Don Quixote

HEREIN 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
apparently of milled serge, with hoods of fine white gauze so long that
they allowed only the border of the robe to be seen. Behind them came
the Countess 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 whatever 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 geometrical 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, señora countess,” said the duke, “who did
not perceive your worth by your person, for at a glance it may be seen
it deserves 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 received 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 duennas; 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
Distressed 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 squirissimus
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 limited 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, señora, to make any appeal 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 unconquered 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 veritable 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 goodness 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, señora, 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 before 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, returning to her seat, said, “Queen Doña Maguncia reigned over the
famous kingdom 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
Antonomasia was reared and brought up under my care and direction, I
being the oldest 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 intelligence 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 numerous 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
mountain, 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 towards 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:

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.

The lines seemed pearls to me and his voice sweet as syrup; and
afterwards, 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 banished 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:

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.

—and other verses and burdens of the same sort, such as enchant when
sung and fascinate when written. And then, when they condescend to
compose 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 Phœnix
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, I 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
gentleman, and the Princess Antonomasia, as I said, heiress to the
kingdom. The entanglement remained for some time a secret, kept hidden
by my cunning 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 agreement, 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, Señora Trifaldi; for it is late, and I am dying
to know the end of this long story.”

“I will,” replied the countess.

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