Chapter LIII. Of the toilsome end and conclusion that Sancho Panza’s government had

“To think that the things of this life must last forever in one state is to think in vain; rather, it seems that life goes all in a round, I mean, round about: spring pursues the early summer, the early summer the high summer, the high summer the autumn, and autumn goes after winter, and winter in its turn after spring, and so time turns and goes on again with this continual wheel; human life alone runs to its end swifter than time, with no hope of being renewed unless it be in the other life, which has no bounds to limit it.” This says Cide Hamete, the Muhammadan philosopher; for this matter of understanding the swiftness and instability of the present life, and the endurance of the eternal life we hope for, many without the lamp of faith, by natural light alone, have understood; but here our author says it on account of the speed with which Sancho’s government was ended, consumed, undone, and went off as if in shadow and smoke.

For on the seventh night of the days of his government, as he lay in his bed, sated not with bread or wine but with judging and giving opinions and making statutes and decrees, just when sleep, in spite and despite of hunger, was beginning to close his eyelids, he heard so great a noise of bells and voices that it seemed nothing less than that the whole isle was sinking. He sat up in bed and stayed alert and listening, to see whether he could work out what could be the cause of so great an uproar; but not only did he fail to find out, but, as the noise of voices and bells was joined by that of countless trumpets and drums, he was left more bewildered and full of fear and dread; and getting to his feet, he put on a pair of slippers, because of the damp floor, and, without putting on a dressing gown or anything like one, he went out to the door of his room, just in time to see more than twenty people coming along some galleries with lighted torches in their hands and with their swords unsheathed, all shouting at the top of their voices:

“To arms, to arms, lord governor, to arms! Countless enemies have entered the isle, and we are lost if your skill and valor do not come to our aid.”

With this noise, fury, and uproar they came up to where Sancho stood, astounded and stupefied by what he heard and saw; and when they reached him, one said to him:

“Arm yourself at once, your lordship, unless you want to be lost and have this whole isle lost!”

“What should I arm myself for,” answered Sancho, “and what do I know about arms or rescues? These things had better be left for my master Don Quixote, who’ll dispatch them in two shakes and put them in safety; for I, as I’m a sinner before God, understand nothing of these hurries.”

“Ah, lord governor!” said another. “What chill is this? Let your grace arm yourself, for here we bring you arms offensive and defensive, and come out into that square, and be our guide and our captain, for by right it falls to you to be so, being our governor.”

“Arm me, then, and good luck to it,” replied Sancho.

And at once they brought him two pavises, for they had come provided with them, and they put them on him over his shirt, without letting him put on any other clothes, one pavise in front and the other behind, and through some hollows they had made in them they brought his arms out, and they bound him up very tightly with some cords, so that he was left walled in and boarded up, upright as a spindle, with no way to bend his knees or move so much as one step. They put a lance in his hands, on which he leaned so as to keep on his feet. When they had him like this, they told him to march, and to lead and encourage them all; for with him as their north star, their lantern, and their morning star, their affairs would come to a good end.

“How am I to march, wretch that I am,” answered Sancho, “when I can’t work the kneecaps of my knees, because these boards I have sewn so tight to my flesh won’t let me? What you must do is carry me in your arms and set me, crosswise or standing up, in some postern, and I’ll guard it, either with this lance or with my body.”

“Come on, lord governor,” said another, “for it’s fear more than the boards that keeps you from moving; have done with it and stir yourself, for it’s late, and the enemies are growing, and the shouts are increasing, and the danger is pressing.”

At which urging and abuse the poor governor tried to move, and the result was that he came down on the ground with such a great thump that he thought he had broken himself to pieces. He lay like a turtle shut up and covered in its shell, or like half a side of bacon put between two kneading troughs, or just like a boat that runs aground on the sand; and that jesting crowd had no compassion on him for seeing him fallen; rather, putting out the torches, they redoubled their shouts and repeated the “To arms!” with such great haste, trampling over poor Sancho and dealing him countless slashes on the pavises, that if he had not gathered himself in and shrunk down, drawing his head in between the pavises, the poor governor would have fared very badly; and he, huddled in that narrow space, sweated and sweated again, and with all his heart commended himself to God to bring him out of that danger.

Some stumbled over him, others fell, and there was one who stood on top of him for a good while, and from there, as from a watchtower, directed the armies, and in a great voice said:

“Here, our men, for on this side the enemy is pressing hardest! Guard that breach, shut that gate, bar those ladders! Bring fire pots, pitch and resin in caldrons of boiling oil! Barricade the streets with mattresses!”

In short, he named with all eagerness all the gear and the instruments and engines of war with which the assault on a city is usually repelled, and the battered Sancho, who listened to it all and suffered it all, said to himself:

“Oh, if only my Lord would be pleased to let this isle be lost for good and all, and I could see myself either dead or out of this great anguish!”

Heaven heard his petition, and when he least expected it, he heard voices saying:

“Victory, victory! The enemies are giving way! Come, lord governor, let your grace get up and come and enjoy the conquest and share out the spoils that have been taken from the enemies by the valor of that invincible arm!”

“Lift me up,” said the sorrowful Sancho in a sorrowing voice.

They helped him up, and once he was on his feet, he said:

“Any enemy I may have conquered, I want nailed to my forehead. I don’t want to share out spoils of enemies, but to ask and beg some friend, if I have one, to give me a drink of wine, for I’m drying up, and to wipe off this sweat, for I’m turning to water.”

They wiped him, brought him the wine, unbound the pavises; he sat down on his bed and fainted from fear, fright, and toil. The jesters were already sorry they had made the jest weigh so heavy; but Sancho’s coming to himself tempered the regret his fainting had caused them. He asked what time it was; they answered that it was already dawn. He said nothing, and without another word he began to dress, all buried in silence, and they all watched him and waited to see where the haste with which he was dressing would end. He dressed at last, and slowly, because he was battered and could not go very fast, he went to the stable, followed by all who were there, and going up to the gray, he embraced him and gave him a kiss of peace on the forehead, and, not without tears in his eyes, said to him:

“Come here, you, my companion and my friend, and fellow bearer of my toils and miseries: when I kept company with you and had no other thoughts than those the cares of mending your harness and feeding your little body gave me, my hours, my days, and my years were happy ones; but once I’d left you and climbed up onto the towers of ambition and pride, a thousand miseries, a thousand toils, and four thousand worries have gotten into my soul.”

And while he was saying these words, he was likewise saddling the ass, with no one saying anything to him. The gray saddled, then, with great pain and sorrow he climbed onto him, and, directing his words and speech to the steward, the secretary, the table steward, and Pedro Recio the doctor, and to many others who were there present, he said:

“Make way, my lords, and let me return to the freedom I used to have; let me go and look for my past life, so it may raise me up from this present death. I wasn’t born to be a governor, or to defend isles or cities from the enemies who might want to attack them. I know more about plowing and digging, pruning and layering vines, than about giving laws or defending provinces or kingdoms. Saint Peter is fine in Rome: I mean, each man is fine plying the trade he was born for. A sickle in my hand suits me better than a governor’s scepter; I’d sooner stuff myself on gazpacho than live under the wretchedness of some meddling doctor who’s starving me to death; and I’d rather lie down in the shade of an oak in summer and wrap up in a double-fleeced sheepskin in winter, in my freedom, than go to bed under the yoke of government between sheets of Holland linen and dress in sable furs. Your graces, God be with you, and tell the duke my lord that naked I was born, naked I am now: I neither lose nor gain; I mean, that I came into this government without a blanca, and without one I leave it, quite the reverse of how governors of other isles usually leave. And stand aside: let me go, for I’m off to get myself plastered; for I think all my ribs are bruised, thanks to the enemies who went strolling over me tonight.”

“It must not be so, lord governor,” said Doctor Recio, “for I will give your grace a draught against falls and batterings that will at once restore you to your pristine soundness and vigor; and as for meals, I promise your grace to mend my ways, letting you eat plentifully of whatever you like.”

“Too late you cheep!” answered Sancho. “I’d as soon stay as turn Turk. These jests aren’t for twice. By God, I’d as soon stay in this one, or take any other government, even if they served it up to me between two plates, as fly to heaven without wings. I’m of the line of the Panzas, who are all stubborn, and if once they say odds, odds it has to be, even if it’s evens, in spite of the whole world. Let the ant’s wings stay here in this stable, the ones that lifted me up into the air for swifts and other birds to eat me, and let’s go back to walking on the ground with a level foot, for if it isn’t adorned with pinked shoes of Córdoba leather, it won’t lack rough rope sandals. Every ewe with her mate, and let no one stretch his leg farther than the sheet is long; and let me pass, for it’s getting late.”

To which the steward said:

“Lord governor, we would very gladly let your grace go, though we shall be very sorry to lose you, for your wit and your Christian conduct oblige us to wish for you; but it is well known that every governor is bound, before he leaves the place where he has governed, first to render an account of his term: let your grace render it for the ten days you have held the government, and go in God’s peace.”

“No one can ask it of me,” answered Sancho, “except whoever the duke my lord appoints; I’m going to see him, and I’ll render it to him to the letter; besides, since I leave naked, as I do, no other sign is needed to show that I’ve governed like an angel.”

“By God, the great Sancho is right,” said Doctor Recio, “and I am of the opinion that we should let him go, for the duke will be infinitely pleased to see him.”

They all agreed to it, and let him go, first offering him company and everything he might want for the comfort of his person and the ease of his journey. Sancho said that he wanted nothing but a little barley for the gray and half a cheese and half a loaf for himself; for since the road was so short, he had no need of a bigger or better larder. They all embraced him, and he, weeping, embraced them all, and left them amazed, as much by his words as by his resolve, so firm and so sensible.