sancho Panza, who said, that since his master would not pay he would not pay neither; for being squire to a knight-errant, as he was, the same rule and reason held as good for him as for his master not to pay anything in public-houses and inns. The innkeeper grew very testy at this, and threatened him, if he did not pay him, to get it in a way he should be sorry for. Sancho swore by the order of chivalry which his master had received, that he would not pay a single farthing, though it should cost him his life; for the laudable and ancient usage of knights-errant should not be lost for him, nor should the squires of future knights have reason to complain of, or reproach him for, the breach of so just a right.

Poor Sancho's ill luck would have it, that among those who were in the inn there were four cloth-workers of Segovia, three needle-makers of the horse-fountain of Cordova, (45) and two butchers of Seville, all arch, merry, unlucky, and frolicsome fellows; who, as it were, instigated and moved by the self-same spirit, came up to Sancho, and dismounting him from the ass, one of them went in for the landlord's blanket; and putting him in it they looked up, and seeing that the ceiling was somewhat too low for their work, they determined to go out into the yard, which was bounded only by the sky. Having placed Sancho in the midst of the blanket, they began to toss him aloft, and to divert themselves with him as with a dog at Shrovetide. The cries which the poor blanketed squire sent forth were so many and so loud that they reached his master's ears; who, stopping to listen attentively, believed that some new adventure was at hand, until he found plainly that he who cried was his squire; and turning the reins, with a constrained gallop, he came up to the inn, and finding it shut he rode round it to discover if he could get an entrance. But he was scarcely got to the wall of the yard, which was not very high, when he perceived the wicked sport they were making with his squire. He saw him ascend and descend through the air with so much grace and agility, that, if his choler would have suffered him, I am of opinion he -[70]- would have laughed. (46) He tried to get from his horse upon the pales; but he was so bruised and battered that he could not so much as alight: he then from on horseback began to utter so many reproaches and revilings against those who were tossing Sancho, that it is impossible to put them down in writing; but they did not therefore desist from their laughter nor their labour, nor did the flying Sancho forbear his complaints, mixed sometimes with menaces, sometimes with entreaties: yet all availed little, nor would have availed; but at last they left off from pure weariness. They then brought him his ass; and wrapping him in his loose coat mounted him on it. The compassionate Maritornes seeing him so harassed, thought good to help him to a jug of water, which she fetched from the well, that it might be the cooler. Sancho took it, and as he was lifting it to his mouth, stopped at his master's calling to him aloud, saying, "Son Sancho, drink not water; child, do not drink it, it will kill thee: see here, I hold the most holy balsam," showing him the cruise of the potion, "by drinking but two drops of which, you will doubtless be whole and sound again." At these words, Sancho turned his eyes as it were askew, and said, with a louder voice, "Perhaps you have forgot, Sir, that I am no knight, or you would have me vomit up what remains of my guts after last night's work. Keep your liquor, in the devil's name, and let me alone." He immediately began to drink; but at the first sip, finding it was water, he would proceed no further, and prayed Maritornes to bring him some wine; which she did with a very good will, and paid for it with her own money; for they say of her, that though she was in that station, she had some shadows and faint outlines of a Christian. As soon as Sancho had done drinking he fell kicking his ass; and the inn-gate being thrown wide open, out he went, mightily satisfied that he had paid nothing, and had carried his point, though at the expense of his accustomed surety, his carcass. The landlord, indeed, was in possession of his wallets for payment of what was due to him; but Sancho never missed them, so confused was he at going off. The innkeeper would have fastened the door well after him, as soon as he saw him out; but the blanketeers would not consent, being persons of that sort, that, though Don Quixote had really been one of the Knights of the Round Table, they would not have cared two farthings for him.


Gavilan College celebrates 400 years of Don Quijote

Don Quixote de la Mancha, translated by Charles Jarvis

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