• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 1099 0

of this truth I want to tell your highnesses that not long ago, when I was passing through Toboso, I could not find the palaces of Dulcinea, and the next day, Sancho, my squire, saw her real form, which is the most beautiful on earth, but to me she seemed a crude and ugly peas-ant girl, and in no way well-spoken, although she is the epitome of discernment in the world. And since I am not enchanted, and cannot be, according to sound reasoning, she is the enchanted one, the offended one, the one who is altered, changed, and transformed; through her my enemies have taken their revenge on me, and for her sake I shall live in perpetual tears until I see her restored to her pristine state. I have said this so that no one will pay heed to what Sancho said about Dulcinea’s sifting or winnowing; since they altered her for me, it is no wonder they changed her for him. Dulcinea is illustrious and wellborn; of the noble lineages in Toboso, which are numerous, ancient, and very good, the peerless Dulcinea surely possesses more than a small portion, and for her sake the town will be famous and renowned in times to come, as Troy has been for Helen, and Spain for La Cava,3 although for better reasons and with better fame.

On the other hand, I want your lordship and ladyship to understand that Sancho Panza is one of the most amusing squires who ever served a knight errant; at times his simpleness is so clever that deciding if he is simple or clever is a cause of no small pleasure; his slyness condemns him for a rogue, and his thoughtlessness confirms him as a simpleton; he doubts everything, and he believes everything; when I think that he is about to plunge headlong into foolishness, he comes out with perceptions that raise him to the skies. In short, I would not trade him for any other squire even if I were given a city to do so; consequently, I have some doubt regarding whether sending him to the governorship with which your highness has favored him is the right thing to do, although I see in him a certain aptitude for governing; with just a little refinement of his understanding, he would be as successful with any governorship as the king is with his duties and taxes; moreover, by dint of long experience, we know that neither great ability nor great learning is needed to be a governor, for there are in the world at least a hundred who barely know how to read, and who govern in a grand manner; the essential point is that they have good intentions and the desire always to do the right thing, for they will never lack someone to guide and counsel them in what they must do, like those knightly, unlettered governors who pass judgments with an adviser at their side. I would caution him not to accept bribes, and not to lose sight of the law, and a few other trifles that I shall not mention now but will come out in due course, to the benefit of Sancho and the advantage of the ínsula which he will govern.”

The duke, the duchess, and Don Quixote had reached this point in their conversation when they heard many voices and a clamor of people in the palace, and suddenly a frightened Sancho burst into the room wearing a piece of coarse burlap as a bib, and behind him came a number of young men, that is to say scullery boys and other menials, and one was carrying a tub of water whose color and lack of cleanliness indicated that it was dishwater, and the boy with the tub was following and pursuing Sancho and attempting with all solicitude to place it and put it under his beard, which another rogue showed signs of wanting to wash.

“What is this, my friends?” asked the duchess. “What is this? What do you want from this good man? Haven’t you considered that he has been selected governor?”

To which the roguish barber responded:

“This gentleman won’t let himself be washed, though that’s the custom, in the way the duke my lord was washed, and his own master.”

“I will let myself,” responded Sancho in a fury, “but I want it to be with cleaner towels, and clearer water, and hands that aren’t so dirty, for there’s not so much difference between me and my