Don Quixote_ Translation by Edith Grossman (HarperCollins) - Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra [97]
“You are a bad Christian, Sancho,” said Don Quixote when he heard this, “because you never forget an injury once it has been done to you, but you should know that noble and generous bosoms do not pay attention to trifles. Were you left with a lame foot, a cracked rib, a broken skull? Is that why you never can forget the jest? For, if the matter is viewed correctly, it was merely a jest and a diversion; if I did not understand it in this way, I should have returned and, in avenging you, inflicted more harm than the Greeks did because of the abducted Helen, who, if she had lived in this time, or my Dulcinea lived in hers, could be certain of not enjoying the reputation for beauty she has now.”
Whereupon he heaved a sigh and sent it heavenward. And Sancho said:
“Let it pass as a joke, since it can’t be avenged in reality, but I know what this reality and this joke mean, and I also know they won’t fall away from my memory any more than they’ll fade from my back. But, leaving that aside, your grace should tell me what we’re going to do with this dappled gray horse that looks like a gray donkey and was left behind by that Martino5 who was toppled by your grace, because seeing how he took to his heels and ran like Villadiego,6 he has no intention of ever coming back for it. By my beard, this dappled gray is a good one!”
“It has never been my practice,” said Don Quixote, “to plunder those I conquer, nor is it a knightly custom to deprive them of their horses and leave them on foot, unless the victor has lost his mount in the battle; in such cases, it is licit to take that of the conquered knight as the spoils of legitimate combat. Therefore, Sancho, leave this horse, or donkey, or whatever you say it is, for when its owner sees that we have departed, he will return for it.”
“God knows I’d like to take it,” replied Sancho, “or at least exchange it for this one of mine, because I don’t think it’s as good. Really, the laws of chivalry are strict if they can’t be stretched to let you trade one donkey for another; I’d like to know if I could at least swap the trappings.”
“I am not certain about that,” responded Don Quixote. “In case of doubt, until I am better informed, I should say that you may exchange them if you are in dire need of them.”
“So dire,” responded Sancho, “that if they were for my own person I couldn’t need them more.”
Then, on the basis of that permission, he executed a mutatio capparum7 and decked out his donkey, showing him off to great advantage.
Having done this, they ate the remains of the food that had been taken from the pack mule and drank from the stream where the fulling hammers were, not turning their faces to look at them, so great was their loathing because of how much they had frightened them.
Having pacified their hunger and tempered their melancholy, they remounted, and with no fixed destination, since it was very much in the tradition of knights errant not to follow a specific route, they began to ride wherever Rocinante’s will took them; behind his will came his master’s, and even the donkey’s, who always followed wherever the horse led, in virtuous love and companionship. And so they returned to the king’s highway and followed it with no set plan or purpose in mind.
As they were riding along, Sancho said to his master:
“Señor, does your grace wish to give me leave to talk a little? After you gave me that harsh order of silence, more than a few things have been spoiling in my stomach, and one that I have now on the tip of my tongue I wouldn’t want to go to waste.”
“Say it,” Don Quixote said,