A TEI Project

Chapter L

Where it is declared who the enchanters and tormentors were who whipped the duenna and pinched and scratched don Quixote, together with what happened to the page who took the letter to Teresa Panza, wife of Sancho Panza.

CIDE HAMETE, the scrupulous investigator of the minutest details of this true history says that when doña Rodríguez left her room to go to don Quixote’s, another duenna who slept in the same room heard her, and since all duennas are eager to pry into things, find out what they’re about, and smell them out, she followed her so quietly that the good Rodríguez didn’t notice, and as soon as the duenna saw her go into don Quixote’s room, in order to prove that she was a gossip, like all other duennas, she went to tell the duchess that doña Rodríguez was in don Quixote’s room.

The duchess reported it all to the duke and asked his permission to go with Altisidora to see what that duenna wanted with don Quixote. The duke gave it to them, and the two of them, slowly and quietly, one step at a time, went to the door of the room and they were so close that they could hear everything that was said inside. And when the duchess heard that doña Rodríguez had made public the Aranjuez of her issues, she couldn’t stand it, and neither could Altisidora; and filled with anger and wanting revenge, they burst into the room, pinched don Quixote, and spanked the duenna as has been related, because an offense that goes against the beauty and pride of women awakens enormous wrath in them and sets aflame the desire to avenge themselves.

The duchess told the duke what had happened, which delighted him quite a bit. And the duchess, continuing with her plan to play tricks on and have fun with don Quixote, dispatched the page who had played the part of Dulcinea in the artifice of her disenchantment—which Sancho had completely forgotten about while he was governor—to Teresa Panza, his wife, with the letter from her husband, and another one from her, and with a long strand of elegant coral beads sent as a present.

The history says, then, that the page was very witty and clever, and dedicated to serving his master and mistress eagerly left for Sancho’s village, and before he entered, he saw a number of women washing clothes in a stream and asked them if they might be able to tell him if a woman named Teresa Panza lived in that town, the wife of a certain Sancho Panza, squire to a knight named don Quixote de La Mancha. A young girl who was washing clothes rose after the question was asked and said: “That Teresa Panza is my mother, and that Sancho is my father, and that knight is our master.”

“Well, then, young lady,” said the page, “take me to your mother because I’m bringing her a letter and a present from your father.”

“I’ll do that with great pleasure, señor mío,” responded the young girl, who seemed to be fourteen years old, more or less. And leaving the clothes that she was washing with a friend, without covering her head or putting on her shoes, because she had nothing on her legs and her hair was uncombed, skipped in front of the page’s horse and said: “Come, your grace, for our house is right near the entrance to the town, and my mother is at home and is pretty worried since she hasn’t heard from my señor father in many days.”

“Well, I’m taking news to her,” said the page, “and such good news that she’ll give thanks to God for it.”

So, jumping, running, and skipping, the girl got to the village, and before going into her house, she cried from the door: “Come out, mother Teresa, come out, come out! A man has come bringing letters and other things from my good father.”

At these cries the mother appeared, spinning a ball of flax, and wearing a gray skirt. It seemed, because it was so short, that it had been cut in a shameful place, with a bodice that was grey as well, and a low-cut blouse. She wasn’t very old although she seemed to be past forty, but she was strong, hearty, vigorous, and tanned, and when she saw her daughter and the page on horseback, she said to her: “What’s going on, daughter? Who is this man?”

“He’s a servant of my lady doña Teresa Panza,” responded the page. And as he said that, he jumped from his horse and went over with great humility to kneel before señora Teresa Panza, and said: “Give me your hands, my lady doña Teresa Panza, since you’re the only legitimate wife of señor Sancho Panza, the rightful governor of the ínsula Barataria.”

“Ay, señor mío, stand up, don’t do that,” responded Teresa. “I’m not one of those palace women—just a poor peasant, a daughter of clodhoppers, and wife of a squire errant, and not of any governor.”

“Your grace,” responded the page, “is the very worthy wife of an archworthy governor, and to prove this truth, here’s a letter and this present.”

And he instantly took from his pocket a string of coral beads interspersed with ones of gold, and placed them around her neck, and said: “This letter is from the señor governor, and I’m bringing another from my lady the duchess who is sending it to your grace.”

Teresa was dumbfounded, and her daughter was no less so, and the girl said: “May they kill me if our master don Quixote doesn’t have something to do with this, for he must have given him the government or a countship, which he promised him so many times.”

“That’s the truth,” responded the page, “for it’s through señor don Quixote that señor Sancho is now governor of the ínsula Barataria, as will be seen in this letter.”

“Read it to me, your grace, señor gentleman,” said Teresa, “because although I can spin, I can’t read a thing.”

“I can’t either,” added Sanchica, “but wait for me here a minute. I’ll go fetch someone to read it, either the priest himself or the bachelor Sansón Carrasco, and they’ll come willingly to hear news about my father.”

“There’s no reason to call anyone, for I don’t know how to spin, but I can read, and I’ll read it.”

And so he read the whole letter as it was set down already, so it’s not repeated here, and then he took out the one from the duchess, which went this way:

MY FRIEND TERESA:

The good qualities—goodness and cleverness—of your husband moved and obliged me to ask my husband the duke to give him the government of an ínsula from the many that he possesses. I hear he’s governing perfectly, and this makes me very happy, as it does the duke, my master, for which I thank heaven I was not wrong in choosing him for that government, for I want señora Teresa to know that it’s difficult to find a good governor in the world, and may God treat me as well as Sancho governs.

I’m sending you, my dear, a string of coral and gold beads. I would be better pleased if they could be oriental pearls, but «he who gives you a bone doesn’t want to see you dead». The time will come when we’ll get to meet and talk, and God knows when that will be. Remember me to Sanchica, your daughter, and tell her to get ready, for I plan to marry her into a high station when least she suspects it. They tell me that in your village there are large acorns. Send me about two dozen, and I’ll esteem them greatly since they will have been collected by you and write me a long letter, telling me of your health and well-being; and if you need anything, you have only to open your mouth, and whatever you ask will be done. And may God keep you for me. From this village, your friend who loves you well,

THE DUCHESS

“Ay!” said Teresa when she heard the letter, “how good and how open and how humble this lady is! May they bury me with ladies like this, and not with the hidalgas like we have in this town who think that since they’re hidalgas, not even the wind should touch them, and they go to church with such vanity as if they were queens themselves, and they consider it beneath them even to look at a peasant. And see here where the duchess calls me FRIEND and treats me as her equal. May I see her made equal to the highest bell tower in all of La Mancha. And as for the acorns, señor mío, I’ll send her ladyship a peck of them that will astonish her when she sees them. For now, Sanchica, make sure this gentlemen is comfortable, tend to his horse, go to the stable for some eggs, cut a good portion of bacon, and let’s feed him like we would a prince. The good news he brought us and his honest face deserve no less. Meanwhile, I’ll go to tell my lady friends the news of our happiness, as well as the priest, and maese Nicolás the barber, who are, and have been such good friends of your father.”

“All right, mother,” responded Sanchica, “but don’t you think you should give me half of that necklace? I don’t think that the duchess is foolish enough that she would send it all to you.”

“It’s all for you, daughter,” responded Teresa. “But let me wear it around my neck for a few days because it truly gladdens my heart.”

“Both your hearts will be gladdened when you see what is in this valise—it’s an outfit of very fine material that the governor wore only one time while hunting, and he’s sending it to Sanchica.”

“May he live a thousand years,” responded Sanchica, “and the person bringing it, may he live no more nor less, and even two thousand years, if necessary.”

Teresa left her house with the letters and with the necklace around her neck, and was slapping the letters against her hand as if she were playing the tambourine. By chance she ran across the priest and Sansón Carrasco, and began to dance and say: “I swear there’s no poor relation now! We have a little government! Let the best of the hidalgas take me on, and I’ll show her!”

“What is this, Teresa Panza? What lunacy is this and what papers are those?”

“It’s no lunacy but rather these are letters from duchesses and governors, and these beads I have around my neck are coral for the Hail Marys and the beaten gold ones are the Our Fathers, and I’m a governor’s wife.”

“No one but God can understand you, Teresa, and we don’t know what you’re saying.”

“You’ll see soon enough,” responded Teresa. And she gave them the letters. The priest read them aloud for Sansón Carrasco to hear, and Sansón and the priest looked at each other astonished at what they had read. The bachelor asked who had brought the letters. Teresa responded that they should come with her to her house and they would see the messenger, who was a very charming young man, and who brought another present worth quite a bit. The priest took the corals from her neck and examined them, and examined them again, and realized that they were of fine quality, then examined them again, and said: “By the habit I’m wearing, I don’t know what to say or think about these letters and these presents. On the one hand I’m seeing and touching the quality of these corals, and on the other I’m reading that a duchess has asked for two dozen acorns.”

“What nonsense,” interrupted Carrasco. “All right, let’s go see the bearer of this letter. From him we’ll see how to solve this dilemma that’s baffling us.”

So they returned with Teresa. They found the page sifting a bit of barley for his mount, and Sanchica cutting some bacon to put in scrambled eggs for the page to eat. They were pleased to see his fine appearance, and after they greeted each other courteously, Sansón asked him to relate news about don Quixote as well as about Sancho Panza. Although they had read the letters from Sancho and the duchess, they were still confused and couldn’t fathom the business of Sancho’s government, and more so of an ínsula, since all or most islands in the Mediterranean Sea belonged to His Majesty. To which the page responded: “That señor Sancho Panza is governor, there’s no doubt. That it’s an ínsula or not where he governs, I’m in no position to have an opinion. But it’s enough that it’s a village of more than a thousand inhabitants; and as far as the acorns go, I’ll tell you that my lady the duchess is so open and humble,” he said, “that she not only asks a peasant lady to send her acorns, but also it happened that she had to borrow a comb from a neighbor of hers. I want you to know that the ladies of Aragón, even though they’re of high birth, are not affected and presumptuous like the ladies of Castile are. They treat everyone with more consideration.”

When he was in the middle of this conversation, Sanchica came in with a skirt full of eggs and asked the page: “Tell me, señor, does my señor father wear billowing short pants since he’s been a governor?”

“I haven’t noticed,” responded the page, “but I guess he does.” “Ay! my goodness!” replied Sanchica, “my father with those pants on must be a sight to see. Isn’t it funny that since I was born I’ve always wanted to see my father in those pants.”

“And you will see those things, if your grace lives,” responded the page. “By God, he may travel with a visored hood if his governorship lasts two months.”

The priest and bachelor could see that the page was speaking with great irony. But the quality of the coral necklace and the hunting outfit Sancho had sent—for Teresa had shown the outfit to them—made them wonder, and they couldn’t help but laugh about Sanchica’s wish, and more so when Teresa said: “Señor priest, see if anyone is going to Madrid or Toledo so they can buy me a bell-shaped skirt, ready-to-wear, and of the most fashionable kind there is. In truth, in truth, I have to honor the government of my husband as much as I can; and even if it vexes me, I have to go to court and run around in a coach like the rest of them, for she who has a governor for a husband can have and maintain one.”

“And why not, mother?” said Sanchica. “May it please God that it would be today rather than tomorrow. Even though those ladies who see me riding around with my mother in that coach might say: ‘Look at Little Miss So-and-So, daughter of that garlic-stuffed fellow! Look at her sitting and stretched out in that coach as if she were a she-pope!’ But let ’em walk through the mud, and let me be in my coach with my feet off the ground. A bad year and a bad month to all those gossips in the world! I’ll travel and stay warm, and let ’em laugh at me! Am I right, mother?”

“You certainly are!” said Teresa, “My good Sancho promised me all this good fortune and even more. And you’ll see, daughter, how he won’t stop until he’s made me a countess. The key is to start with a little bit of luck, and as I’ve heard your good father say many times—just as he’s your father, he’s also the father of proverbs—«when they give you a heifer, run to fetch the halter» and when they give you a government, take it; when they give you a county, grab it; and when they offer you something nice, go get it. If not, «go to sleep, and when good luck and good times come knocking on the door of your house, don’t answer»!”

“And what do I care,” Sanchica added, “if they feel like saying , when they see me haughty and stuck-up, «the dog put on a pair of pants», and all the rest.”

When the priest heard this he said: “I have to believe that the whole lineage of Panzas was born each one with a bag of proverbs in his body. I’ve not seen any one of them that doesn’t spew them out all the time in every conversation they have.”

“That’s the truth,” said the page, “for the señor governor Sancho says one every minute. And even though many don’t hit the mark, at least they give pleasure, and mi señora the duchess and the duke really praise them.”

“So, your grace still affirms, señor mío,” said the bachelor, “that it’s true about Sancho’s government, and that there’s a duchess in the world who sends presents and writes to Teresa? Because we, although we touch the presents and have read the letters, don’t believe it and we think that this has something to do with don Quixote, our fellow townsman, who thinks that everything happens by enchantment. I’m almost about to say that I want to touch and feel you to see if you’re a phantom messenger or a man of flesh and blood.”

“Señores, all I can say for myself,” said the page, “is that I’m a real messenger and señor Sancho Panza is a permanent governor, and my masters, the duke and duchess, can give, and have given him, that government. And I’ve heard that Sancho Panza has conducted himself very worthily. If there’s any enchantment in that or not, your graces can decide between yourselves. I don’t know anything else but the oath that I swear, on the life of my parents, who are still alive, and whom I love very much.”

“That may be,” replied the bachelor, “but dubitat Augustinus.”

“Let him doubt that will,” responded the page, “the truth is what I’ve said, and truth always floats on top of lies like oil on water. And if not, operibus credite, non verbis. Let either of your graces come with me, and you’ll see with your eyes what you don’t believe with your ears.”

“That’s for me,” said Sanchica, “take me, your grace, señor, on the crupper of your horse. I’ll go enthusiastically to see my father again.”

“Daughters of governors must not go alone along the roads, but rather accompanied by coaches and litters, and a great number of servants.”

“By God,” responded Sanchica, “I can travel just as well on a donkey as in a coach. Do you think I’m so fussy?”

“Hush, child,” said Teresa, “you don’t know what you’re talking about. This gentleman is right, for «as the time, so the tactics». When it’s Sancho, then Sancha; and when it’s the governor, it’s MY LADY, and I don’t know if I’m understood.”

“You’ve said more than you think,” said the page. “Give me something to eat and give me leave right away, for I plan to get back this afternoon.”

To which the priest said: “Your grace, come take pot luck with me. Señora Teresa has more good will than goods to serve such a fine guest.”

The page refused. But finally he saw that he should go with the priest. And the priest led him away eagerly so he’d have the time to ask him at his leisure about don Quixote and his deeds. The bachelor offered to write letters of response from Teresa, but she didn’t want the bachelor to meddle in her affairs, for she considered him to be a jester. And so she gave a bread roll and two eggs to an acolyte who could write, and he wrote two letters—one for her husband and another for the duchess, dictated out of her head, and they’re not the worst ones to be read in this great history, as will be seen later.


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Date: June 1, 2009
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