CHAP. IV. Of the pleasant discourses continued between Don-Quixote and his Squire Sancho Pança, with other Adventures. A L • this liketh me well, said Don-Quixote; therefore say on; thou ar rived'st; and what was that Queen of Beauty doing then? I dare say that thou foundest her threading of Pearls, or imbroydering some curious Device, with Venice gold, for me her captive Knight. No that I did not, quoth Sancho, but winnowing two bushels of Wheat in the yard of her house. Why then, said Don-Quixote, thou mayest make account that each corne of that wheat was a grain of Pearl, seeing they were touched by her delicate hand. And friend, didest thou note well what the Wheat was, whether of the best or ordinarie? It was not but red, said Sancho. Well then, I assure thee, answered Don-Quixote, that being sifted by her hands, it must needs make very fair bread, and white. But passe forward: When thou didest deliver my Letter, did she kisse it? Did she set it on her head? Did she use any ceremony worthy of such a Letter? Or what did she? When I went to give it unto her, said Sancho, she was holding up of her armes with a good quantity of Wheat that shee had in her Sieve; and therefore said unto me; Friend, lay down that Letter there on the Sack; for I cannot read it untill I have win nowed all that is here. O discreet Ladie, quoth Don-Quixote; she surely did that, because she might read it at leisure, and recreate her self therewithall. Forward, Sancho: And as long as she was thus busied, what discourses passed she with thee? What did she demand of thee concerning me? And thou, what didest thou answer? Say all, good Sancho, say all; recount to me every particularity, and let not the least immunity re main in the Ink-horn. Shee demanded nothing of mee quoth Sancho, but I recounted unto her the state I had left you in for her sake, doing of penance, all naked from the gyrdle upward among these Rocks, like a bruit Beast, sleeping on the ground, and eating your bread without Table-cloathes, and that you never combed your Beard, but was weeping and cursing your fortune. There thou saidst ill (quoth Don-Quixote ) for I doe not curse my for tune, but rather blesse it, and will blesse it as long as I shall live, seeing it hath made me worthy to merit the love of so high a Lady as Dulcinea of Toboso. Shee is in good faith so high answered Sancho, as shee surpasseth mee almost by a whole cubit. Why how now Sancho said the Knight, hast thou measured thy selfe with her? I did measure my selfe with her in this manner replyed Sancho; that comming over to helpe her to lift up a sack of Wheate on an Asse, wee joyned so neere, as I well perceived that shee was more then a great spanne higher then my selfe. That is true quoth Don-Quixote: but thinkest thou not that the talenesse of her extended stature is adorned with a thousand millions of graces and indowments of the soule? But Sancho, thou canst not denie me one thing, when thou didst thus approach her, didst thou not feele a most odoriferous smell, an aromaticall flagrancy, an—I cannot tell what, so pleasing, as I know not how to terme it? I say such a sent, as if thou wert in some curious Persumers shoppe? That which I know, quoth Sancho is, that I felt a little unfavorie sent, somwhat ramish and man-like, and I thinke the reason was, because shee had sweat a little, doing of that exercise. It was not so (quoth Don-Quixote ) but either thou had'st the mur, or else didest smell thy self; for I know very well how that Rose among Thorns doth sent, that Lillie of the Field, and that chosen Amber. It may well be, said Sancho, as you have said; for I have had many times such a smell, as me thought the Ladie Dulcinea had then: and though shee smel'd too, it were no marvell; for one Divell is like another. And well (quoth Don-Quixote ) see here, she hath sifted her corne, and sent it to the Mill. What did shee after shee had read the Letter? The Letter, said Sancho: shee read it not; for she said she could neither read nor write; and therefore shee tore it into small pieces, and would have no man to read it, lest those of the Village should know her secrets, and said, that what I had told her by word of mouth of your love and extraordinary penance, which you remained doing for her sake, was sufficient. And finally, she concluded, commanding me to say unto you, that shee had her commended unto you, and that she remained with greater desire to see you then to write unto you: and therefore she requested and willed you, as you tendred her affection, that presently upon sight hereof you should abandon these shrubbie Groves, leave off your Frenzie, and take presently the way of Toboso, if some matter of greater importance did not occur; for she had very great desire to see and talk with you. She laughed heartily when I told her that you named your self The Knigh of the Ill-favoured face. I de manded for her, whether the beaten Biscaine came there? and shee answered, that he did, and affirmed withall, that he was a very honest man. I asked also for the Gally-Slaves; but she told me, that shee had seen none of them as yet. All goes well till this, said Don-Quixote: But tell me, I pray thee, What Jewell did she bestow on thee at thy departure, for reward of the news thou carried'st unto her of me? For it is an usuall and ancient custome among Knights and Ladies Errant, to bestow on Squires, Damzels, or Dwafs, which bring them any good tidings of their Ladies, or Servants, some rich Jewell as a reward and thanks of their welcome news. It may well be, quoth Sancho, and I hold it for a very laudible custome; but I think it was only used in times past; for I think the manner of this our age is only to give a piece of bread and cheese; for this was all that my Lady Dulcinea bestowed on me, and that over the Yard walls when I took my leave with her: And in signe thereof (well fare all good tokens) the cheese was made of Sheeps Milk. She is marvellous liberall, quoth Don-Quixote; and if she gave thee not a Jewell of gold, it was, without doubt, because she had none then about her; But it is not lost that comes at last. I will see her, and then all things shall be amended. Knowest thou, Sancho, whereat I wonder? it is at this sodain return: for it seems to me thou wast gone, and hast come back again in the aire; for thou hast been away but a little more then three dayes, Toboso being more then thirty leagues from hence: And therefore I doe believe that the wise Inchanter who takes care of mine Affairs, and is my friend (for there is such a one of force, and there must be, under pain that I else should not be a good Knight Errant) I say, I verily think that wise man holp thee to trample unawares of thy self: for there are wise men of that condition which will take a Knight Errant sleeping in his bed; and without knowing how or in what manner, hee will wake the next day a thousand leagues from that place where hee fell asleep: And were it not for this, Knights Errant could not succour one another in their most dangerous exigents, as they doe now at every step. For it oft-times befalls, that a Knight is fighting in the Mountains of Armenia, with some divellish Fau • o, some dreadfull shaddow, or fierce Knight, where he is like to have the worst; and in this poynt of death, when he least expects it, there appears there on the top of a Cloud, or riding in a Chariot of fire, another Knight his friend, who was but even then in England, and helps him, and delivers him from death, and re turns again that night to his own lodging, where he Sups with a very good appetite; and yet for all that, is there wont to bee two or three thousand leagues from the one to the other Countrey. All which is compassed by the industrie and wisedome of those skill full Inchanters that take care of the said valorous Knights. So that, friend Sancho, I am not hard of belief in giving thee credit, that thou hast gone and returned in so short a time from this place to Toboso, seeing, as I have said, some wise man my friend hath (belike) transported thee thither by stealth, and unaware of thy self. I easily think it, replyed Sancho; for Rozinante travailed, in good faith, as lustily as if he were an Aegyptians Asse, with Quick-silver in his ears. And thinkest thou not, quoth Don-Quixote, that he had not Quick-silver in his eares? yes, and a legion of Devills also to help it, who are folk that doe travail and make others goe as much as they list without any wearinesse. But leaving all this apart, what is thine opinion that I should doe now, concerning my Ladies commandement, to goe and see her? for although I know that I am bound to obey her behests; yet doe I finde my self disabled at this time to accomplish them, by reason of the grant I have made to the Princesse that comes with us, and the Law of Armes doth compell me to accomplish my word rather then my will: on the one side I am assaulted and urged by a desire to goe and see my Ladie; on the other, my promised faith, and the glory I shall winne in this enterprize, doe incite and call me away. But that which I resolve to doe, is to travaill with all speed that I may quickly arive to the place where that Giant is, and will cut off his head at my coming: and when I have peaceably installed the Princesse in her Kingdome, will presently return to see the light that doth lighten my senses; to whom I will yield such forcible reasons of my so long absence, as she shall easily condescend to excuse my stay, seeing all doth redound to her glory and fame: For all that I have gained, doe win, or shall hereafter atchieve by force of Armes in this life, proceeds wholy from the gracious favour she pleaseth to bestow upon me, and my being hers. O God! quoth Sancho, I perceive that you are greatly diseased in the pate. I pray you Sir, tell me whether you mean to goe this long voyage for nought, and let slip and lose so rich and so noble a preferment as this; where the dowrie is a Kingdome, which is in good faith, as I have heard say, twenty thousand leagues in compasse, and most plentifully stored with all things necessary for the susteining of humane life; and that it is greater then Portugall and Castile joyned together? Peace, for Gods love, and blush at your owne words, and take my councell, and marry presently in the first vil lage that hath a Parish-Priest: and if you will not doe it there, can you wish a better commoditie then to have our own Master Licentiat, who will doe it most excellently; And note that I am old enough to give counsaile, and that this which I now deliver, is as fit for you, as if it were expresly cast for you in a mould. For a Sparrow in the fist, is worth more then a flying Bittor. For hee that can have good, and evill doth choose, For ill that betides him, must not Patience loose. Why Sancho quoth Don-Quixote, if thou givest mee councell to marry, to the end I may become a King after I have slaine the Giant, and have commoditie thereby to pro mote thee, and give thee what I have promised; I let thee to understand that I may doe all that most easily, without marrying my selfe. For before I enter into the battel, I will make this condition, that when I come away victor, although I marry not the Princesse, yet shall a part of the Kingdome bee at my disposition, to bestow upon whom I please; and when I receive it, upon whom wouldst thou have me bestowe it but on thy selfe? That is manifest said Sancho; but I pray you Sir, have care to choose that part you would reserve towards the Sea side, to the end that if the living doe not please me, I may imbarque my black vassails, and make the benefit of them which I have said. And likewise I pray you not to trouble your mind, thinking to goe and see my Lady Dulcinea at this time, but travaile towards the place where the Gyant is, and kill him, and conclude that businesse first; for I sweare unto you, that I am of opinion it will prove an Adventure of very great honor and profit. I assure thee Sancho quoth Don-Quixote,, thou art in the • ight, and I will follow thy counsaile in rather going first with the Princesse, then to visit Dulcinea, And I warne thee not to speake a word to any body, no, not to those that ride with us, of that which wee have here spoken and discoursed together; for since Dulcineae is so warie and secret, as shee would not have her thoughts discovered, it is no reason, that I eyther by my self or any other should detect them. If that bee so quoth Sancho, why then doe you send all those which you vanquish by virtue of your arme, to present themselves to my Lady Dulcinea, seeing this is as good as subsignation of your hands-writing, that you wish her well, and are enamou red on her? And seeing that those which goe to her, must forcibly lay them down on their knees before her presence, and say that they come from you to doe her homage, how then can the thoughts of you both bee hidden and concealed? O! how great a foole art thou, and how simple quoth Don-Quixote? Dost not thou perceive Sancho, how all this results to her greater glory? For thou oughtest to wit, that in our Knight ly proceedings, it is great honour, that one Lady alone have many Knights Errant for her Servitors, without extending their thoughts any farther then to serve her, only for her high worths, without attending any other reward of their many and good desires, then that shee will deigne to accept them as her Servants and Knights. I have heard preach, said Sancho, that men should love our Saviour with that kinde of love, on ly for his owne sake, without beeing mooved thereunto eyther by the hope of Glory, or the feare of Payne; although for my part I would love and serve him, for what hee is able to doe. The Devill take thee for a Clowne, quoth Don-Quixote, how sharpe and pertinently doest thou speake now and then, able to make a man ima gine that thou hast studied? Now by mine honesty, quoth Sancho. I can neither reade nor write. Master Nicholas perceiving them drowned thus in their Discourses, cryed out to them to stay and drinke of a little Fountaine that was by the way. Don-Quixote, re sted to Sanchoes very great contentment, who was already tyred with telling him so many lies, and was afraid his Master would intrap him in his owne words. For although hee knew Dulcinea to bee of Toboso, yet had hee never seene her in his life. And Carde nio had by this time put, on the apparell Doroten wore when they found her in the Mountaines, which though they were not very good, yet exceeded with great advan tage those which hee had himselfe before; And alighting hard by the Fountaine, they satisfied with the provision the Curate had brought with him from the Inne, although it were but little, the great hunger that pressed them. And whilest they tooke their ease there, a certaine young stripling that travelled, passed by, who looking very ear nestly on all those which sate about the Fountaine, hee ranne presently after to Don-Quixote, and imbracing his Legs, hee said, weeping downright: O my Lord, doe not you know mee? Looke well upon mee, for I am the youth Andrew, whom you unloosed from the Oake whereunto I was tyed. Don-Quixote presently knew him, and taking him by the hands, hee turned to those that were present and said, Because you may see of how great importance it is, that there bee Knights Errant in the World, to undoe wrongs and injuries that are committed in it by the insolent and bad men which live therein, you shall wit that a few daies past, as I rode through a Wood, I heard certaine lamentable screetches and cries, as of some needefull and afflicted person: I forthwith occur'd, borne away by my profession towards the place from whence the lamentable voyce founded, and I found tied to an Oaken tree, this boy whom you see here in our presence, for which I am marvelous glad, be • ause if I shall not say the truth, hee may check mee. I say that hee was tyed to the Oake starke naked form the middle upward, and a certaine Clowne was opening his flesh with cruell blowes that hee gave him with the reines of a bridle; which Clowne, as I after understood, was his Master. And so soone as I saw him, I demanded the cause of those cruell stripes. The rude fel low answered, that hee beate him because hee was his servant, and that certaine negli gences of his proceeded rather from being a theefe, then of simplicity. To which this childe answered; Sir, hee whips mee for no other cause, but by reason that I demand my wages of him. His Master replyed, I know not now what speeches and excuses, the which although I heard, yet were they not by mee admitted. In resolution, I caused him to bee loosed, and tooke the Clownes Oath, that hee would take him home, and pay him there his wages, one Riall upon another; I, and those also perfumed. Is it not true sonne Andrew? Didst not thou note with what a domaniering coun tenance I commanded it, and with what humilitie hee promised to accomplish all that I imposed, Commanded and Desired? Answere mee, bee not ashamed, nor stagger at all, but tell what passed to these Gentlemen, to the end it may bee mani festly seene how necessary it is, as I have said, to have Knights Errant up and down the high-wayes. All that which you have said, quoth the boy, is very true; but the end of the matter succeeded altogether contrary to that which you imagined. How contrarie, quoth Don-Quixote? Why hath not the Peasant paid thee? He not only hath not paid me, answered the boy, but rather as soon as you were passed the wood, and that we re mained both alone, he turned again and tyed me to the same tree, and gave me afresh so many blows, as I remained another S. Bartholomew all flayed; and at every blow he said some jest or other in derision of you: So that if I had not felt the pain of the stripes so much as I did, I could have found in my heart to have laughed very heartily. In fine, he left me in such pittifull case, as I have been ever since curing my selfe in an Ho spitall, of the evill which the wicked Peasant did then unto me. And you are in the fault of all this; for if you had ridden on your way, and not come to the place where you were not sought for, nor intermedled your self in other mens affairs, perhaps my Ma ster had contented himself with giving me a dozen or two of stroaks, and would pre sently after have loosed, and payed me my wages: But by reason you dishonoured him so much without cause, and said to him so many Villains, his choler was inflamed; and seeing he could not revenge it on you, finding himself alone, he disburdened the showre on me so heavily, as I greatly fear that I shall never again be mine own man. The hurt consisted in my departure (quoth Don-Quixote ) for I should not have gone from thence, untill I had seen thee payed: For I might have very well known by many experiences, that there is no Clown that will keep his word, if he see the keeping of it can turn any way to his damage: But yet, Andrew, thou doest re member member how I swoar, that if he paied thee not, I would return & seek him out, and like wise finde him, although he conveyed himself into a Whales belly. That's true, quoth Andrew; but all avails not. Thou shalt see whether it avails or no presently, quoth Don-Quixote: and saying so, got up very hastily, & co ̄ manded Sancho to bridle Rozinante, who was feeding whilest they did eate. Dorotea demanded of him, what he meant to doe? He answered, that he would goe and finde out the Villain, and punish him for using such bad proceedings, and cause Andrew to be paid the last denier, in despite of as many Peasants as lived in the world. To which she answered, intreating him to remem ber that hee could not deale with any other Adventure, according to his promise, untill hers were atchieved; and seeing that hee himself knew it to bee true, bet ter then any other, that hee should pacifie himselfe, untill his returne from her Kingdome. You have reason, said Don-Quixote; and therefore Andrew must have patience perforce, untill my return (as you have said, Madame) and when I shall turne again I doe swear unto him, and likewise renew my promise, never to rest, untill he be satis fied and payed. I believe not in such Oaths, quoth Andrew; but would have as much money as might carry me to Sivill, rather then all the revenges in the world: Give me some meat to eate, and carry away with me, and God be with you and all other Knights Errant, and I pray God that they may prove as erring to themselves as they have been to me. Sancho took out of his Bagg a piece of bread and cheese, and giving it to the Youth, said, Hold brother Andrew, for every one hath his part of your misfortune. I pray you what part thereof have you, said Andrew? This piece of bread and cheese that I bestow on thee, quoth Sancho; for God only knows whether I shall have neede of it again, or no: for thou must wit, friend, that we the Squires of Kinghts Errant are very subject to great hunger and evill luck, yea, and to other things which are better felt then told. Andrew laid hold on his bread and cheese; and seeing that no body gave him any other thing, he bowed his head and went on his way: True it is, that hee said to Don-Quixote, at his departure: For Gods love, good Sir Knight Errant, if you shall ever meet me again in the plight you have done, although you should see me • orne in pieces, yet doe not succour or help me, but leave me in my disgrace; for it cannot bee so great, but that a greater will result from your help, upon whom, and all the other Knights Errant that are borne in the world, I pray God his curse may alight. Don-Quixote thought to arise to chastise him; but he ran away so swiftly, as no man durst follow him; and our Knight remained marvellously ashamed at Andrews tale; where fore the rest with much adoe supprest their desire to laugh, lest they should throughly confound him.