CHAPTER 38
WHEREIN IS TOLD THE DISTRESSED DUENNA’S TALE OF HER MISFORTUNES
Following the melancholy musicians there filed into the garden as many
as twelve duennas, in two lines, all dressed in ample mourning robes appar-
ently of milled serge, with hoods of fine white gauze so long that they al-
lowed only the border of the robe to be seen. Behind them came the Count-
ess Trifaldi, the squire Trifaldin of the White Beard leading her by the hand,
clad in the finest unnapped black baize, such that, had it a nap, every tuft
would have shown as big as a Martos chickpea; the tail, or skirt, or whatev-
er it might be called, ended in three points which were borne up by the
hands of three pages, likewise dressed in mourning, forming an elegant geo-
metrical figure with the three acute angles made by the three points, from
which all who saw the peaked skirt concluded that it must be because of it
the countess was called Trifaldi, as though it were Countess of the Three
Skirts; and Benengeli says it was so, and that by her right name she was
called the Countess Lobuna, because wolves bred in great numbers in her
country; and if, instead of wolves, they had been foxes, she would have
been called the Countess Zorruna, as it was the custom in those parts for
lords to take distinctive titles from the thing or things most abundant in their
dominions; this countess, however, in honour of the new fashion of her
skirt, dropped Lobuna and took up Trifaldi.
The twelve duennas and the lady came on at procession pace, their faces
being covered with black veils, not transparent ones like Trifaldin’s, but so
close that they allowed nothing to be seen through them. As soon as the
band of duennas was fully in sight, the duke, the duchess, and Don Quixote
stood up, as well as all who were watching the slow-moving procession.
The twelve duennas halted and formed a lane, along which the Distressed
One advanced, Trifaldin still holding her hand. On seeing this the duke, the
duchess, and Don Quixote went some twelve paces forward to meet her.
She then, kneeling on the ground, said in a voice hoarse and rough, rather
than fine and delicate, “May it please your highnesses not to offer such
courtesies to this your servant, I should say to this your handmaid, for I am
in such distress that I shall never be able to make a proper return, because
my strange and unparalleled misfortune has carried off my wits, and I know
not whither; but it must be a long way off, for the more I look for them the
less I find them.”
“He would be wanting in wits, senora countess,” said the duke, “who did
not perceive your worth by your person, for at a glance it may be seen it de-
serves all the cream of courtesy and flower of polite usage;” and raising her
up by the hand he led her to a seat beside the duchess, who likewise re-
ceived her with great urbanity. Don Quixote remained silent, while Sancho
was dying to see the features of Trifaldi and one or two of her many duen-
nas; but there was no possibility of it until they themselves displayed them
of their own accord and free will.
All kept still, waiting to see who would break silence, which the Dis-
tressed Duenna did in these words: “I am confident, most mighty lord, most
fair lady, and most discreet company, that my most miserable misery will be
accorded a reception no less dispassionate than generous and condolent in
your most valiant bosoms, for it is one that is enough to melt marble, soften
diamonds, and mollify the steel of the most hardened hearts in the world;
but ere it is proclaimed to your hearing, not to say your ears, I would fain be
enlightened whether there be present in this society, circle, or company, that
knight immaculatissimus, Don Quixote de la Manchissima, and his squiris-
simus Panza.”
“The Panza is here,” said Sancho, before anyone could reply, “and Don
Quixotissimus too; and so, most distressedest Duenissima, you may say
what you willissimus, for we are all readissimus to do you any
servissimus.”
On this Don Quixote rose, and addressing the Distressed Duenna, said,
“If your sorrows, afflicted lady, can indulge in any hope of relief from the
valour or might of any knight-errant, here are mine, which, feeble and limit-
ed though they be, shall be entirely devoted to your service. I am Don
Quixote of La Mancha, whose calling it is to give aid to the needy of all
sorts; and that being so, it is not necessary for you, senora, to make any ap-
peal to benevolence, or deal in preambles, only to tell your woes plainly and
straightforwardly: for you have hearers that will know how, if not to remedy
them, to sympathise with them.”
On hearing this, the Distressed Duenna made as though she would throw
herself at Don Quixote’s feet, and actually did fall before them and said, as
she strove to embrace them, “Before these feet and legs I cast myself, O un-
conquered knight, as before, what they are, the foundations and pillars of
knight-errantry; these feet I desire to kiss, for upon their steps hangs and
depends the sole remedy for my misfortune, O valorous errant, whose veri-
table achievements leave behind and eclipse the fabulous ones of the
Amadises, Esplandians, and Belianises!” Then turning from Don Quixote to
Sancho Panza, and grasping his hands, she said, “O thou, most loyal squire
that ever served knight-errant in this present age or ages past, whose good-
ness is more extensive than the beard of Trifaldin my companion here of
present, well mayest thou boast thyself that, in serving the great Don
Quixote, thou art serving, summed up in one, the whole host of knights that
have ever borne arms in the world. I conjure thee, by what thou owest to thy
most loyal goodness, that thou wilt become my kind intercessor with thy
master, that he speedily give aid to this most humble and most unfortunate
countess.”
To this Sancho made answer, “As to my goodness, senora, being as long
and as great as your squire’s beard, it matters very little to me; may I have
my soul well bearded and moustached when it comes to quit this life, that’s
the point; about beards here below I care little or nothing; but without all
these blandishments and prayers, I will beg my master (for I know he loves
me, and, besides, he has need of me just now for a certain business) to help
and aid your worship as far as he can; unpack your woes and lay them be-
fore us, and leave us to deal with them, for we’ll be all of one mind.”
The duke and duchess, as it was they who had made the experiment of
this adventure, were ready to burst with laughter at all this, and between
themselves they commended the clever acting of the Trifaldi, who, return-
ing to her seat, said, “Queen Dona Maguncia reigned over the famous king-
dom of Kandy, which lies between the great Trapobana and the Southern
Sea, two leagues beyond Cape Comorin. She was the widow of King
Archipiela, her lord and husband, and of their marriage they had issue the
Princess Antonomasia, heiress of the kingdom; which Princess Antonoma-
sia was reared and brought up under my care and direction, I being the old-
est and highest in rank of her mother’s duennas. Time passed, and the young
Antonomasia reached the age of fourteen, and such a perfection of beauty,
that nature could not raise it higher. Then, it must not be supposed her intel-
ligence was childish; she was as intelligent as she was fair, and she was
fairer than all the world; and is so still, unless the envious fates and hard-
hearted sisters three have cut for her the thread of life. But that they have
not, for Heaven will not suffer so great a wrong to Earth, as it would be to
pluck unripe the grapes of the fairest vineyard on its surface. Of this beauty,
to which my poor feeble tongue has failed to do justice, countless princes,
not only of that country, but of others, were enamoured, and among them a
private gentleman, who was at the court, dared to raise his thoughts to the
heaven of so great beauty, trusting to his youth, his gallant bearing, his nu-
merous accomplishments and graces, and his quickness and readiness of
wit; for I may tell your highnesses, if I am not wearying you, that he played
the guitar so as to make it speak, and he was, besides, a poet and a great
dancer, and he could make birdcages so well, that by making them alone he
might have gained a livelihood, had he found himself reduced to utter
poverty; and gifts and graces of this kind are enough to bring down a moun-
tain, not to say a tender young girl. But all his gallantry, wit, and gaiety, all
his graces and accomplishments, would have been of little or no avail to-
wards gaining the fortress of my pupil, had not the impudent thief taken the
precaution of gaining me over first. First, the villain and heartless vagabond
sought to win my good-will and purchase my compliance, so as to get me,
like a treacherous warder, to deliver up to him the keys of the fortress I had
in charge. In a word, he gained an influence over my mind, and overcame
my resolutions with I know not what trinkets and jewels he gave me; but it
was some verses I heard him singing one night from a grating that opened
on the street where he lived, that, more than anything else, made me give
way and led to my fall; and if I remember rightly they ran thus:
{verse
From that sweet enemy of mine
My bleeding heart hath had its wound;
And to increase the pain I’m bound
To suffer and to make no sign.
{verse
The lines seemed pearls to me and his voice sweet as syrup; and after-
wards, I may say ever since then, looking at the misfortune into which I
have fallen, I have thought that poets, as Plato advised, ought to be ban-
ished from all well-ordered States; at least the amatory ones, for they write
verses, not like those of ‘The Marquis of Mantua,’ that delight and draw
tears from the women and children, but sharp-pointed conceits that pierce
the heart like soft thorns, and like the lightning strike it, leaving the raiment
uninjured. Another time he sang:
{verse
Come Death, so subtly veiled that I
Thy coming know not, how or when,
Lest it should give me life again
To find how sweet it is to die.
{verse
—and other verses and burdens of the same sort, such as enchant when
sung and fascinate when written. And then, when they condescend to com-
pose a sort of verse that was at that time in vogue in Kandy, which they call
seguidillas! Then it is that hearts leap and laughter breaks forth, and the
body grows restless and all the senses turn quicksilver. And so I say, sirs,
that these troubadours richly deserve to be banished to the isles of the
lizards. Though it is not they that are in fault, but the simpletons that extol
them, and the fools that believe in them; and had I been the faithful duenna
I should have been, his stale conceits would have never moved me, nor
should I have been taken in by such phrases as ‘in death I live,’ ‘in ice I
burn,’ ‘in flames I shiver,’ ‘hopeless I hope,’ ‘I go and stay,’ and paradoxes of
that sort which their writings are full of. And then when they promise the
Phoenix of Arabia, the crown of Ariadne, the horses of the Sun, the pearls
of the South, the gold of Tibar, and the balsam of Panchaia! Then it is they
give a loose to their pens, for it costs them little to make promises they have
no intention or power of fulfilling. But where am I wandering to? Woe is
me, unfortunate being! What madness or folly leads me to speak of the
faults of others, when there is so much to be said about my own? Again,
woe is me, hapless that I am! it was not verses that conquered me, but my
own simplicity; it was not music made me yield, but my own imprudence;
my own great ignorance and little caution opened the way and cleared the
path for Don Clavijo’s advances, for that was the name of the gentleman I
have referred to; and so, with my help as go-between, he found his way
many a time into the chamber of the deceived Antonomasia (deceived not
by him but by me) under the title of a lawful husband; for, sinner though I
was, would not have allowed him to approach the edge of her shoe-sole
without being her husband. No, no, not that; marriage must come first in
any business of this sort that I take in hand. But there was one hitch in this
case, which was that of inequality of rank, Don Clavijo being a private gen-
tleman, and the Princess Antonomasia, as I said, heiress to the kingdom.
The entanglement remained for some time a secret, kept hidden by my cun-
ning precautions, until I perceived that a certain expansion of waist in
Antonomasia must before long disclose it, the dread of which made us all
there take counsel together, and it was agreed that before the mischief came
to light, Don Clavijo should demand Antonomasia as his wife before the
Vicar, in virtue of an agreement to marry him made by the princess, and
drafted by my wit in such binding terms that the might of Samson could not
have broken it. The necessary steps were taken; the Vicar saw the agree-
ment, and took the lady’s confession; she confessed everything in full, and
he ordered her into the custody of a very worthy alguacil of the court.”
“Are there alguacils of the court in Kandy, too,” said Sancho at this, “and
poets, and seguidillas? I swear I think the world is the same all over! But
make haste, Senora Trifaldi; for it is late, and I am dying to know the end of
this long story.”
“I will,” replied the countess.
