Don Quixote_ Translation by Edith Grossman (HarperCollins) - Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra [445]
“That’s fine,” said Sancho. “You should realize, brother, that now you’ve painted her from head to toe. What is it that you want? And get to the point without beating around the bush or going around in circles, or taking anything away or adding anything on.”
“Señor, I would like,” responded the farmer, “for your grace to be so good as to give me a letter of support for her father, asking him kindly to allow this marriage to take place, for we are not unequal in our fortunes or our natures; to tell you the truth, Señor Governor, my son is possessed, and not a day goes by that evil spirits do not torment him; because he fell once into the fire, his face is as wrinkled as parchment, and his eyes are somewhat teary and runny, but he has the disposition of an angel, and if he didn’t beat and punch himself, he would be a saint.”
“Is there anything else you want, my good man?” replied Sancho.
“I would like something else,” said the farmer, “except I don’t dare to say it; but, well, after all, whether I get it or not, it shouldn’t fester inside. And so, Señor, I would like your grace to give me three hundred or six hundred ducados to help with my bachelor’s dowry, I mean, to help him set up a house, because, after all, they have to live on their own and not be subject to the interference of in-laws.”
“See if there’s anything else you want,” said Sancho, “and don’t be too shy or too embarrassed to say it.”
“No, I’m certain, there’s nothing else,” responded the farmer.
And as soon as he said this, the governor rose to his feet, picked up the chair where he had been sitting, and said:
“I swear, Don Crass and Crude, if you don’t leave and get out of my sight right now, I’ll break and crack your head open with this chair! Scoundrel and whoreson, the demon’s own painter, is this the right time to come and ask me for six hundred ducados? Where would I have them, you unbearable pest? And why would I give them to you if I did have them, you shifty fool? And what do I care about Miguel Turra and the lineage of the Perlerín? Get away from me, I say, or by the life of my lord the duke, I’ll do what I said! You can’t be from Miguel Turra, you must be some sly devil sent here from hell to tempt me. Tell me, you merciless man, I haven’t had the governorship for a day and a half yet, and you want me to have six hundred ducados?”
The butler signaled to the farmer to leave the hall, which he did, head lowered and apparently fearful that the governor would act on his rage, for the great scoundrel knew his trade very well.
But let us leave Sancho and his rage, dear reader, with no argument or quarrel, and return to Don Quixote, whom we left with his face bandaged and treated for his feline wounds, which did not heal for eight days, and on one of them something happened that Cide Hamete promises to recount as exactly and truthfully as all things in this history are recounted, no matter how trivial they may be.
CHAPTER XLVIII
Regarding what transpired between Don Quixote and Doña Rodríguez, duenna to the duchess, as well as other events worthy of being recorded and remembered forever
A badly wounded Don Quixote, his face bandaged and marked not by the hand of God but by the claws of a cat, was far too dejected and melancholy at the misfortunes inherent in knight errantry. He did not go out in public for six days, and on one of those nights, when he was sleepless and awake, thinking about his misfortunes and his pursuit by Altisidora, he heard someone opening the door of his room with a key, and then he imagined that the enamored