“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,5 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;6 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:
“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,7 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 t
he 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.8 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
Regarding the dreadful belline and feline fright received by Don Quixote in the course of his wooing by the enamored Altisidora
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 a
nd 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:
Often the power of love
can madden a maiden’s soul,
using as its means, its instrument,
an unthinking leisure and ease.
Fine sewing and needlework,
constant devotion to labor,
can be the cure, the antidote,
to the poison of love’s disease.
For sheltered and modest
maidens who aspire to be married,
chastity is the best dowry,
the best voice to sing their praises.
Knights errant who seek adventures
and those knights who stay at court,
woo the free and easy damsels;
they marry the modest maids.
Love can arise in the east,
and be confirmed between guests,
and sink quickly in the west,
because departure is its end.
Love that is recent and new,
that comes today and goes the next,
leaves no image, makes no mark
that endures deep in the soul.
A picture over a picture
is not disclosed nor is it shown;
and where a first beauty exists,
a second won’t win the game.
Dulcinea of Toboso:
she is painted on my soul’s
tabula rasa, and never
can she ever be erased.
Firm constancy in lovers is
a most precious attribute,
for whose sake Love works miracles
when he raises them on high.
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.
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