Don Quixote_ Translation by Edith Grossman (HarperCollins) - Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra [117]
Sancho got to his feet and was so angry at finding himself beaten for so little cause that he tried to take his revenge on the goatherd, saying it was his fault for not having warned them that the man suffered fits of madness; if they had known this, they would have been prepared and ready to defend themselves. The goatherd responded that he had told them, and if Sancho had not heard him, he was not to blame. Sancho Panza replied, and so did the goatherd, and all the replies ended in each seizing the other’s beard and exchanging so many blows that if Don Quixote had not stopped them, they would have beaten each other to a pulp. Sancho said, as he kept hold of the goatherd:
“Your grace, Señor Knight of the Sorrowful Face, let me be, for with this one, who is lowborn like myself and not a knight, I’m free to avenge his offense against me, fighting him hand to hand, like an honorable man.”
“That is true,” said Don Quixote, “but I know he is not to blame for what has happened.”
Saying this, he pacified them, and Don Quixote asked the goatherd again if it would be possible to find Cardenio, because he wanted very much to know the end of his story. The goatherd said what he had said earlier, that he was not certain where he stayed, but if he wandered the area, Don Quixote could not fail to find him, either in his right mind or out of it.
CHAPTER XXV
Which tells of the strange events that befell the valiant knight of La Mancha in the Sierra Morena, and of his imitation of the penance of Beltenebros 1
Don Quixote took his leave of the goatherd, and mounting Rocinante once again, he told Sancho to follow him, which he did, on his donkey, very unwillingly. Gradually they were entering the most rugged part of the mountains, and Sancho, longing to talk to his master but not wanting to disobey his orders, waited for him to begin the conversation; unable to endure so much silence, however, Sancho said:
“Señor Don Quixote, your grace should give me your blessing and let me leave, because now I want to go back to my house and my wife and children, for with them, at least, I’ll talk and speak all I want; your grace wanting me to go with you through these deserted places by day and by night without talking whenever I feel like it is like burying me alive. If animals could still talk the way they did in the days of Guisopete,2 it wouldn’t be so bad because I could talk to my donkey whenever I wanted to, and that would help me bear my misfortunes; it’s a hard thing, and not something to be borne patiently, when a man searches his whole life and doesn’t find anything but kicks and tossings in a blanket, stones and fists hitting him, and still he has to keep his mouth shut tight, not daring to say what’s in his heart, like a mute.”
“I understand you very well, Sancho,” responded Don Quixote. “You long to have the interdiction which I have placed on your tongue lifted. Consider it lifted and say whatever you wish, on the condition that this license lasts no longer than the time we spend traveling through these mountains.”
“That’s fine,” said Sancho. “Let me talk now, for only God knows what will happen later, and I’ll begin to enjoy this freedom now and ask why was it that your grace defended so strongly that Queen Magimasa or whatever her name is? And what difference did it make if that abbot3 was her lover or not? For if your grace had let it pass, since you weren’t her judge, I think the madman would have gone on with his story, and we would have avoided stones, and kicks, and more than half a dozen punches.”
“By my faith, Sancho,” responded Don Quixote, “if you