Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] (125 page)

My husband still persisted, with hat in hand, in trying to accompany the magistrate, seeing which my lady, full of anger and rage, took a thick needle, or it might have been a long hairpin, from its case, and stuck him in the back, so that my husband gave a great shout and twisted his body around, knocking my lady to the ground. Two of her lackeys hurried to pick her up, as did the magistrate and the bailiffs; the Guadalajara Gate, I mean the shiftless people loitering there, was in an uproar; my mistress left on foot, and my husband went to the house of a barber, saying that his innards had been pierced right through. My husband’s courtesy became the subject of so much talk that boys ran after him in the streets, and for that reason, and because he was somewhat shortsighted, my lady the duchess
⁴
dismissed him, and I have no doubt that his grief over this is what caused his death. I was left a helpless widow, with a daughter to care for, whose beauty was growing like the ocean foam.

Finally, since I was known for fine needlework, my lady the duchess, who had recently married my lord the duke, offered to bring me, as well as my daughter, to this kingdom of Aragón, where the days passed, and my daughter grew and was endowed with all the graces in the world: she sings like a lark, dances court dances like a lightning flash and country dances like a whirlwind, reads and writes like a schoolmaster, and counts like a miser. I say nothing about her purity: running water is not purer, and now, if I remember correctly, she must be sixteen years, five months, and three days old, give or take a few.

In short, the son of a very rich farmer who lives in a village not very far from here, which belongs to my lord the duke, fell in love with my girl. The fact is that I don’t know how it happened, but they met, and promising to be her husband, he deceived my daughter, and now he refuses to keep his word; even though my lord the duke knows about it, because I myself have complained to him not once, but many times, and have asked him to order the farmer to marry my daughter, he ignores me and doesn’t want to listen to me, and the reason is that since the se-
ducer’s father is so rich and lends him money, and sometimes stands as his guarantor when he gets into difficulties, he doesn’t want to anger or trouble him in any way.

And so, Señor, I would like your grace to take responsibility for righting this wrong, either by persuasion or by arms, for according to what everyone says, your grace was born into this world to redress grievances and right wrongs and come to the aid of those in need; your grace should keep in mind that my daughter is an orphan, and well-bred, and young, and possessed of all those gifts that I have mentioned to you, for by God and my conscience, of all the maidens that my mistress has, there is none that can even touch the sole of her shoe, and the one they call Altisidora, the one they consider the most elegant and spirited, can’t come within two leagues of my daughter. Because I want your grace to know, Señor, that all that glitters is not gold; this little Altisidora has more vanity than beauty, and more spirit than modesty, and besides, she’s not very healthy: she has breath so foul that you can’t bear to be near her even for a moment. And then, my lady the duchess…But I’d better be quiet, because they say that the walls have ears.”

“By my life, what is wrong with my lady the duchess, Señora Doña Rodríguez?” asked Don Quixote.

“With that oath,” responded the duenna, “I must respond truthfully to what I have been asked. Señor Don Quixote, has your grace seen the beauty of my lady the duchess, her complexion that resembles a smooth and burnished sword, her two cheeks of milk and carmine, the sun glowing on one and the moon on the other, and the elegance with which she treads, even scorns, the ground, so that it looks as if she were scattering health and well-being wherever she goes? Well, your grace should know that for this she can thank God, first of all, and then the two issues
⁵
she has on her legs, which drain the bad humors that the doctors say fill her body.”

“Holy Mary!” said Don Quixote. “Is it possible that my lady the duchess has those drains? I would not believe it if discalced friars told me so, but since Señora Rodríguez says it, it must be true. But from such issues in such places there must flow not humors but liquid amber. Truly, now I believe that this incising of issues must be important for one’s health.”

As soon as Don Quixote had finished saying this, the doors of his room banged open, and Doña Rodríguez was so startled that the candle
dropped from her hand, and the room was left like the inside of a wolf’s mouth, as the saying goes. Then the poor duenna felt her throat grasped so tightly by two hands that she could not cry out, and another person, with great speed, and without saying a word, raised her skirts, and with what appeared to be a slipper began to give her so many blows that it was pitiful; although Don Quixote was near her, he did not move from the bed, and he did not know what it could be, and he remained still and quiet, even fearing that the thrashing and the blows might be turned on him. And his was not an idle fear, for when they had left the duenna bruised and battered—she did not dare even to moan—the silent scourgers turned on Don Quixote and, stripping him of the sheet and bedspread, pinched him so hard and so often that he could not help but defend himself with his fists, all of this in the most remarkable silence. The battle lasted almost half an hour; the phantoms left, Doña Rodríguez picked up her skirts, and, groaning over her misfortune, went out the door without saying a word to Don Quixote, who, sorrowful and pinched, confused and thoughtful, was left alone, where we shall leave him, desiring to know which perverse enchanter had done this to him. But that will be told in due course, for Sancho Panza is calling us, and the harmonious order of the history requires that we respond.

CHAPTER XLIX

We left the great governor angry and annoyed at the sly painter of a farmer who had been instructed by the steward, and the steward by the duke, to ridicule Sancho; but he stood his ground with all of them even though he was foolish, unpolished, and plump, and he said to those who were with him, and to Dr. Pedro Recio, who had come back into the room once the secret matter of the duke’s letter was concluded:

“Now I can really understand that judges and governors must be, or should be, made of bronze so they won’t feel the demands of petitioners, who at all hours and in every season want them to listen and attend only to their petitions, and to take care of them come what may; and if the
poor judge doesn’t listen to them and take care of them, either because he can’t or because it isn’t the time set aside for giving audiences, then they curse him and slander him and gnaw at his bones and even have things to say about his family. Foolish, thoughtless petitioner, don’t be in a hurry; wait for the right time and occasion to make your petition; don’t come when it’s time to eat or sleep, for judges are flesh and blood, and they must give to their natures what they naturally demand, except for me; I don’t give mine anything to eat, thanks to our Dr. Pedro Recio Tirteafuera, here present, who wants me to die of hunger, and who claims that this kind of death is life; may God grant the same to him and to all those of his kind: I mean bad doctors; the good ones deserve palms and laurels.”

All who knew Sancho Panza were amazed to hear him speak so elegantly, and they did not know how to account for it except for the fact that serious offices and responsibilities either strengthen the mind or make it torpid. Finally, Dr. Pedro Recio de Agüero de Tirteafuera promised to give him supper that night, even if that exceeded all the aphorisms of Hippocrates. This made the governor happy, and he waited very impatiently for night and the supper hour to arrive, and although time, it seemed to him, stood still, not moving from the spot, yet the longed-for moment arrived, and for supper he was served a
salpicón
¹
of beef with onion, and some stewed calves’ feet that were a little past their prime. He gave himself up to all of it with more pleasure than if they had served him partridges from Milan, pheasants from Rome, veal from Sorrento, quail from Morón, or geese from Lavajos, and during his supper he turned to the doctor and said:

“Look, Señor Doctor, from now on don’t bother about giving me delicate or exquisite things to eat, because that will drive my stomach out of its mind: it’s used to goat, beef, bacon, dried meat, turnips, and onions, and if by some chance it’s given palace dishes, it gets finicky, and sometimes even sick. What the butler can do is bring me what are called
ollas podridas,
²
and the more rotten they are, the better they smell, and he can pack them and fill them with anything he likes as long as it’s food, and I’ll thank him for it and repay him someday; but don’t let anybody try to trick me, because we either are or we aren’t: let’s all live and eat in peace and good friendship, because when God sends the dawn, it’s dawn for
everybody. I’ll govern this ínsula without forsaking the law or taking a bribe, and let everybody keep his eyes open and tend to his own affairs, because I want you to know that the devil makes trouble everywhere, and if you give me a chance, you’ll see marvels. And if you turn into honey, the flies will eat you.”

“Certainly, Señor Governor,” said the butler, “your grace is correct in everything you have said, and I offer, in the name of all the insulanos of this ínsula, to serve your grace with all promptness, love, and benevolence, because the gentle form of governing that your grace has shown from the very beginning does not allow us to do or think anything that would redound to your grace’s disservice.”

“I believe that,” responded Sancho, “and they would be fools if they did or thought anything else. And I say again that care should be taken with my feeding and the feeding of my donkey, which is what matters and is most important in this business; when it’s time we’ll go on patrol, for it’s my intention to clear this ínsula of all kinds of filth, as well as people who are vagrants, idlers, and sluggards, because I want you to know, my friends, that shiftless, lazy people are to the nation what drones are to the hive: they eat the honey that the worker bees produce. I intend to favor those who labor, maintain the privileges of the gentry, reward the virtuous, and, above all, respect religion and the honor of the clergy. What do you think of this, my friends? Have I just said something or am I racking my brains for nothing?”

“Your grace has said so much, Señor Governor,” said the steward, “that I’m amazed to see a man as unlettered as your grace, who, I believe, has no letters at all, saying so many things full of wisdom and good counsel, far beyond what was expected of your grace’s intelligence by those who sent us here and by those who came here with you. Every day we see new things in the world: deceptions become the truth, and deceivers find themselves deceived.”

Night arrived, and the governor had supper with the permission of Dr. Recio. They prepared to go on patrol, and the governor went out with the steward, the secretary, the butler, the chronicler who was charged with recording his deeds, and so many bailiffs and scribes they could have formed a medium-size squadron. Sancho was in the middle of it, holding his staff, and it was a sight to see, and when they had gone down a few streets they heard sounds of a dispute. They hurried to the spot and found only two men fighting; seeing the law approach, the men stood still, and one of them said:

“Here, over here, in the name of God and the king! How can you allow people to be robbed in the middle of town and assaulted in the middle of the street?”

“Calm down, my good man,” said Sancho, “and tell me the reason for this fighting, for I am the governor.”

The other man said:

“Señor Governor, I’ll tell you as briefly as I can. Your grace should know that this gentleman has just won more than a thousand
reales
in the gambling house across the way, God knows how; I happened to be present, and going against the dictates of my conscience, I judged more than one doubtful play in his favor; he left the game with his winnings, and though I expected him to give me at least an
escudo
as a tip, which is usual and customary for important men like me, who determine if things have been done well or badly, and confirm if there has been an injustice, and avoid disputes, he put his money in his pocket and left the house. I came after him, indignant, and with kind and courteous words I asked him to give me even eight
reales,
for he knows I’m an honorable man and have no money and no work because my parents didn’t leave me anything or teach me a trade, and this scoundrel, who’s a bigger thief than Cacus and a bigger cheat than Andradilla,
³
didn’t want to give me more than four
reales,
and now your grace can see, Señor Governor, how little shame he has, and how little conscience! By my faith, if your grace hadn’t come by, I would have made him give up his winnings and taught him a good lesson.”

“What do you say to this?” asked Sancho.

And the other man responded that what his adversary said was true: he had not wanted to give him more than four
reales
because he had given him that amount many times, and those who expect a tip have to be well-mannered and take what is given to them with a smile, and not demand explanations from the winners unless they know for certain that they are cheats and their winnings are ill-gotten gains; and as a sign that he was an honest man and not a thief, as the other man said, there was no better proof than his not wanting to give him anything, because cheats always have to pay tribute to the onlookers who know them.

“That’s true,” said the steward. “Señor Governor, your grace will have to decide what ought to be done with these men.”

“What ought to be done is this,” responded Sancho. “You, the win-
ner, good, bad, or indifferent, must give your opponent a hundred
reales,
and another thirty to the poor men in prison; and you who have no money and no work and are not needed on this ínsula, take the hundred
reales
and leave this ínsula by tomorrow; you’re banished for ten years, and if you come back before then, you’ll finish your sentence in the next life, because I’ll hang you from the gallows, or at least the hangman will, on my orders; and let no one reply or he’ll feel my hand.”