OH, PERPETUAL discoverer of the antipodes, light of the world, eye of heaven, sweet shaker of wine vessels! Thymbræus here, Phœbus there, now archer, now doctor, father of poetry, inventor of music, you, who always come out but—though you seem to—never set! To you I say, oh, sun! with whose help man engenders man… To you, I say that you should favor and illuminate the darkness of my intellect so that I can faithfully report, point by point, the narration of what went on in the government of the great Sancho Panza, for without you, I feel tepid, dejected, and confused.
I say, then, with all his retinue, Sancho Panza arrived at a village of about a thousand inhabitants, which was one of the best ones that the duke possessed. They led him to believe that it was called THE ÍNSULA BARATARIA, either because the village was called BARATARIO, or because of the barato—the deception—by means of which he’d been given the government. When he arrived at the gates of the town, which was walled, the municipal council came out to receive him. The bells rang and all the inhabitants showed signs of general festivity and with great pomp they led him to the main church to give thanks to God, and then with ridiculous ceremonies, they handed him the keys of the town, and declared him to be the perpetual governor of the Ínsula Barataria.
The dress, beard, plumpness, and shortness of the new governor, amazed everyone who was not in on the secret, and even those who were (and they were many). Finally, when they took him from the church, they led him to the judge’s seat and placed him on it, and the steward said: “It’s an ancient custom on this ínsula, señor governor, that the person who comes to take possession of this famous ínsula is obliged to answer a question that’s asked him. It’s a bit knotty and difficult, and by his answer the people take the pulse of the cleverness of the new governor, and they either will be cheerful or sorrowful about his arrival.”
While the steward was saying this to Sancho, he was looking at many large letters written on the wall in front of his chair, and since he didn’t know how to read, he asked what those painted marks on the wall were. He was answered: “Señor, the date on which your lordship took possession is written and noted there, and the inscription says that TODAY, AT SUCH-AND-SO OF SUCH A MONTH AND SUCH A YEAR, SEÑOR DON SANCHO PANZA, TOOK POSSESSION OF THIS ÍNSULA, AND MAY HE KEEP IT MANY YEARS.”
“And who are they calling don Sancho Panza?”asked Sancho.
“Your grace,” responded the steward, “for on this ínsula there’s no other Panza except the one sitting in that chair.”
“Then observe, brother,” said Sancho. “I have no DON, nor in all my lineage was there ever any. Just plain Sancho Panza is my name, and my father’s name was Sancho, and Sancho my grandfather, and they were all Panzas without adding any DONS or DONAS. And I imagine that in this ínsula there must be more dons than rocks. But that’s enough. God understands me, and it may be that if this government lasts me four days, I’ll weed out these dons, who must be as bothersome as mosquitos because there are so many of them.”
At that instant, two men came into the courtroom, one of them dressed as a peasant and another as a tailor (because he was carrying scissors in his hand). The tailor said: “Señor governor, this peasant and I come before your grace because this good man came to my shop yesterday—begging your pardon, I’m a licensed tailor, God be praised—and putting a piece of material in my hands, asked me: ‘Señor, is there enough material here to make me one cap?’ I examined the piece and answered that there was. He must have thought—the way I see it, and rightly—that I doubtless wanted to steal some of the material, founding his belief on his own wickedness and his bad opinion of tailors. He then asked if I could make two caps. I guessed what he was thinking, and said yes. And he, riding along on his cursed initial thought, kept on adding caps, and I kept on saying yes, until we got to five caps, and just now he has come to pick them up. I hand them over and he doesn’t want to pay for my labor. Instead, he asks me to pay him or return the material.”
“Is all this true, brother?” asked Sancho.
“Yes, señor,” responded the man, “but have him show you the five caps that he made for me.”
“Very willingly,” said the tailor.
And immediately taking his hand out from under this cape, he displayed the five caps on the tips of his fingers and said: “Here are the five caps that this good man asks me for, and, by God and by my conscience nothing was left over, and I’ll turn over my work to be inspected by the inspectors of the guild.”
All those present laughed about the number of caps and the novelty of the case. Sancho sat there considering a bit and then said: “It seems to me that this case doesn’t merit long delays, since a common sense judgment can be given right away. So, the sentence is that the tailor loses his labor and the peasant his cloth, and the caps should be taken to the prisoners in jail, and that’s all there is to it.”
If the previous sentence of the cattleman’s purse moved the onlookers to wonder, this one caused laughter. But in the end what the governor commanded was done. Then two old men came in before the governor, one of them with a tall staff, and the one without a cane said: “Señor, I lent this good man 10 escudos in gold some days ago as a favor to him and to do a good deed, on the condition that he give them back whenever I asked for them. Many days went by without my asking for them back since I didn’t want to cause him greater distress in giving them back than when he asked for them. But since it seemed to me that he’d forgotten to pay me back, I asked him for them, not once but many times, and not only has he not given them back, but he denies everything, and said that I never lent him those 10 escudos in the first place, and if I really lent them, he returned them to me already. I have no witnesses either to the loan, or the payment for that matter, since he hasn’t paid them back. I would like your grace to take a sworn statement from him, and if he swears that he has given them back to me, I’ll forgive the debt here and before God.”
“What do you have to say, good old man with a cane?” said Sancho.
“I, señor, confess that he lent them to me. Lower your rod, your grace, since he leaves it to my oath, and I’ll swear that I gave them back and paid him really and truly.”
The governor lowered his rod, and meanwhile the old man with the cane gave it to the other old man to hold while he was giving his oath, as if it were in his way, then he put his hand on the cross of the rod, saying that it was true, that he’d been lent the ten escudos that were being asked of him, but that he’d given them back from his hand to the other man’s hand, and that he must have forgotten, because he was asking for them back again.
When the great governor saw this, he asked the creditor what he had to say to his adversary. And he said that without a doubt his debtor must be speaking the truth because he held him to be a good man and a good Christian, and that he must have forgotten how and when they had been returned, and that from then on he would never ask for them again. The debtor took his cane back, and bowing, left the courtroom. When Sancho saw this, and that he left without delay, and seeing also the resignation of the plaintiff, he bowed his head onto his chest, and putting his right index finger between his eyebrows, appeared pensive for a while, then he raised his head and had the old man with the cane summoned, for he’d already left. They brought him back, and when Sancho saw him he said to him: “Give me your cane, my good man, for I have need of it.”
“Very well,” responded the old man, “here it is, señor.” And he put it in his hand.
Sancho took it and gave it to the other man and said to him: “Go with God, for you’re now paid back.”
“I am, señor?” responded the old man. “Is this cane worth 10 escudos in gold?”
“Yes it is,” said the governor, “or if it isn’t, I’m the greatest blockhead in the world, and now it’ll be seen if I’m smart enough to govern an entire realm.”
And he had the cane broken open in front of everyone. It was done, and in its center they found 10 escudos in gold. Everyone marveled, and they held their new governor for a new Solomon. They asked him how he’d figured out that the 10 escudos were in the cane, and he responded that when he saw the old man hand his cane to his adversary while he was swearing, and then he swore that he’d given them back really and truly, then when he finished swearing he took back the cane, it occurred to him that the money that was being asked for was inside. And from this it can be seen that some governors, even though they’re uneducated, sometimes are led by God in their judgments. And what’s more, he’d heard a similar case reported by the priest of his village and since he had such a great memory that—if he hadn’t forgotten everything he wanted to remember, no memory on the island would equal his. Finally, the shamed old man and the paid-back one left, and those who were present were in wonder. And the one who kept a record of the words, deeds, and movements of Sancho, couldn’t make up his mind if he’d consider him to be, and report him as,a fool or a wise man.
When this case was over, a woman came into the courtroom holding tightly onto a man who was dressed as a rich cattleman, and she was shouting loudly: “Justice, señor governor, justice, and if I can’t find it on earth I’ll seek it in heaven! Señor governor of my soul, this bad man seized me in the middle of that field and he took advantage of my body as if it were a dirty old rag—unfortunate me!—and he snatched away what I had kept for twenty-three years, defending it from Moors and Christians, fellow countrymen and foreigners. I was always as hard as a cork tree, keeping myself as pure as a salamander in a fire, or like wool among the brambles, and now this fellow comes along and fondles me just like that.”
“We’ll find out soon enough about that,” said Sancho.
And turning to the man, asked him what he had to say in response to the complaint of that woman. He—all flustered—responded: “Señores, I’m a poor pig farmer, and this morning as I was leaving this village to sell—pardon me for mentioning their names—four pigs, which they took from me, what with all those taxes and their cunning, for a little less what than they were worth. As I was returning to the village I ran across this good woman along the way, and the devil (who embroils and tangles everything up) caused us to lie together. I paid her enough, and she, not content, grabbed on to me and didn’t release me until we got to this place. She says that I forced her, but by the oath that I’m making, or rather plan to make, she’s lying. And this is the whole truth without leaving out the least little bit.”
The governor asked if he had any silver coins on him. He said that he had about twenty ducados inside his shirt in a leather pouch. He told him to take it out and give it to her. He did so, trembling, and the woman took it, making a thousand curtsies to everyone, and praying to God for the life and health of the señor governor, who looked out for needy orphans and maidens. And with this, she left the courtroom, clutching the purse with both hands, although she first made sure that the coins inside were of silver.
She’d hardly left when Sancho said to the cattleman, who was standing there in tears, and his eyes following his purse: “My good man, go after that woman and take away the purse and bring it back here along with her.”
He didn’t say it to a stupid or a deaf person because he shot out like a bolt of lightning as he was commanded to. Everyone present was in suspense to see how that case would turn out, and after a moment the man and the woman came back, and she was grasping him stronger than before. Her skirt was raised, enveloping the purse, and the man was struggling to get it from her but it wasn’t possible given the way the woman was protecting it, and she shouted: “Justice from God and from the law! Your grace, look, señor governor, at the little shame and little fear this soulless man has, because in the center of town—in the middle of the street—he tried to snatch away this purse you had him give me.”
“And was he able to wrest it away from you?” asked the governor.
“What do you mean «wrest away»?” responded the woman. “I’d surrender my life before I’d let anyone take this purse away from me. They’ll have to throw someone else against me and not this unfortunate and revolting fellow. Pincers, hammers, mallets, and chisels aren’t enough to take it away from my fingernails, not even the claws of lions. They’d have to rip out my soul first.”
“She’s right, said the man. “I give up—I’m powerless. I confess that I’m not strong enough to take it away, so I’ll let her be.”
Then the governor said to the women: “Let me see that purse, honorable and strong woman.”
She gave it to him right away, and the governor returned it to the man and said to the forceful but not forced woman: “My sister, if you had used the same strength that you’ve shown in defending this purse—or even half—to defend your body, the strength of Hercules couldn’t force you. Go with God, and may bad luck follow you, and don’t appear in this ínsula nor within six leagues of it, under pain of two-hundred lashes. Get out of here, I say, you charlatan and shameless deceiver!”
The woman became very frightened and left crestfallen and unhappy, and the governor said to the man: “My good man, go with God to your village and with your money, and from now on, if you don’t want to lose it, see to it that it doesn’t occur to you to lie with anybody.”
The man thanked him in a rustic way and went away and the bystanders were once again amazed with the judgments and sentences of their new governor. Everything was then written down by his chronicler and sent to the duke, who was eagerly waiting for it.
And let’s leave good Sancho here, for his master, disturbed by Altisidora’s music, is begging us to make haste.