How Sancho paid the Reckoning at the Inn which Don Quixote supposed was a Castle

Now whilst Sancho Panza lay groaning in his bed, Don Quixote, who, as
we have said, felt somewhat eased and cured, made up his mind to set
off in search of new adventures. And full of this desire he himself
saddled Rozinante and put the pack-saddle on his Squire’s beast, and
helped Sancho to dress and to mount his Ass. Then getting a-horseback
he rode over to the corner of the Inn and seized hold of a pike which
stood there, to make it serve him instead of a lance.

All the people that were staying at the Inn, some twenty in number,
stood staring at him, and among these was the Innkeeper’s daughter. Don
Quixote kept turning his eyes towards her and sighing dolefully, which
every one, or at least all who had seen him the night before, thought
must be caused by the pain he was in from his bruises.

[Illustration: HOW SANCHO PAID THE RECKONING]

When they were both mounted and standing by the Inn gate, he called
to the Innkeeper and said in a grave voice: ‘Many and great are the
favours, Sir Constable, which I have received in this your Castle, and
I shall remain deeply grateful for them all the days of my life. If
I am able to repay you by avenging you on some proud miscreant that
hath done you any wrong, know that it is my office to help the weak,
to revenge the wronged, and to punish traitors. Ransack your memory,
and if you find anything of this sort for me to do, you have but to
utter it, and I promise you, by the Order of Knighthood which I have
received, to procure you satisfaction to your heart’s content.’

‘Sir Knight,’ replied the Innkeeper with equal gravity, ‘I have no need
that your Worship should avenge me any wrong, for I know how to take
what revenge I think good when an injury is done. All I want is that
your Worship should pay me the score you have run up this night in mine
Inn, both for the straw and barley of your two beasts, and your suppers
and your beds.’

‘This then is an Inn?’ exclaimed Don Quixote.

‘Ay, that it is, and a very respectable one, too,’ replied the
Innkeeper.

‘All this time then I have been deceived,’ said Don Quixote, ‘for
in truth I thought it was a Castle and no mean one. But since it is
indeed an Inn and no Castle, all that can be done now is to ask you to
forgive me any payment, for I cannot break the laws of Knights Errant,
of whom I know for certain that they never paid for lodging or aught
else in the Inns where they stayed. For the good entertainment that
is given them is their due reward for the sufferings they endure,
seeking adventures both day and night, winter and summer, a-foot and
a-horseback, in thirst and hunger, in heat and cold, being exposed to
all the storms of heaven and the hardships of earth.’

‘All that is no business of mine,’ retorted the Innkeeper. ‘Pay me what
you owe me, and keep your tales of Knights Errant for those who want
them. My business is to earn my living.’

‘You are a fool and a saucy fellow,’ said Don Quixote angrily, and,
spurring Rozinante and brandishing his lance, he swept out of the Inn
yard before any one could stop him, and rode on a good distance without
waiting to see if his Squire was following.

The Innkeeper, when he saw him go without paying, ran up to get his
due from Sancho Panza, who also refused to pay, and said to him: ‘Sir,
seeing I am Squire to a Knight Errant, the same rule and reason for not
paying at inns and taverns hold as good for me as for my Master.’

The Innkeeper grew angry at these words, and threatened that if he did
not pay speedily he would get it from him in a way he would not like.

Sancho replied that by the Order of Knighthood which his Lord and
Master had received, he would not pay a penny though it cost him his
life.

But his bad fortune so managed it, that there happened to be at the
Inn at this time four wool-combers of Segovia, and three needlemakers
of Cordova, and two neighbours from Seville, all merry fellows, very
mischievous and playsome. And as if they were all moved with one idea,
they came up to Sancho, and pulling him down off his Ass, one of them
ran in for the Innkeeper’s blanket, and they flung him into it. But
looking up and seeing that the ceiling was somewhat lower than they
needed for their business, they determined to go out into the yard,
which had no roof but the sky, and there placing Sancho in the middle
of the blanket, they began to toss him aloft and to make sport with him
by throwing him up and down. The outcries of the miserable be-tossed
Squire were so many and so loud that they reached the ears of his
Master, who, standing awhile to listen what it was, believed that some
new adventure was at hand, until he clearly recognised the shrieks to
come from poor Sancho. Immediately turning his horse, he rode back at a
gallop to the Inn gate, and finding it closed, rode round the wall to
see if he could find any place at which he might enter. But he scarcely
got to the wall of the Inn yard, which was not very high, when he
beheld the wicked sport they were making with his Squire. He saw him go
up and down with such grace and agility, that, had his anger allowed
him, I make no doubt he would have burst with laughter. He tried to
climb the wall from his horse, but he was so bruised and broken that he
could by no means alight from his saddle, and therefore from on top of
his horse he used such terrible threats against those that were tossing
Sancho that one could not set them down in writing.

But in spite of his reproaches they did not cease from their laughter
or labour, nor did the flying Sancho stop his lamentations, mingled now
with threats and now with prayers. Thus they carried on their merry
game, until at last from sheer weariness they stopped and let him be.
And then they brought him his Ass, and, helping him to mount it,
wrapped him in his coat, and the kind-hearted Maritornes, seeing him
so exhausted, gave him a pitcher of water, which, that it might be the
cooler, she fetched from the well.

Just as he was going to drink he heard his Master’s voice calling to
him, saying: ‘Son Sancho, drink not water, drink it not, my son, for
it will kill thee. Behold, here I have that most holy Balsam,’—and he
showed him the can of liquor,—’two drops of which if thou drinkest
thou wilt undoubtedly be cured.’

At these words Sancho shuddered, and replied to his Master: ‘You forget
surely that I am no Knight, or else you do not remember the pains I
suffered last evening. Keep your liquor to yourself, and let me be in
peace.’

At the conclusion of this speech he began to drink, but finding it was
only water he would not taste it, and called for wine, which Maritornes
very kindly fetched for him, and likewise paid for it out of her own
purse.

As soon as Sancho had finished drinking, he stuck his heels into his
Ass, and the Inn gate being thrown wide open he rode out, highly
pleased at having paid for nothing, even at the price of a tossing. The
Innkeeper, however, had kept his wallet, but Sancho was so distracted
when he departed that he never missed it.

When Sancho reached his Master, he was almost too jaded and faint to
ride his beast. Don Quixote, seeing him in this plight, said to him:
‘Now I am certain that yon Castle or Inn is without doubt enchanted,
for those who made sport with thee so cruelly, what else could they be
but phantoms, and beings of another world? And I am the more sure of
this, because when I was by the wall of the Inn yard I was not able to
mount it, or to alight from Rozinante, and therefore I must have been
enchanted. For if I could have moved, I would have avenged thee in a
way to make those scoundrels remember the jest for ever, even although
to do it I should have had to disobey the rules of Knighthood.’

‘So would I also have avenged myself,’ said Sancho, ‘Knight or no
Knight, but I could not. And yet I believe that those who amused
themselves with me were no phantoms or enchanted beings, but men of
flesh and bones as we are, for one was called Pedro, and another
Tenorio, and the Innkeeper called a third Juan. But what I make out of
all this, is that those adventures which we go in search of, will bring
us at last so many misadventures that we shall not know our right foot
from our left. And the best thing for us to do, in my humble opinion,
is to return us again to our village and look after our own affairs,
and not go jumping, as the saying is, “out of the frying-pan into the
fire.”‘

‘How little dost thou know of Knighthood, friend Sancho,’ replied Don
Quixote. ‘Peace, and have patience, for a day will come when thou shalt
see with thine own eyes how fine a thing it is to follow this calling.
What pleasure can equal that of winning a battle or triumphing over an
enemy?’

‘I cannot tell,’ answered Sancho; ‘but this I know, that since we are
Knights Errant, we have never won any battle, unless it was that with
the Biscayan, and even then your Worship lost half an ear. And ever
after that time it has been nothing but cudgels and more cudgels,
blows and more blows,—I getting the tossing in the blanket to boot.
And all this happens to me from enchanted people on whom I cannot take
vengeance.’

‘That grieves me,’ replied Don Quixote; ‘but who knows what may happen?
Fortune may bring me a sword like that of Amadis, which did not only
cut like a razor, but there was no armour however strong or enchanted
which could stand before it.’

‘It will be like my luck,’ said Sancho, ‘that when your Worship finds
such a sword it will, like the Balsam, be of use only to those who are
Knights, whilst poor Squires will still have to sup sorrow.’

‘Fear not that, Sancho,’ replied his Master; and he rode ahead, his
mind full of adventures, followed at a little distance by his unhappy
Squire.