Chap. V Of the Sage and Pleasant Dialogue Between Sancho Panza and His Wife Teresa Panza, With Other Incidents Worthy to Be Most Happily Recorded
The translator says he looks upon this chapter as apocryphal, because it represents Sancho Panza speaking in a stile quite different from that which might be expected from his shallow understanding, and making such ingenious observations, as he thinks it impossible he should know; but he would not leave it out, that he might punctually perform the duty of a faithful translator, and therefore proceeds in these words.
Sancho returned to his own house in such high spirits, that his wife perceived his gaiety at the distance of a bow shot, and could not help saying, ‘What is the matter, friend Sancho, that you seem so joyful?’ To this question the squire answered, ‘An it pleased God, wife, I should be very glad if I were not so joyful as I seem to be.’—‘Truly, husband,’ replied Teresa143, ‘I don’t understand you; and cannot conceive what you mean, by saying you should be very glad, an it pleased God, you were not so joyful; for, simple though I be, I am always glad with what makes me joyful.’—‘Mark me, Teresa,’ said the squire, ‘I am rejoiced, because it is determined that I shall return to the service of my master Don Quixote, who is going to make a third sally in quest of adventures, and I must accompany him in his expedition; for so my destiny will have it, together with the comfortable and lively hope of finding another hundred crowns like those I have expended: on the other hand, sorry am I to part with thee and my children; and if God would permit me to eat my bread dry-shod at home, without dragging me over clifts and cross-paths; (and this might be done at a small expence, if he would only say the word) it is plain that my joy would be more firm and perfect; whereas that which I feel at present, is mingled with the melancholy thoughts of leaving thee, my duck; wherefore I justly said I should be glad, an it pleased God, I were less joyful.’—‘Verily, Sancho,’ said his wife, ‘ever since you made yourself a member of knight-errantry, you talk in such a round-about manner, that there is no understanding what you say.’—‘Let it suffice,’ answered the squire, ‘that I am understood by God, who is the understander of all things; and there let it rest: meanwhile, take notice, gossip, it will be convenient for you to tend Dapple for these two or three days with special care; let his allowance be doubled, that he may be enabled to carry arms; and look out for the pannel and the red of the tackle, for we are not going to a wedding, but to traverse the globe, and give and take dry blows with your giants, dragons, and hobgoblins, and hear nothing but hissing, roaring, bellowing, and bleating; and all this would be but flowers of lavender, were it not our doom to encounter with Yanguesians and inchanted Moors.’—‘I very well believe that squires-errant do not eat the bread of idleness,’ replied Teresa; ’and therefore, husband, I shall continually pray to our Lord, to deliver you from such misfortunes.’—‘I tell thee, wife,’ said Sancho, ‘if I did not expect to see myself in a little time governor of an island, I should drop down dead upon the spot.’—‘By no means, dear husband,’ cried Teresa, ‘Let the hen live, though she have the pip; and I hope you will live, though the devil run away with all the governments upon earth; without a government did you come from your mother’s womb; without a government have you lived to this good hour; and without a government shall you go or be carried to your grave, in God’s own time: there are many in the world who have no governments, and yet, for all that, they live and are numbered among the people. Hunger is the best sauce, and as that is never wanting among the poor, they always relish what they eat; but take care, Sancho, if you come to a government, that you do not forget me and your children: consider, Sanchico has already fifteen good years over his head, and that it is time for him to go to school, if in case his uncle the abbot has a mind to breed him to the church: consider too, that your daughter Mary Sancha, will not break her heart if we marry her, for I am much mistaken if she does not long for a husband, as much as you do for a government; and the short and long of it is, you had better have your daughter ill buckled as a wife, than well kept as a concubine.’
‘Take my word for it,’ answered Sancho, ‘if by the blessing of God I come to any sort of government, I intend, my dear, to match Mary Sancha so high, that nobody shall come near her, without calling her, your ladyship.’—‘Never think of that, Sancho!’ cried Teresa, ‘match her with her equal, which will be more prudent than to raise her from clogs to pattens, from good fourteen-penny hoyden grey, to farthingales and petticoats of silk, and from Molly and thou, to Donna and my lady such-a-one; the girl’s head would be quite turned, and she would be continually falling into some blunder, that would discover the coarse thread of her home-spun breeding.’—‘Shut that foolish mouth of thine,’ said Sancho; ‘in two or three years practice, quality and politeness will become quite familiar to her; or, if they should not, what does it signify? Let her first be a lady, and then happen what will.’—‘Meddle, Sancho, with those of your own station,’ replied Teresa, ’and seek not to lift your head too high; but remember the proverb that says, When your neighbour’s son comes to the door, wipe his nose, and take him in. It would be a fine thing, truly, to match our Mary with a great count or cavalier, who would, when he should take it in his head, look upon her as a monster, and call her country wench, and clod-breaker’s and hemp-spinner’s brat; that shall never happen in my life time, husband; it was not for that I brought up my child; do you find a portion, and as to her marriage, leave that to my care; there is Lope Tocho, old John Tocho’s son, a jolly young fellow, stout and wholesome, whom we all know, and I can perceive that he has no dislike to the girl; besides, he being our equal, she will be very well matched with him; for we shall always have them under our eye, and the two families will live together, parents and children, sons-in-law and grandsons, and the peace and blessing of God will dwell amongst us; wherefore you shall not match me her in your courts and grand palaces, where she will neither understand nor be understood.’—‘Hark ye, you beast and yoke-fellow for Barrabas!’ replied Sancho, ‘why wouldst thou now, without rhime or reason, prevent me from matching my daughter, so as that my grand-children shall be persons of quality? remember, Teresa, I have often heard my elders and betters observe, He that’s coy when fortune’s kind, may after seek but never find. And should not I be to blame, if, now that she knocks at my door, I should bolt it against her? Let us, therefore, take the advantage of the favourable gale that blows.’
It was this uncommon stile, with what Sancho says below, that induced the translator to pronounce the whole chapter apocryphal.
‘Can’t you perceive, animal, with half an eye,’ proceeded Sancho, ‘that I shall act wisely, in devoting this body of mine to some beneficial government that will lift us out of the dirt, and enable me to match Mary Sancha according to my own good pleasure: then wilt thou hear thyself called Donna Teresa Panza, and find thyself seated at church upon carpets, cushions, and tapestry, in despite and defiance of all the small gentry in the parish; and not be always in the same moping circumstances, without increase or diminution, like a picture in the hangings: but no more of this; Sanchica shall be a countess, though thou shouldst cry thy heart out.’—‘Look before you leap, husband,’ answered Teresa: ‘after all, I wish to God this quality of my daughter may not be the cause of her perdition; take your own way, and make her dutchess or princess, or what you please, but I’ll assure you, it shall never be with my consent or good will; I was always a lover of equality, my dear, and can’t bear to see people hold their heads high without reason. Teresa was I christened, a bare and simple name, without the addition, garniture, and embroidery of Don or Donna; my father’s name is Cascajo, and mine, as being your spouse, Teresa Panza, though by rights I should be called Teresa Cascajo: but as the king minds, the law binds; and with that name am I contented, though it be not burdened with a Don, which weighs so heavy, that I should not be able to bear it; neither will I put it in the power of those who see me dressed like a countess or governor’s lady, to say, “Mind Mrs. Porkfeeder; how proud she looks! it was but yesterday she toiled hard at the distaff, and went to mass with the tail of her gown about her head, instead of a veil: but now, forsooth, she has got her fine farthingales and jewels, and holds up her head as if we did not know her.” If God preserve me in my seven or five senses, or as many as they be, I shall never bring myself into such a quandary: as for your part, spouse, you may go to your governments and islands, and be as proud as a peacock; but as for my daughter and me, by the life of my father! we will not stir one step from the village; for, The wife that deserves a good name, stays at home as if she were lame; and, The maid must be still a doing, that hopes to see the men come a wooing. You and Don Quixote may therefore go to your adventures, and leave us to our misventures; for God will better our condition, if we deserve his mercy; though truly I cannot imagine who made him a Don; I am sure, neither his father nor grandfather had any such title.’—‘I tell thee, wife,’ replied the squire, ‘thou hast certainly got some devil in that carcase of thine; the Lord watch over thee, woman! what a deal of stuff hast thou been tacking together, without either head or tail? What the devil has your Cascajos, jewels, proverbs, and pride, to do with what I have been saying? Heark ye, you ignorant beast, for such I may call thee, as thou hast neither capacity to understand my discourse, nor prudence to make sure of good fortune when it lies in thy way, were I to say, that my daughter shall throw herself from the top of a steeple, or go strolling about the world, like the Infanta Donna Uraca, thou wouldst have reason to contradict my pleasure; but if, in two turnings of a ball and one twinkling of an eye, our good fortune should lay a title across our shoulders, and raising thee from the stubble, set thee in a chair of state, under a canopy, or lay thee upon a sofa, consisting of more velvet almohadas144, than there are Moors in all the family of the Almohadas in Morocco; wherefore wouldst not thou consent, and with me enjoy the good-luck that falls?’—‘I’ll tell thee wherefore, husband,’ replied Teresa, ‘because, as the saying is, What covers, discovers thee; the eyes of people always run slightly over the poor, but make an halt to examine the rich; and if a person so examined was once poor, then comes the grumbling and the slandering; and he is persecuted by back-biters, who swarm in our streets like bees.’
‘Give ear, Teresa, and listen to what I am going to say,’ answered Sancho: ‘for mayhap thou hast never heard such a thing in all the days of thy life; and I do not now pretend to speak from my own reflection, but to repeat the remarks of the good father who preached last Lent in our village. He said, if I right remember, that all objects present to the view, exist, and are impressed upon the imagination, with much greater energy and force, than those which we only remember to have seen.’ (The arguments here used by Sancho, contributed also to make the translator believe this chapter apocryphal; because they seem to exceed the capacity of the squire, who proceeded thus:) ‘From whence it happens, that when we see any person magnificently dressed, and surrounded with the pomp of servants, we find ourselves invited, and, as it were, compelled to pay him respect; although the memory should, at that instant, represent to us some mean circumstances of his former life; because that defect, whether in point of family or fortune, is already past and removed, and we only regard what is present to our view; and if the person, whom fortune hath thus raised from the lowness of oblivion to the height of prosperity, be well-bred, liberal, and courteous, without pretending to vie with the ancient nobility, you may take it for granted, Teresa, that nobody will remember what he was, but reverence what he now is, except the children of Envy, from whom no thriving person is secure.’—‘I really do not understand you,’ said Teresa: ‘you may do what you will; but seek not to distract my brain with your rhetorick and harranguing, for if you be revolved to do what you say—’ ‘You must call it resolved, woman, and not revolved,’ cried Sancho. ‘Never plague yourself to dispute with me, husband,’ answered Teresa: ‘I speak as God pleases, and meddle not with other people’s concerns. If you are obstinately bent upon this same government, I desire you will carry your son Sancho along with you, and from this hour teach him the art of that profession; for it is but reasonable that the sons should inherit and learn the trade of their fathers.’—’As soon as I have obtained my government,’ said Sancho, ‘I will send the money for him by the post, as by that time I shall have plenty; for there are always people in abundance that will lend to a governor who has no money of his own; and be sure you cloath him in such a manner as to disguise his present condition, and make him appear like what he is to be.’—‘Send you the money,’ answered Teresa, ’and I will dress him up like any branch of palm145.’—‘Well, then,’ said Sancho, ‘we are agreed about making our daughter a countess——’ ‘That day I behold her a countess,’ cried the wife, ‘I shall reckon her dead and buried; but, I tell you again, you may use your pleasure: for we women are born to be obedient to our husbands, though they are no better than blocks.’
So saying, she began to weep as bitterly as if she had actually seen her daughter laid in her grave. Sancho consoled her, by saying, that although she must be a countess, he would defer her promotion as long as he could. Thus ended the conversation, and the squire went back to Don Quixote to concert measures for their speedy departure.