Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] (121 page)
Read Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] Online
Authors: Miguel de Cervantes
Tags: #Fiction, #Classics, #Literary, #Knights and knighthood, #Spain, #Literary Criticism, #Spanish & Portuguese, #European, #Don Quixote (Fictitious character)
“Oh, Emerencia, that isn’t the point!” responded Altisidora. “It’s just that I wouldn’t want to reveal my heart in my song or be judged a capricious and frivolous maiden by those who do not know the power and might of love. But come what may, an embarrassed face is better than a wounded heart.”
And then he heard the sound of a harp played very softly. When he heard this, Don Quixote was dumbfounded, because at that instant he remembered an infinite number of adventures similar to this one, with windows, jalousies, gardens, music, amorous compliments, and swoons, which he had read in his delusive books of chivalry. Then he imagined that a maiden of the duchess was in love with him, and that modesty compelled her to keep her desires secret; he feared he might surrender and resolved not to allow himself to be vanquished, and commending himself with all his heart and soul to his lady Dulcinea of Toboso, he decided to listen to the music; to let it be known that he was there, he gave a mock sneeze, which brought no small delight to the maidens, whose sole desire was that Don Quixote should hear them. When she had tuned and adjusted the harp, Altisidora began to sing this ballad:
O you, who lie in your bed,
between sheets of Holland linen,
soundly and deeply asleep all night
long until the morning,
O brave knight, the most courageous
ever born in great La Mancha,
more modest, more chaste, more blessed
than the fine gold of Arabia!
Hear this melancholy maiden,
so wellborn and so ill-fated:
in the light of your two suns
she feels her soul burst into flames.
You go in search of adventures
but find the sorrows of others,
inflicting wounds, yet refusing
the remedy that can cure them.
O tell me, most valiant youth,
—may God make your wishes prosper—
if Libyan sands were your home,
or the craggy peaks of Jaca;
if you suckled a serpent’s milk
or by chance you had for nurses
the harshness of the wild forest
and the horrors of the mountains.
Well may the fair Dulcinea,
a maiden plump and sturdy,
boast of subduing a tiger,
and vanquishing a fierce beast,
winning her fame along rivers
from Henares to Jarama,
from Tajo to Manzanares,
from Pisuerga to Arlanza.
If I could change places with her,
I would give my very best,
my most gaily colored skirt
adorned with trimmings of gold.
O, if I were but in your arms,
or at least beside your bed,
where I could scratch your dear head
and shake dandruff from your hair!
I ask for much but am not worthy
of so notable a boon:
I should like to rub your feet;
that’s enough for a humble maid.
O, what fine caps I would give you,
and oh, what gaiters of silver,
and oh, what breeches of damask,
and oh, what short capes of linen!
And then the most lustrous pearls,
each one as big as a gallnut,
and if they had no companions,
they’d be called
the Only Ones!
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Look not from your Tarpeian Rock
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upon the fire that burns me,
Manchegan Nero of the world,
nor fan it with cruelty.
I am a girl, a tender maid,
no more than fifteen years old:
I am fourteen and three months,
I swear by God and my soul.
I am not lame, I do not limp,
I am not deformed or maimed;
my hair is like fairest lilies,
touching the floor when I stand.
And though my mouth is aquiline
and my nose is rather blunt,
I have teeth of topaz, raising
my beauty up to high heaven.
My voice, as you’ll see, just listen,
as sweet as the sweetest tone,
and my nature and appearance,
something less than only middling.
All these and my other graces
are the spoils won by your arrows;
I am a maiden of this house;
I am called Altisidora.
Here the song of the afflicted Altisidora came to an end, and here began the astonishment of the fervently wooed Don Quixote, who heaved a great sigh and said to himself:
“Why must I be so unfortunate a knight that no maiden can look upon me without falling in love…! Why must the peerless Dulcinea of Toboso be so unlucky that she cannot be permitted to enjoy my incomparable firmness of purpose…! O queens, what do you wish of her? O empresses, why do you pursue her? O maidens of fourteen to fifteen years old, why do you harass her? Oh, allow her, allow the wretched lady to tri-
umph and delight and take pride in the good fortune that Love wished to grant her by giving her my heart and presenting her with my soul. Remember, all you enamored ladies, that for Dulcinea alone I am as soft as sugar paste, and for all the rest I am as hard as flint; for her I am honey, and for you, bitter aloe; for me, only Dulcinea is beautiful, wise, modest, gallant, and wellborn, and the rest are ugly, foolish, licentious, and of the worst lineage; to be hers alone, and no other’s, nature cast me into the world. Let Altisidora weep or sing; let the lady despair on whose account I was beaten in the castle of the enchanted Moor; for I must belong to Dulcinea, boiled or roasted, clean, wellborn, and chaste, despite all the powers of sorcery in the world.”
And with this he slammed the window shut, and as indignant and sorrowful as if some great calamity had befallen him he lay down in his bed, where we shall leave him for now because we are being summoned by the great Sancho Panza, who wishes to begin his famous governorship.
Regarding how the great Sancho Panza took possession of his ínsula, and the manner in which he began to govern
O perpetual discloser of the Antipodes, torch of the world, eye of heaven, sweet movement of cooling decanters,
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here Thymbraeus, there Phoebus, here an archer, there a healer. Father of Poetry, Inventor of Music,
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you who always rise and never set, although you seem to! To you, I say, O Sun, with whose help man engenders man,
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to you I say that you ought to favor me and illuminate the dimness of my wits so that they may touch upon every point in the narration of the governorship of the great Sancho Panza, for without you I feel weak, fainthearted, and confused.
I say, then, that with all his retinue Sancho came to a village with some thousand inhabitants, which was one of the best owned by the duke. They gave him to understand that it was called the Ínsula Barataria, either because the village was named Baratario or because he had been given the governorship at so little cost.
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When they reached the gates, for it was a walled town, the village councilmen came out to receive him; the bells were rung, and all the inhabitants displayed general rejoicing, and with a good deal of pomp they brought him to the largest church to give their thanks to God, and then, in a ridiculous ceremony, they presented him with the keys to the village and accepted him as perpetual governor of the Ínsula Barataria.
The clothing, beard, plumpness, and short stature of the new governor surprised all the people who were not privy to the secret, and even all of the many people who were. Finally they led him from the church and brought him to the judge’s seat in a courtroom, and seated him upon it, and the duke’s steward said to him:
“It is an ancient custom on this ínsula, Señor Governor, that the man who comes to take possession of this famous ínsula is obliged to respond to a question that is somewhat intricate and complicated, and from his response the people can weigh and measure the intelligence of their new governor, and either celebrate or mourn his arrival.”
While the steward was telling this to Sancho, Sancho was looking at a number of large letters written on the wall facing his seat, and since he did not know how to read, he asked what was painted there on the wall. The response was:
“Señor, the day on which your lordship took possession of this ínsula is written and noted there, and the inscription says:
Today, on such-and-such a date in such-and-such a year, Señor Don Sancho Panza took possession of this ínsula, and may he enjoy it for many years.”
“And who are you calling Don Sancho Panza?” asked Sancho.
“Your lordship,” responded the steward, “for no other Panza has come to this ínsula except for the one sitting on that seat.”
“Well, you should know, brother,” said Sancho, “that I don’t have a
Don,
and neither did anybody else in my family: my name’s Sancho Panza, plain and simple, and my father was named Sancho, and my grandfather was named Sancho, and they were all Panzas, without any
additions of Don or Doña; I imagine that on this ínsula there must be more Dons than stones, but that’s enough of that: God understands me, and it may be that if my governorship lasts a few days, I’ll weed out these Dons, because there’s so many of them they must be as annoying as gnats. Go on with your question, Señor Steward, and I’ll answer the best I can, whether the people go into mourning or not.”
At that moment two men entered the courtroom, one wearing the clothes of a peasant and the other dressed as a tailor, for he carried a pair of scissors in his hand, and the tailor said:
“Señor Governor, I and this peasant have come before your grace because this good man came to my shop yesterday (for I, if those present will excuse me, have passed the tailor’s examination,
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God be praised), placed a piece of cloth in my hands, and asked: ‘Señor, is there enough cloth here to make me a pointed cap?’ I examined the cloth and told him there was; he must have thought, which is what I thought, and thought correctly, that I surely wanted to steal a part of the cloth, basing this on his own wickedness and on the bad reputation of tailors, and he told me to see if there was enough for two; I guessed at what he was thinking, and I told him yes; and he, still riding his earlier wicked intention, kept adding caps, and I kept adding yesses, until we reached five caps; and now he just came for them, and I gave them to him, and he refuses to pay me for my labor but demands that I pay him or return his cloth.”
“Is all this true, brother?” asked Sancho.
“Yes, Señor,” responded the peasant, “but your grace should have him show you the five caps he made for me.”
“Gladly,” responded the tailor.
Then, taking his hand out from under his cloak, he showed five caps placed on the five fingertips of his hand, and he said:
“Here are the five caps this good man asked me for, and by God and my conscience, I had no cloth left over, and I’ll even show the work to the guild inspectors.”
Everyone present laughed at the multitude of caps and the unusual nature of the case. Sancho reflected for a while and said:
“It seems to me that in this case there’s no need for long delays, for it can be judged quickly by the judgment of a sensible man, and so my verdict is that the tailor should lose the cost of his labor, and the peasant his
cloth, and the caps should be taken to the prisoners in jail, and that’s the end of that.”
If the subsequent verdict concerning the herder’s purse moved the onlookers to amazement, this one provoked their laughter, but in the end, the governor’s orders were carried out. The next to come before him were two old men; one carried a length of cane as a walking stick, and the one without a walking stick said:
“Señor, days ago I lent this good man ten gold
escudos
as a kindness and a favor to him, on the condition that he return them to me whenever I asked for them; a good number of days went by without my asking for anything, so that his repayment would not put him in even greater difficulties than when I lent him the money; but because it seemed to me that he was negligent about his debt, I have asked him for repayment over and over again, and not only does he not return my money, but he denies the debt and says I never lent him ten
escudos,
and if I did, he’s already returned them to me. There are no witnesses to the loan or to the repayment, because he never repaid me; I would like your grace to take his oath, and if he swears that he’s returned the money, I’ll forgive the debt here, before God.”
“What do you say to this, old man with the walking stick?” said Sancho.
To which the old man said:
“Señor, I confess that he lent me the money, and your grace should lower your staff;
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and since he leaves it all up to my oath, I’ll swear that I have really and truly returned the money and paid the debt.”
The governor lowered his staff, and at the same time, as if it were very much in his way, the old man with the walking stick gave his walking stick to the other old man for him to hold while he took his oath, and then he placed his hand on the cross of the staff, saying it was true that the ten
escudos
had been lent to him but that he had paid them into the hands of the other man, who was forgetful and kept asking him for the money. Seeing which the great governor asked the creditor to respond to what his adversary had said, and he said that without any doubt his debtor must be telling the truth, because he considered him an honest man and a good Christian, and he must have forgotten how and when he had returned the money, and from now on he would not ask him for anything. The debtor took back his walking stick, bowed his
head, and left the courtroom. Sancho, seeing him walk out with no further ado, and seeing too the patience of the claimant, lowered his head to his chest, placed the index finger of his right hand over his eyebrows and nose, sat thoughtfully for a short while, and then raised his head and ordered them to call back the old man with the walking stick, who had already left. They brought him back, and when he saw him, Sancho said: