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."
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