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• The Election of the Magistrates of Daganzo : Dawn Smith’s translation, p. 46-49

The Election of the Magistrates of Daganzo (1996), translated by Dawn Smith

Dawn Smith’s translation, p. 46-49

Edition

Cervantes, Miguel de. 1996. ‘The Election of the Magistrates of Daganzo’. In Eight Interludes, trans. Dawn Smith, pp. 42-53. London, Everyman

pp. 46-49

Context:

Each candidate for the magistrate election of Daganzo shows off his unique skill set, as each believes himself the most suitable person for the role. Their idiosyncratic boasts reveal much about their own prejudices, foibles and flaws.

Further information:

Used by permission of Dawn Smith and JM Dent, a division of the Orion Publishing Group, London.

Sample text

STRINGBEAN:

Well, here they come, our worthy candidates:

Puff and Frog, with Clod and Knuckleknees.

Enter four labourers.

And now they’ve arrived.

BACHELOR HOOF:

Welcome, gentlemen.

CLOD:

We trust we find you blooming, gentlemen.

CRUSTY:

Do take a seat. There are no end of chairs.

PUFF:

I’ll take a seat, although I’m quite upset.

KNUCKLEKNEES:

We’ll all be seated, may the Lord be praised.

FROG:

Why are you so upset, Puff?

PUFF:

It's because

Our election is so endlessly delayed.

Must we offer turkeys, or cows with young,

Pitchers of honey and skins of vintage wine

Filled full to bursting and stretched beyond their size?

Just say the word and it can soon be done.

BACHELOR HOOF:

Bribes are out of the question here! We’re all

Agreed and of one mind in this affair:

Whoever seems best fitted for the job

Can count on our approval and election.

FROG:

That sounds all right to me. I’m satisfied.

CLOD:

Me too.

BACHELOR HOOF:

That’s excellent and welcome news!

PUFF:

I’m satisfied as well.

KNUCKLEKNEES:

It’s to my liking.

BACHELOR HOOF:

Let us proceed with our questions.

PUFF:

Fire away!

BACHELOR HOOF:

Puff, can you read?

PUFF:

What do you take me for?

There’s not a trace in my whole ancestry

Of anyone who showed so little sense

As those who study all that empty moonshine:

Such men most often end up on the bonfire,

And women in a house of ill-repute.

I cannot read but what I know instead

Is far more useful than a load of books!

BACHELOR HOOF:

Give an example.

PUFF:

I have learned by heart

The Paternoster and three other prayers

And I recite them several times a week.

FROG:

You think with that they’ll make you a magistrate?

PUFF:

With that and because I’m Christian through and through

I’d dare to be a Roman senator.

BACHELOR HOOF:

That’s good enough. It’s your turn, Knuckleknees,

To tell us what you know.

KNUCKLEKNEES:

Well, Mr. Hoof,

I can read a bit. I know the letters –

I’ve spent the last three months among the Bs –

In another five I’ll have them polished off.

Along with this new learning I am able

To sharpen ploughshares to a fine perfection;

Give me four pairs of wild unbroken oxen,

Within three hours I’ll have them branded for you.

I’m sound in all my parts; free from deafness,

Cataracts, rheumatics and bronchitis.

I’m a true Christian like the others here

And handy with a bow as any Roman.

STRINGBEAN:

Unusual talents for a magistrate!

So varied and so useful!

BACHELOR HOOF:

Let’s continue.

What can Clod do?

CLOD:

All my skills and talents

Lie in my tongue as well as in my throat:

You’ll never meet a better judge of wine.

Sixty-six flavours are stamped on my palate,

And every one is vinicultural!

STRINGBEAN:

You want to be a magistrate?

CLOD:

Most surely.

For when I’ve sacrificed at Bacchus’ shrine

My senses seem to sharpen and I dream

Lycurgus asks me what is what in law

And then I wipe my arse with legal texts.

CRUSTY:

Mind what you say when Council is in session!

CLOD:

I’m not a prude, but neither am I boorish:

I simply say I’d better get my due,

Or else I promise you I’ll raise the Devil.

BACHELOR HOOF:

So you would threaten us? Upon my life,

Good Mr. Clod, those threats won’t get you far!

Peter Frog, what do you say?

FROG:

I’m bound

Like any frog, to sing quite wretchedly;

So I’ll speak of my condition, not my wit.

I’ll tell you how I am, and nothing else.

If I’m elected magistrate, good sirs,

My rod of office won’t be just a twig;

I’ll choose a sturdy oak and cut a branch

As thick as two good fingers, taking care

That it not bend beneath the honeyed weight

Of purses full of ducats and the like:

Of supplications, promises and favours

That weigh like lead, yet seem as light as air

Until they crush and bruise you, body and soul.

Apart from that, I’ll practise moderation,

And temper firmness with a gentle hand.

I’ll never shame the poor unhappy creature

Whose crimes I find myself obliged to hear;

A judge’s thoughtless words will often punish

More than the sentence that a man must serve.

For power should not diminish courtesy;

No judge should take advantage of his prisoner

And pride himself to see another brought low.

STRINGBEAN:

Praise be to God, just listen to our Frog!

He sings far better than a dying swan!

Copyright

The above sample taken from the translation The Election of the Magistrates of Daganzo (1996) by Dawn Smith is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Entry written by Kathleen Jeffs. Last updated on 7 May 2012.

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