Chapter XLV. Of how the great Sancho Panza took possession of his isle, and of the way he began to govern

O you who forever discover the antipodes, torch of the world, eye of heaven, sweet stirrer of the wine coolers, Thymbrius here, Phoebus there, archer in one place, physician in another, father of Poetry, inventor of Music: you who always rise and, though it seems so, never set! To you I speak, O sun, with whose help man engenders man; to you I speak, that you may favor me and light the darkness of my wit, so that I may run point by point through the account of the great Sancho Panza’s government; for without you I feel lukewarm, listless, and confused.

I say, then, that with all his retinue Sancho came to a town of some thousand householders, which was one of the best the duke had. They gave him to understand that it was called the isle of Barataria, either because the town was called Baratario, or because of the bargain, the barato, at which the government had been given him. On his arrival at the gates of the town, which was walled, the town council came out to receive him; the bells were rung, and all the townspeople showed signs of general rejoicing, and with great pomp they led him to the main church so that he might thank God, and then, with some ridiculous ceremonies, they handed him the keys of the town and admitted him as perpetual governor of the isle of Barataria.

The new governor’s dress, his beard, his fatness, and his smallness had all the people amazed who did not know the nub of the tale, and even all those who did know it, who were many. At last, bringing him out of the church, they took him to the judgment seat and sat him on it; and the duke’s steward said to him:

“It is an ancient custom in this isle, lord governor, that whoever comes to take possession of this famous isle is obliged to answer a question that is put to him, one that is somewhat tangled and difficult, and from his answer the people take and feel the pulse of their new governor’s wit; and so they either rejoice or grieve at his coming.”

While the steward was saying this to Sancho, Sancho was looking at a great many large letters written on the wall facing his seat; and, since he did not know how to read, he asked what those paintings on that wall were. The answer came:

“Sir, what is written and set down there is the day your lordship took possession of this isle, and the epitaph says: This day, the such-and-such of such a month and such a year, Señor Don Sancho Panza took possession of this isle; may he enjoy it many years.”

“And who is it they call Don Sancho Panza?” asked Sancho.

“Your lordship,” answered the steward, “for no other Panza has come into this isle but the one who is sitting in that seat.”

“Then mark this, brother,” said Sancho: “I have no Don, nor has there ever been one in my whole lineage: plain Sancho Panza is what they call me, and Sancho was my father’s name, and Sancho my grandfather’s, and they were all Panzas, without any tacked-on Dons or Doñas; and I imagine there must be more Dons than stones in this isle; but enough: God understands me, and it may be that if my government lasts four days, I’ll weed out these Dons, for there are so many of them they must be as annoying as mosquitoes. Let the lord steward go on with his question, and I’ll answer as best I know how, whether the people grieve or don’t grieve.”

At this moment two men came into the courtroom, one dressed as a farmer and the other as a tailor, for he had a pair of shears in his hand, and the tailor said:

“Lord governor, this farmer and I come before your grace by reason that this good man came to my shop yesterday (for I, begging the pardon of those present, am a licensed master tailor, God be blessed), and, putting a piece of cloth in my hands, asked me, ‘Sir, would there be cloth enough in this to make me a hood?’ I, sizing up the cloth, answered him that there would; he must have imagined, as I imagine, and I imagined right, that I no doubt wanted to steal some part of the cloth from him, going by his own malice and the bad name tailors have, and he came back at me to see whether there would be enough for two; I guessed what he was thinking and told him yes; and he, riding high on his first spiteful notion, kept adding hoods, and I kept adding yeses, until we got to five hoods, and just now he has come for them: I give them to him, and he won’t pay me for the work; instead he wants me to pay him or give him back his cloth.”

“Is all this so, brother?” asked Sancho.

“Yes, sir,” answered the man, “but have your grace make him show the five hoods he’s made me.”

“Gladly,” answered the tailor.

And, drawing his hand at once from under his cape, he showed in it five hoods set on the five tips of the fingers of his hand, and said:

“Here are the five hoods this good man asks me for, and by God and my conscience no cloth has been left over to me, and I’ll submit the work to the inspectors of the trade.”

All those present laughed at the number of the hoods and at the novelty of the suit. Sancho set himself to think a little, and said:

“It seems to me that in this suit there needn’t be long delays; rather, it should be judged at once by the judgment of a sound man; and so I give it as my sentence that the tailor lose his work and the farmer his cloth, and that the hoods be taken to the prisoners in the jail, and let there be no more about it.”

If the earlier sentence, about the herdsman’s purse, moved the bystanders to wonder, this one moved them to laughter; but in the end the governor’s orders were carried out; and before him there came two old men; one carried a cane of hollow reed for a staff, and the one without a staff said:

“Sir, some days ago I lent this good man ten gold escudos, in gold coin, to please him and do him a good turn, on condition that he give them back to me when I asked for them; many days went by without my asking for them, so as not to put him in greater need to pay me back than he was in when I lent them to him; but since it seemed to me he was getting careless about payment, I have asked him for them once and many times, and not only does he not give them back, but he denies them to me and says I never lent him any such ten escudos, and that if I did, he has already given them back. I have no witnesses either of the loan or of the return, because he hasn’t returned them; I’d like your grace to put him to his oath, and if he swears he has given them back to me, I’ll forgive him them here and before God.”

“What do you say to this, good old man with the staff?” said Sancho.

To which the old man said:

“I, sir, admit that he lent them to me; lower that rod of office, your grace, and since he leaves it to my oath, I’ll swear that I have given them back and paid them really and truly.”

The governor lowered the rod, and meanwhile the old man with the staff gave the other old man his staff to keep while he took the oath, as though it hampered him a great deal, and then he put his hand on the cross of the rod, saying that it was true that those ten escudos being asked of him had been lent to him; but that he had given them back from his hand into the other man’s, and that because the other did not remember it, he kept asking him for them every minute. Seeing this, the great governor asked the creditor what he answered to what his opponent said; and he said that without any doubt his debtor must be telling the truth, because he took him for an honest man and a good Christian, and that he himself must have forgotten how and when the money had been returned, and that from then on he would never ask him for anything. The debtor took back his staff, and, bowing his head, went out of the courtroom. Seeing this, and that he was leaving just like that, and seeing too the plaintiff’s patience, Sancho bowed his head on his chest, and, laying the forefinger of his right hand along his eyebrows and nose, he sat as if lost in thought for a short space, and then he raised his head and ordered them to call back the old man with the staff, who had already gone. They brought him back, and as soon as Sancho saw him, he said to him:

“Give me that staff, good man, for I have need of it.”

“Very gladly,” answered the old man. “Here it is, sir.”

And he put it in his hand. Sancho took it and passed it to the other old man, saying:

“Go with God, for now you’re paid.”

“I, sir?” answered the old man. “Why, is this reed cane worth ten gold escudos?”

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

And he ordered the cane to be broken and split open there in front of everyone. It was done, and in its heart they found ten escudos in gold. They were all amazed, and took their governor for a new Solomon.

They asked him how he had gathered that those ten escudos were inside that cane, and he answered that from having seen the old man who was swearing hand his opponent that staff while he took his oath, and swear that he had given them to him really and truly, and then, as soon as he had finished swearing, ask for the staff back again, it came into his head that the payment they were asking for was inside it. From which it might be gathered that those who govern, even if they are fools, are sometimes guided by God in their judgments; and besides, he had heard the priest of his village tell of another case like that one, and he had such a great memory that, if it weren’t that he forgot everything he wanted to remember, there would be no such memory in the whole isle. In the end, the one old man put to shame and the other paid, they went away, and those present were left amazed, and the man who was writing down Sancho’s words, deeds, and movements could not make up his mind whether he ought to hold him, and enter him in the record, as a fool or as a sensible man.

Then, this suit being ended, a woman came into the courtroom clutching tightly a man dressed as a rich herdsman, and she came shouting at the top of her voice:

“Justice, lord governor, justice, and if I don’t find it on earth, I’ll go and look for it in heaven! Lord governor of my soul, this bad man seized me out in the middle of that field and made use of my body as if it were a badly washed rag, and, wretch that I am, he has taken from me what I had kept safe for more than twenty-three years, defending it against Moors and Christians, natives and foreigners; and I, always as hard as a cork oak, keeping myself whole like the salamander in the fire, or like wool among the brambles, only for this good man to come along now and paw me with his clean hands.”

“That’s still to be looked into: whether this gallant has clean hands or not,” said Sancho.

And, turning to the man, he asked him what he had to say and answer to that woman’s complaint. And he, all flustered, answered:

“Sirs, I’m a poor herdsman of swine, and this morning I was leaving this town after selling, begging your pardon, four pigs, of which they took from me in taxes and squeezes little less than they were worth; I was going back to my village, I ran into this good lady on the road, and the devil, who stirs everything up and cooks everything, made us lie together; I paid her enough, and she, not satisfied, grabbed hold of me and hasn’t let go of me till she brought me to this place. She says I forced her, and she lies, by the oath I take or mean to take; and this is the whole truth, without a crumb missing.”

Then the governor asked him whether he had any money in silver on him; he said he had some twenty ducats in his bosom, in a leather purse. Sancho ordered him to take it out and hand it over, just as it was, to the complainant; he did so, trembling; the woman took it, making a thousand salaams to everyone and praying to God for the life and health of the lord governor, who looked out so well for needy orphan girls and maidens; and with this she went out of the courtroom, holding the purse with both hands, though first she looked to see whether the money inside was silver.

Scarcely had she gone out when Sancho said to the herdsman, whose tears were already starting, and whose eyes and heart were going after his purse:

“Good man, go after that woman and take the purse from her, even if she doesn’t want you to, and come back here with it.”

And he did not say it to a fool or to a deaf man, for the man was off at once like a flash of lightning and went to do what he was told. All those present were in suspense, waiting for the end of that suit, and shortly afterward the man and the woman came back, more tightly locked and grappled than the first time: she with her skirt lifted and the purse laid in the lap of it, and the man struggling to take it from her; but it was not possible, the way the woman defended it, and she was shouting:

“Justice from God and from the world! Look, your grace, lord governor, at the shamelessness and lack of fear of this heartless wretch, who in the middle of town and in the middle of the street tried to take from me the purse your grace ordered given to me.”

“And has he taken it from you?” asked the governor.

“Taken it?” answered the woman. “I’d sooner let them take my life than take my purse. A fine little girl I’d be! They’ll have to throw other cats at my beard, not this miserable, disgusting fellow! Pincers and hammers, mallets and chisels won’t be enough to get it out of my clutches, nor even lions’ claws: they’d sooner get my soul out from the very middle of my flesh!”

“She’s right,” said the man, “and I give up, beaten and with no strength left, and I confess mine isn’t enough to take it from her, and I let it go.”

Then the governor said to the woman:

“Let me see that purse, my honorable and valiant woman.”

She gave it to him at once, and the governor gave it back to the man, and said to the forceful and unforced woman:

“Sister, if you had shown the same spirit and courage you have shown in defending this purse, or even half as much, in defending your body, the strength of Hercules couldn’t have forced you. Go with God, and in a very bad hour, and don’t stop anywhere in this whole isle or within six leagues around it, on pain of two hundred lashes. Off with you at once, I say, you prattler, you shameless hussy, you swindler!”

The woman was frightened and went off crestfallen and ill pleased, and the governor said to the man:

“Good man, go with God to your village with your money, and from now on, if you’d rather not lose it, take care that no fancy comes over you to lie with anybody.”

The man thanked him as clumsily as he knew how, and went away, and the bystanders were amazed afresh at the judgments and sentences of their new governor. All of which, noted down by his chronicler, was written at once to the duke, who was waiting for it with great eagerness.

And let good Sancho stay here, for his master, all stirred up by Altisidora’s music, is pressing us hard.