Don Quixote_ Translation by Edith Grossman (HarperCollins) - Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra [301]
“I admit that this is true,” responded Don Quixote.
“Well, this fame, these favors, these prerogatives, or whatever they’re called,” responded Sancho, “is what the bodies and relics of the saints have, and with the approval and permission of our Holy Mother Church, they also have lamps, candles, shrouds, crutches, paintings, wigs, eyes, and legs, and with these they deepen devotion and increase their Christian fame; the bodies of saints or their relics are carried on their shoulders by kings, and they kiss the fragments of their bones, and use them to decorate and adorn their private chapels and their favorite altars.”
“What do you wish me to infer, Sancho, from all that you have said?” said Don Quixote.
“I mean,” said Sancho, “that we should begin to be saints, and then we’ll win the fame we want in a much shorter time; and remember, Señor, that only yesterday or the day before—it happened so recently, it’s fair to say that—they canonized or beatified two discalced friars, and the iron chains they used to bind and torture their bodies are now thought to bring great good luck if you kiss and touch them, and are venerated, as I said, more than the sword of Roland in the armory of His Majesty the king, God save him. And so, Señor, it’s better to be a humble friar, in any order at all, than a valiant knight errant; two dozen lashings with a scourge have more effect on God than two thousand thrusts with a lance, whether they’re aimed at giants, or monsters, or dragons.”
“All of that is true,” responded Don Quixote, “but we cannot all be friars, and God brings His children to heaven by many paths: chivalry is a religion, and there are sainted knights in Glory.”
“Yes,” responded Sancho, “but I’ve heard that there are more friars in heaven than knights errant.”
“That is true,” responded Don Quixote, “because the number of religious is greater than the number of knights.”
“There are many who are errant,” said Sancho.
“Many,” responded Don Quixote, “but few who deserve to be called knights.”
They spent that night and the following day in this and other similar conversations, and nothing worth recounting happened to them, which caused no small sorrow to Don Quixote. Finally, the next day at dusk, they could see the great city of Toboso, a sight that brought joy to Don Quixote’s spirit and saddened Sancho’s, because he did not know which house was Dulcinea’s, for he had never seen it, just as his master had never seen it, so that both were in a state of high agitation, one with his desire to see it, the other because he had not, and Sancho could not imagine what he would do when his master sent him into Toboso. In short, Don Quixote decided to enter the city when night had fallen, and they waited for the hour of darkness in a stand of oaks growing near Toboso, and when the time came they entered the city, where things befell them that certainly were memorable.
CHAPTER IX
Which recounts what will soon be seen
It was on the stroke of midnight,1 more or less, when Don Quixote and Sancho left the countryside and entered Toboso. The town lay in peaceful silence, because all the residents were in their beds and sleeping like logs, as the saying goes. The night was fairly clear, although Sancho would have preferred it totally dark so that he could find an excuse for his ignorance in the darkness. All that could be heard in the town was the sound of dogs barking, which thundered in Don Quixote’s ears and troubled the heart of Sancho. From time to time a donkey brayed, pigs grunted, cats meowed, and the different sounds of their voices seemed louder in the silence of the night, which the enamored knight took as an evil omen; despite this, however, he said to Sancho:
“Sancho, my friend,