Don Quixote_ Translation by Edith Grossman (HarperCollins) - Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra [70]
In short, Sancho settled Don Quixote on the back of the donkey and tied Rocinante behind, in single file, and leading the jackass by the halter, he walked more or less in the direction of where he thought the king’s highway might be. And luck, going from good to better, guided his steps, and in less than a league it led him to the highway, where he discovered an inn that, to his sorrow and Don Quixote’s joy, had to be a castle. Sancho insisted it was an inn, and his master said no, it was a castle, and the dispute lasted so long that before it was settled they had come to the inn, which Sancho and his retinue entered without further inquiry.
CHAPTER XVI
Regarding what befell the ingenious gentleman in the inn that he imagined to be a castle
The innkeeper, who saw Don Quixote lying across the donkey, asked Sancho what was wrong with him. Sancho responded that it was not serious, that he had fallen off a crag and bruised his ribs slightly. The innkeeper’s wife was a woman whose disposition was unlike the one usually found in those of her trade, for she was naturally charitable and took pity on the calamities of others, and so she hurried to tend Don Quixote and had her daughter, a very pretty young girl, help her care for her guest. Working as a servant in the inn was an Asturian girl with a broad face, a back of the head that was flat, a nose that was snubbed, and one eye that was blind, while the other was not in very good condition. The truth is that the charm of her body made up for her other faults: she measured less than seven spans1 from her feet to the top of her head, and her back, which weighed somewhat heavily on her, forced her to look down at the ground more than she would have wished. This engaging creature helped the innkeeper’s daughter, and the two of them made up a very uncomfortable bed for Don Quixote in an attic that gave clear signs of having been a hayloft for a long time, many years ago. Also staying at the inn was a muledriver whose bed was just past the bed of Don Quixote. And though it was composed of his mules’ packsaddles and blankets, it was far superior to Don Quixote’s, which consisted only of four rough boards laid across two benches of not very equal height, and a pallet so thin it resembled a bedspread and was filled with lumps that felt like pebbles to the touch, though some holes revealed they were merely tufts of wool; there were two sheets made of shield leather, and a blanket so worn that every thread could be counted without missing a single one.
Don Quixote lay down on this wretched bed, and the innkeeper’s wife and her daughter applied poultices from head to toe, while Maritornes, which was the Asturian girl’s name, held a light for them, and as she applied the plasters, the innkeeper’s wife saw Don Quixote so bruised and black and blue in so many parts that she said it looked more like a beating than a fall.
“It wasn’t a beating,” said Sancho, “it’s just that the rock had lots of sharp points and edges, and each one left its bruise.” He also said: “Señora, see if your grace can arrange to have a few pieces of cloth left over, since there’s somebody else who’ll need them; my ribs are hurting a little, too.”
“So that means,” responded the innkeeper’s wife, “you must have fallen, too.”
“I didn’t fall,” said Sancho Panza, “but it gave me a great start to see my master fall, and because of that my body hurts so much it feels as if somebody beat me a thousand times with a stick.”
“That well could be,” said the daughter. “It’s often happened to me that I dream I’m falling off a tower but never reach the ground, and when I wake up from the dream I find myself as bruised and sore as if I really had fallen.”
“That’s my point, Señora,” Sancho Panza responded. “I didn’t dream anything, but was as wide