Don Quixote_ Translation by Edith Grossman (HarperCollins) - Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra [122]
“Losing the donkey was more serious,” responded Sancho, “because when we lost him we lost the bandages and everything else. And I beg your grace to say no more about that cursed potion; just hearing its name turns my soul, not to mention my stomach. And I beg something else: just assume that the three days you gave me to see the mad things you do have already passed, because as far as I’m concerned, I’ve seen them, and judged them, and will tell wonderful things about them to my lady; so write the letter now and send me on my way, because I have a great desire to come back and take your grace out of this purgatory where I’m leaving you.”
“You call it purgatory, Sancho?” said Don Quixote. “You would do better to call it hell, and even worse, if anything can be worse.”
“Whoever’s in hell,” responded Sancho, “nulla es retencio,8 or so I’ve heard.”
“I do not understand what retencio means,” said Don Quixote.
“Retencio means,” responded Sancho, “that whoever’s in hell never gets out and can’t get out. Which is just the opposite of your grace, unless my feet go the wrong way when I use the spurs to liven up Rocinante; just put me once and for all in Toboso, before my lady Dulcinea, and I’ll tell her such wonders about the foolish things and the crazy things, because they amount to the same thing, that your grace has done and is still doing that she’ll become softer than a glove even if I find her harder than a cork tree; with her sweet and honeyed reply I’ll come flying back through the air, like a wizard, and I’ll take your grace out of this purgatory that seems like hell but isn’t, since there’s a hope of getting out, which, as I said before, the people in hell don’t have, and I don’t think your grace will say otherwise.”
“That is true,” said the Knight of the Sorrowful Face, “but what shall we use to write the letter?”
“And the order for the donkeys, too,”9 added Sancho.
“Everything will be included,” said Don Quixote, “and it would be a good idea, since we have no paper, to write it, as the ancients did, on the leaves of trees, or on some wax tablets, although they would be as difficult to find now as paper. But it occurs to me that it would be good, and even better than good, to write it in the notebook that belonged to Cardenio, and you will take care to have it transcribed onto paper, in a fine hand, in the first town you come to where there is a schoolmaster, or else some sacristan can transcribe it for you, but do not give it to any notary, for their writing is so difficult to read that not even Satan can understand it.”
“And what do we do about the signature?” said Sancho.
“The letters of Amadís were never signed,” responded Don Quixote.
“That’s fine,” responded Sancho, “but the order must be signed, and if it’s copied they’ll say the signature is false, and I won’t have my donkeys.”
“The order will be written in the same notebook, and it will be signed, and when my niece sees it, there will be no difficulty putting it into effect. As for the love letter, as a signature you will have them put: ‘Thine until death, the Knight of the Sorrowful Face.’ And it will not matter if it is written in another’s hand, because, if I remember correctly, Dulcinea does not know how to read or write, and never in her life has she seen my writing or a letter of mine, because my love and her love have always been platonic, not going beyond a virtuous glance. And even this was so infrequent that I could truly swear that in the twelve years I have loved her more than the light of these eyes that will be consumed