Don Quixote [Trans. by Edith Grossman] (128 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)
“O daughter, you certainly are right!” responded Teresa. “And all of this good fortune, and some even greater than this, my good Sancho predicted for me, and you’ll see, daughter, how he doesn’t stop until he makes me a countess; it’s all a matter of starting to be lucky; and I’ve heard your good father say very often—and he loves proverbs as much as he loves you—that when they give you the calf, run over with the rope; when they give you a governorship, take it; when they give you a countship, hold on to it tight, and when they call you over with a nice present, pack it away. Or else just sleep and don’t answer when fortune and good luck come knocking at your door!”
“And what difference does it make to me,” added Sanchica, “if they say when they see me so proud and haughty: ‘The dog in linen breeches…’
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and all the rest?”
Hearing this, the priest said:
“I can’t help thinking that everyone in the Panza family was born with a sack of proverbs inside; I’ve never seen one of them who isn’t always scattering proverbs around in every conversation they have.”
“That’s true,” said the page, “for Señor Governor Sancho says them all the time, and even though many are not to the point, they still give pleasure, and my lady the duchess and my lord the duke praise them a good deal.”
“Then, Señor, does your grace still affirm that Sancho’s governorship is true, and that there is a duchess in the world who sends his wife presents and writes to her? Because we, although we touched the presents and read the letters, don’t believe it, and we think this is one of those things that concern our compatriot Don Quixote, who thinks they are all done by enchantment; and so, I’m ready to say that I want to touch and feel your grace to see if you are an imagined emissary or a man of flesh and blood.”
“Señores, all I know,” responded the page, “is that I am a true emissary, and Señor Sancho Panza is a real governor, and my master and mistress the duke and duchess can give, and have given him, the governorship, and I’ve heard that in it Sancho Panza is performing valiantly; whether or not there’s enchantment in this is something your graces can argue among yourselves, because I don’t know any more than this, and I swear to that on the lives of my parents, who are still living and whom I love and cherish very much.”
“That may well be true,” replied the bachelor, “but
dubitat Augustinus.”
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“No matter who doubts it,” responded the page, “the truth is what I have said, and truth will always rise above a lie, as oil rises above water; and if not,
operibus credite, et non verbis:
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one of your graces should come with me, and you’ll see with your own eyes what your ears don’t believe.”
“I should be the one to go,” said Sanchica. “Señor, your grace can let me ride on the horse’s hindquarters, because I’d be very happy to see my father.”
“The daughters of governors should not travel the roads unescorted but should be accompanied by coaches and litters and a large number of servants.”
“By God,” responded Sancha, “I can ride a donkey as well as a coach. You must think I’m very hard to please!”
“Be quiet, girl,” said Teresa. “You don’t know what you’re saying, and this gentleman is right; time changes the rhyme: when it’s Sancho, it’s
Sancha, and when it’s governor, it’s Señora, and I don’t know if I’m saying something or not.”
“Señora Teresa is saying more than she thinks,” said the page. “Give me something to eat and then send me away, because I plan to go back this afternoon.”
To which the priest said:
“Your grace will come and do penance with me,
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for Señora Teresa has more desire than provisions for serving so worthy a guest.”
The page refused, but then he had to concede, to his own advantage, and the priest took him home very gladly, for it meant he would have the opportunity to ask at his leisure about Don Quixote and his exploits.
The bachelor offered to write replies to her letters, but Teresa did not want the bachelor involved in her affairs because she thought he was something of a trickster, and so she gave a roll and two eggs to an altar boy who knew how to write, and he wrote two letters, one for her husband and the other for the duchess, which she herself dictated, and they are not the worst letters that appear in this great history, as we shall see further on.
Regarding the progress of Sancho Panza’s governorship, and other matters of comparable interest
The day following the night of the governor’s patrol dawned, and for the butler it was a sleepless night because his thoughts were filled with the face, elegance, and beauty of the maiden in disguise; the steward used what remained of the night to write to his master and mistress regarding what Sancho Panza had done and said, and he was astonished by his deeds and speech because his words and actions indicated an extraordinary mixture of intelligence and foolishness.
Finally the governor awoke, and by order of Dr. Pedro Recio his breakfast consisted of a small amount of preserves and four swallows of
cold water, which Sancho would have exchanged for a piece of bread and a bunch of grapes; but seeing that this was more a matter of coercion than choice, he accepted it with a sorrowful heart and a troubled stomach, while Pedro Recio tried to persuade him that very small amounts of delicate food would enliven his wits, something that was necessary for persons occupying high positions of authority in which one must use the strength not so much of the body as of the mind.
Because of this sophistry, Sancho suffered so much hunger that he secretly cursed the governorship, and even the one who had given it to him, but with his hunger and his preserves he began to judge that day’s cases, the steward and the rest of the acolytes being present, and the first was an enigma presented to him by a stranger, who said:
“Señor, a very large river divided a lord’s lands into two parts (and your grace should pay close attention, because the case is important and somewhat complicated). I say, then, that a bridge crossed this river, and at the end of it was a gallows and a kind of tribunal hall in which there were ordinarily four judges who applied the law set down by the owner of the river, the bridge, and the lands, which was as follows: ‘If anyone crosses this bridge from one side to the other, he must first take an oath as to where he is going and why; and if he swears the truth, let him pass; and if he tells a lie, let him die by hanging on the gallows displayed there, with no chance of pardon.’ Knowing this law and its rigorous conditions, many people crossed the bridge, and then, when it was clear that what they swore was true, the judges let them pass freely. It so happened, then, that a man once took the oath, and he swore and said that because of the oath he was going to die on the gallows, and he swore to nothing else. The judges studied the oath and said: ‘If we allow this man to pass freely, he lied in his oath, and according to the law he must die; and if we hang him, he swore that he was going to die on this gallows, and having sworn the truth, according to the same law he must go free.’ Señor Governor, the question for your grace is what should the judges do with the man, for they are still doubtful and undecided. And having heard of your grace’s acute and elevated understanding, I have been sent to entreat your grace on their behalf to give your opinion regarding a case that is so intricate and confusing.”
To which Sancho responded:
“Certainly those judges who sent you to me could have saved themselves the trouble, because I’m more of a dullard than a shrewd man, but even so, tell me this business again so I understand it; then maybe I’ll figure it out.”
The questioner repeated what he had said earlier, and then Sancho said:
“It seems to me I can pass judgment on this case in the blink of an eye, and it’s this: the man swears he’s going to die on the gallows, and if he dies there, his oath was true and by law he deserves to be free and cross over the bridge; and if they don’t hang him, his oath was false, and by the same law he deserves to be hanged.”
“It is just as your grace says, Señor Governor,” said the messenger, “and as for the completeness of your understanding, there can be no question or doubt about that.”
“Well then, I’ll say now,” replied Sancho, “that they let the part of the man that swore the truth pass freely, and hang the part that told a lie, and in this way the conditions for passing will be satisfied to the letter.”
“But, Señor Governor,” replied the questioner, “it will be necessary for the man to be divided into two parts, the lying part and the truthful, and if he is divided, of necessity he will die, and then nothing that the law demands is fulfilled, and it is an express obligation that it be obeyed.”
“Come here, my good man,” responded Sancho. “This traveler you’ve described, either I’m a fool or there’s as much reason for him to die as to live and cross over the bridge, because just as the truth saves him, the lie condemns him; if this is so, and it is, it’s my opinion that you should tell those gentlemen who sent you to me that since the reasons for condemning him or sparing him are balanced perfectly, they should let him pass freely, for doing good is always more praiseworthy than doing evil, and I’d sign this with my own name if I knew how to write, and in this case I haven’t said my own idea but a precept that came to mind, one of many that was given to me by my master, Don Quixote, the night before I came to be governor of this ínsula, and it was that when the law is in doubt, I should favor and embrace mercy; it was God’s will that I remembered it now, since it fits this case exactly.”
“That’s true,” responded the steward, “and in my opinion Lycurgus himself, who gave laws to the Lacedaemonians, could not have made a better judgment than the one the great Panza has given. And with this let the court close for the morning, and I will give orders for the governor to have food that he likes for dinner.”
“That’s all I ask, and no tricks,” said Sancho. “Give me something to
eat, and let cases and doubts rain down on me, and I’ll take care of them in midair.”
The steward kept his word, for it seemed to him a matter of conscience not to starve to death so intelligent a governor; besides, he intended to be finished with him that night, when he would play the final trick on him that he had been commissioned to perform.
So it happened that when the governor, having eaten that day in defiance of all the rules and aphorisms of Dr. Tirteafuera, stood up from the table, a courier came in with a letter from Don Quixote. Sancho ordered the secretary to read it to himself and, if there was nothing in it that had to be kept secret, to then read it aloud. The secretary did so, and having first examined it, he said:
“It can certainly be read aloud, for what Señor Don Quixote writes to your grace deserves to be inscribed and written in letters of gold, and this is what it says:
LETTER FROM DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA TO SANCHO PANZA,
GOVERNOR OF THE ÍNSULA BARATARIA
When I expected to hear news of your negligence and impertinence, Sancho my friend, I have heard about your intelligence, for which I gave special thanks to heaven, which can raise the poor from the dungheap, and make wise men out of fools. They tell me that you govern as if you were a man, and that you are a man as if you were an animal, so humbly do you behave; and I want you to be aware, Sancho, that many times it is proper and necessary, because of the authority of one’s position, to contravene the humility of one’s heart, because the admirable qualities in the person who holds high office ought to conform to the demands of the office, not the measures to which his humble state inclines him. Dress well, for a neatly decorated stick does not seem to be a stick at all. I do not say that you should wear jewels and finery, or, being a judge, that you should dress as a soldier, but only that you should wear the clothing your office requires, as long as it is clean and neat.
To win the good will of the people you govern, you must do two things, among others: one is to be civil to everyone, although this is something I have already told you, and the other is to attempt to provide them with the necessities of life, for there is nothing that troubles the heart of the poor more than hunger and need.
Do not issue many edicts, and if you do, try to make them good ones, and, above all, ones that are carried out and obeyed; for edicts that are not carried
out are as good as nonexistent, and they let it be known that the prince who had the intelligence and authority to issue them did not have the courage to enforce them; laws that intimidate but are not enforced become like the log that was king of the frogs: at first it frightened them, but in time they came to despise it and climbed up on it.
Be a father to virtues and a stepfather to vices. Do not always be severe, or always mild, but choose the middle way between those two extremes; this is the object of wisdom. Visit the prisons, the slaughterhouses, and the market squares, for the presence of the governor in these places is of great importance: it consoles the prisoners, who can hope for a quick release; it frightens the butchers, who then make their weights honest; it terrifies the marketwomen, and for the same reason. Do not show yourself to be, even if you are—which I do not believe—a greedy man, a womanizer, or a glutton, because if the people and those who deal with you learn your specific inclination, that is where they will attack until they throw you down to the depths of perdition.
Look at and examine, consider and review the advice and precepts I gave to you in writing before you left here for your governorship, and you will see that you can find in them, if you follow them, something to help you bear the trials and difficulties that governors constantly encounter. Write to your lord and lady and show them that you are grateful, for ingratitude is the daughter of pride and one of the greatest sins we know, while the person who is grateful to those who have granted him benefits indicates that he will also be grateful to God, who has granted and continues to grant him so many.
My lady the duchess dispatched a messenger with your hunting outfit and another present to your wife, Teresa Panza; we expect a reply at any moment.
I have been somewhat indisposed by a certain clawing that happened at the expense of my nose, but it was nothing, for if there are enchanters who mistreat me, there are also those who defend me.
Tell me if the steward who is with you had anything to do with the actions of Countess Trifaldi, as you suspected, and also tell me about everything that happens to you, for the distance is not very great; further, I intend to leave this life of leisure very soon, for I was not born to be idle.
A matter has been presented to me that I believe will discredit me with the duke and duchess, but although it concerns me a great deal, at the same time it does not concern me at all, for, in the end, I must comply with my profession rather than with their desires; as the saying goes:
Amicus Plato, sed magis
amica veritas.
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I say this to you in Latin because I assume you must have learned it after you became a governor. May God be with you so that no one need feel sorry for you.
Your friend,
D
ON
Q
UIXOTE OF
L
A
M
ANCHA
