Chapter LII. In which is told the adventure of the second Sorrowing, or Distraught, Duenna, called by another name Doña Rodríguez

Cide Hamete tells that, Don Quixote being now healed of his scratches, it seemed to him that the life he was leading in that castle was against the whole order of chivalry he professed, and so he decided to ask the duke and duchess for leave to set out for Zaragoza, whose festival was drawing near, where he meant to win the suit of armor that is the prize at such festivals.

And one day, as he sat at table with the duke and duchess and was beginning to put his intention into effect and ask for leave, behold, all of a sudden, two women came in through the door of the great hall, covered, as it later turned out, in mourning from head to foot, and one of them, coming up to Don Quixote, threw herself at his feet full length, her mouth sewn to Don Quixote’s feet, and gave such sad, such deep, and such sorrowful moans that she threw into confusion all who heard and saw her; and though the duke and duchess thought it must be some jest their servants wished to play on Don Quixote, still, seeing how earnestly the woman sighed, moaned, and wept, they were left doubtful and in suspense, until Don Quixote, moved to compassion, raised her from the floor and had her uncover herself and take the mantle from her tearful face.

She did so, and showed herself to be what no one could ever have thought, for she uncovered the face of Doña Rodríguez, the duenna of the household, and the other woman in mourning was her daughter, the one deceived by the son of the rich farmer. All who knew her were amazed, and the duke and duchess more than anyone; for though they took her for a simpleton and soft-natured, they did not take her for one so far gone as to come and commit follies. At last Doña Rodríguez, turning to her master and mistress, said to them:

“May your excellencies be pleased to give me leave to discourse a little with this knight, for so it is fitting if I am to come well out of the business into which the boldness of an evil-minded peasant has put me.”

The duke said that he gave her leave, and that she might discourse with Señor Don Quixote as much as she pleased. She, turning her voice and her face toward Don Quixote, said:

“Some days ago, valiant knight, I gave you an account of the unreason and treachery that a wicked farmer hath done to my most dear and beloved daughter, who is this unhappy girl here present, and you promised me to take up her cause and right the wrong that hath been done her; and now it has come to my notice that you would depart from this castle in search of the good fortunes God may send you; and so I would wish that, before you slip away along those roads, you would challenge this untamed rustic and make him marry my daughter, in fulfillment of the word he gave her to be her husband, before and prior to lying with her; for to think that the duke my lord will do me justice is asking the elm for pears, for the reason I have already declared to your grace in confidence. And with this, may our Lord give your grace much health, and may he not forsake us.”

To which words Don Quixote answered, with much gravity and pomp:

“Good duenna, temper your tears, or, to put it better, dry them, and spare your sighs, for I take upon myself the remedy of your daughter, for whom it would have been better not to have been so ready to believe the promises of lovers, which for the most part are light to make and very heavy to keep; and so, with the leave of the duke my lord, I will set out at once in search of that heartless youth, and I will find him, and I will challenge him, and I will slay him if and whenever he excuses himself from keeping his promised word; for the principal concern of my calling is to pardon the humble and punish the proud; I mean, to come to the aid of the wretched and bring down the harsh.”

“There is no need,” answered the duke, “for your grace to put yourself to the trouble of seeking the rustic of whom this good duenna complains, nor is there any need, either, for your grace to ask leave of me to challenge him; for I hold him challenged, and I take it upon myself to let him know of this challenge, and to see that he accepts it and comes to answer for himself at this castle of mine, where I will give both of you a safe field, observing all the conditions that are and ought to be observed in such acts, and observing equally the justice of each, as all those princes are bound to observe it who grant a free field to those who fight within the bounds of their lordships.”

“Then with that assurance, and by the good leave of your greatness,” replied Don Quixote, “I say here and now that for this once I renounce my hidalgo rank, and I lower and level myself to the plainness of the wrongdoer, and make myself his equal, qualifying him to be able to fight with me; and so, though he is absent, I challenge and arraign him, on the ground that he did wrong in defrauding this poor girl, who was a maiden and through his fault is one no longer, and that he must keep the word he gave her to be her lawful husband, or die in the attempt.”

And then, drawing off a glove, he flung it down in mid-hall, and the duke took it up, saying that, as he had already said, he accepted that challenge in the name of his vassal, and fixed the term at six days from then; and the field, in the courtyard of that castle; and the arms, those customary among knights: lance and shield and jointed armor, with all the other pieces, without trickery, fraud, or charm of any kind, examined and inspected by the judges of the field.

“But before all things, it is necessary that this good duenna and this bad maiden place the right of their cause in the hands of Señor Don Quixote; for otherwise nothing will be done, nor will such a challenge come to its due execution.”

“I do place it,” answered the duenna.

“And I too,” added the daughter, all in tears and all ashamed and much out of countenance.

This agreement made, then, and the duke having thought out what he was to do in the case, the women in mourning went away, and the duchess ordered that from then on they were not to be treated as her servants, but as adventuring ladies who had come to her house to ask for justice; and so they were given a room apart and were waited on like strangers, not without the astonishment of the other servant women, who did not know where the folly and forwardness of Doña Rodríguez and her ill-starred daughter were to end.

While this was going on, to crown the merriment and bring the meal to a good end, behold, in through the hall came the page who had taken Teresa Panza the letters and presents, wife of the governor Sancho Panza, at whose arrival the duke and duchess were greatly pleased, eager to know what had happened to him on his journey; and when they asked him, the page answered that he could not tell it so publicly or in few words: that their excellencies might be pleased to leave it for when they were alone, and meanwhile entertain themselves with those letters. And, taking out two letters, he put them in the duchess’s hands. One of them said on the cover: Letter for my lady the duchess so-and-so, of I don’t know where; and the other: To my husband Sancho Panza, governor of the isle of Barataria, whom God prosper more years than me. The duchess’s bread would not bake, as the saying goes, until she had read her letter; and opening it and reading it to herself, and seeing that she could read it aloud so that the duke and those present might hear it, she read it in this manner:

Letter from Teresa Panza to the Duchess

The letter your greatness wrote me, my lady, gave me great pleasure, for truly I had been longing for it. The string of corals is very good, and my husband’s hunting suit doesn’t fall behind it. That your ladyship has made Sancho, my consort, a governor has given great satisfaction to this whole village, though there’s nobody who believes it, chiefly the priest, and Master Nicolás the barber, and Sansón Carrasco the bachelor; but it’s nothing to me; for as long as it’s so, as it is, let everyone say what he likes; though, if the truth be told, if the corals and the suit hadn’t come, I wouldn’t have believed it either, because in this village everybody takes my husband for a blockhead, and outside of governing a flock of goats they can’t imagine what government he could be good for. God make it so, and guide him as he sees his children need.

I, lady of my soul, am determined, with your grace’s leave, to bring this good day into my house, by going to court to stretch myself out in a coach, to make the eyes of the thousand envious people I already have pop out of their heads; and so I beg your excellency to order my husband to send me a little money, and let it be something worth the having, because at court the expenses are great: for bread goes at a real, and meat at thirty maravedís the pound, which is a sin and a shame; and if he’d rather I didn’t go, let him tell me in good time, because my feet are itching to be on the road; for my friends and neighbors tell me that if my daughter and I go about puffed up and pompous at court, my husband will come to be known by me more than I by him, since many people are bound to ask: “Who are these ladies in this coach?” And a servant of mine to answer: “The wife and the daughter of Sancho Panza, governor of the isle of Barataria”; and in this way Sancho will be known, and I’ll be esteemed, and to Rome for everything.

It grieves me as much as anything can grieve me that this year no acorns have been gathered in this village; for all that, I send your highness as much as half a peck, which I went to the hills to pick and choose one by one, and I couldn’t find any more bigger; I wish they were like ostrich eggs.

Don’t let your pomposity forget to write to me, for I’ll take care with the answer, letting you know about my health and everything there is to let you know about in this village, where I remain praying to our Lord to keep your greatness, and not to forget me. Your grace’s hands are kissed by Sancha, my daughter, and by my son.

She who has more wish to see your ladyship than to write to you, your servant,

Teresa Panza.

Great was the pleasure all took in hearing Teresa Panza’s letter, chiefly the duke and duchess, and the duchess sought Don Quixote’s view as to whether it would be right to open the letter that had come for the governor, which she imagined must be very good indeed. Don Quixote said that he would open it to give them pleasure, and so he did, and saw that it said as follows:

Letter from Teresa Panza to Sancho Panza her husband

I got your letter, my Sancho of my soul, and I promise you and swear as a Catholic Christian that I came within two fingers of going mad with happiness. Look, brother: when I came to hear that you’re a governor, I thought I’d drop dead right there of pure joy, for you know they say sudden happiness kills as surely as great grief. Sanchica, your daughter, wet herself without knowing it, out of pure happiness. I had the suit you sent me in front of me, and the corals my lady the duchess sent me around my neck, and the letters in my hands, and the man who brought them there present, and for all that I believed and thought that everything I saw and touched was a dream; because who could think that a goatherd would come to be governor of isles? You know, my friend, that my mother used to say you had to live long to see much: I say it because I mean to see more if I live longer; because I don’t mean to stop until I see you a tax farmer or an excise collector, which are offices that, though the devil carries off whoever uses them badly, when all’s said and done always have money in them and handle it. My lady the duchess will tell you how I long to go to court; think it over, and let me know your pleasure, for I’ll try to do you honor there by riding in a coach.

The priest, the barber, the bachelor, and even the sacristan can’t believe you’re a governor, and they say it’s all humbug, or matters of enchantment, as all those of Don Quixote your master are; and Sansón says he’s going to go and find you and get the government out of your head, and the madness out of Don Quixote’s skull; I do nothing but laugh, and look at my string of corals, and work out how to make a dress for our daughter out of your suit.

I sent some acorns to my lady the duchess; I wish they’d been of gold. You send me some strings of pearls, if they’re worn on that isle.

The news from this village is that La Berrueca married her daughter to a painter with a bad hand, who came to this village to paint whatever might turn out; the Council ordered him to paint His Majesty’s arms over the doors of the town hall; he asked two ducats, they gave them to him in advance, he worked eight days, at the end of which he had painted nothing, and said he couldn’t manage to paint so many knickknacks; he gave back the money, and for all that he married on the strength of being a good craftsman; it’s true he has now left the brush and taken up the hoe, and goes to the fields like a gentleman. Pedro de Lobo’s son has taken minor orders and the tonsure, meaning to become a priest; Minguilla, Mingo Silvato’s granddaughter, heard of it and has brought a suit against him saying he gave her his word of marriage; evil tongues will have it that she’s been with child by him, but he denies it flat with both feet.

This year there are no olives, and not a drop of vinegar is to be found in this whole village. A company of soldiers passed through here; they carried off three girls of this village along the way; I won’t tell you who they are: perhaps they’ll come back, and there’ll be no lack of men to take them for wives, with their faults, good or bad.

Sanchica makes bobbin lace; she earns eight maravedís clear every day, which she keeps dropping in a money box to help with her trousseau; but now that she’s a governor’s daughter, you’ll give her the dowry without her working for it. The fountain in the square has dried up; lightning struck the pillory, and may every bad luck land there.

I await an answer to this and the decision about my going to court; and with this, God keep you for me more years than me, or as many, for I wouldn’t want to leave you in this world without me.

Your wife,

Teresa Panza.

The letters were celebrated, laughed at, praised, and marveled at; and, to set the seal on it all, the courier arrived, the one bringing the letter Sancho was sending to Don Quixote, which was likewise read in public, and which cast doubt on the governor’s foolishness.

The duchess withdrew to learn from the page what had happened to him in Sancho’s village, and he told it to her at great length, leaving out no circumstance he did not relate; he gave her the acorns, and a cheese besides that Teresa had given him, as being very good, which surpassed those of Tronchón. The duchess received it with the greatest pleasure, with which we will leave her, to tell the end that the government of the great Sancho Panza had, the flower and mirror of all governors of isles.