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Oh, woe is me, unfortunate woman! What madness or foolishness moves me to recount other people’s faults, when I have so much to tell about mine? Oh, woe is me, again, luckless creature! Verses did not defeat me but my own simplemindedness; music did not soften me, but my own flightiness: my great ignorance and small foresight opened the way and cleared the path for the footsteps of Don Clavijo, for that is the name of the aforementioned knight; and so, I acted as intermediary, and he found himself, not once but often, in the chamber of Antonomasia, who was deceived by me, not him, for he claimed to be her true husband; although I am a sinner, without a promise of marriage I would not have consented to his touching the welt on the soles of her slippers. No, no, not that! Matrimony must be the principal thing in any affair of this kind that I am involved in! There was only one difficulty, and that was inequality, Don Clavijo being an impoverished knight and Princess Antonomasia the heiress, as I have said, to the kingdom. For some days this tangle was concealed and hidden by my wise precautions, until it seemed to me that it would soon be revealed by a certain swelling in the belly of Antonomasia, whose fear made the three of us confer, and the result was that before this unhappy matter came to light, Don Clavijo would ask for Antonomasia’s hand in marriage before the vicar on the basis of a document that the princess had written promising to be his wife, which I had dictated and made so strong that not even the strength of Samson could have broken it. Preparations were made, the vicar saw the document, the same vicar heard the lady’s confession, her confession was plain, he ordered her placed in the house of a very honorable bailiff of the court—”

At this point Sancho said:

“So in Candaya there are also bailiffs of the court, poets, and seguidillas, which makes me swear that I imagine the whole world’s the same. But, Señora Trifaldi, your grace should hurry; it’s late, and I’m dying to know how this very long history ends.”

“I will,” responded the countess.

CHAPTER XXXIX

In which the Countess Trifaldi continues her stupendous and memorable history

Every word that Sancho said pleased the duchess as much as it caused despair in Don Quixote, and ordering him to be quiet, the Dolorous One continued, saying:

“Finally, after many questions and answers, and because the princess never wavered and did not depart from or vary her original statement, the vicar judged in favor of Don Clavijo and gave her to him as his legitimate wife, which so troubled Queen Doña Maguncia, Princess Antonomasia’s mother, that in three days’ time we buried her.”

“No doubt she must have died,” said Sancho.

“Of course!” responded Trifaldín. “In Candaya we don’t bury the living, only the dead.”

“It has been known to happen, Señor Squire,” replied Sancho, “that someone in a faint has been buried because people thought he was dead, and it seemed to me that Queen Maguncia ought to have fainted, not died; if you’re alive, many things can be remedied, and the princess’s recklessness wasn’t so great that she had to die over it. If the lady had married one of her pages, or another servant in her house, as many others have done, or so I’ve heard, there would have been no remedy for the damage; but marrying a knight who was so much the gentleman and so clever, like the one who’s been described here, really and truly, even though it was foolish, it wasn’t as bad as all that, because according to the rules of my master, who is present and will not let me lie, just as they turn lettered men into bishops, they can turn knights, especially if they’re errant, into kings and emperors.”

“You are correct, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “because a knight errant, if he has even an iota of luck, is very close to being the greatest lord in the world. But let the Dolorous One continue, for it is clear to me that she still has to recount the bitter part of this history, which so far has been sweet.”

“Oh yes, the bitterness