Don Quixote

  "I noticed that, too," said Sancho.

  "Now, Senores, I'm very upset, and I don't know what I'm saying," responded the maiden, "but the truth is that I'm the daughter of Diego de la Llana, whom all of your graces must know."

  "Now that makes sense," responded the steward, "for I know Diego de la Llana, and I know he's a distinguished gentleman, and very rich, and that he has a son and a daughter, and since he was widowed there's no one in the entire village who can say he's seen the face of his daughter, for he keeps her so secluded not even the sun can see her; and, even so, the rumor is that she's extremely beautiful."

  "That is true," responded the maiden, "and I'm that daughter, and you, Senores, can say now if the rumor about my beauty is false or not, for you have seen me."

  And then she began to weep most piteously; seeing this, the secretary leaned toward the butler's ear and said very quietly:

  "There can be no doubt that something important has happened to this poor maiden, because in these clothes, and at this hour, and being a gentlewoman, she's not in her house."

  "No doubt about it," responded the butler, "and her tears confirm your suspicion."

  Sancho consoled her with the best words he knew and asked her to have no fear and tell them what had happened to her, and all of them would attempt very earnestly to remedy it in every way possible.

  "The fact is, Senores," she responded, "that my father has kept me secluded for ten years, the same amount of time my mother has been in the ground. At home Mass is said in a magnificent oratory, and in all this time I have not seen more than the sun in the sky during the day, and the moon and stars at night, and I don't know what streets or squares or temples or even men look like, except for my father and a brother of mine, and Pedro Perez, the tax collector, and because he normally comes to my house, I had the idea of saying he was my father in order not to reveal who mine really is. This seclusion, and my father's refusal to allow me to leave the house, not even to go to church, have made me very unhappy for many long days and months; I would like to see the world, or, at least, the village where I was born, and it seemed to me that this desire did not go against the decorum that wellborn maidens ought to observe. When I heard that people had bullfights and cane fights4 and put on plays, I asked my brother, who is a year younger than I am, to tell me what those things were, as well as many other things I had not seen; he told me in the best way he could, but this only inflamed my desire to see them. Finally, to shorten the tale of my perdition, I'll say that I begged and pleaded with my brother, and I wish I never had begged and pleaded for anything...."

  And she began to cry again. The steward said to her:

  "Your grace should continue, Senora, and finish telling us what has happened, for your words and your tears have us all in suspense."

  "I have few words left to say," responded the maiden, "but many tears to weep, because badly placed desires cannot bring any reduction,5 only more of the same."

  The maiden's beauty had left its mark in the butler's soul, and once more he raised his lantern in order to see her again, and it seemed to him she was shedding not tears but seed pearls or the dew on the meadows, and he exalted them even higher and compared them to Oriental pearls, and he hoped her misfortune was not as great as her tears and sighs seemed to indicate. The governor was becoming impatient at the length of time it took the girl to tell her history, and he told her not to keep them in suspense any longer, for it was late and they still had a good part of the town to patrol. She, between interrupted sobs and broken sighs, said:

  "My misfortune and my misery are simply that I asked my brother to let me dress as a man in some of his clothes, and to take me out one night to see the village while our father was sleeping; he, besieged by my pleas, agreed, and he gave me these clothes, and dressed himself in some of mine, which suited him as if he had been born to them because he doesn't have a beard yet and looks exactly like a very beautiful maiden; and tonight, about an hour ago, more or less, we left the house, and guided by our young and foolish thoughts we walked all around the village; when we wanted to return home we saw a great crowd of people coming toward us, and my brother said to me: 'Sister, this must be the patrol: put wings on your feet and run with me so they won't recognize us, for that will not be in our favor.' And saying this, he turned, and I won't say he began to run, but to fly; before I had taken six steps I fell, I was so frightened, and then the officer of the law came and brought me before your graces, where, because I am wicked and capricious, I find myself shamed before so many people."

  "And so, Senora," said Sancho, "no other misfortune has happened to you, not even the jealousy you mentioned at the beginning of your story, to bring you out of your house?"

  "Nothing has happened to me, and jealousy didn't bring me out, but only my desire to see the world, which didn't go beyond seeing the streets of this town."

  And the truth of what the maiden had said was confirmed by the arrival of constables holding her brother, whom one of them had overtaken when he ran from his sister. He wore a rich skirt and a shawl of blue damask with fine gold passementerie, and no headdress or any other adornment on his head except for his hair, which was so blond and curly it looked like rings of gold. The governor, the steward, and the butler moved to one side with him, and not letting his sister hear what they were saying, they asked him why he was wearing those clothes, and he, with no less shame and embarrassment, told the same story that his sister had told, which brought great joy to the enamored butler. But the governor said:

  "Certainly, Senores, this has been a childish prank, and to tell about this foolishness and daring, there was no need for so many long tears and sighs; just saying, 'We're so-and-so and such-and-such, and we left our father's house in disguise to enjoy ourselves, just out of curiosity, for no other reason,' would have been the end of the story without all that sobbing and weeping and carrying on."

  "That's true," responded the maiden, "but your graces should know I was so upset I could not be as brief as I should have been."

  "Nothing's been lost," responded Sancho. "Let's go, and we'll leave your graces at your father's house; maybe he hasn't missed you. And from now on don't be so childish, or so eager to see the world; an honorable maiden and a broken leg stay in the house; and a woman and a hen are soon lost when they wander; and a woman who wants to see also wants to be seen. That's all I'll say."

  The boy thanked the governor for his kindness in taking them to their house, and so they set out, for it was not very far. When they arrived, the brother tossed a pebble at a jalousied window, and a maid who had been waiting for them came down immediately and opened the door, and they went in, leaving everyone amazed by their gentility and beauty, and by their desire to see the world, at night, and without leaving the village; but they attributed it all to their youth.

  The butler's heart had been pierced, and he resolved to go the next day and ask her father for her hand, certain he would not be denied since he was a servant to the duke; and even Sancho had a desire and a wish to marry the boy to his daughter, Sanchica, and he decided to do so when the time came, believing that no husband could be denied the daughter of a governor.

  With this the night's patrol ended, and two days later the governorship and with it all his plans were wiped out and destroyed, as we shall see later.

  CHAPTER L

  Which declares the identities of the enchanters and tormentors who beat the duenna and pinched and scratched Don Quixote, and recounts what befell the page who carried the letter to Teresa Sancha, 1 the wife of Sancho Panza

  Cide Hamete, that most punctilious observer of the smallest details in this true history, says that at the same time Dona Rodriguez left her room to go to Don Quixote's chamber, another duenna who slept in the same room heard her, and since all duennas are fond of knowing, understanding, and inquiring, she followed her so silently that Dona Rodriguez did not know she was there; and as soon as the duenna saw her go into Don Quixote's chamber, and in order not to fai
l in the widespread custom of all duennas to be gossips, she went immediately to tell her mistress the duchess that Dona Rodriguez was in Don Quixote's room.

  The duchess told the duke and asked his leave to go with Altisidora to see what that duenna wanted with Don Quixote; the duke agreed, and the two women, with very cautious and silent steps, approached the door of his room, and stood so close they could hear everything that was said inside; and when the duchess heard Dona Rodriguez disclose the Aranjuez of her flowing issues,2 she could not bear it, and neither could Altisidora; and so, filled with rage and longing for vengeance, they burst into the room, and riddled Don Quixote with wounds, and beat the duenna in the manner that has been recounted, because affronts directed against the beauty and vanity of women awaken in them an immense anger and kindle their desire to take revenge.

  The duchess told the duke what had happened, which he enjoyed hearing very much, and the duchess, moving ahead with her intention of deceiving Don Quixote and deriving pleasure from that, dispatched the page who had played the part of Dulcinea in the performance concerning her disenchantment--which Sancho Panza had forgotten in his preoccupation with governing--to Teresa Panza, his wife, with the letter from her husband, and another from her, as well as a long string of fine corals as a present.

  The history tells us, then, that the page was very clever and witty, and, desiring to serve his master and mistress, he left very willingly for Sancho's village; before entering it, he saw a number of women washing clothes in a stream, and he asked them if they could tell him if a woman named Teresa Panza, the wife of a certain Sancho Panza, who was squire to a knight named Don Quixote of La Mancha, lived in that village; and when he had asked the question, a girl who was washing rose to her feet and said:

  "Teresa Panza is my mother, and Sancho is my father, and that knight is our master."

  "Then come along, my girl," said the page, "and take me to your mother, because I have a letter and a present for her from your father."

  "I'll do that very gladly, Senor," responded the girl, who looked about fourteen years old.

  And leaving the clothes she was washing with a friend, without covering her head or putting on shoes, though she was barefoot and disheveled, she jumped in front of the page's horse and said:

  "Come, your grace, for our house is at the entrance to the village, and my mother is in it, filled with grief because she hasn't heard anything from my father for so many days."

  "Well, I'm bringing her news so good," said the page, "that she'll have to give thanks to God for it."

  Jumping, running, and leaping, the girl finally reached the village, and before entering her house, she called from the door:

  "Come out, Teresa, come out, Mother, come out, come out, because here's a gentleman who's bringing letters and other things from my good father."

  At her call, Teresa Panza, her mother, came out, spinning a bunch of flax and wearing a dun-colored skirt so short it looked as if it had been cut to shame her,3 a bodice that was also dun colored, and a chemise. She was not very old, although she looked over forty, but she was strong, hard, vigorous, and as brown as a hazelnut; and seeing her daughter, and the page on horseback, she said:

  "What's this, girl? Who's this gentleman?"

  "A servant of my lady Dona Teresa Panza," responded the page.

  And having said this, he leaped down from the horse and went very humbly to kneel before Senora Teresa, saying:

  "Your grace, give me your hands, my lady Dona Teresa, which you are as the sole legitimate wife of Senor Don Sancho Panza, governor of the insula of Barataria."

  "Oh, Senor, get up, don't do that," responded Teresa. "I have nothing to do with palaces, I'm a poor peasant, the daughter of a farmer and the wife of a squire errant, not of any governor!"

  "Your grace," responded the page, "is most worthy of a most archworthy governor, and to prove this truth, here are a letter and a present for your grace."

  And he immediately took from his pocket a string of corals with gold beads and put it around her neck, saying:

  "This letter is from my lord the governor, and another letter and these corals are from my lady the duchess, who has sent me to your grace."

  Teresa was stunned, and her daughter no less so, and the girl said:

  "On my life, our lord and master, Don Quixote, has something to do with this, for he must have given my father the governorship or countship that he promised him so often."

  "That's true," responded the page, "and out of respect for Senor Don Quixote, Senor Sancho is now the governor of the insula of Barataria, as can be seen in this letter."

  "Your grace must read it to me, Senor," said Teresa, "because I know how to spin but can't read a thing."

  "Neither can I," added Sanchica, "but wait for me here, and I'll go and find somebody to read it, whether it's the priest himself or Bachelor Sanson Carrasco, and they'll be very happy to come hear news about my father."

  "You don't have to find anybody, because I don't know how to spin, but I do know how to read, and I'll read it to you."

  And so he read her Sancho's entire letter, and since it has already been cited, it is not set down here, and then he took out another letter, the one from the duchess, and it said:

  My friend Teresa: The qualities of goodness and wit in your husband, Sancho, moved and obliged me to ask my husband, the duke, to give him the governorship of one of the many insulas which he possesses. I have been told that he governs in grand style, which makes me very happy, and of course, the duke my lord, too, for which I give many thanks to heaven that I was not deceived when I chose him for the governorship, because I want Senora Teresa to know that it is difficult to find a good governor in the world, and may God treat me in just the way that Sancho governs.

  I am sending you, my dear, a string of corals with gold beads; I'd be happy if they were Oriental pearls, but the person who gives you a bone doesn't want to see you dead; 4 one day we shall meet and communicate with each other, God knows when that will be. Remember me to your daughter, Sanchica, and tell her for me that she should get ready, because I plan to arrange an excellent marriage for her when she least expects it.

  I am told that there are fat acorns in your village: send me about two dozen, and I shall esteem them greatly because they come from your hand; write me a long letter informing me of your health and well-being; if you happen to need anything, you only have to say the word, and your word will be heeded. May God keep you. From this place.

  Your friend who loves you,

  THE DUCHESS

  "O," said Teresa when she heard the letter, "what a good and straightforward and humble lady! Let them bury me with ladies like these and not the gentlewomen we have in this village who think that because they're wellborn the wind shouldn't touch them, and who go to church with all the airs of queens, and seem to think it's a dishonor to look at a peasant woman; and you can see here where this good lady, even though she's a duchess, calls me her friend and treats me like an equal, and may I see her equal to the highest belltower in all of La Mancha. And as for the acorns, Senor, I'll send her ladyship a celemin 5 of ones so fat that people will come just to look at them. And for now, Sanchica, look after this gentleman: take care of his horse, and get some eggs from the stable, and cut plenty of bacon, and let's feed him like a prince; he deserves it for the good news he's brought us and for that nice face of his; in the meantime, I'll go out and tell the news about our luck to my neighbors and to the reverend priest and Master Nicolas, the barber, who are and have been such good friends of your father's."

  "I will, Mother," responded Sanchica, "but look, you have to give me half of that necklace, because I don't think my lady the duchess is so foolish as to send the whole thing to you."

  "It's all for you, daughter," responded Teresa, "but let me wear it around my neck for a few days, because it really seems to bring joy to my heart."

  "You'll both feel joy," said the page, "when you see the package that's in this portmanteau; it's
a suit of very fine cloth that the governor wore to the hunt only once, and he's sent all of it for Senora Sanchica."

  "May he live a thousand years," responded Sanchica, "and the man who brings it not a year less, even two thousand, if that's necessary."

  Then Teresa left the house, carrying the letters and wearing the necklace around her neck, and she drummed on the letters with her fingers as if they were tambourines, and when she happened to meet the priest and Sanson Carrasco, she began to dance, saying:

  "By my faith, we're not poor relations anymore! We have a nice little governorship! And if the proudest of the gentlewomen tries to snub me now, I'll know how to put her in her place!"

  "What is this, Teresa Panza? What madness is this, and what papers are those?"

  "The only madness is that these are letters from duchesses and governors, and these things I'm wearing around my neck are fine corals, and the Hail Marys and Our Fathers are of beaten gold, and I'm a governor's wife."

  "As God's in heaven we don't understand you, Teresa, and we don't know what you are talking about."

  "You can see it here," responded Teresa.

  And she handed them the letters. The priest read them aloud so that Sanson Carrasco could hear, and Sanson and the priest looked at each other as if amazed at what they had read, and the bachelor asked who had brought the letters. Teresa responded that if they came home with her, they would see the messenger, a handsome, well-mannered boy who had brought another present that was worth a good deal. The priest took the corals from around her neck and looked at them, and looked at them again, and being convinced of their value, he was amazed all over again and said:

  "By the habit I wear, I don't know what to say or think about these letters and these gifts: on the one hand, I can see and touch the fineness of these corals, and on the other, I read that a duchess sends a request for two dozen acorns."

  "It's ludicrous!" said Carrasco. "Let's go and see the messenger; he'll explain the things that perplex us."

  They did, and Teresa returned with them. They found the page sifting some barley for his horse, and Sanchica cutting slices of bacon that she would cover with eggs and give to the page, whose bearing and grace pleased both men very much; after they had exchanged courteous greetings, Sanson asked him for news of Don Quixote as well as Sancho Panza, for although they had read the letters from Sancho and my lady the duchess, they were still confused and could not really grasp Sancho's governorship, especially of an insula, since all or most of the islands in the Mediterranean belonged to His Majesty. To which the page responded: