Chapter L. In which is declared who the enchanters and executioners were who flogged the duenna and pinched and scratched Don Quixote, with what happened to the page who carried the letter to Teresa Sancha, wife of Sancho Panza
Cide Hamete, that most punctilious searcher into the atoms of this true history, says that when Doña Rodríguez left her room to go to Don Quixote’s chamber, another duenna who slept with her heard her, and that, since all duennas are fond of knowing, understanding, and sniffing things out, she went after her, so silently that the good Rodríguez did not notice; and as soon as the duenna saw her go into Don Quixote’s chamber, so that the general habit all duennas have of being talebearers should not fail in her, she went at once to pour it into the ear of her lady the duchess, how Doña Rodríguez was in Don Quixote’s room.
The duchess told the duke, and asked his leave for her and Altisidora to come and see what that duenna wanted with Don Quixote; the duke gave it, and the two of them, with great care and quiet, step by step, came and stood by the door of the room, and so close that they heard everything that was being said inside; and when the duchess heard that Rodríguez had thrown the Aranjuez of her fountains out into the street, she could not bear it, nor still less could Altisidora; and so, full of rage and longing for revenge, they burst into the room, and riddled Don Quixote and thrashed the duenna in the way that has been told; because affronts aimed straight at women’s beauty and vanity greatly awaken their wrath and kindle their desire for revenge.
The duchess told the duke what had happened to her, at which he was much amused, and the duchess, keeping on with her plan of making fun of Don Quixote and getting entertainment out of him, dispatched the page who had played the part of Dulcinea in the business of her disenchantment—which Sancho Panza had quite forgotten in the occupation of his government—to Teresa Panza, his wife, with her husband’s letter and with another of her own, and with a great string of fine corals as a present.
The history says, then, that the page was very sensible and sharp, and, eager to serve his master and mistress, he set off very gladly for Sancho’s village; and, before he entered it, he saw a number of women washing in a stream, and asked them whether they could tell him if a woman called Teresa Panza lived in that village, the wife of a certain Sancho Panza, squire to a knight called Don Quixote of La Mancha; at which question a young girl who was washing stood up and said:
“That Teresa Panza is my mother, and that Sancho is my lord father, and that knight is our master.”
“Then come, damsel,” said the page, “and show me your mother, because I bring her a letter and a present from that father of yours.”
“That I’ll do very gladly, my good sir,” answered the girl, who looked to be about fourteen years old, a little more or less.
And, leaving the clothes she was washing to another of her companions, without putting on a headdress or shoes, for she was barelegged and her hair was every which way, she went skipping along in front of the page’s mount and said:
“Come along, your grace, for our house is at the entrance to the village, and my mother is in it, very worried at not having heard of my lord father for many days.”
“Well, I bring her such good news of him,” said the page, “that she has cause to thank God heartily for it.”
At last, skipping, running, and leaping, the girl reached the village, and before going into her house she shouted from the door:
“Come out, Mother Teresa, come out, come out, for here’s a gentleman who brings letters and other things from my good father.”
At her shouts Teresa Panza, her mother, came out, spinning a tuft of tow, in a gray-brown skirt. It was so short that it looked as if it had been cut off at a shameful place, with a bodice of the same gray-brown and a smock. She was not very old, though she looked past forty, but strong, straight, sinewy, and as weathered as a hazelnut; and, seeing her daughter, and the page on horseback, she said to her:
“What is this, child? What gentleman is this?”
“It is a servant of my lady Doña Teresa Panza,” answered the page.
And, suiting the action to the word, he jumped down from his horse and went with great humility and knelt before Señora Teresa, saying:
“Give me your hands, your grace, my lady Doña Teresa, as the lawful and very own wife of Señor Don Sancho Panza, governor in his own right of the isle of Barataria.”
“Oh, my good sir, get up from there; don’t do that,” answered Teresa, “for I’m nothing of a palace lady, only a poor farm woman, the daughter of a clodbuster and the wife of a squire-errant, and not of any governor!”
“Your grace,” answered the page, “is the most worthy wife of a most archworthy governor; and as proof of this truth, let your grace receive this letter and this present.”
And he took out of his pocket at once a string of corals with gold clasps, and put it around her neck and said:
“This letter is from the lord governor, and another I bring and these corals are from my lady the duchess, who sends me to your grace.”
Teresa was stunned, and her daughter no more and no less, and the girl said:
“Kill me if our lord master Don Quixote isn’t mixed up in this, for he must have given Father the government or earldom he promised him so many times.”
“That is the truth,” answered the page: “out of regard for Señor Don Quixote, Señor Sancho is now governor of the isle of Barataria, as will be seen by this letter.”
“Read it to me, your grace, sir gentleman,” said Teresa, “because, though I know how to spin, I can’t read a crumb.”
“Nor can I,” added Sanchica, “but wait for me here, for I’ll go and call somebody to read it, whether it’s the priest himself or the bachelor Sansón Carrasco, for they’ll come very gladly to hear news of my father.”
“There is no need to call anyone, for I don’t know how to spin, but I do know how to read, and I will read it.”
And so he read it all to her, which, since it has already been given, is not set down here; and then he took out another, from the duchess, which ran in this way:
Teresa my friend:
The fine qualities of goodness and wit in your husband Sancho moved and obliged me to ask my husband the duke to give him the government of one isle, of the many he has. I have word that he governs like a gerfalcon, at which I am very pleased, and the duke my lord likewise; for which I give many thanks to heaven that I was not deceived in choosing him for that government; because I want Señora Teresa to know that a good governor is hard to find in the world, and may God make me as good as Sancho governs.
Herewith I send you, my dear, a string of corals with gold clasps; I would have been glad for it to be of oriental pearls, but whoever gives you the bone would not like to see you dead: a time will come when we shall know each other and talk together, and God knows what will come of it. Commend me to Sanchica, your daughter, and tell her from me to make herself ready, for I mean to marry her off high when she least expects it.
They tell me there are fat acorns in your village: send me some two dozen, for I shall think a great deal of them, coming from your hand; and write to me at length, letting me know of your health and well-being; and if you need anything, you have only to open your mouth: your mouth shall be the measure; and God keep you for me. From this place.
Your friend, who loves you dearly,
The Duchess.
“Oh,” said Teresa on hearing the letter, “what a good and plain and humble lady! Let them bury me with ladies like these, and not the hidalgo ladies we have in this village, who think that because they’re hidalgas the wind mustn’t touch them, and go to church with as many airs as if they were queens themselves, as if they thought it a disgrace to look at a farm woman; and look here how this good lady, for all she’s a duchess, calls me friend and treats me as if I were her equal, and may I see her raised up equal with the highest bell tower there is in La Mancha. And as for the acorns, my good sir, I’ll send her ladyship a peck, so big that people can come to gaze and marvel at them. And for now, Sanchica, see that this gentleman is made comfortable: look after this horse, and get eggs from the stable, and slice bacon aplenty, and let’s feed him like a prince, for the good news he has brought us and the good face he has deserve it all; and meanwhile I’ll go out and give my neighbors the news of our happiness, and Father Priest and Master Nicolás the barber, who are and always have been such friends of your father.”
“Yes, I will, Mother,” answered Sanchica, “but mind you give me half of that string; for I don’t take my lady the duchess for such a fool that she’d send the whole of it to you.”
“It’s all for you, daughter,” answered Teresa, “but let me wear it around my neck a few days, for it truly seems to gladden my heart.”
“You will be gladdened too,” said the page, “when you see the bundle that comes in this portmanteau, which is a suit of the finest cloth that the governor wore only one day, to the hunt, and he sends all of it for Señorita Sanchica.”
“May he live a thousand years for me,” answered Sanchica, “and the one who brings it no more and no less, and even two thousand, if need be.”
At this Teresa went out of the house with the letters, and with the string around her neck, and she went along drumming on the letters as if they were a tambourine; and, chancing to meet the priest and Sansón Carrasco, she began to dance and say:
“On my faith, now there’s no poor relation! We’ve got ourselves a little government! No, just let the finest painted hidalga lady take me on, and I’ll leave her looking like new!”
“What is this, Teresa Panza? What madness is this, and what papers are those?”
“The madness is nothing else but that these are letters from duchesses and governors, and these I have around my neck are fine corals; the Hail Marys and the Our Fathers are of beaten gold, and I’m a governess.”
“Saving God above, none of us understands you, Teresa, nor do we know what you’re saying.”
“There you can see for yourselves,” answered Teresa.
And she gave them the letters. The priest read them so that Sansón Carrasco heard them, and Sansón and the priest looked at each other, as if amazed at what they had read; and the bachelor asked who had brought those letters. Teresa answered that they should come with her to her house and they would see the messenger, who was a youth like a golden pine tree, and that he had brought her another present worth twice as much. The priest took the corals off her neck, and looked at them and looked at them again, and, making sure they were fine ones, marveled afresh, and said:
“By the habit I wear, I do not know what to say or think of these letters and these presents: on the one hand I see and touch the fineness of these corals, and on the other I read that a duchess sends to ask for two dozen acorns.”
“Now make those measures match for me!” said Carrasco then. “Well, let us go and see the bearer of this letter, for we will get from him an explanation of the difficulties we find.”
They did so, and Teresa went back with them. The page, when they found him, was sifting some barley for his mount, and Sanchica cutting a rasher of bacon to pave with eggs and give the page something to eat, and his looks and fine dress pleased the two of them very much; and, after they had greeted him courteously, and he them, Sansón asked him to give them news of Don Quixote as well as of Sancho Panza; for though they had read the letters of Sancho and of the lady duchess, they were still bewildered and could not make out what this business of Sancho’s government might be, and of an isle at that, when all or most of those there are in the Mediterranean Sea belong to His Majesty. To which the page answered:
“That Señor Sancho Panza is a governor, there is no doubting; whether what he governs is an isle or not, that I do not meddle in, but it is enough that it is a town of more than a thousand householders; and as for the acorns, I say that my lady the duchess is so plain and so humble that—he said—never mind sending to ask a farm woman for acorns, she has been known to send to borrow a comb from a neighbor. Because I want your graces to know that the ladies of Aragon, though they are of such high rank, are not as punctilious and lofty as Castilian ladies; they deal with people more plainly.”
In the middle of this talk Sanchica came bounding in with her skirt full of eggs and asked the page:
“Tell me, sir: does my lord father by any chance wear laced-up trunk hose since he became a governor?”
“I have not looked into that,” answered the page, “but he must wear them, yes.”
“Oh, my God,” replied Sanchica, “and what a sight it will be to see my father in windbag breeches! Isn’t it something, that ever since I was born I’ve wanted to see my father in laced-up trunk hose?”
“Things like that your grace will see him in, if you live,” answered the page. “By God, if his government lasts him only two months, he’s on the way to traveling in a muffler hood.”
The priest and the bachelor saw very well that the page was speaking slyly, but the fineness of the corals and the hunting suit Sancho was sending undid it all; for Teresa had already shown them the suit. And they could not help laughing at Sanchica’s wish, and more so when Teresa said:
“Father Priest, look around to see if there’s someone going to Madrid, or to Toledo, so he can buy me a round farthingale, full and proper, in the fashion and of the best there is; for truly, truly, I have to honor my husband’s government as much as I can, and even, if I get annoyed, I’ll have to go to that court and set up a coach, like all the rest; for a woman whose husband is a governor can very well keep one and support it.”
“And how, Mother!” said Sanchica. “Please God it were today rather than tomorrow, even if people who saw me riding along seated with my lady mother in that coach said, ‘Look at Miss So-and-so, the daughter of that garlic-stuffed fellow, how she goes sitting and sprawling in the coach as if she were a she-pope!’ But let them go slogging through the mud, while I ride in my coach, with my feet up off the ground. A bad year and a bad month to all the backbiters there are in the world, and let me go warm, and let people laugh! Am I right, Mother dear?”
“And how right you are, daughter!” answered Teresa. “And all these good fortunes, and even greater ones, my good Sancho has foretold me, and you’ll see, daughter, how he won’t stop till he makes me a countess: for it’s all in the beginning, with being lucky; and, as I’ve heard your good father say many times, who is as much the father of proverbs as he is yours, when they give you the heifer, run with the halter: when they give you a government, take it; when they give you an earldom, grab it; and when they call you ‘here, boy, here’ with some good gift, gulp it down. No, just go to sleep, and don’t answer the good fortune and good luck that come knocking at the door of your house!”
“And what do I care,” added Sanchica, “if anybody who likes says, when they see me all puffed up and full of airs, ‘The dog found himself in flaxen breeches…’ and the rest?”
Hearing which, the priest said:
“I can only believe that everyone of this lineage of the Panzas was born with a sack of proverbs in his body: I have not seen one of them who does not spill them at all hours and in every conversation they have.”
“That is the truth,” said the page, “for the lord governor Sancho says them at every step, and though many of them are not to the purpose, still they give pleasure, and my lady the duchess and the duke make much of them.”
“So your grace still maintains, sir,” said the bachelor, “that this business of Sancho’s government is true, and that there is a duchess in the world who sends him presents and writes to him? Because we, though we touch the presents and have read the letters, do not believe it, and think this is one of the things of Don Quixote, our fellow countryman, who thinks they are all done by enchantment; and so I am of a mind to say that I want to touch and feel your grace, to see whether you are a phantom ambassador or a man of flesh and bone.”
“Sirs, I know no more of myself,” answered the page, “than that I am a true ambassador, and that Señor Sancho Panza is governor in fact, and that this government is in the gift of my lord and lady the duke and duchess, who have given it; and that I have heard it said that this Sancho Panza conducts himself most valiantly in it; whether there is enchantment in this or not, your graces may dispute it among yourselves, for I know nothing else, by the oath I take, which is by the life of my parents, who are alive and whom I love and cherish dearly.”
“That may well be so,” replied the bachelor, “but dubitat Augustinus (Augustine doubts).”
“Doubt it who will,” answered the page, “the truth is what I have said, and the truth must always float above the lie, as oil floats above water; and if not, operibus credite, et non verbis (believe the works, and not the words): let one of your graces come with me, and you will see with your eyes what you do not believe through your ears.”
“That going is for me,” said Sanchica. “Take me, sir, your grace, on the crupper of your nag, for I’ll go very gladly to see my lord father.”
“The daughters of governors must not travel the roads alone, but accompanied by carriages and litters and a great number of servants.”
“By God,” answered Sancha, “I’ll do just as well on a she-ass as in a coach. A fine fussy miss you’ve found in me!”
“Hush, girl,” said Teresa, “for you don’t know what you’re saying, and this gentleman is right: as the times, so the touch; when it’s Sancho, Sancha, and when it’s governor, my lady; and I don’t know if I’m saying anything.”
“Señora Teresa says more than she thinks,” said the page; “and give me something to eat and send me off at once, because I mean to go back this afternoon.”
To which the priest said:
“Your grace will come and do penance with me, for Señora Teresa has more goodwill than household goods to serve so good a guest.”
The page declined; but in the end he had to agree, for his own good, and the priest took him off with him gladly, so as to have the chance to question him at leisure about Don Quixote and his exploits.
The bachelor offered to write the letters of reply for Teresa, but she did not want the bachelor meddling in her affairs, for she took him for something of a joker; and so she gave a bun and two eggs to an altar boy who knew how to write, who wrote two letters for her, one to her husband and the other to the duchess, dictated out of her own head, and they are not the worst to be found in this great history, as will be seen further on.