Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] (122 page)

“My good man, give me that walking stick; I need it.”

“Gladly,” responded the old man. “Here it is, Señor.”

And he placed it in his hand. Sancho took it, gave it to the other old man, and said:

“Go with God, for you have been repaid.”

“I, Señor?” responded the old man. “Then is this length of cane worth ten gold
escudos?”

“Yes,” said the governor, “and if not, then I’m the biggest imbecile in the world. And now we’ll see if I have the brains to govern a whole kingdom.”

And he ordered that there, in front of everyone, the cane should be broken and opened. It was, and in the very center ten gold
escudos
were discovered; everyone was stunned, and they considered their governor to be a second Solomon.

They asked him how he had deduced that the ten
escudos
were inside the cane; he responded that when he had seen the old man who was taking the oath give the walking stick to his adversary to hold while he swore his oath, and then swear that he had really and truly given him the money, and then, when he had finished his oath, ask for his walking stick back again, it occurred to him that the money he was being asked for was inside the cane. From which one can deduce that those who govern, even if they are fools, are occasionally guided by God in their judgments; besides, he had heard the priest in his village tell about another case like this one,
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and he had such a good memory that if he didn’t forget everything he wanted to remember, there wouldn’t be another memory like it in all the ínsula. Finally, with one old man mortified and the other repaid, they left, and those present were astounded, and the man writing down the words, deeds, and movements of Sancho could not determine if he should record him as a fool or a wise man.

Then, when this case was concluded, a woman entered the court-
room clutching at a man dressed in the clothes of a rich herder, and as she came in she cried out:

“Justice, Señor Governor, justice, and if I don’t find it on earth, I’ll go and look for it in heaven! Señor Governor of my soul, this wicked man seized me in the middle of a field, and used my body like a dirty old rag, and, oh woe is me, he took what I had safeguarded for more than twenty-three years, defending it against Moors and Christians, Spaniards and foreigners, and I, always as hard as an oak, kept myself pure like the salamander in the fire, or wool in the brambles, just so this good man would come along now and put his clean hands all over me.”

“That’s something we have to look into: whether or not this fine fellow has clean hands,” said Sancho.

And turning to the man, he told him to answer and respond to the complaint of this woman. The man, greatly agitated, responded:

“Señores, I’m a poor herder of swine, and this morning I left here to sell, you’ll forgive my saying so, four pigs, and what with taxes and trickery I let them go for a little less than what they were worth; I was returning to my village, I met this good woman on the way, and the devil, who is always cooking up trouble, made us lie down together; I paid her enough, she wasn’t satisfied, she caught hold of me and didn’t let go until she brought me here. She says I forced her and she lies, by the oath I swear or plan to swear; this is the whole truth, down to the last crumb.”

Then the governor asked him if he was carrying any silver coins; he said he had about twenty
ducados
inside his shirt, in a leather purse. The governor ordered him to take it out and give it, just as it was, to the plaintiff; he did so, trembling; the woman took it, making a thousand obeisances to everyone and praying to God for the life and health of the governor who took such good care of orphans and maidens in need; and with that she left the courtroom, tightly clutching the purse with both hands, although first she looked to see if the coins inside were silver.

As soon as she left, Sancho said to the herder, who was already in tears and whose eyes and heart were following after his purse:

“My good man, go after that woman and take the purse away from her, even if she doesn’t want to give it to you, and bring it back here.”

And he did not say this to a fool or a deaf man, because the herder ran out like a bolt of lightning to do as he had been ordered. Everyone present was in suspense, waiting to see how the case would end, and in a little while the man and the woman returned holding and clutching each other more tightly than before, she with her skirt tucked up, with
the purse thrust inside, and the man struggling to take it away from her, which was not possible because the woman defended it so fiercely, and cried out, saying:

“Justice, God’s justice and the world’s! Look, your grace, Señor Governor, at how shameless and bold this cruel man is, for in the middle of town and in the middle of the street he has tried to take the purse that your grace ordered him to give to me.”

“And did he take it from you?” asked the governor.

“What do you mean, take?” responded the woman. “I’d let them take my life before I’d let them take my purse. Not this girl! You’d have to send someone else after me, not this miserable weakling! Tongs and hammers, mallets and chisels, not even a lion’s claws would be enough to tear it out of my hands: first they’d have to get the soul from the very heart of my body!”

“She’s right,” said the man, “and I’m worn out and confess I don’t have the strength to take it from her; I give up.”

Then the governor said to the woman:

“Honorable and valiant woman, show me the purse.”

She gave it to him immediately, and the governor returned it to the man and said to the forceful and unforced woman:

“If, my dear sister, you had shown the same strength and courage, or even half as much, in defending your body as you showed in defending that purse, the strength of Hercules could not have forced you. Go with God, and a good amount of bad luck, and don’t stop anywhere on this ínsula or for six leagues around it, under penalty of two hundred lashes. Leave now, I say, you charlatan and brazen liar!”

The woman was frightened and left, dejected and discontented, and the governor said to the man:

“My good man, go with God to your home with your money, and from now on, if you don’t want to lose it, try to hold off your desire to lie with anybody.”

The man thanked him in the worst way he knew how and left, and the onlookers were again amazed at the judgments and verdicts of their new governor.
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All of which, noted by his chronicler, was then written down and sent to the duke, who was eagerly awaiting it.

And let us leave the good Sancho here, for we must quickly return to his master, who has been so disquieted by the music of Altisidora.

CHAPTER XLVI

We left the great Don Quixote wrapped in the thoughts that had been caused by the music of the enamored maiden Altisidora. He lay down with them, and, as if they were fleas, they would not let him sleep or rest for a moment, and they joined the ones that plagued him with regard to his stockings; but since time is swift and there is no obstacle that can stop it, the hours raced by and morning soon arrived. Seeing which Don Quixote left the soft featherbed, and, by no means slothful, dressed in his chamois outfit and put on the traveling boots in order to hide the misfortune of his stockings; he threw on his scarlet cloak, and on his head he placed a cap of green velvet adorned with silver trimmings; over his shoulders he hung his swordbelt with his good, sharp blade, picked up a large rosary that he always carried with him, and with great solemnity strode into the antechamber, where the duke and the duchess were already dressed and apparently waiting for him. And as he passed along a gallery, standing there waiting for him were Altisidora and another maiden, and as soon as Altisidora saw Don Quixote she pretended to faint, and her friend held her in her lap and very quickly began to unfasten her bodice. Don Quixote saw this, and going up to them he said:

“I know the reason for these mishaps.”

“I don’t know what that could be,” responded the friend, “because Altisidora is the healthiest maiden in the entire house, and I’ve never heard even a sigh from her for as long as I’ve known her; bad luck to all the knights errant in the world if they’re all so ungrateful. Your grace should leave, Señor Don Quixote, for this poor girl won’t regain consciousness as long as your grace is here.”

To which Don Quixote responded:

“Señora, your grace should have a lute placed in my room tonight, and I shall do my best to console this suffering maiden, for at the very beginnings of love, rapid disillusionments are usually considered remedies.”

And with this he left, so that he would not attract the attention of anyone who might see him. No sooner had he gone away than the swooning Altisidora came to her senses and said to her companion:

“A lute will have to be placed in his room; no doubt Don Quixote wants to give us some music, and if it’s his, it won’t be bad.”

They went immediately to the duchess to recount what had happened and to tell her about the lute that Don Quixote had requested, and she, with extraordinary pleasure, arranged with the duke and her maidens to play a trick more amusing than harmful; and very happily they waited for the night, which came as quickly as the day, which the duke and duchess spent in delightful conversation with Don Quixote. And that same day, the duchess really and truly dispatched a page—the one who had played the enchanted figure of Dulcinea in the forest—to Teresa Panza, with the letter from her husband, Sancho Panza, and the bundle of clothing he had left behind so that it could be sent to her, and she charged him to bring back a good accounting of everything that passed between them.

Later, when it was eleven o’clock, Don Quixote found a vihuela in his room. He tested it, opened the jalousied window, and heard people walking in the garden; turning the pegs of the vihuela and tuning it the best he knew how, he spat and cleared his throat, and then, in a voice that was husky but in tune, he sang the following ballad, which he had composed that day:

Don Quixote had reached this point in his song, to which the duke and the duchess, Altisidora, and almost all the people in the castle were listening, when suddenly, from a gallery that was directly above Don Quixote’s jalousied window, a cord was lowered with more than a hundred cowbells attached to it, and immediately after that a huge sack full of cats, with smaller bells tied to their tails, was emptied out. The clanging of the bells and the yowling of the cats was so loud that even though the duke and duchess had contrived the joke, it still startled them, and Don Quixote was struck dumb with fear. As luck would have it, two or three of the cats came in the window of his room, and as they raced from one side to the other, it seemed as if a legion of devils had been set loose in the chamber. They made the candles that were burning in the room
go out as they looked for a means of escape. The raising and lowering of the cord with the large cowbells on it did not stop; most of the people in the castle, who did not know the truth of what had happened, were amazed and astonished.

Don Quixote rose to his feet, took his sword in hand, and began to thrust it through the jalousy, shouting:

“Away, evil enchanters! Away, base wizards! For I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, against whom your wicked intentions are powerless and of little use!”

And turning to the cats that were racing around the room, he directed many thrusts against them; they ran to the window and went out, although one of them, finding himself so hounded by Don Quixote’s sword thrusts, leaped at his face and sank his claws and teeth into his nose, and the pain was so great that Don Quixote began to shout as loudly as he could. The duke and duchess heard this, and considering what it might be, they quickly hurried to his room, and opening the door with a master key, they saw the poor knight struggling with all his might to remove the cat from his face. They came in with lights and saw the unequal battle; the duke attempted to separate them, and Don Quixote shouted:

“No one is to pull him away! Let me fight hand to hand with this demon, this wizard, this enchanter, for I shall teach him, one to one, who Don Quixote of La Mancha is!”

But the cat, caring nothing for these threats, snarled and dug in even deeper; at last the duke uprooted him and tossed him out the window.

Don Quixote’s face was covered with scratches and his nose was not very healthy, and he was very indignant because he had not been allowed to finish the battle he had begun with that wicked enchanter. Oil of Aparicio
¹
was sent for, and Altisidora herself, with her snow white hands, put bandages over all his wounds, and as she did, in a low voice she said: