Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] (113 page)

“By my soul!” said Sancho. “I won’t talk about three thousand lashes, but I’d as soon give myself three as stab myself three times! To the devil with that kind of disenchanting! I don’t know what my backside has to do with enchantments! By God, if Señor Merlin hasn’t found any other way to disenchant Señora Dulcinea of Toboso, then she can go to her grave enchanted!”

“I shall take you,”
⁴
said Don Quixote, “Don Peasant, you churl stuffed with garlic, and I shall tie you to a tree as naked as the day you were born, and I shall give you not three thousand and three hundred, but six thousand and six hundred lashes, and they will go so deep that they will not come off even if you pull them three thousand and three hundred times. And if you say a word to me, I shall tear out your soul.”

Hearing which, Merlin said:

“That cannot be, because the lashes our good Sancho is to receive must be by his own will and not by force, and he can take as long as he desires, for there is no fixed time limit; he is also permitted, if he wishes to save himself half the abuse of this whipping, to allow another’s hand, even if somewhat heavy, to lash him.”

“Not another’s, not mine, not heavy, not ready to be weighed,”
replied Sancho. “No hand at all is going to touch me. Did I, by some chance, give birth to Señora Dulcinea of Toboso? Is that why my backside has to pay for the sins of her eyes? My master certainly is part of her, for he’s always calling her
my life, my soul,
his help and protection, so he can and ought to be lashed for her sake and take the steps he needs to in order to disenchant her, but me whipping myself? I renunce thee!”
⁵

No sooner had Sancho said this than the silvered nymph who was next to the spirit of Merlin rose to her feet, removed the sheer veil, and revealed her face, which everyone thought was exceptionally beautiful, and with masculine self-assurance, and a voice not especially feminine, she spoke directly to Sancho Panza, saying:

“O ill-fated squire with your unfeeling soul, torpid heart, stony and flinty nature. If you were commanded, O shameless thief, to throw yourself from a high tower; if you were asked, O enemy of humankind, to eat a dozen toads, two dozen lizards, and three dozen snakes; if you were urged to murder your wife and children with a cruel, sharp scimitar, it would be no surprise if you were reluctant and evasive; but to take notice of three thousand and three hundred lashes, when there’s not a boy in catechism class, no matter how puny, who doesn’t get that many every month, astounds, alarms, and horrifies all the compassionate natures of those who hear this, and even those who will come to know of it in the course of time. Turn, O wretched and hardhearted beast! Turn, I say, those eyes of a startled owl toward mine, which have been compared to shining stars, and you will see them weep a steady stream—nay, a river—of tears, cutting furrows, tracks, and pathways into the fair fields of my cheeks. Show pity, you crafty and malevolent monster; I am still in my teens—nineteen, not yet twenty—and the flower of my youth is being consumed and withered beneath the coarse hide of a crude peasant girl; and if I do not appear so now, it is a particular favor that Señor Merlin, here present, has done for me, so that my beauty may soften you, for the tears of afflicted beauty can turn crags into cotton and tigers into sheep. Lash, lash that hide, O savage beast, and liberate your energies from the sloth that inclines you only to eating and still more eating; free the smoothness of my flesh, the gentleness of my nature, and the beauty of my face, and if for my sake you do not wish to soften your heart or lessen the time it will take you, then do so for that poor knight there beside
you: for your master, I say, whose soul I can see, since it is caught in his throat, not the span of ten fingers from his lips, waiting only for your harsh or gentle response to come out of his mouth or return to his stomach.”

Hearing this, Don Quixote felt his throat and said, turning to the duke:

“By God, Señor, what Dulcinea has said is true: here is my soul caught in my throat like the tightening nut on a crossbow.”

“What do you say to that, Sancho?” asked the duchess.

“I say, Señora,” responded Sancho, “what I have already said: as far as lashes are concerned, I renunce thee.”

“
I renounce thee
is what you mean, Sancho; what you said is wrong,” said the duke.

“Your highness, leave me alone,” responded Sancho, “I’m in no condition now to worry about subtleties or one letter more or less; these lashes that have to be given to me, or that I have to give myself, have me so upset that I don’t know what I’m saying or doing. But I’d like to hear from the lady Señora Dulcinea of Toboso where it was that she learned how to ask for things: she comes to ask me to open my flesh with lashes, and she calls me unfeeling soul and savage beast and a whole string of names so bad only the devil could put up with them. By some chance is my flesh made of bronze, or does it matter to me if she’s disenchanted or not? What basket of linen, shirts, scarves, gaiters, though I don’t use them, does she bring with her to soften me? Nothing but one insult after another, though she must know the proverb that says that a jackass loaded down with gold climbs the mountain fast, and gifts can break boulders, and God helps those who help themselves, and a bird in hand is worth two in the bush. And then my master, who should have coddled me and flattered me so I’d turn as soft as wool and carded cotton, says that if he catches me he’ll tie me naked to a tree and double the number of lashes; these noble folk so full of pity should remember that they’re not only asking a squire to whip himself, but a governor; like they say, ‘That’s the finishing touch.’ Let them learn, let them learn, damn them, how to beg, and how to ask, and how to have good manners; all times are not the same, and men are not always in a good humor. Here I am, bursting with grief because my green tunic is torn, and they come to ask me to give myself lashes of my own free will, when it’s as unwilling to do that as to become an Indian chief.”

“Well, the truth is, Sancho my friend,” said the duke, “that if you
don’t become softer than a ripe fig, you won’t lay hands on the governorship. It would be a fine thing if I sent my islanders a cruel governor with a heart of flint who does not bow to the tears of damsels in distress or the entreaties of wise, proud, and ancient enchanters and sages! In short, Sancho, either you lash yourself, or let someone else lash you, or you won’t be governor.”

“Señor,” responded Sancho, “can’t I have two days to think about what I should do?”

“No, absolutely not,” said Merlin. “Here, in this instant and in this place, the matter must be settled: either Dulcinea will return to the Cave of Montesinos and to her earlier condition as a peasant, or now, in her present state, she will be transported to the Elysian Fields, where she will wait until the number of lashes is completed.”

“Come now, my good Sancho,” said the duchess, “take heart and be grateful to Don Quixote for the bread you have eaten; we all must serve and please him for his virtuous nature and his high acts of chivalry. Say yes, my friend, to this flogging, and let the devil go to the devil and fear to the coward, for a brave heart breaks bad luck, as you know very well.”

To this Sancho responded with some foolishness, and speaking to Merlin, he asked:

“Tell me, your grace, Señor Merlin: the devil courier came here and gave my master a message from Señor Montesinos, telling him to wait here because he was going to give him instructions on how to disenchant Señora Doña Dulcinea of Toboso, and so far we haven’t seen Montesinos or anybody like him.”

To which Merlin responded:

“The devil, Sancho my friend, is ignorant and a great scoundrel: I sent him to look for your master, with a message not from Montesinos but from me, because Montesinos is in his cave, thinking about or, I should say, hoping for his disenchantment, because he still has a long way to go. If he owes you something, or if you have any business to do with him, I’ll bring him to you, to whatever place you like. For now, just say yes to this whipping, and believe me when I say that it will be of benefit to your soul and your body: your soul, because of the charity you bring to it, and your body, because I know you have a sanguine temperament, and it won’t do you much harm to lose a little blood.”

“What a lot of doctors there are in the world: even enchanters are doctors,” replied Sancho. “Well, since everybody’s telling me to do it, though I can’t see it, I say that I’ll be happy to give myself three thousand
and three hundred lashes on the condition that I can give them whenever I like, without anybody trying to set the number of days or length of time; and I’ll try to wipe out the debt as fast as I can so the world can enjoy the beauty of Señora Doña Dulcinea of Toboso, because though I didn’t think so before, it seems she really is beautiful. Another condition has to be that I’m not obliged to draw blood with the whipping, and if some lashes are like the flick of an animal’s tail brushing away flies, they still have to be counted. Also, if I make a mistake in the number, Señor Merlin, since he knows everything, has to be responsible for keeping count and letting me know if I have too few or too many.”

“No one has to let you know if you have too many,” responded Merlin, “because when you reach the correct number, Señora Dulcinea will suddenly be disenchanted and will come, gratefully, to her good Sancho to thank him and even reward him for his good deed. So there is no reason to have any doubt about too many or too few, and heaven forbid that I deceive anybody, even by so much as a hair.”

“Well, well, then it’s in God’s hands,” said Sancho. “I consent to my bad fortune; I say that I accept the penance, with the conditions that have been stated.”

As soon as Sancho said these words, the music of the flageolets began to sound again, and an infinite number of harquebuses were fired, and Don Quixote threw his arms around Sancho’s neck and gave him a thousand kisses on his forehead and cheeks. The duchess and the duke and all those present gave signs of great contentment and joy, and the cart began to move, and as the beautiful Dulcinea passed by, she bowed her head to the duke and duchess and made a deep curtsy to Sancho.

And now a joyful and smiling dawn quickly approached; the flowers of the fields raised their heads and stood erect, and the liquid crystal of the streams, murmuring over smooth white and gray pebbles, hurried to pay tribute to the rivers that awaited them. The joyful earth, the bright sky, the clear air, the serene light, together and separately gave clear indications that the day that came treading on the skirts of the dawn would be calm and bright. And the duke and duchess, satisfied with their hunt and with having achieved their ends so cleverly and successfully, returned to their castle, intending to continue with their deceptions, because for them, there really was nothing that gave them greater pleasure.

CHAPTER XXXVI

The duke had a steward, a man with a comic and inventive turn of mind, who had acted the part of Merlin, prepared all the devices of the previous adventure, composed the verses, and arranged for a page to play Dulcinea. Then, with the intervention of his master and mistress, he devised another adventure, with the most diverting and strangest contrivances anyone could imagine.

The following day, the duchess asked Sancho if he had begun the task of the penance he was obliged to perform in order to disenchant Dulcinea. He said yes, that very night he had given himself five lashes. The duchess asked what implement he had used to administer them. He responded that he had used his hand.

“That,” replied the duchess, “is more like slapping than flogging. It seems to me that the wise Merlin will not be satisfied with so much gentleness, and that it will be necessary for our good Sancho to use a whip with metal points or a cat-o’-nine-tails, something he can feel, because a good teacher never spares the rod, and the freedom of so great a lady as Dulcinea cannot be gotten cheaply and at so little cost; and be advised, Sancho, that works of charity performed in a lukewarm and halfhearted way have no merit and are worth nothing.”
¹

To which Sancho responded:

“Your ladyship, give me the right kind of whip or braided rope, and I’ll hit myself with it as long as it doesn’t hurt too much; because your
grace should know that even though I’m a peasant, my flesh is more like cotton than esparto grass, and it wouldn’t be right if I did myself harm for somebody else’s benefit.”

“Let it be all for the best,” responded the duchess. “Tomorrow I’ll give you a whip that will be perfect for you and suit the tenderness of your flesh as if the two were sisters.”

To which Sancho said:

“Señora of my soul, your highness should know that I’ve written a letter to my wife, Teresa Panza, telling her everything that’s happened to me since I left her side; it’s here in my shirt, and all that’s missing is the address; I’d like your intelligence to read it, because it seems to me it suits a governor, I mean, the way governors ought to write.”

“Who dictated it?” asked the duchess.

“Who else would dictate it but me, sinner that I am?” responded Sancho.

“And did you write it?” said the duchess.

“I couldn’t do that,” responded Sancho, “because I don’t know how to read or write, though I can sign my name.”

“Let’s see it,” said the duchess. “I’m sure that in it you display the nature and quality of your wit.”

Sancho took an open letter from inside his shirt, and when he gave it to the duchess, she saw that this is what it said: