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"Thou art right, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote, "andAltisidora has behaved very badly in not giving thee the smocks shepromised; and although that virtue of thine is gratis data- as ithas cost thee no study whatever, any more than such study as thypersonal sufferings may be- I can say for myself that if thouwouldst have payment for the lashes on account of the disenchant ofDulcinea, I would have given it to thee freely ere this. I am notsure, however, whether payment will comport with the cure, and I wouldnot have the reward interfere with the medicine. I think there will benothing lost by trying it; consider how much thou wouldst have,Sancho, and whip thyself at once, and pay thyself down with thineown hand, as thou hast money of mine."

At this proposal Sancho opened his eyes and his ears a palm'sbreadth wide, and in his heart very readily acquiesced in whippinghimself, and said he to his master, "Very well then, senor, I'llhold myself in readiness to gratify your worship's wishes if I'm toprofit by it; for the love of my wife and children forces me to seemgrasping. Let your worship say how much you will pay me for eachlash I give myself."

"If Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "I were to requite thee as theimportance and nature of the cure deserves, the treasures of Venice,the mines of Potosi, would be insufficient to pay thee. See whatthou hast of mine, and put a price on each lash."

"Of them," said Sancho, "there are three thousand three hundredand odd; of these I have given myself five, the rest remain; let thefive go for the odd ones, and let us take the three thousand threehundred, which at a quarter real apiece (for I will not take lessthough the whole world should bid me) make three thousand threehundred quarter reals; the three thousand are one thousand fivehundred half reals, which make seven hundred and fifty reals; andthe three hundred make a hundred and fifty half reals, which come toseventy-five reals, which added to the seven hundred and fifty makeeight hundred and twenty-five reals in all. These I will stop out ofwhat I have belonging to your worship, and I'll return home rich andcontent, though well whipped, for 'there's no taking trout'- but I sayno more."

"O blessed Sancho! O dear Sancho!" said Don Quixote; "how we shallbe bound to serve thee, Dulcinea and I, all the days of our lives thatheaven may grant us! If she returns to her lost shape (and it cannotbe but that she will) her misfortune will have been good fortune,and my defeat a most happy triumph. But look here, Sancho; when wiltthou begin the scourging? For if thou wilt make short work of it, Iwill give thee a hundred reals over and above."

"When?" said Sancho; "this night without fail. Let your worshiporder it so that we pass it out of doors and in the open air, and I'llscarify myself."

Night, longed for by Don Quixote with the greatest anxiety in theworld, came at last, though it seemed to him that the wheels ofApollo's car had broken down, and that the day was drawing itselfout longer than usual, just as is the case with lovers, who never makethe reckoning of their desires agree with time. They made their way atlength in among some pleasant trees that stood a little distancefrom the road, and there vacating Rocinante's saddle and Dapple'spack-saddle, they stretched themselves on the green grass and madetheir supper off Sancho's stores, and he making a powerful andflexible whip out of Dapple's halter and headstall retreated abouttwenty paces from his master among some beech trees. Don Quixoteseeing him march off with such resolution and spirit, said to him,"Take care, my friend, not to cut thyself to pieces; allow thelashes to wait for one another, and do not be in so great a hurry asto run thyself out of breath midway; I mean, do not lay on sostrenuously as to make thy life fail thee before thou hast reached thedesired number; and that thou mayest not lose by a card too much ortoo little, I will station myself apart and count on my rosary herethe lashes thou givest thyself. May heaven help thee as thy goodintention deserves."

"'Pledges don't distress a good payer,'" said Sancho; "I mean to layon in such a way as without killing myself to hurt myself, for inthat, no doubt, lies the essence of this miracle."

He then stripped himself from the waist upwards, and snatching upthe rope he began to lay on and Don Quixote to count the lashes. Hemight have given himself six or eight when he began to think thejoke no trifle, and its price very low; and holding his hand for amoment, he told his master that he cried off on the score of a blindbargain, for each of those lashes ought to be paid for at the rateof half a real instead of a quarter.

"Go on, Sancho my friend, and be not disheartened," said DonQuixote; "for I double the stakes as to price."

"In that case," said Sancho, "in God's hand be it, and let it rainlashes." But the rogue no longer laid them on his shoulders, butlaid on to the trees, with such groans every now and then, that onewould have thought at each of them his soul was being plucked up bythe roots. Don Quixote, touched to the heart, and fearing he mightmake an end of himself, and that through Sancho's imprudence hemight miss his own object, said to him, "As thou livest, my friend,let the matter rest where it is, for the remedy seems to me a veryrough one, and it will he well to have patience; 'Zamora was not wonin an hour.' If I have not reckoned wrong thou hast given thyself overa thousand lashes; that is enough for the present; 'for the ass,' toput it in homely phrase, 'bears the load, but not the overload.'"

"No, no, senor," replied Sancho; "it shall never be said of me, 'Themoney paid, the arms broken;' go back a little further, yourworship, and let me give myself at any rate a thousand lashes more;for in a couple of bouts like this we shall have finished off the lot,and there will be even cloth to spare."

"As thou art in such a willing mood," said Don Quixote, "mayheaven aid thee; lay on and I'll retire."

Sancho returned to his task with so much resolution that he soon hadthe bark stripped off several trees, such was the severity withwhich he whipped himself; and one time, raising his voice, andgiving a beech a tremendous lash, he cried out, "Here dies Samson, andall with him!"

At the sound of his piteous cry and of the stroke of the cruel lash,Don Quixote ran to him at once, and seizing the twisted halter thatserved him for a courbash, said to him, "Heaven forbid, Sancho myfriend, that to please me thou shouldst lose thy life, which is neededfor the support of thy wife and children; let Dulcinea wait for abetter opportunity, and I will content myself with a hope soon to berealised, and have patience until thou hast gained fresh strength soas to finish off this business to the satisfaction of everybody."

"As your worship will have it so, senor," said Sancho, "so be it;but throw your cloak over my shoulders, for I'm sweating and I don'twant to take cold; it's a risk that novice disciplinants run."

Don Quixote obeyed, and stripping himself covered Sancho, whoslept until the sun woke him; they then resumed their journey, whichfor the time being they brought to an end at a village that laythree leagues farther on. They dismounted at a hostelry which DonQuixote recognised as such and did not take to be a castle withmoat, turrets, portcullis, and drawbridge; for ever since he hadbeen vanquished he talked more rationally about everything, as will beshown presently. They quartered him in a room on the ground floor,where in place of leather hangings there were pieces of paintedserge such as they commonly use in villages. On one of them waspainted by some very poor hand the Rape of Helen, when the boldguest carried her off from Menelaus, and on the other was the story ofDido and AEneas, she on a high tower, as though she were makingsignals with a half sheet to her fugitive guest who was out at seaflying in a frigate or brigantine. He noticed in the two storiesthat Helen did not go very reluctantly, for she was laughing slyly androguishly; but the fair Dido was shown dropping tears the size ofwalnuts from her eyes. Don Quixote as he looked at them observed,"Those two ladies were very unfortunate not to have been born inthis age, and I unfortunate above all men not to have been born intheirs. Had I fallen in with those gentlemen, Troy would not have beenburned or Carthage destroyed, for it would have been only for me toslay Paris, and all these misfortunes would have been avoided."

"I'll lay a bet," said Sancho, "that before long there won't be atavern, roadside inn, hostelry, or barber's shop where the story ofour doings won't be painted up; but I'd like it painted by the hand ofa better painter than painted these."

"Thou art right, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for this painter islike Orbaneja, a painter there was at Ubeda, who when they asked himwhat he was painting, used to say, 'Whatever it may turn out; and ifhe chanced to paint a cock he would write under it, 'This is acock,' for fear they might think it was a fox. The painter orwriter, for it's all the same, who published the history of this newDon Quixote that has come out, must have been one of this sort Ithink, Sancho, for he painted or wrote 'whatever it might turn out;'or perhaps he is like a poet called Mauleon that was about the Courtsome years ago, who used to answer at haphazard whatever he was asked,and on one asking him what Deum de Deo meant, he replied De dondediere. But, putting this aside, tell me, Sancho, hast thou a mind tohave another turn at thyself to-night, and wouldst thou rather have itindoors or in the open air?"

"Egad, senor," said Sancho, "for what I'm going to give myself, itcomes all the same to me whether it is in a house or in the fields;still I'd like it to be among trees; for I think they are companyfor me and help me to bear my pain wonderfully."

"And yet it must not be, Sancho my friend," said Don Quixote;"but, to enable thee to recover strength, we must keep it for ourown village; for at the latest we shall get there the day aftertomorrow."

Sancho said he might do as he pleased; but that for his own parthe would like to finish off the business quickly before his bloodcooled and while he had an appetite, because "in delay there is apt tobe danger" very often, and "praying to God and plying the hammer," and"one take was better than two I'll give thee's," and "a sparrow in thehand than a vulture on the wing."

"For God's sake, Sancho, no more proverbs!" exclaimed Don Quixote;"it seems to me thou art becoming sicut erat again; speak in aplain, simple, straight-forward way, as I have often told thee, andthou wilt find the good of it."

"I don't know what bad luck it is of mine," argument to my mind;however, I mean to mend said Sancho, "but I can't utter a word withouta proverb that is not as good as an argument to my mind; however, Imean to mend if I can;" and so for the present the conversation ended.CHAPTER LXXII

OF HOW DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO REACHED THEIR VILLAGE

ALL that day Don Quixote and Sancho remained in the village andinn waiting for night, the one to finish off his task of scourgingin the open country, the other to see it accomplished, for therein laythe accomplishment of his wishes. Meanwhile there arrived at thehostelry a traveller on horseback with three or four servants, oneof whom said to him who appeared to be the master, "Here, Senor DonAlvaro Tarfe, your worship may take your siesta to-day; the quartersseem clean and cool."

When he heard this Don Quixote said to Sancho, "Look here, Sancho;on turning over the leaves of that book of the Second Part of myhistory I think I came casually upon this name of Don Alvaro Tarfe."

"Very likely," said Sancho; "we had better let him dismount, andby-and-by we can ask about it."

The gentleman dismounted, and the landlady gave him a room on theground floor opposite Don Quixote's and adorned with painted sergehangings of the same sort. The newly arrived gentleman put on a summercoat, and coming out to the gateway of the hostelry, which was wideand cool, addressing Don Quixote, who was pacing up and down there, heasked, "In what direction your worship bound, gentle sir?"

"To a village near this which is my own village," replied DonQuixote; "and your worship, where are you bound for?"

"I am going to Granada, senor," said the gentleman, "to my owncountry."

"And a goodly country," said Don Quixote; "but will your worshipdo me the favour of telling me your name, for it strikes me it is ofmore importance to me to know it than I can tell you."

"My name is Don Alvaro Tarfe," replied the traveller.

To which Don Quixote returned, "I have no doubt whatever that yourworship is that Don Alvaro Tarfe who appears in print in the SecondPart of the history of Don Quixote of La Mancha, lately printed andpublished by a new author."

"I am the same," replied the gentleman; "and that same DonQuixote, the principal personage in the said history, was a very greatfriend of mine, and it was I who took him away from home, or atleast induced him to come to some jousts that were to be held atSaragossa, whither I was going myself; indeed, I showed him manykindnesses, and saved him from having his shoulders touched up bythe executioner because of his extreme rashness."

Tell me, Senor Don Alvaro," said Don Quixote, "am I at all like thatDon Quixote you talk of?"

"No indeed," replied the traveller, "not a bit."

"And that Don Quixote-" said our one, "had he with him a squirecalled Sancho Panza?"

"He had," said Don Alvaro; "but though he had the name of being verydroll, I never heard him say anything that had any drollery in it."

"That I can well believe," said Sancho at this, "for to come outwith drolleries is not in everybody's line; and that Sancho yourworship speaks of, gentle sir, must be some great scoundrel,dunderhead, and thief, all in one; for I am the real Sancho Panza, andI have more drolleries than if it rained them; let your worship onlytry; come along with me for a year or so, and you will find theyfall from me at every turn, and so rich and so plentiful that thoughmostly I don't know what I am saying I make everybody that hears melaugh. And the real Don Quixote of La Mancha, the famous, the valiant,the wise, the lover, the righter of wrongs, the guardian of minors andorphans, the protector of widows, the killer of damsels, he who hasfor his sole mistress the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, is thisgentleman before you, my master; all other Don Quixotes and allother Sancho Panzas are dreams and mockeries."