Sancho Panza rubbed his eyes in disbelief that he was still abed at this late hour. The rumblings of his stomach had little effect on his being so deep in slumber and the cock crowing must have gone unanswered. He looked about the simple hut and found himself quite alone. In the past evening his hostesses had provided well for him making him to feel not unlike a Roman emperor with wine, grapes, sweetmeats and breads having been offered to him as he lay on the bed which was as a dias but now was no more than what it was, a cot on which piles of quilts and woven goods had been piled to make for comfort. He had enjoyed the merriment, and had entertained them far into the night with stories of his exploits as squire to his master, Don Quixote.
But now the room was empty, the fire had long ago been extinguished and his merry band of ladies had taken to the fields for their daily labors. He scratched his ample sides and was suddenly aware that in addition to the absence of the women, his master was no where to be found, at least not in this hut. Noting the position of the sun in the sky as he looked out the window, he became concerned as no time in the past had he been allowed to sleep so long while in the services of Don Quixote. And, more foreboding was the absence of the usual activity associated with the Don. It was to be expected that as his master slept but little, at the first day's light he would be stirring and with his activity it was unlikely that any soul would be permitted to stay long in bed. Where was the knight-errant?
Pulling on his boots, Sancho looked to the small square about which the cluster of some eight to ten huts were assembled. There in the middle was the horse trough where he and the Don had their pleasant baths at the hands of the village ladies, and not too far distant was the stable where he had left Rozinante and Amadis the grey. But in which of these one-room houses was it that Don Quixote had been removed when his bath was finished? Scratching his back against the doorway, he relieved an itch that was most pleasant; and stretching, in addition to a mighty yawn, he emerged into the full light of day. He chose to look first to the stable where in addition to checking on his ass and his master's mount, he might also relieve himself of nature's load. Noting that the animals had been removed to a near pasture, he sought out Don Quixote.
Looking through the open window of the hut nearest the stable, close-by where the swine were kept, he found the knight-errant. On a cot piled high with feather comforters lay his master who moved not a bit. Sancho feared for the rewards that had been promised him, as it seemed likely Don Quixote had passed to another world. How else was one to explain the noble knight in the feathers at this late time. Having a deep fear of death, Sancho remained unmoving and made not a sound. As his eyes adjusted to the room's light, he saw that at Don Quixote's head, sat the swine herd mistress in a crude chair. She sat very still and on occasion, she stroked the Don's head. Of this, Sancho was sure, his master had died and the poor woman was in mourning. But wait, he saw something that was foreign to his eyes. On the countenance which others had described as mournful, rueful, ugly or other terms, was not a scowl but instead a pleasant smile. How could this be that death had wrought such a change?
For sure, Sancho was not about the enter this place where necromancers or others were to be found. As he watched, the old woman, for she was near the age of Quixote, stood, and turned her attention to the hearth where bread was being baked. And she, taking a knife from the mantle, made slices from the sidemeat that hung from the rafter. These generous pieces were placed in a waiting pan and suddenly, Sancho's nose was assaulted with the divine smells of bacon frying in the skillet. This in addition to the aroma of baking bread was too much for his stomach and it began to rumble. He could only watch in silence as the act unfolded. The woman stooped low over Don Quixote and Sancho heard her ask in a voice most pleasant; "Watch the meat and I will go and awaken your squire." With this his master swung his feet to the floor and stretched him self mightily.
Seeing that the mistress was about to leave the room to fetch him, Sancho quickly retreated to the hut from which he had just so pleasantly spent the evening. He was able to gain a place in the pile of coverings and pulled them up under his chin. In his haste, he saw that his boots protruded from the end of the quilt, but there was no time to remove them or to even cover them as the woman entered the room.
"Sancho, dear and loyal Sancho, you master commands that you join him at once. The day is becoming shorter by the hour and he is in need of your services. Arise, squire to the most famous knight. You must see what has been wrought. Sancho, are you awake." He could no longer fend sleep and opened his tightly shut eyes and looked into the not unpleasant face of his master's enchantress. "Sancho, breakfast awaits you, come." And with that she left the room, although he thought a smile had crossed her face when she saw his boots exit the coverings, and perhaps she had discovered his secret.
Now the consideration of a hot meal was not to be lightly considered and Sancho stood and with a sure step left his cottage on the way to that of the swine herder. As was his nature, he looked in the window before darkening the door and saw an enormous pile of bacon, crisp and fragile on a wooden platter centered on the hut's only table. His master had done well in attending the side meat and from it rose a most delightful smell that is without description. Using the same pan with its charge of bacon fat still within, the cabin's mistress was breaking hen fruit into the crackling grease. How could he refuse to enter.
"My friend Sancho, come and sit down and enjoy a pleasant meal with me and my hostess. I have much to tell you and am desirous of knowing how you spent the night as well." One may think that this would be a usual greeting from Don Quixote but Sancho knew otherwise. In fact the entire morning's events were most strange. Sancho knew from many past experiences that when the knight was usually roused from his sleep it was hell to pay as he took up anything near and using it as a weapon engaged enemies that he not too clearly saw but was sure inhabited the same area that he occupied. And, more likely than not, it was; "Sancho, you dolt, you simple one who fills the air with sayings scavengered from the pulpit and I know not where. Speak not to me but get along. Be sure Rozinante has a good feed, saddle him and bring him here post haste. And if there is extra, give your good grey a feed as well, but be about it, you have slept half your life away and I do not intent to let you have a moment's peace until you have caught up with the work you should have done in the hours past. Get about it man."
But Don Quixote seemed quite a different person. The sight of the food and the invitation could not be refused and he took a place opposite his master and was about to reach for a handful of bacon and bread to match when he was admonished by the Don. "Wait, Sancho, the lady must be seated before we begin." What was this? He was to be refused food and must wait. This he had never been directed to do, even in the presence of Dukes, Duchesses, and other royalty when he and the knight were being feted, or as he recalled the week long wedding ceremonies and how they had feasted. Now even a more strange event occurred. As the swine herder delivered the score of eggs or more to the table, she took her place alongside the knight, and if this was enough not, Don Quixote reached across the table, taking Sancho's left hand in his right. Then, as if by design, the hostess reached across and took his right hand in her left, and clearly to be seen, then mistress and Don engaged their free hands together. Sancho noted that his master had bowed his head and it was to be heard that he was uttering praises to God for this fine food and friendship. The grasp were released. The meal began and the food was some of the finest that he had the pleasure to enjoy. As he ate, he was surprised to hear the conversation between his master and the lady of the hut. They talked together and were unmindful of Sancho's presence, and while they ate and seemingly enjoyed the food as well, it was obvious that this meal was to take a very long time.
With his appetite sated and seeing that he was not to be included in the exchange of words, Sancho did what he must do and excused himself from the table. This was extraordinary as in his remembrance, he had never asked to be permitted to leave the table. But his wish was granted and he departed the fireside and went to seek Amadis and discuss with him these strange events that were taking place before his very eyes. It must be recorded that he did rub his eyes and look back into the cabin through the open window to be assured that he could trust what he had just seen.
Rozinante and Amadis had taken leave of the stable by the graces of some village attendant and were found at the edge of the brook which flowed with a most pleasant sound. These two friends having had their fill of green grass and cool water were now basking as only a horse or ass can do. Each lay on their side with legs extended as far as they would reach, their head s were drawn back and the rush of air from their lungs could be heard as they were in pleasant slumbers. To awaken Amadis under this spell would have been quite rude and as we are discovering, Sancho was assuming manners that would be more fitting of one from a proper family.
Sancho instead sat with his back against a fallen tree with the sun warming him and he thought disturbing thoughts. What to make of his master's change? Was he beset with evil beings again? It did not appear to be so as he appeared to be at peace. But at peace with what? This woman must be a sorceress as she seemed to have cast a spell over the great knight, not unlike the story of Samson who lost his hair and his strength. But the Don had little hair to loose and he was not of great strength to begin with so this did not fit with the stories that bubbled through his brain. Slowly a thought developed, at first too foolish for even him to have entertained it, but with remembrances of the occurrence of yesterday and today, it grew, until finally it burst forth with such force that Sancho found his lips moving, and as air rushed from his lungs through his mouth, the words formed and he said; "Love, by the grace of God, it's Love. My master is in love with another. Oh by heaven, now we are in for more misadventures than Satan or his recruits could have ever planned. Don Quixote, the great knight-errant cannot serve two mistresses. Woe is me. I shall never received the rewards promised me, but worse yet. The dame Dulcinea will move my master to activities that can only lead to his death or destruction and mine as well. Please God, give me an answer to this conundrum that has been thrust upon me." In the silence of the glen with only the gurgle of the brook and the gentle snores of his ass and his master's mount, God provided no guidance and time did pass while Sancho sat and stewed in this his latest pot of misery.
Seeing that he had no answer and that he would have to trust to luck, Sancho returned to the hut where he found his master and the woman of the house still sitting as he had left them, the fire had been permitted to burn down, the bread was crusted in the dry air and the few scraps of egg and bacon remained on their plates of which they were unaware. When Sancho's shadow darkened the door, Don Quixote spoke.
"Sancho come hither, I must tell you of our plans. The good lady Shirlee and I are to be married. She will come to be mistress to my house and share with me the good name Alonso Quixano." Because of his musings in the pasture, this did not surprise Sancho, but from the furrow of his brow, the master saw that he was much confused and something troubled him. He asked, "Sancho, we have been friends for more years than I like to count and you have always been forthright with me and I with you. Tell me what worries you?"
For once Sancho was unable to mouth a proverb or a saying and found himself as if spellbound but finally he found his words. "Sir, for these many years of which you speak, thee and me have been in quest of adventures that would be found pleasing in their outcome to the beautiful Dulcinea of del Toboso. Now it would appear that you have given up the chase."
"Thanks be to God, Sancho, for the renowned knight of which you speak did as you say and it is with gladdened heart that I can report to you and all those who follow my journals that he has succeeded more than could ever be imagined. He has gained the side of his fair lady and she has granted him the privilege of remaining there. The last that I am aware, they have both passed on to their own rewards, her's being the redemption of her beauty and good graces, and I might add full appreciation of the attention that the renowned knight bestowed upon her.
Don Quixote's rewards as you might imagine were although simple in demand, more difficult to fulfill as he must give up his life's work to discredit those knights of the round table and such that so much diminished the reputation of the true knights of old. The sorceresses and their magicians have also found themselves in a time warp in this the iron age and the era of battles fought not with swords and lances but from afar with the discharge from the muzzles of cannons and small arms. There is no longer a need for knights passing to and fro, as the laws of King Ferdinand and his Queen with their brood of children from Aragon now raise the flag of Spain to a new and respected place in world history.
Follow well the offspring of the King, Catherine of Aragon will become Queen of England and others of the family will have rank in the house of Germany, Italy and other lesser countries. Our Christian Leader will emerge as bringing us from darkness into the light through the Holy Catholic Church and we must forgive our brothers as we ask them for forgiveness as well.
With this consideration, it is right and proper that Don Quixote should let his armour lie where it has fallen, his sword no longer needed. These items of war cannot be converted to plowshares, but a good tinsmith can make useful utensils from them.
But what of Rozinante, you may ask? This question gladdens my heart, for you know I love that old nag as a brother. He has served the Don well and it is my responsibility to see that he is to enjoy the best of a life of retirement as a war horse of renown. His teeth may be poor and in need of a horse doctor to float them to proper alignment, his vision blurred by the sands of time and his hooves so cracked and crazed that he can not carry shoes made by the best of village smiths but this is not to say that he has passed the time when he can enjoy a romp in the pasture with his friend Amadis. And this brings me to the concerns that I have for you and your good ass.
Sancho, Don Quixote promised you much and delivered little. No island is worthy of your reign. No amount of gold will fill your pockets to overflowing equal to the service you have provided. Titles are meaningless as they may be had a dime a dozen. But you stomach still needs its daily charge as does that of your good woman and two children.
I propose the following which will help my lady Shirlee, an me as well; but will be very good for you, I promise. The good lady of the swine has some ten sows and a good boar that have great value. Even as we speak, there is a cluster of piglets near market size. To borrow one of your proverbs, it is better to teach a man to fish than to give him fishes. So it is that my lady offers to trade her herd to you for Amadis. Think carefully of this and the wisdom.
When you return to Mancha, driving your own dryft of tame swyne as recorded in the book of St. Albans, your wife will see how smart you are to have traded Amadis to the lady who is in need of such an animal for carriage of her portmanteau to her new home.
The produce from the animals will assure your daughter a fine dowry giving her access to the tables of the best families that are within three days, riding on good horse, of our village. With her beauty and with that which you will provide, I am sure that she will marry well. And that fine sone of yours who is now reaching the age where he could well use teaching in the art of mathematics, reading and such; you will be able to have the curate, the bachelor or perhaps even a priest or nun teach him the ways which will bring much pleasure to your gentle wife.
Fear not for Amadis, he and his friend Rozinante will bask many days in the sun on my small estate.
What I find most rewarding about these plans between lady Shirlee and myself is that I shall now be able to provide for my niece who has because of my past infirm body and mind, been unable to benefit although blessed with beautiful face and structure. I have hopes that the Bachelor will find her the reason for his continuing place at my table and that they may find happiness together.
You, Sancho, are my most trusted, loyal, honest friend, let you understand that my lady and I would have you be at our home no less than once a week so long as we shall live.
What say you Sancho Panza?"
For the second time in so many hours we find Sancho speechless, but he soon recovered. "The trade is fair, my ass for a sounder of swine. Methinks that perhaps the lady is too generous as the market places much higher value for a single sow than for an old donkey that bears no fruit."
Can it be so that this ends the tale of Don Quixote the man from Mancha?
It remains now the challenge to you, dear reader, to reassemble these stories to order them in their proper sequence and place within the history (if that be the proper name) written by the Cide and transcribed by Miguel Cervantes. Perhaps Mahtrow's writing of Alonso's quest for goodness will balance those of Alonzo Fernandez de Avellaneda whose pen heaped much abuse on the good knight. Regardless of the outcome of the telling of this legend, the message is clear. Faint heart never won fair maiden, as would be said by his friend Panza. End.
Well not quite the end as you shall see. The Knight and Squire have at least one other adventure to be place in record before they truly come to the end of this tale.
***
In due respect to Cervantes and Avellaneda in their writing of the continuation of the history of Don Quixote de La Mancha, they appear to have drawn ink from the same well in wetting their pen. The introduction of the translation and edition by Alberta Wilson Server and John Esten Keller of Avellaneda's telling of the second part of Don Quixote(1) has this to say, "... To this day no one knows the identity of Avellaneda, although some of the best scholars have attempted to recognize him. Whoever he was, he somehow seems to have gotten wind of what Cervantes' Part II contained, perhaps by managing somehow to see Cervantes' own manuscript, for he did far more than see Don Quixote and Sancho off to Saragossa as Cervantes had written was to be their destination. At times he actually reproduced whole lines seen in Cervantes' forthcoming book with many of the same proverbs and all this verbatim.... And then not to be outdone by Avellaneda, he (Cervantes) availed himself of one of Avellaneda's characters, Don Alvaro Tarfe....
Much can be speculated. Some draw William Shakespeare into the drama, suggesting that it is more than a coincidence that Shakespeare and Cervantes shared the same date of death and one or the other somehow must have been the author of this prose and poetry. Be that is it may, Sidi Mahtrow identifies Alonso the Good as the source of these narratives, recording them in journals first found by Cid Hamete and latter by Mahtrow. All authors leave much work unfinished, recognize the weaknesses in their writing and set it aside for another day. On the other hand, more is written than included in the longest of books and remains, as in film on the cutting-room floor. Such is the delightful history of the most ingenuous knight, Don Quixote of the Mancha.
(1) Don Quixote de La Mancha (Part II), Being the spurious continuation of Miquel de Cervantes' Part I. Alonso Fernandez de Avellaneda, Juan de la Cuesta, Newark, Delaware, 1980. (The illustrations by Hal Barnell are well worth the price of the book alone.)
****
Joe Wortham's Home Page , About Joe Wortham