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The vanquished and exhausted Don Quixote was extremely melancholy on the one hand and very happy on the other. His sadness was caused by his defeat and his happiness by his consideration of Sancho’s virtue and how it had been demonstrated in the resurrection of Altisidora, even though he had felt certain reservations when he persuaded himself that the enamored maiden had in fact been dead. Sancho was not at all happy, because it made him sad to see that Altisidora had not kept her promise to give him the chemises, and going back and forth over this, he said to his master:

“The truth is, Señor, that I’m the most unfortunate doctor one could find anywhere in the world, where a physician can kill the sick person he’s treating and wants to be paid for his work, which is nothing but signing a piece of paper for some medicines that are made not by him but by the apothecary, and that’s the whole swindle; but when other people’s well-being costs me drops of blood, slaps, pinches, pinpricks, and lashes, they don’t give me an ardite. Well, I swear that if they bring me another patient, before I cure anybody they’ll have to grease my palm, because if the abbot sings he eats his supper, and I don’t want to believe that heaven gave me this virtue to use for others at no charge.”

“You are right, Sancho my friend,” responded Don Quixote, “and it was very wrong of Altisidora not to give you the chemises she promised, although your virtue is gratis data1 and has not cost you any study at all, for suffering torments on your person is more than study. As for me, I can tell you that if you wanted payment for the lashes of Dulcinea’s disenchantment, I should have given it to you gladly, but I do not know if payment would suit the cure, and I would not want rewards to interfere with the treatment. Even so, it seems to me that nothing would be lost if we tried it: decide, Sancho, how much you want, and then flog yourself and pay yourself in cash and by your own hand, for you are carrying my money.”

At this offer Sancho opened his eyes and ears at least a span and consented in his heart to flog himself willingly, and he said to his master:

“Well now, Señor, I’m getting ready to do what your grace desires, and to make a little profit, too, because the love I have for my children and my wife makes me seem greedy. Tell me, your grace: how much will you pay me for each lash I give myself?”

“If I were to pay you, Sancho,” responded Don Quixote, “according to what the greatness and nobility of this remedy deserve, the treasure of Venice and the mines of Potosí would not be enough; estimate how much of my money you are carrying, and then set a price for each lash.”

“The lashes,” responded Sancho, “amount to three thousand, three hundred, and a few; of those I’ve given myself five: that leaves the rest; let the five count as those few, and we come to the three thousand and three hundred, which at a cuartillo each, and I won’t do it for less even if the whole world ordered me to, comes to three thousand and three hundred cuartillos, and that three thousand comes to fifteen hundred half-reales, and that’s seven hundred fifty reales; and the three hundred comes to one hundred fifty half-reales, which is seventy-five reales, and add that to the seven hundred fifty, it comes to a total of eight hundred twenty-five reales. I’ll take that out of your grace’s money, and I’ll walk into my house a rich and happy man, though badly whipped; because trout aren’t caught…,2 and that’s all I’ll say.”

“O blessed Sancho! O kind and courteous Sancho!” responded Don Quixote. “Dulcinea and I shall be obliged to serve you for all the days of life that heaven grants us! If she returns to the state that was lost, and it is impossible that she will not, her misfortune will have been fortune, and my defeat a glorious triumph. Decide, Sancho, when you want to begin the flogging; if you do it soon, I shall add another hundred reales.”

“When?” replied Sancho. “Tonight, without fail. Your grace should arrange for us to