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WHEREIN IS RELATED THE STRANGE AND UNDREAMT-OF ADVENTURE OF THE DISTRESSED DUENNA, ALIAS THE COUNTESS TRIFALDI, TOGETHER WITH A LETTER WHICH SANCHO PANZA WROTE TO HIS WIFE, TERESA PANZA
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The duke had a majordomo of a very facetious and sportive turn, and he it was that played the part of Merlin, made all the arrangements for the late adventure, composed the verses, and got a page to represent Dulcinea; and now, with the assistance of his master and mistress, he got up another of the drollest and strangest contrivances that can be imagined.
The duchess asked Sancho the next day if he had made a beginning with his penance task which he had to perform for the disenchantment of Dulcinea. He said he had, and had given himself five lashes overnight.
The duchess asked him what he had given them with.
He said with his hand.
“That,” said the duchess, “is more like giving oneself slaps than lashes; I am sure the sage Merlin will not be satisfied with such tenderness; worthy Sancho must make a scourge with claws, or a cat-o’-nine tails, that will make itself felt; for it’s with blood that letters enter, and the release of so great a lady as Dulcinea will not be granted so cheaply, or at such a paltry price; and remember, Sancho, that works of charity done in a lukewarm and half-hearted way are without merit and of no avail.”
To which Sancho replied, “If your ladyship will give me a proper scourge or cord, I’ll lay on with it, provided it does not hurt too much; for you must know, boor as I am, my flesh is more cotton than hemp, and it won’t do for me to destroy myself for the good of anybody else.”
“So be it by all means,” said the duchess; “to-morrow I’ll give you a scourge that will be just the thing for you, and will accommodate itself to the tenderness of your flesh, as if it was its own sister.”
Then said Sancho, “Your highness must know, dear lady of my soul, that I have a letter written to my wife, Teresa Panza, giving her an account of all that has happened me since I left her; I have it here in my bosom, and there’s nothing wanting but to put the address to it; I’d be glad if your discretion would read it, for I think it runs in the governor style; I mean the way governors ought to write.”
“And who dictated it?” asked the duchess.
“Who should have dictated but myself, sinner as I am?” said Sancho.
“And did you write it yourself?” said the duchess.
“That I didn’t,” said Sancho; “for I can neither read nor write, though I can sign my name.”
“Let us see it,” said the duchess, “for never fear but you display in it the quality and quantity of your wit.”
Sancho drew out an open letter from his bosom, and the duchess, taking it, found it ran in this fashion:
SANCHO PANZA’S LETTER TO HIS WIFE, TERESA PANZA